The Library Scene :
âDefinitely not,â she muttered, sliding her candle along the table as she moved one bookcase to the right. Botany might put her to sleep, but philosophy was likely to leave her in a stupor for days.
She moved the candle a bit to the right, leaning forward to peer at the next set of books, when a bright and completely unexpected flash of lightning lit up the room.
A short, staccato scream burst forth from her lungs, and she jumped backward, bumping her behind against the table. Not now, she silently pleaded, not here.
But as her mind formed the word, âhere,â the entire room exploded with a dull boom of thunder.
And then it was dark again, leaving Kate shaking, her fingers gripping the table so hard that her joints locked. She hated this. Oh, how she hated this. She hated the noise and the streaks of light, and the crackling tension in the air, but most of all she hated what it made her feel.
It had been this way all her life, or at least as long as she could remember. When sheâd been small, her father or Mary had comforted her whenever it had stormed. Oh, everyone knew that she still hated storms. But sheâd managed to keep the extent of her terror to herself.
It seemed the worst sort of weaknessâone with no apparent cause, and unfortunately, one with no clear cure.Another flash illuminated the room, squeezing out a second scream from Kateâs lungs. And this time the thunder had arrived even closer to the lightning, indicating that the storm was pulling closer.
Kate felt herself sink to the floor.
It was too loud. Too loud, and too bright, and tooâ
BOOM!
Kate huddled under the table, her legs folded up, her arms about her knees, waiting in terror for the next round.
It was a bit past midnight, and all the guests (who were keeping somewhat to country hours) had gone to bed, but Anthony was still in his study, tapping his fingers against the edge of his desk in time with the rain beating against his window.
God, he loved thunderstorms. Hard to tell why. Maybe it was just the proof of natureâs power over man. Maybe it was the sheer energy of the light and sound that pounded around him. Whatever the case, it made him feel alive.
The Pall Mall game had been an enjoyable interlude, but once back at the house, heâd been thrust into the role of host for his motherâs party. Which had been almost as exhausting as the tenant visits. Eloise was barely seventeen and clearly had needed someone to watch over her, that bitchy Cowper girl had been tormenting poor Penelope Featherington, and someone had had to do something about that, andâŠ
And then there was Kate Sheffield.
The bane of his existence.
And the object of his desires.
All at once.
What a muddle. He was supposed to be courting her sister, for Godâs sake. Edwina. The belle of the season. Lovely beyond compare. Sweet and generous and even-tempered.
And instead he couldnât stop thinking about Kate. Kate, who, much as she infuriated him, couldnât help but command his respect. How could he not admire one who clung so steadfastly to her convictions? And Anthony had to admit that the crux of her convictionsâdevotion to familyâwas the one principle he held above all else.
Anthony picked up a candle and headed out into the empty hall. He rather enjoyed waving the flame this way and that, watching the play of shadows against the walls and furniture. It was a rather odd feeling of control, butâ
One of his brows rose up in question. The library door was a few inches ajar, and he could see a pale strip of candlelight shining from within.
He was fairly certain no one else was up. And there certainly wasnât a sound coming from the library. Someone must have gone in for a book and left a candle burning. Anthony frowned. It was a damned irresponsible thing to do. He pushed the door open and entered the room. One entire wall of the library was taken up by tall windows, so the sound of the rain was much louder here than it had been in the hall. A crack of thunder shook the floor, then, practically on top of that, a flash of lightning split the night.
The electricity of the moment made him grin, and he crossed over to where the offending candle had been left burning. He leaned over, blew it out, and thenâŠ
He heard something.
It was the sound of breath. Panicked, labored, with the slightest touch of a whimper.
Anthony looked purposefully around the room. âIs someone here?â he called out. But he could see no one.
Then he heard it again. From below.
Holding his own candle steady, he crouched down to peer under the table.
And his breath was sucked right out of his body.
âMy God,â he gasped. âKate.â
She was curled up into a ball, her arms wrapped around her bent legs so tightly it looked as if she were about to shatter. Her head was bent down, her eye sockets resting on her knees, and her entire body was shaking with fast, intense tremors.
Anthonyâs blood ran to ice. Heâd never seen someone shake like that.
âKate?â he said again, setting his candle down on the floor as he moved closer. He couldnât tell if she could hear him. She seemed to have retreated into herself, desperate to escape something. Was it the storm?
She looked as if sheâd break into a million brittle pieces if he so much as touched her. Thunder shook the room, and her body flinched with such torment that Anthony felt it in his gut.
âOh, Kate,â he whispered. It broke his heart to see her like this. With a careful and steady hand, he reached out to her. He still wasnât sure if sheâd even registered his presence; startling her might be like waking a sleepwalker.
Gently he set his hand on her upper arm and gave it the tiniest of squeezes. âIâm here, Kate,â he murmured. âEverything will be all right.â
Lightning tore through the night, flashing the room with a sharp burst of light, and she squeezed herself into an even tighter ball, if that was possible. It occurred to him that she was trying to shield her eyes by keeping her face to her knees.
He moved closer and took one of her hands in his. Her skin was like ice, her fingers stiff from terror. It was difficult to pry her arm from around her legs, but eventually he was able to bring her hand to his mouth, and he pressed his lips against her skin, trying to warm her.
âIâm here, Kate,â he repeated, not really sure what else to say. âIâm here. It will be all right.â
Eventually he managed to scoot himself under the table so that he was sitting beside her on the floor, with his arm around her trembling shoulders. She seemed to relax slightly at his touch, which left him with the oddest feelingâalmost a sense of pride that he had been the one to be able to help her. That, and a bone-deep feeling of relief, because it was killing him to see her in such torment.
He whispered soothing words in her ear and softly caressed her shoulder, trying to comfort her with his mere presence. And slowlyâvery, slowly; he had no idea how many minutes he sat under that table with herâhe could feel her muscles begin to unwind. Her skin lost that awful clammy feeling, and her breathing, while still rushed, no longer sounded quite so panicked.
Finally, when he felt she might be ready, he touched two fingers to the underside of her chin, using the softest pressure imaginable to lift her face so that he could see her eyes. âLook at me, Kate,â he whispered, his voice gentle but suffused with authority.
âIf you just look at me, you will know that you are safe.â
SO THAT'S THAT. BRB. HEARTBEATS LOST. This is just a glimpse though...I wanted to post it here lol...just in case anyone is curious. đ
Fan Fictions
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