She didn’t know how he managed to always read her mind, or in this case, know the details of her personal correspondence, but she nevertheless admitted, “I did.”
A brief pause. “I don’t suppose any of your dowry was set aside in a trust?”
Lyra sighed unhappily. “Unfortunately not. Every shilling was signed over to Roger, which he squandered within six months of our vows.”
She could hear the duke blow out a heavy breath.
“I have enough pin money saved to pay the servants through next month, but then I’m afraid that will be gone. Of course, I have my gowns and jewelry I could sell—”
“No.”
At the duke’s sharp tone, she finally turned her head to look at him.
He wore such a fierce look on his face that she gasped at the sheer ferocity of it. If Roger had donned a similar expression, she would have had good reason to be frightened, but she knew Alister’s anger was not directed at her.
“There is no need for such drastic measures. At least, not yet. For the time being, we will manage.”
Not her, butwe.
She knew he didn’t intend for his words to come out as intimate as they sounded, but it was still nice to imagine that she wasn’t completely alone in this mess.
“Then again,” she pointed out, “I suppose money is the least of my problems, isn’t it?” With a sigh, she glanced down at her hands in her lap.
Alister, in turn, abruptly rose to his feet. “If I recall,” he began slowly, “you promised me a tour of the library.”
Lyra looked up and tilted her head to the side. “I do believe you’re right, Your Grace.” As she stood, he offered his arm to her. After a brief hesitation, she accepted.
Her fingers trembled on the sleeve of his jacket, so she gripped his forearm a bit tighter to steady them, causing his muscles to bunch in response.
Lyra forced her breathing to remain steady as they made their way down the hall and then upstairs to the second floor. She stopped in front of a carved door adorned with leaves and grapevines before glancing at him uncertainly.
“Do I need to close my eyes?” he teased.
Lyra merely rolled her eyes as she turned the handle and shoved the heavy oak open. She bit her lip as she waited for his reaction. This room was probably the most important in the entire house for Lyra, for she was the one who had taken on the task of stocking its floor-to-ceiling shelves into some semblance of order.
When she had moved into Weston House, Roger had been too busy gallivanting all over town to appreciate what had been under this very roof. Although Lyra wouldn’t have gone so far as to include herself, she had felt sorry for the poorly neglected state of the library. Thus, it had quickly become her personal endeavor to restore it to its former glory.
With the assistance of Mrs. Jenkins, the housekeeper, and a handful of maids and footmen, they had washed and polished and dusted so much that first month that there had been a continual, hazy cloud surrounding them for their efforts. When she still had control of her pin money, she’d ordered new velvet drapes, for the former ones were past the point of repair. Although most of London was choosing to decorate in the fashionable styles of the Egyptians and the bold colors of the Orient at the time, Lyra had preferred an elegant touch of Persian rugs and damask wallpaper.
Once the interior had been redone in its current shades of emerald green, adorned with rich, walnut furniture, the next thing Lyra had tackled was the piles of heavy, leather tomes, which she had carefully reorganized. She had even sent off a few of the worst to Leipzig, Germany, where some of the most notable bookbinders could be found, so that they could be carefully reconstructed with new, calfskin leather. At the same time, she’d also added to the collection by ordering several new volumes.
All in all, it had taken close to two years for her to complete—which was about when Roger’s drinking and the worst of the abuse had begun. Unbeknownst to her at the time, this room would end up being her refuge. It was why gaining Alister’s acceptance was important, for she was allowing him this small glimpse into her heart.
“So, what do you think?” she finally asked.
“Honestly?” He shrugged. “I’m surprised Lord Weston could accomplish such an extraordinary feat as this.”
Lyra lifted her chin a notch. “Roger had nothing to do with it.”
His brows nearly lifted to his hairline. “Do you mean to say thatyou—?”
His apparent disbelief rankled, and she narrowed her eyes. “Do you find it so difficult to imagine that a woman might decorate such a room? Perhaps you might suggest that our talents are better suited for the conservatory or the parlor?” She suddenly turned and reached out a hand to one of Shakespeare’s notable plays. “If that is the case, Your Grace, then I’m sorry to disappoint you, for I daresay I’m not much for gardening or entertaining, as the pursuits of knowledge interest me much more.”
Lyra hadn’t heard the duke move, but suddenly, that husky voice brushed against the nape of her exposed neck. His arm came into her peripheral view; his masculine hand perilously close to touching hers on the shelf. “I meant no offense, Lady Weston. In fact, I’m rather amazed by your accomplishments. This is the most beautiful library I’ve seen in some time. It rather puts my own collection at Thorn Hall to shame.”
Lyra temporarily closed her eyes in an effort to gather her wits,notto absorb his nearness or his warmth. To enjoy such a thing at a time like this would be to question her sanity when her very existence was on the brink of ruin.
Even so, she couldn’t stop herself from whispering, “Why are you really here?”
