Free The Lodestone by Charlene Keel

stood ready on a small oak table near the bed. A writing table beside a sturdy bookcase filled with books held a modest supply of letter paper, an inkstand and a quill pen. Drake quickly scanned the books, which included several volumes of Shakespeare, Sir Walter Scott’s Waverly and The Lady of the Lake ; Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein; and Pride and Prejudice by the inimitable Miss Austen. Lightly, he traced his hands over their spines and looked at Cleome. She had entered the room ahead of him, to light his way; but she kept her place near the door, as if prepared to take flight in any unforeseen event.
    “You are much too serious for one so young,” he said at last. He sat down on her bed and considered her impassive features, which were, he was sure, masking her fear and worry. “I’m enchanted to see the place where a virtuous maiden dreams of the knight in shining armor who will come riding into the yard, in answer to the yearnings of her heart.”
    “You’re making fun of me. Is that right part of your wager?”
    “No.” He rose and went to stand near her. “Actually, I envy your innocence.” He pointed to the door on the opposite wall. “What is through there?”
    Cleome turned and followed his gaze. “A small dressing room.”
    “And next to that?”
    “My mother’s room. I trust you’ll not disturb her at this hour. Strangers upset her, and if we were to awaken her in the middle of the night—”
    “What think you?” he interrupted, striding away from her, agitated. “That I am some kind of cruel monster? There’s no need to disturb your mother.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “You’re welcome. Now, please tell me there’s an easier way to get to my room than going down the stairs on this side and up again on the other.”
    “As a matter of fact, yes. There’s a door at the end of this landing. It opens onto the other side. We keep it locked but I have the key.”
    In order to get the key from the drawer where it was kept, Cleome had to cross to where Drake was now standing. He knew she was afraid of him and he wanted to put her at ease.
    “Then, please,” he spoke more gently. “Allow me to hold the lamp for you while you fetch the key.”
    **
    Cleome had no choice but to follow his bidding, if she was to get him out of her room and into his own. Warily, she walked to where he stood leaning against her dressing table and allowed him to take the heavy lamp. She opened the drawer and felt inside and as her hand closed around the large key, Drake leaned closer to her.
    “I wish there were some way for me to convey my regret over this night’s events.” He whispered the words against her cheek, his voice like a sweet caress. It sent a shiver racing through her like a prayer of promise.
    Suddenly, she felt dizzy and she had to grasp the edge of the dressing table for support. She sensed he implied something other than apology, but instead of prompting anger, it aroused within her a peculiar feeling that was not at all disagreeable. She couldn’t think of anything to say. Her knees buckled and as threatening tides of blackness encroached, she sat down on the edge of the bed.
    “I beg your pardon,” she managed at last, afraid he would interpret her action as an invitation. “This has been a great shock to me after all.” To her relief, he made no attempt to join her on the bed. Instead, he stood beside her, a look of concern on his handsome face.
    “Are you all right now?” he inquired gently.
    “Yes. I believe . . . I am fully recovered. It has been a long and terrible day.”
    Slowly she rose, and placing the key in her apron pocket, she attempted to take the lamp from him once more. He held it firmly, however, and led her out onto the landing. She did feel better; indeed, his solicitude indicated that perhaps the situation was not entirely hopeless. When she reached the door at the end of the long hallway, she inserted the key into the fixture and tried to turn it. She couldn’t