Free Rachel Carrington by Choices Page B

collective gasp went up behind Sinclair and the servants took a simultaneous step backward, hands over hearts.
    Carla’s gaze shot over Sinclair’s shoulder to pin the first hapless worker. “What? What is it? What do you know? Is it this book? What is it about this book that brought that wind?” She met Sinclair’s gaze.
    “Tell me what’s going on.”
    Sinclair folded his arms across his chest. “It was the last book my wife read before she died. One of the servants tried to take it out of here last year. She said that a wind stopped her.”
    “’Tis haunted, my Lady,” came a timid voice from behind the couple.
    Sinclair’s hand sliced the air. “Enough. My servants believe the book holds the key to a lot of strange happenings here in the library. I don’t tend to agree.” He looked at the gathered group over his shoulder.
    “You may return to work. I will see to Miss Morgan.” He tucked her in the shelter of his arm and led her toward the settee. “Sit down for a moment and catch your breath.” Capturing the book from her hands, he returned it to its proper space.
    Carla couldn’t take her eyes off the spine of the book. What secrets did it hold and had the ghost of Sinclair’s dead wife have anything to do with her arrival here at the castle? Her mind whirled. She had to find a way to talk to this woman. Perhaps there she’d find answers. “Why didn’t you tell me about the book?”
    “What was there to tell? That my household believes in superstition? That they believe my house is haunted by the spirit of my wife? It’s nonsense.”

    “You weren’t here with the wind.” Carla searched his face for any sign of deception, but saw none. She shivered as a slight wind lifted her hair and brushed it over her forehead. “Did you just feel that?” She held her breath.
    Sinclair knelt in front of her, his hands on her knees. “I’ve lived here for many years, Carla. There has been no ghost before or since my wife’s passing.”
    Carla felt the warmth of his palms even beneath the thickness of her gown. “How did your wife die?”
    Sinclair’s face closed and he stood, signaling an abrupt end to the conversation. “I should take you back to your bedchamber. You’ve had quite a scare.”
    Sinclair wore an expression that did not invite further inquiries. Carla felt a sadness she couldn’t shake.
    Sinclair had loved his wife. The pain was evident in his eyes. He still ached for her. So why was she here? And who had brought her? Allowing him to pull her to her feet, Carla walked out of the library, the book safely tucked away back on the shelf.
    But her curiosity was running higher than ever.

    * * * * *
The speckled horse nuzzled against the palm of her hand, searching for a treat. Carla laughed and gently stroked the coarse hair, rubbing the muzzle and scratching behind her ears. “You are a beauty.”
    “Do you ride?” Sinclair approached her quietly and now, he leaned over the edge of the rail, his arms folded, a half-smile on his face.
    Carla couldn’t take her eyes off of his long fingers, those same wonderful fingers that had…she blushed, realizing he still waited for an answer. “I used to. It’s been a while.”
    “You are welcome to ride any of my horses while you are here.”
    “What about her?” Carla continued to stroke the mare.
    “She was included.” Sinclair straightened. “If you need any help, you should ask Decker. He is one of the stable hands, but he has forgotten more about horses than I will ever know. Would you like to talk a walk? You haven’t seen the hothouse or perhaps you’d like to see the lake. It’s just over the ridge.”
    Carla tucked the lace-fringed shawl tighter around her shoulders and gave him a small smile. “I’d like that.”
    Sinclair offered her his arm, the perfect gentleman, and Carla wondered where the wild side had gone.
    Could he tuck it away as easily as he could tuck her fingers against the material of his waistcoat? He led