The Tutor by Bonnie Read Free Book Online Page A

would protect me and plodded on. With a candle from my room blazing a tiny trail in the darkness, I might have slipped through a crack in time into another century.
    Unsure in what direction the library might lie, I chose instead to go to the chapel, which seemed a peaceful point of refuge. As I drew near, I noticed light coming from the partially open door. I considered running back to my room, but I had to see who—or what—was inside. In the night, it was easy to believe the presence I’d felt in the tower earlier had been real, that something other lurked within these ancient walls.
    But when I entered the chapel, a very real, solid person occupied the front pew
    facing the candlelit altar with its ornate iron cross. Sir Richard knelt with his head bowed, shoulders hunched, hands clasped in prayer. His posture suggested a man in deep mourning, a man begging for forgiveness or understanding from a silent god. My earlier thought that the threatening figure in Clive’s drawing might possibly represent his father seemed ludicrous. Allinson was grief-stricken, not angrily violent—although it was certainly possible for one person to contain both of those emotions and more. But I couldn’t believe he’d committed any sort of violence against his family.
    The softer part of me that gave coins to beggars and lent rent money to
    unfortunate friends wanted to reach out to the man. It was my nature to try to fix things and offer comfort where I could. But I doubted Sir Richard would appreciate a servant intruding on his very vulnerable moment.
    Willing my feet to be soft as cats’ paws, I slowly backed out of the room. A flash of something moved in the corner of my eyes. I whipped my head toward the movement just as a tall brass candlestand fell to the stone floor with a resounding clang. This was no tabletop holder but a stand that stood nearly as tall as my shoulder. I had not brushed against it in any way. There was absolutely no reason for the heavy object to abruptly fall over like that.
    But I didn’t have time to ponder the mystery. My gaze shot back to Sir Richard,
    who had leaped up at the noise. He stared at me. I stared back, wondering whether he’d do me the kindness of letting Drover give me a ride to the train station, or if he’d put me out immediately so I had to tramp all the way to town in the dark.
    The man broke from his still pose and strode toward me with such swift purpose, I
    instinctively took a step back.
    I dove for the candlestick, intent on setting it back on its base. “Sorry. So clumsy.
    Didn’t know anyone was in here. Thought I’d, uh, pray for guidance. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I babbled.
    I hauled at the brass creation with all my strength, but it was difficult to lift.
    Allinson grabbed hold of it, and together we set the thing upright. For a moment, we both clung to the metal, our hands only inches apart.
    “I…”
    Words failed me. I had no more apologies to give and couldn’t have spoken them
    if I tried. Something very like a high-powered magnet seemed to be charging the air between us. I’d felt that attraction before, many times with many men—gazes that locked, sizzling messages shooting back and forth, the inevitable search for a place to meet in private—but I’d never felt anything as powerful as this.
    Allinson’s gaze was the one-two punch in the final round of a boxing match. It hit me in the solar plexus, driving the breath from me and leaving me stunned.
    “I…” It came out a whisper the second time. I stopped myself from grabbing my
    employer and hauling him to me, and forced out another word. “Sorry. Won’t happen
    again.”
    I unstuck my fingers from the candlestand and backed away.
    Sir Richard blinked. His jaw tightened before he replied. “See that it doesn’t. Stay in your own area, Mr. Cowrie. The estate isn’t yours to explore.”
    “No,” I agreed. “But it is rather like a museum. I can’t help being interested in the history