Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Sarah McCulloch stood in her housekeeping uniform at the top of a dune. She waved. “Ms. Hutchinson is looking for you, Ms. Howard!”
Back to work, then.
Hoping for a distraction, I nodded and headed up the beach. Sarah turned and left well before I could reach her. I didn’t take offense. Upon her return to work two weeks ago, I noted a marked difference in her. While still reserved, the shyness that caused her to blush like a schoolgirl seemed to have been stomped out by the brittleness of grief. I could see it in her eyes. The light there had dimmed.
But she’d insisted on coming back to work, so I had to let her do what she needed.
As soon as I hit the path again, I brushed as much sand off my feet as possible and slipped into my heels. It was a ten-minute walk back to the castle and in the flat shoes she wore, Sarah was way ahead of me. By the time I reached the entrance, Wakefield was there to hold the door open, and I entered the great hall to find it empty of members.
“Is there something wrong?” I asked the butler.
“I don’t believe so, Ms. Howard. A package has arrived for you. It’s in Mrs. Hutchinson’s office.”
“A package?”
“Yes, Ms. Howard.”
Agnes hopped to her feet a few minutes later when I knocked on her open office door. She rounded her desk and gestured to the box sitting on it. “This arrived for you twenty minutes ago. It says it’s for the urgent attention of Ms. Aria Howard.”
Frowning, I crossed the room and looked down at the label.
It was handwritten.
And I knew the handwriting.
My pulse raced. “Who left this? When?”
“A courier. Twenty minutes ago,” she repeated, her brows drawn together. “Would you like security to open it fir—?”
“No,” I cut her off much too abruptly. “I mean, no. I’ll just take it to my office.”
“It’s rather heavy.”
I picked it up to discover she was correct. “It’s fine.”
My legs trembled as I hurried out of her office to escape more questions. Blood rushing in my ears, I barely noted anyone as I moved as swiftly as possible to my office. As soon as I got inside, I dumped the box on my desk and quickly locked my door. Then I kicked off my shoes and approached the package like it was an opponent I was about to face in the ring.
North’s handwriting stared back at me.
What could he have sent?
Why would he send me something now?
He’d left a month ago. According to Walker, he was already filming the spy movie in London, and there had been no more letters, no threats, no leads on the incident with the Defender. In fact, North was without a private security detail while he was back in the city he now called home, despite Walker’s recommendation that he at least have a bodyguard with him at all times.
Idiot. Why didn’t he have a bodyguard?
And what was this damn box?
Shaking with nerves and excitement, feeling more alive than I’d felt in the last four weeks, I cursed the Scot for doing this to me. For making me feel so much.
Then I tore open the box and frowned.
Books?
I picked up the first one and flipped it open.
My breath caught at the familiar scrawl of his words on pages that had been dated at the top.
Not books.
Journals.
Disbelief coursed through me as I pulled out journal after journal. I flipped through them quickly, searching the dates, and soon realized he’d sent me every journal he’d ever written. There were entries from when he was a boy.
And that first journal was his current one.
Tears blurred my vision as I practically collapsed into my office chair and clasped the book to my chest. With a deep breath, I blinked away the emotion and flipped open the journal to read about the last few months from North’s perspective. The tears I’d tried to hold back rolled down my cheeks as I saw myself through his eyes. How I’d become his confidante, the person he felt at ease with more than anyone. The person he looked forward to seeing every day. The woman who excited him. Who made him feel like a teenager again. I felt my cheeks heat at the mention of how phenomenal the sex was, though, thankfully he didn’t go into too much detail.
My chest ached at his admission that his favorite part was lying in bed afterward, talking about stupid things and big things … watching me sleep. He said he loved to watch me sleep, relaxed and warm at his side. To be the one privileged enough to see me at a moment so few people got to.
I grew angry with myself as I read about his subsequent hurt when I broke things off. The feelings of rejection. Of abandonment. Yeah, that killed. I hated how his hurt turned to self-flagellation. How he blamed himself for not trying harder to convince me to be with him.