*
Phoebe headed up to the attic and into the hidden room, hot and stuffy even with the cooler, drier air. It’d be another ten minutes before Noah would get there from Carriage Hill. She opened the corner door, light streaming in from the window, no sign of Julius Hartley on the common. Did his reasons for following Noah east have anything to do with Knights Bridge? With Olivia or Dylan, or their upcoming marriage? Phoebe couldn’t even guess. Noah and Dylan lived in such a different world than the one she knew.
Whatever he wanted, she hoped Hartley was on his way back to San Diego.
She certainly didn’t need him skulking around town ahead of the fashion show.
She would have to decide soon about using any of the dresses created by her mystery seamstress, exposing this room to town scrutiny.
She heard footsteps on the worn attic floor and assumed it was Vera, who was staying late to sort a new box of donated clothing for the fashion show. She’d been happily pulling out silk scarves when Phoebe had ventured up to the attic. “I’ll be right out,” she called, quickly shutting the corner door by the window. She hadn’t told Vera yet about the hidden room.
“It’s me, Phoebe. Noah.”
Oh, damn.
He was just outside the door that the freestanding closets had concealed. She’d pulled them away and left the hidden door—now not-so-hidden door—partly open. He had to have noticed. Not that he realized she was hiding anything. Which she wasn’t, not really. She was just taking her time before she revealed her discovery.
She was suddenly sweating, her heart racing, as if the mysteries of her unknown seamstress somehow revealed deep, dark secrets of her own—as if Noah would be able to see through her defenses.
Except she didn’t have any deep, dark secrets.
“Phoebe,” he said, his voice very near now. “Are you—”
“I’m right here.” She opened the door wide, not surprised to find Noah standing there. She smiled, feeling ridiculously nervous, even selfconscious. “You’re not a ghost.”
“No, I’m not a ghost.”
“What did you do, drive a hundred miles an hour to get here this fast?”
“I was almost to town when you called. The library’s closed but your assistant let me in. Can I come in?”
She nodded. “Of course. It’s hot in here. I was just about to leave.”
Noah stepped into the tiny room. Since she’d closed off the window by shutting the corner door, the room was almost dark. She switched on an old lamp she’d dragged in from another part of the attic. It didn’t offer much light as he glanced at the shelves and baskets of fabric and sewing supplies, the trunks and garment bags, the dresses she’d pulled out and left draped on a chair.
“I didn’t expect this in a library attic,” he said. “The dresses you and Olivia and your sister wore to the masquerade came from here?”
“This room’s something of a mystery,” Phoebe said, keeping her tone neutral. “I didn’t realize it existed until a few weeks ago. I haven’t told anyone else about it. I stumbled on it when I was chasing marbles.”
“Something for a librarian to do. Chase marbles.”
His tone held a hint of humor, but she could see his focus and suspected he was trying to keep himself from pushing too hard, jumping on her for immediate answers about her encounter with Julius Hartley.
She ran a finger along the edge of the old sewing table. “It’s as if whoever created this room just stepped out, but I’m guessing it’s been decades. I want to know who she was. Is, maybe. Someone in town, someone who left town?”
“Any clues?”
“Not many. She studied French and was clearly fascinated with Hollywood, and she could do anything with a needle and thread. She must have made her own patterns for most of these dresses.”
“You found your Edwardian gown here?”
Phoebe stood back from the table. “It’s one of the first ones I came across. I had it and the dresses Olivia and Maggie wore cleaned—”
“But you didn’t tell them about this room.”
“Right. I will, though.” She waved a hand. “You’re not here about an old sewing room, and it’s not why I called you.”
“You said Julius Hartley is here in town.”
“I saw him at the country store. He took a coffee out to the common and I talked to him there.”
Noah steadied his gaze on her, his eyes a deep navy in the dim light. “What did you two talk about?”
His stillness, his control struck her as incredibly sexy, but she kept her reaction to herself and repeated her conversation with Hartley. She left out only his comments about dreams.
When she finished, she picked up a sequined dress she’d draped on a rickety metal chair. “You’re sure you don’t know Hartley or anything about why he’s following you?” she asked, folding the dress, a design of peach silk crepe, sequins and fringe.