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A fter dressing, she put the book in a basket, covered it with a cloth, and headed down to the dining room to find her father. She wasn’t going to tell him she intended to sell the book. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings after he brought it to her from his travels.

But when she arrived in the dining room, he was nowhere about and had already hastily eaten his breakfast. According to Gerald, he received a message that left everyone scratching their heads and took off without his hat or his overcoat muttering something about the morning train and that he’d be back by nightfall.

Odd, that.

But then, her father was often distracted when it came to business.

So, she and Emmaline buttoned on their bonnets and headed for town. The path from Hawthorne Hall wound gently downhill, skirted the farmer’s lush green fields in the late morning light. It was sprinkled with old oaks, casting a long shade across the gravel. The faint breeze carried the distant scent of chimney smoke, roasted meats, and baking bread. All signs they approached the little town of Driftbell.

“Thank you for coming with me, Em.”

“Em.” She grinned beneath her bonnet. “My mum and sister are the only ones who call me that.”

“Oh.” Bella breathed out the word. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“I don’t mind.” She continued to grin and then hooked her arm in hers. “I hope that means we can be friends.”

Bella felt the weight of the basket on her other arm and realized she was glad she had the girl with her, though she wasn’t prepared to tell her anything about the whispers or the skulking shadow figure yet.

“I think it does.” She returned her smile.

As they walked, the humming village rose to meet them. The shuddering sound of wheels through the gravel street, boisterous laughter, a dog barking behind a garden wall.

The rooftops of Driftbell came into view through a break in the hedgerow, and with them, the narrow spire of the old chapel and the green-painted sign of the bookshop proclaiming The Quill and Scroll swinging gently in the breeze.

The moment they stepped into the town, Emmaline’s eyes were round and wide as she took in all the sights and sounds. The streets wound through the aged buildings with their slate roof covered in moss and their shutters painted in faded colors of blue, green, and ochre.

Horse-drawn carriages rumbled down the dusty road. The village was a bustle of activity. The smell of bread and roasted meats permeated the air. And somewhere in the distance, she heard the bellow of a deep voice hawking his wares.

A flower cart was bursting with colors—flowers in every color. A smiling young woman with eagerness burning in her eyes stood behind the white cart, hoping Bella would stop and make a purchase. Next to her, local farmers sold their fruits and vegetables, fresh eggs, and cheese. And beyond that, a weaver who made straw baskets.

A narrow stream cut through the southern edge, crossed by an old stone bridge arched just enough to let small boats pass beneath. Beyond it rose the chapel spire, a weathered bell at its peak. The source of Driftbell’s name, some said, was because the bell once drifted downriver before being claimed by the town.

“I have business in the bookshop,” she said. “If you want to explore—”

“Oh, can I? I mean, do you mind ever so much?” Excitement buzzed beneath her normally cool exterior.

Bella grinned. “I don’t mind at all. Meet me back here.”

She dipped a quick curtsy and then bounded off through the colorful crowd. Smiling over the girl’s enthusiasm, Bella turned toward the door of the shop and pushed it open. The bell chimed her arrival. The moment she stepped inside, a sense of ease calmed her. The smell of dusty tomes, aged parchment, and ink comforted her. It wasn’t a large shop. But even so, several patrons were already inside perusing the shelves.

Bookshelves lined the walls of the shop from floor to ceiling. A sliding ladder was in place to reach the uppermost shelves. The man who stood on the ladder shelving books. Another bespectacled man was behind the counter at the front of the store.

A tall man stood off to one side, his head titled slightly as he ran a gloved finger along the well-worn and new spines, as though he were looking for something in particular. The morning light filtered through the shop’s windows as he stood in the pool of light making several strands of his dark, unruly hair glisten.

He wasn’t dressed like most men in town—no stiff collar or polished arrogance. And yet his coat was of fine material, threaded with silver and hosting gold buttons. His cravat was a bit loose, as though he’d tugged it away from his throat from frustration or annoyance or perhaps even out of habit. There was a quiet confidence about him. As if he were used to slipping through the world without drawing attention to himself and yet impossible to notice.

He cast her a glance as she entered. His pale brown eyes seemed to glow within that circle of light as their eyes met, sending a shiver through her. For a moment, they shared an unexpected connection making it impossible for her to look away.

“How can I help you, miss?” the man behind the counter said.

It broke their connection, forcing her to look away and toward the counter. She plastered on her best smile.

“I was wondering if you buy used books?”

He smiled and gave a brief nod. “If they are unique and unusual, I do.”

She assumed this was the owner. She placed the basket on the counter and uncovered the book. “I have something that’s unique and unusual.”

He peered down through his spectacles at the book with a hmmm , then glanced back up at her with a gesture toward it. “May I?”

“Of course.”

He plucked it out of the basket and placed it on the counter, opening the antique cover. He paused at the first page, staring down at the thorny language. He flipped through the pages, the parchment fluttering and exuding that ancient paper odor. As he did, she watched the archaic writing shuffle by, still unable to read it. He flipped past the drawings of symbols, not pausing to give them a second look. But as the pages turned, she saw the drawings appear to move.

“I’ve never seen the likes,” he said. “Where did you get this?”

“My father brought it back from his travels. I’m not sure where he found it.”

“What language is this?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.” She flashed a winsome grin.

He shook his head. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Nor I.”

She started to lose hope at the way he questioned the book and the reluctance that emanated off him. He paused on a particular page with symbols that appeared to be ancient runes. From this angle, it looked like a blooming rose across the page, entangled with the peculiar-looking rune.

His finger ran down the yellowed page. As he did so, she heard the soft whisper that seemed to come from the parchment itself.

He heard it, too. He jerked his hand back, snapping his head up and looking at her with wide, wondrous eyes. She kept her face impassive, hoping not to give anything away and pretend as though she never heard the indistinct whispering. She heard the rustle of fabric behind her and was aware one of the shop patrons stepped closer to her. Her heart quickened, but she kept her breathing even.

The shopkeeper closed the book with a snap and slid it across the counter to her. “My apologies, miss, but I’m afraid I can’t buy this one.”

Disappointment flooded her as she picked it up and tucked it back into her basket, covering it with the cloth. “Thank you for your time.”

She turned for the door and came face to face with the tall man. He eyed her with curious interest. She sucked in a quick startled breath, then dipped a quick curtsy.

“Pardon me, sir.”

Then she headed for the door and slipped out into the morning light, the warmth of the sun on her face as she considered what to do next with the haunted book. Because that’s what she decided it was—haunted with a ghostly presence lingering between the pages. She didn’t know how that was possible. That with the fact she was unable to translate it was all the warning signs she needed to get rid of it, and quick.

The bustle of the street was in front of her. She scanned the crowd for Emmaline, but didn’t see her pale blue bonnet bobbing among the throng. She took one step toward the street when the bell chimed as someone exited the shop behind her.

“Miss?” the male voice said.

She turned to see the mystery man standing outside the shop on the sidewalk. In the morning light, she got a good look at his face. Not only was he tall, but handsome as well. He had broad shoulders. His face was sharp lines, regal, aristocratic. When he looked at her, she sensed something otherworldly and ancient about him. Underneath that, a twinge of melancholy, as though some tragedy overshadowed his soul.

“Yes?” she managed, sounding a bit more breathless than she intended.

It wasn’t often she was taken aback by a man such as this, but she suspected this was no ordinary man. There was a spark between them the moment their gazes collided in the bookshop.

“That book you carry. May I see it?” Hope glimmered in his pale brown eyes.

“It was a gift from my father.” She didn’t know why she said it as she clutched the basket tighter on her arm, her gloved fingers cramping.

He smiled. “And yet you wished to sell it.”

“Oh. Yes, well, I can’t read the book.” Flustered, she was unsure why she said that.

“Neither could the shopkeeper. Perhaps I buy it from you?”

Had he also heard the eerie whispering from the book? She hesitated with her uncertainty, wondering what to make of the man standing before her.

“My name is Leopold Thornhurst. I collect books and have an extensive library. I’m always on the lookout for new volumes to add to my collection. Yours seems exceptionally interesting, though it is a pity it’s written in an obscure language.”

That got her attention. “You have a library?”

Visions of magnificent libraries flashed through her mind. Lord Vincent’s with the stained-glass windows immediately brushed her thoughts. How she once again longed to step foot into a noble’s private library filled with dusty volumes that held long past secrets.

He grinned, his eyes lighting with humor. “Yes. Quite a large one.”

She chewed on her lower lip as she considered this. “My name is Isabella Rinaldi. I agree it’s a pity about the language. It’s one I can’t seem to decipher.”

It was unlike her to offer this information straightaway. But there was something about this man, this Leopold Thornhurst, that intrigued her. Something that made her want to know more about him and his magnificent library.

He tipped his head to one side. “Decipher?”

It was her turn to smile. “I’m a translator of archaic languages. But this one is quite the enigma.”

“A translator, you say?” Interest glittered in his pale brown eyes.

She nodded, though again, she didn’t quite understand why she was telling him this. She was never this forward or chatty with a stranger. Bella slid the basket down her arm and flipped back the cloth to show him the book. The embossed circle of thorns appeared to gleam in the morning light. She hadn’t noticed that before.

He stared at it for a long, quiet moment as contemplation flickered over his face.

“How much?” he asked.

She pushed the basket toward him. “It is my gift to you for your library.”

His surprised gaze flickered back up to her. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, it’s not dear to me. Not really.”

He remained silent as a carriage rattled down the street near them leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. He took her by the elbow and gently eased her away from the street, closer to the building.

“Perhaps you keep the book,” he suggested, “and I hire you to translate it for me.”

She considered this, wondering if there was some way to translate the book when she’d already had a difficult time of it. The words didn’t make sense to her. The longer she stared at the pages, the more elusive it became.

“Allow me to offer you my personal library as a resource, as well as room and board, if that suits you. And, of course, pay you for your services.”

A tingling of excitement skipped through her. When she left port, she was certain she wouldn’t have the opportunity to step foot into a nobleman’s library again. And now, here was the chance to do just that as well as find the answers to the inscrutable language within the pages of the book. An extensive library, at that.

Without another thought, she heard herself say, “When can I begin?”