Page 9

L eopold left behind the town of Driftbell, hope blooming in his breast for the first time in long, quiet, lonely years. He rode hard back to his estate on the southern edge of town, shrouded in mist and oak trees that hid the Castle Thornhurst from the road and prying, inquisitive eyes. Brambles and climbing roses the color of ink clawed their way down the stone wall to the iron gate that was the barrier between the real world and his dark, desolate world.

It was difficult to get the beguiling Isabella Rinaldi out of his mind. She was dressed in the latest fashion, but her bonnet concealed most of her face in shadow. Yet when she tipped her head back to look at him, the sunlight glistened on her face, illuminating it just right. She was breathtaking with delicately carved cheekbones, a full mouth, a dainty nose, and eyes fringed in dark lashes that rivaled the sea. Eyes that were intelligent, full of wisdom, and gleamed with curiosity.

She seemed flustered by his offer of room and board. Indeed, he felt it was the best way to keep her working as she studied the book. If she was able to translate it as he hoped, then all things would be returned to as they were before. She told him she lived at Hawthorne Hall—truthfully he thought the place abandoned—and that she would need to speak to her father first. A bit of hope died right there, but he had to believe she would find a way to help him, even if she didn’t realize she was helping him.

His horse trotted up the gravel drive where he halted, dismounted, and gave the mare a pat. The signal for her to return to the stables. She trotted off as he entered the castle and was immediately greeted by his valet, Dickens.

“Welcome home, my prince.” He bowed low in greeting.

“Dickens, I told you not to call me that.”

It was an age-old discussion and one that continued to be ignored.

He and Dickens were the only two remaining in the castle. Where the halls were once alive with boisterous laugher, enchanting balls, and lively music, they were now dark and desolate with creeping shadows that seemed to curl along certain hallways. The curse had not spared Dickens, affecting him in inexplicable ways. Not only was his life force was tied to Leopold’s, but he also gained interesting magical abilities. While he was able to remain a part of his life, the rest of his staff and court didn’t fare so well—they disappeared in a flash.

“As you wish, my prince.” He took his hat as Leopold handed it over giving him his best thin-lipped expression.

“You were gone quite some time. Are you sure that was wise?”

He and Dickens had been together since he was a boy. The old valet served his father and now him. Now that they were alone in this together, he wanted Dickens to call him a friend instead of prince. Old habits, and all that. He knew as well as Dickens did he’d never not call him prince.

The man eyed him with curiosity.

Leopold said, “A risk, yes, but worth it. Are you going to ask me about the girl? For surely you know about her.”

There was always that knowing his valet had—part of his interesting magical abilities. The sagacious light was deep in his dark eyes. His valet’s face remained impassive, as if Leopold’s guess was neither right nor wrong.

“If you wish. But I know you prefer I not spoil the telling for you.”

Leopold chuckled, a sound rumbling low in his chest. A sound, he realized, he hadn’t emitted in ages. In fact, he couldn’t recall a time when he last felt so light, so optimistic, so encouraged.

“She’s a beauty, I gather,” Dickens said.

He slipped off his waistcoat and handed it off. “You’ll see for yourself. She’ll be here tomorrow. I’ve hired her.”

That seemed to get a reaction out of the old man. His pinched expression was clear on his aged face. One thin dark brow rose. “You hired her and invited her here? My prince, no one has been invited here in decades.”

“Yes, I know. So, I look to you, Dickens, to make sure everything is ready for her arrival. She may be staying with us for some time.”

“Staying with us?” He sounded utterly confused by the notion. “Forgive me, my prince, but are you certain you wish for this girl to be here? In this castle? Alone? With you?”

He laughed again, enjoying the way it felt to allow it to bubble up through his throat. He reached for his old friend, his valet, and clapped him on the shoulder.

“I am. You won’t believe what she has.”

“I’m sure I won’t.”

“She has a book, Dickens. A book, I believe, that can at last break the curse. I saw the pages myself. It matches this.”

He dropped his arm to shove up the sleeve of his white shirt revealing the rose that was branded on the inside of his forearm. The blood red rose caught in a snarling twist of brambles and thorns. The same symbol that was embossed on cover of her book.

Dickens’s brows rose to his receding hairline. “Indeed.”

“So, make the castle ready. For tomorrow, Miss Isabella Rinaldi arrives.” He headed for the stairs, then halted, turning back. “And one more thing, Dickens. First thing in the morning, send the carriage to meet her in town.”

This elicited another shocked expression from the old valet. “As you say, my prince. It will be done.”

Bella and Emmaline hurried back to Hawthorne Hall. She remained quiet as she considered Leopold Thornhurst and his invitation to stay at his residence during her translation work. She had no certainty regarding her father’s response to the news; she doubted it would be proper for her to depart Hawthorne or remain with the gentleman without an escort. He said he lived south on the outskirts of town, not far from Hawthorne as it turned out. She chewed on her lower lip as she considered how to break the news to her father.

She half-heartedly listened as Emmaline chattered endlessly about everything she saw in town. Her step had a definite bounce as she talked about the shops she saw, the flower cart with an array of bright-colored flowers, the baker with his scones, and how the clock tower in the old chapel chimed the hour.

“Everything all right, miss? You seem distracted.”

She clutched the basket tight in her hand as she glanced up at Emmaline, wondering if she should tell her about her encounter with Leopold. She wanted to. She needed to tell someone.

“Was your trip to the bookshop successful?” she asked.

Bella pressed her lips together into a thin line and kept her gaze forward. “I suppose you could say that.”

“Oh? Were you able to sell the book?”

“No,” she said, almost too quickly. She came to a jarring halt in the middle of the road and turned to Emmaline. “Em…” she started, then shook her head and started walking again, changing her mind about telling the girl.

“Yes?” she asked, bouncing alongside her. “Did something happen at the bookshop?”

“Oh, Em, I’m not sure what to do.” Again, she came to a halt, both hands clutching the handle of the basket now as she held it in front of her. “I met someone.”

Her eyes lit with joy. “You did? Was he as handsome as Lord Vincent?”

He was ever so handsome, but that wasn’t the point. A business transaction formed the sole connection between them. She intended to translate the book for him. What he decided to do with that translation did not concern her. She was going to use his extensive library. Excitement skipped through her at the thought of once again being in her element.

“He hired me to translate the book,” she blurted.

Confusion shifted over her face as she tipped her head to one side, trying to understand. “Translate the book? Why?”

“I’m not sure. But he was quite interested in it. And there was something…” She paused, searching her mind to find the right words. “It appeared there was a bit of sadness about him. But when he looked at the book, his demeanor changed. I shouldn’t have told him I was a translator, but it slipped out.”

Emmaline considered her words as she looked at her from under the brim of her bonnet. She adjusted it a bit to see her better. “Well, are you going to translate it for him?”

“I want to.”

A breath escaped her as she thought, once again, of his extensive library . Her imagination ran wild with what that library looked like. How many books did he have? A hundred? A thousand? More? Did he have stained glass windows like Lord Vincent? Comfortable furniture? A butler who served tea and cucumber sandwiches?

She shoved all those spiraling thoughts away. There was no guarantee she would be able to take on the position, even though she jumped at the chance when speaking to the man.

“But I must speak to my father first.”

And even then, he might refuse to release her, as he had the right to do. She remained a maiden, after all, and it could cause quite the scandal. Still, relinquishing the notion of a book-filled room’s appeal proved difficult.

Emmaline hooked her arm in hers. “I’m sure he’ll say yes. Let’s go tell him!”

Bella giggled at her enthusiasm. “Yes, let’s!”

But when they arrived home, everything changed.