Niall nodded toward the small gathering of costumed people. This wasn’t a party Stella had been invited to.
“We need to go,” Niall said.
Arnie squeezed Stella’s fingers, and his eyes opened. “Remember what I said.”
“Wait, should I go with you?” Stella asked.
Niall rested his hand on Stella’s shoulder, and she felt ripples of comfort radiating down her arm. “We’ll get him stabilized. Grab some things for him, if you want, and bring them to the hospital. I’ll make sure you can get in to see him.”
Stella nodded her thanks and let go of Arnie’s hand as they wheeled him away. She clenched her hands together in front of her lips, holding her breath. As they disappeared up the stairs, someone stepped up beside her.
“Are you okay?” the soldier asked.
Stella looked at him. “No. He’s like a second father to me.” She swiped at the tears on her cheeks and looked around at the four strangers gathered in the archives with her.
The tall, handsome Englishman from upstairs stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Was he the one the soldier called Darcy? A tickle started in the back of Stella’s brain until it became a full-blown irrational wave of thought. Fitzwilliam Darcy? As in Jane Austen’s Fitzwilliam Darcy? Had Arnie been hosting some kind of Regency-era party?
But that couldn’t be, because the others didn’t fit in. The woman was dressed in an elaborate blue dress embellished with embroidered white flowers, and her chocolate-brown hair wasbraided. She gripped a book in her arms and watched them with an anxious expression. She spoke French to the man beside her, who was dressed like medieval royalty. He nodded and slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him.
The soldier shifted his steady gaze toward Stella. His face—the familiar angles of it, the fullness of his lips, the way the lamplight reflected in his pale eyes—she felt as though she knew him.
“I’m Jack,” he said. “If there’s anything I can do...”
The sluggish cogs in Stella’s brain clicked into place one by one, until the hairs on top of her head stood on end. The man beside her—she had stared at his face for years. He’d often been the hero in her daydreams, the man whose eyes saw straight into her soul. She looked at him. “Jack... Mathis?”
He nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her knees wobbled. “As in Jack Mathis fromBeyond the Southern Horizon?”
Jack nodded.
“Is this a joke?” Stella asked.
“Is that rhetorical?” Jack asked.
“This can’t be happening.”
Jack stepped closer to her. “I assure you, it is.”
Chapter 8
Jack Mathis? No way was that possible. How could it be? Stella shook her head and walked toward the stairs leading up into the library. “I can’t do this right now.Whateverthis is.”
“Hey,” Jack called.
Curiosity and heat zinged through her body on a current of electricity. Stella wanted to keep walking away, but her body halted her, causing her tennis shoes to squeak against the floor. She glanced at Jack, the soldier from her dreams. Not to mention a soldierfrom a novel.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I want to grab some things for Arnie and take them to the hospital.” She started up the staircase. “I’m not hanging out with you, Jack Mathis, and Mr. Darcy and whoever the French couple is. I wasn’t invited to this costume party. In fact”—she stopped halfway up the staircase—“what am I thinking? You need to go home.” She turned around and descended the stairs.
Arnie’s voice drifted into her mind.Keep them in here, okay? In thelibrary. Take care of them.What did that even mean? Who were these people in the archives? Was there a chance theywerecharacters from books?
Jack shoved his hands into his pockets and pursed his lips while he rocked on his boot heels. “Stella, right?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “I don’t want you to freak out, but this is our home for now.”
Stella’s thoughts stuttered. “I’m sorry, what? This is most definitelynotyour home. This is a library and we’re closed.” She rubbed her temples. Everything in this moment felt like complete madness. Arnie was in an ambulance on his way to the hospital, and she was stuck dealing with... “I’m supposed to believe that you’re Jack Mathis? And that man in the black coat... he can’t be Fitzwilliam Darcy—”
“I beg your pardon,” Mr. Darcy spoke up from behind Jack, stepping out into full view. “I most certainlyam—”
