Chapter 16
Sitka; the Same Day
Her father had let her leave the house by herself.
That’s how good of a mood he was in now that she was marrying a wealthy railroad baron.
He hadn’t even blinked when she’d asked him if she could spend the afternoon in the temporary library building, helping to clean out and organize some of the books people from the community had already donated.
Rosalind didn’t care that the building was filled with dust or that cobwebs clung to every corner of the ceiling. It wasn’t her father’s house, and for a few hours, it was just her and the books and the quiet.
Or rather, it would be quiet if not for the wind howling outside and rattling the windows.
Rain streaked the dirty glass, obscuring her view of the road and carriage.
The weather had only grown worse in the half hour since she’d arrived.
But her father was in such a good mood these days, she wasn’t too worried about getting her dress dirty while she worked.
No, the afternoon was nearly perfect, even with the storm. The only thing that would make it better was a fire in the woodstove that stood in the corner.
The only bad thing about her being engaged was that she hadn’t found much time to search for proof of her father bribing the Marshal.
She’d been able to slip into his study once when Leeland and her father were meeting with her uncle on Castle Hill, but otherwise she was either with Leeland or Leeland and her father were in his study, making it impossible to conduct her search.
And she still wanted to search for the ledger. She didn’t want to marry Leeland, and the best way out of the marriage would be to find that ledger sooner rather than later.
But when she’d left to come to the library, her father and Leeland had once again been ensconced in the study. There’d literally been nowhere for her to search.
Rosalind hunkered into her thick mink coat and ran her fingertips along the spine of a leather-bound volume of poetry, then slid it onto one of the shelves against the wall.
She needed to focus on shelving books, not let herself get distracted by the ledger.
At the meeting tomorrow night, she intended to bring up the need for more shelves for the temporary library.
Fortunately there was plenty of space for her to sort through the books that had already been dropped off.
Perhaps Mr. McCreedy could donate some lumber, and she could get some of the schoolboys to help build shelves after school. Surely whatever they built for this building could be moved to the new one once it was complete.
She bent to pick up a crate that had been set beside the doorway.
“Rosalind?”
She whirled around, her heart hammering against her ribs, only to find Yuri standing near the storeroom in the back, droplets of rain clinging to his hair and coat.
“What are you doing here?” He came forward, his brow furrowed.
She felt like she should be the one asking that question.
A moment ago she’d been completely alone; then he’d appeared out of nowhere.
“I’ve done a little cleaning, but I’m mainly sorting through the books.
I underestimated how much dust there would be, though, or I would have brought cleaning supplies. ”
If she could have found a way to get them out of the house without her father noticing, that is. The idea of her cleaning might have tested his good mood.
Perhaps she’d ask Foster and their French chef to see that cleaning supplies were placed in the coach before she came to the library next time.
Yuri gave his head a small shake. “You shouldn’t be cleaning in that, Ros. At least not while I’m here getting the floor wet enough to be mopped.”
Ros? Since when did he call her Ros? No one called her that, except maybe her mother when she was a small girl and before Father decided that the nickname didn’t sound sophisticated enough.
But there was something almost tender in the way it fell from Yuri’s lips.
What might it be like to hear him say it every day?
Which was a ridiculous thing to think. Goodness. What had gotten into her?
“I’ll bring more serviceable clothes tomorrow, if Father gives me permission to come shelve books again, that is. But where did you come from?” She pulled her gaze away from his and peered around his shoulder. “Is there a back door?”
“Through the storeroom, yes.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.
“Ah, well . . .” She wasn’t quite sure what to say.
Had he come through the front door, the coachman would have seen him, and she would need to leave to prevent questions.
But since the coachman hadn’t seen him and the rain outside was coming down so hard it was impossible to see through the windows, she could stay a little longer.
“Are you here to work? I have permission to stay until five thirty. But do you mind building a fire?”
He just stood there looking at her, the side of his jaw flexing, almost as though there was something he wanted to say. Then he turned and headed toward the stove and the small pile of dry wood.
She bent to pick up the crate she’d been about to move before Yuri had come in. But the moment she tried to lift it, her wrist protested, and she let out a small cry, dropping the crate back to the floor.
“What’s wrong?” Yuri was by her side in an instant.
She straightened to her full height, then winced as she stretched her wrist, trying to get the pain to subside. “It’s just my wrist. Nothing to be concerned over.”
She expected him to head back to the woodstove then, but he didn’t. He stayed there, right beside her, so close that she could almost feel the warmth of his body through her coat.
“Can I see it?” he asked, his eyes riveted to her hand.
“I, ah . . .” She slid it behind her back. “That’s unnecessary. It’s healing just fine.”
“If that were true, you would have been able to pick up that crate.”
She swallowed and took a step back, but that only caused her to bump against the bookshelf.
“Rosalind . . .” Yuri’s voice was calm and patient, but the muscle on the side of his jaw pulsed, a tiny movement she couldn’t help but notice given how close they were standing.
It almost made him seem angry. But why would he be angry? She was voluntarily helping with the library. That meant he should be thanking her, didn’t it?
“You really don’t need to see it. I promise.
” She slid her wrist even farther behind her back.
“The doctor said I could take the sling off after two weeks, and it’s been two weeks and three days.
” What she didn’t tell him was that she’d taken the sling off more than a week early, and that she’d convinced her father he didn’t need to send for Dr. Hollis to inspect it at the end of the two weeks.
Yuri took another step closer, that muscle still pulsing on the side of his jaw, and suddenly he was too big, too close, too dangerous. His frame loomed over her as she stood against the bookshelf, completely and utterly trapped.
She pressed her eyes shut and sucked in a breath through lungs that felt as though they’d been coated in glass shards.
He muttered a word under his breath, low and harsh, and backed away.
How she could feel such a thing with her eyes closed, she didn’t know, but when she opened her eyes, he was standing several feet away, his hands splayed wide in a gesture of innocence.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Ros.” The gentleness in his tone contrasted with the stiff way he held himself. “Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Do you understand?”
“Bryony,” she whispered. “She told you, didn’t she?”
His gaze flicked down to her arm, which she’d dropped to her side at some point.
“About your father and how he treats you? Yes. I don’t know why it took her so long.
I think she assumed I already knew.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.
“I should have known, shouldn’t I? All the clues were there. I’m sorry for being so blind.”
Her brows pinched together. “You’re not blind.” He noticed more about her than anyone.
“Tell me, did your father hurt your wrist because you snuck out to go to Mikhail and Bryony’s wedding reception? Did he figure out where you’d gone and punish you for it?”
“Yes,” she whispered into the space between them.
His throat worked, his muscles moving as though he’d just swallowed something sharp and painful. “I’d still like to see your wrist, just to make sure it’s healing. Do you mind?”
He asked so kindly, it was almost impossible to refuse, so she held out her arm. “If you want to look at it, you can, but it’s going to take a dreadfully long time to undo the buttons on my glove without a hook.”
He came closer, his steps tentative and cautious, as though taking painstaking effort not to startle her again. Then he wordlessly began undoing the buttons that ran halfway to her elbow, his fingers large against the tiny black beads.
Outside, rain splattered the windows and pounded against the roof, but somehow the room felt small and warm, never mind there was still no fire in the stove. The feeling of her arm in his hands and the way he studied her wrist as he undid each and every button seemed to banish the coldness.
Her throat grew dry and her breath hitched, two sensations she often felt around her father. But this was different.
Far different.
Unlike last time, his closeness didn’t frighten her; it made her aware of everything about him.
The rhythm of his breathing, the slight brush of his sleeve against hers, the careful way his fingers moved.
From this distance she could count the various shades of brown in his eyes and see the shadow of stubble along his jaw.
And suddenly she had the strangest desire to step closer, to feel his arms wrapped around her and lay her head on his chest, just so she could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat.