Page 19 of Bane Bloom

But I never got there, because everything began to spin, and I landed in a heap of silk on the cobbled path.

The outer door opened with a creak, and a moment later, Thomas was at my side.

“Miss Gray,” he said, low voice registering alarm.

“I’m all right,” I assured him, attempting to wave him off. The fall hadn’t been a bruising one. My knees had seemed to fold of their own accord, and I’d landed on my backside, cushioned by my skirts.

But I felt the warmth of his hand under my elbow, and the next thing I knew, I was back on my feet, like I weighed no more than a garden trowel.

He took my hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, saying, “You’re not used to the heat.”

I was further unbalanced by this sudden intimacy; his sleeves were still folded back, so my fingers brushed his surprisingly soft skin. Probably I should have thanked him and withdrawn my hand, but I did the opposite—wrapped the other hand around the first, bracing myself to avoid falling again. Though his skin was soft, the movements of muscle and tendon beneath were taut and strong.

We reached the inner glasshouse door, and he pushed it open. The wash of cooler air steadied and began to revive me. Inside, I did finally release his arm and moved to the reading nook. I sank down on the cushions, wincing at a pain in my hip.

“Will you need the surgeon, Miss Gray?”

I shook my head, abashed. It hadn’t exactly been a swoon, but near enough. “Nothing truly wounded but my pride. Thank you for your help, Thomas.”

“The plants get up to mischief at night.”

I looked at him, wondering whether he was laughing at me. If so, it was well concealed. “Do they?”

He shrugged. “The scents can be strong, and the air is close. It was only luck that I happened to come along. Best do your work in the daytime.”

A dry chuckle escaped me, as I doubted luck had much to do with it. Thomas was keeping an eye on me, that much was plain.

“Shall I help you upstairs?” he asked.

“No need,” I said. “I think I’ll sit here awhile.”

He lingered a moment, eyeing me, then went to the hearth, stirred up the glowing coals, and added a couple of logs to the fire. They crackled pleasantly as they settled and caught. Next he went around the room lighting candles.

As he lit a candelabra that rested on the piano box, I asked, “Did your mother play?”

He waved the spill, dousing the flame. “Sometimes.”

“It must have been lovely to have music in the house.” It must have been lovely to have a mother.

Gaze still resting on the piano, he said, “You’ll want a fire in your room tonight. It gets colder here than in town. Shall I see to it for you?”

Hating that I’d made such a poor showing of independence since my arrival, I replied, “Go on about your evening, Thomas. I’ll manage well enough.”

“It’s no trouble,” he said, starting for the stairs.

What a strange dance we were locked in. He didn’t want me here. He was keeping secrets from me. Spying on me, even. But except for a few roughly spoken words, he was treating me like someone he was paid to take care of. Carrying my trunks, keeping the fires going, making my supper. Picking me up in the glasshouse.

Don’t trust it. Don’t trust him.

Until I understood what had happened to Mr. Carroll and his papers, it would be foolish.

I sank deeper into the pillows of the reading seat, letting the knuckles of one hand run absently over the cool spines of the books lining the shelf above me. My head was much clearer, but I decided to stay put until Thomas had gone for the night. It almost felt as if my snooping around the house was conjuring him. I could hardly banish him after telling him at dinner that he was welcome. But perhaps as it grew later in the evening, he wouldn’t feel so comfortable entering as he pleased.

Hopefully as I settled into my work over the coming days, he would cease to see me as a threat and leave me to it. This reminded me of something Harding had told me in one of his letters, and as Thomas was coming back down, I said, “Could you tell me where to find the flower presses that belong to the Society?”

Reaching the landing, he said, “In the bedroom across from yours, where Mr. Carroll left them.”

Harding had made it sound like the presses would be sent ahead of me, but of course they’d been here already.