The Witch's Thief (7 page)

She patted his cheek, tenderly, trying to rouse him. When that failed to work, she struck a little harder.

Still nothing.

Julia leaned back on her haunches, clasping her arms around her knees and looked around the room.

What should she do?

Worrying her bottom lip, she considered calling the servants to assist. Surely a few of them could carry him up to his room. A quick glance at the large body lying on the floor made her adjust her estimations. A few might not work. He was finely muscled. And tall. They might need to wake the neighbors to ask to loan their servants, too.

Such nonsense! Julia shook her head from her musings. Seriously, her gaze should not keep wandering over his body in delicious appreciation. The poor man was ill, yet she ogled him as if she’d never seen a slumbering man.

She cocked her head to the side.

Well, she never had seen a slumbering man. Other than her father, but that wasn’t like this.

Basil was most definitely
not
like her father.

Her gaze once again swept over him, taking in his handsome features and traveling down his torso. Did he have difficulty breathing? Perhaps the cravat tied round his neck was a bit too tight. She loosened it a bit, opened a button or two of his shirt, exposing his chest. Yes, he just needed more air. Maybe a few more buttons should be loosened?

Heat flooded her cheeks. What was she thinking? He breathed through his nostrils not his chest. As much as she desired to see his chest, now was not the time to give in to such curiosities.

She forced her gaze away from Basil and tried to focus on the situation.

He was ill.

That was plain to see.

He must have known he was ill and had not mentioned it to anyone. That was why he did not wish for her to say anything about his weakness earlier. He did not wish his aunt to worry.

His aunt!

Julia’s head jerked up. That’s it!

She jumped and nearly knocked into the desk as she lost her balance scurrying over Basil’s body. She hurried to Mrs. Prescott’s chair where, lying on the table beside it, sat her smelling salts. Mrs. Prescott always kept them near, especially in need for when she read letters from her brother. The man was always writing such astounding things to his sister, causing her upset.

Julia grabbed the smelling salts and rushed back to Basil, falling to her knees. With one hand, she lifted Basil’s head and waved the bottle beneath his nose.

It took two passes before his nose crinkled, and his eyelids flickered. She put the bottle down and held his head on her lap as he came awake. His gaze met hers.

She smiled.

****

“What am I doing on the floor?”

“Again? I was about to ask you,” Julia said. He made no motion to rise. Just rested his head on her lap and stared at her face. She took the liberty of returning her hand to his hair. She brushed a few tendrils, running her fingers again through the silky strands. It felt so soft.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you.”

“With my hair?”

“It’s in need of brushing.” That comment won a smile.

“Of course,” he said with a wry quirk to his lips. “Whenever I wake mysteriously on the floor of the library, my hair is in desperate need of brushing. Lucky you were here to save my appearance.”

“I am so glad to be of assistance,” she said, smiling back. But, her smile faded as a tremble shuddered through him. And then another. His body was shivering, shaking. It appeared he had no control over it.

“Basil, what’s wrong? What’s happening to you? Are you ill?”

At the sight of her frown, Basil’s amused smile vanished. He sighed, closing his eyes.

“Will you help me to my feet?”

He struggled to sit upright, while she kept an arm on his back, guiding him. He clasped the edge of the desk and used it to push up. Julia took one arm, not so much lifting, but helping to keep him steady.

As soon as he stood on his feet, he looked in worse shape than she imagined. He swayed. His knuckles turned white as he grasped the desk’s edge. She kept her arm clasped around his, knowing if he lost consciousness the best she could do was guide his descent.

He was a very big man.

“Basil, this will not do. I must call Parker for some assistance.”

“Parker? And what will he do? The man is older than the Bible. He can’t help me.”

“Then let me fetch Mrs. Prescott. She knows a spell to take you to your room. I’ve seen her perform it.”

Basil shook his head. “There’s no need to disturb her. She’d worry needlessly. Leave her to her slumber.”

As she suspected, he did not wish to upset his aunt. But, that did not resolve the dilemma that faced them. How to get him to his room when he used so much effort simply to stand? Whatever ailed him had weakened him.

“Wait,” she said. “Can you stand for a moment on your own?”

He nodded. “I can try.”

He braced himself on the desk and leaned forward to put some of his weight on the furniture. She slipped around him, grabbed the chair she had used while reading and dragged it over. With a grateful sigh, he slumped into the chair and leaned forward to rest his forehead on the desk.

Julia picked up the candle she dropped earlier. Whispering a few words, a flame sputtered to life on the wick.

Basil lifted his head, looking first at the candle and then to her. The corner of his mouth tilted upward. “You’ve been practicing.”

“I have a certain talent for parlor tricks, nothing more.” She shrugged.

He grunted. “You have the blood for it. Your father is a powerful witch, after all. I daresay he’s the strongest among us.”

“Yes. He had far more talent than I or my sister will ever possess.”

Basil stilled. The smile slowly drained away from his face. He looked at her, his brow creased in silent question. She didn’t understand. What had she said? What made him look at her with such sadness?

“Julia? Your father? Is Roger…?”

Julia’s heart skipped a beat. How had she revealed the truth about her father? From the grief-stricken look on Basil’s face, he knew what she had not spoken of to anyone. She thought back to her last statement. Yes, it had slipped from her tongue. She talked of her father in the past tense. At her prolonged silence, Basil closed his eyes and sighed.

“Oh, Julia,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

She licked her suddenly dry lips and looked away. There was no denying the truth. Not when he saw it written clearly in her eyes without her ever speaking a word. No, Basil knew her too well. Even after all of this time, he could still read every emotion on her face. Well, all the emotion save the one directed solely at him.

From the corner of her eyes, she spotted a decanter of brandy. Normally, she rarely partook of it, but perhaps she needed a drink, after all.

“Julia?” he asked, his hand grasping hers. His thumb caressed the back of her hand. “What happened?”

****

Roger was dead.

Basil’s hand tightened over her fingers, squeezing gently. He lowered his head, fighting the dizziness that incessantly plagued him as he focused on the questions swirling in his brain.

That explained her presence here. She had nowhere else to go.

Roger Grey never possessed a head for business. His wife kept the estate running until she died shortly after Julia’s eighth year. The estate slowly degenerated into poverty. It became well known that Julia, and her younger sister, Marianne, had no dowries. One of the many reasons Basil made assurances that Julia marry well after he’d gone. George Walters’ wealth and head for business, even at the young age of twenty, attracted Basil’s interest for Julia’s benefit. Basil knew they’d make an excellent match.

But, Julia never married George.

And Roger was dead.

“It…it was his heart,” she said, biting her bottom lip. He leaned back to face her. She didn’t look into his eyes. Instead, her gaze darted across the floor. She kept something from him. Perhaps she did not wish to discuss her father’s failing health.

When she focused on his face, he knew she spoke the truth. “He never got over my mother’s death. He grieved for her. So many years he grieved. I think he was ready to go to her.”

“But you and your sister…”

Her bottom lip quivered at the mention of her sister, and she turned her head, blinking away the tears that were suddenly in her eyes. Basil’s chest tightened with dread. He squeezed her hand and leaned forward.

Oh, no…

“Julia, where’s Marianne?”

She bit back a sob. Pain in his chest blossomed. Something happened to her sister. It was his fault. All his fault. He should have made certain George made good on his promises. Basil should have stayed for the wedding, even if it killed him to see the woman he loved married to another man.

Yes, he loved her. Always loved her. He’d known since a child he was meant to be with her. That’s why he had to help her, protect her, do all he could for her. Even if it meant keeping away from her.

“Where is she?” he repeated, his voice rising in panic. If something dreadful happened to young Marianne, Basil would never forgive himself. Julia adored her younger sister. After their mother died in childbirth, Julia had taken to caring for the baby just as a mother would care for her child. Julia and Marianne had a very close relationship that went beyond simply being sisters.

“No, no,” she said, wiping at the sudden tears that fell onto her cheeks. “No, Marianne is…she is… Well, she’s here. With me.”

Basil sighed, relieved to learn Julia’s little sister was safe.

“How long has your father been gone?”

“Two years.” She held herself straight, her shoulders tense.

He regarded her for a moment, again noting the change in her. She seemed so different from the girl he left behind. Like another woman. The difference reflected in her eyes. The warm gentleness of untried youth had vanished, and in its place resided a serious, worldly gaze. The eyes of a wounded woman. A woman heartsick with grief.

With her father dead, she had no home. No prospects for a decent future or an advantageous marriage. If his aunt had not rescued her from the streets… Basil shuddered to think what might have become of her.

His shudder seemed to restart the shivers that for a moment had subsided.

“Bloody hell!” he muttered as he fought to force his muscles to obey his commands. For a short time in the beginning he managed to delay the shivers, to mask his symptoms and other signs of the disease. But no longer. With each passing year, with the sunset of each day, he grew weaker as the disease grew stronger. And Basil knew what would happen one day, if he didn’t find the cure.

“Basil, what is this? What’s happened to you?”

He glanced at her face. Her eyes were wide with worry and concern and a trace of fear. That she held any compassion for him at all amazed him. He never gave her any explanation of why he left. He never even said good-bye. She had every right to refuse to ever speak to him again.

Yet, here she stood, by his side, worrying over him.

He sighed. This very situation he had tried to avoid ten years ago. He didn’t want anyone to worry over him.

“It’s nothing,” he said, fighting to sound blasé as if this were such a trivial thing. “Comes and goes. Nothing to fret over, my dear. A good night’s rest is all the cure I need.”

Oh, if only that were true!

“Basil.”

The doubt in her voice cut through his heart. For a moment, he felt weak enough to tell her the truth. He imagined how relieved his shoulders would feel to tell someone else of his troubles, his fears and grief. To share the pain and heartsickness instead of holding it bottled inside him until he burst.

He looked into her green eyes. Such a lovely shade of jade. Like the precious gems he collected during his brief stay in China years ago. The moment he had seen those gems, he’d thought of Julia.

No, he could not burden her with his secrets. She held too much pain already from her father. He would not add to that grief.

“I just need sleep, Jules.”

She tilted her head to the side as if to argue.

“I promise you, I’ll feel better in the morning.”

Julia sighed, heavily. Releasing his hand, she folded her arms across her chest.

“Very well,” she said. “And how do you presume to traverse to your room if you cannot walk? I’m not adverse to carrying you, but it might seem awkward if someone should see us.”

“I’m a bit much for you, aren’t I?” Basil regarded her tiny frame against his larger one. When standing, the top of her head barely touched his chin.

“We’ll make do.” She placed her hands on her hips with determination. Then her face brightened with an idea. “Unless you know the spell I spoke of? I’ve seen your aunt use it on those days when her knees ached something terrible. She can disappear and reappear in her room. Do you know the spell?”

He did. It was something he learned years ago. It was also something that took a great deal of strength and concentration. Both, he severely lacked at the moment.

“I do. But, in my condition, I doubt I could muster the strength to transport to the library door let alone the chamber above us.”

“Oh,” Julia said, crestfallen. Then she rallied. “Well, we do what we must then, shall we?”

He smiled at her determination. “I suppose.”

“Come along,” she said, holding her hands out. “Best get to it.”

He smiled, grimly.

Taking her arm, he allowed her to assist in hoisting him up.

****

It took a great deal of strength to help Basil walk to the doors and into the corridor. He began stumbling just as they arrived at the foot of the stairs. When they stopped at the bottom and looked up, the average, everyday stairs loomed above them like a huge mountain.

“Are you certain about this?” Basil asked, gripping one hand on the banister. His other arm loped around Julia’s rather thin shoulders.

“No.”

But, with determination, she rallied together and urged him upward, one weary step at a time.

About halfway, his dizziness got the better of him and he stumbled. He crashed down on his knees, taking her with him. Off balance, she slid down two steps before he grasped her hand, keeping her from falling the rest of the way.