couldn’t breathe. Robert couldn’t, surely he wouldn’t…
Alex’s smile was full of weary cynicism. “Think about it, Jess. Look at this place. Nothing is left but the grounds and the house. No stock, no furniture, not one servant. It can be. It is. Robert sold it to me.”
Despite herself, she began to shake, to tremble so violently she was afraid she would let go of her ruined clothing and humiliate herself further. Her brother had sold their family home and worst of it was, she believed Alex was telling the truth.
“Jess?” Alex straightened and took a step toward her in alarm.
Then she fled, stumbling, running like a madwoman through the blackness of the hallway.
Alex propped his booted feet on the desk and took another hearty sip of brandy.
This had turned into one hell of a night, he thought wryly.
In one fell swoop he’d managed to frighten Jessica nearly to death, rip her clothes off, and then render the news that she was homeless in an extremely insensitive manner. Not to mention their interesting tussle at the top of the stairs. It probably wasn’t too surprising she had locked herself in one of the bedrooms and did not answer his knock.
The worse part of it was he felt a cowardly relief that he didn’t have to explain her brother’s actions.
He wanted to avoid her and the inevitable telling of the truth as long as possible.
So he’d retreated downstairs without much of an argument and discovered to his relief that Robert had at least prudently left his study untouched, complete with port, tobacco and a full bottle of the finest brandy. With an assessing gaze, he saw the room as he remembered it in the soft glow of the lamp he’d found on top of the mantel—a rosewood desk, tall bookcases with dusty unused volumes and leather chairs by the fireplace. He’d opened the window and let the soft night air waft inside, dispelling the musty, disused smell.
If he couldn’t have a bed and soft blankets, at least he could drink himself to sleep in a room that was civilized and comfortable.
“Tell me, did he really sell you the house or did he lose it in a game of dice or cards?”
The sound of the cool interruption made Alex straighten, his feet sliding off the desk with a thump as he quickly rose in automatic politesse. Jessica stood in the doorway, her pale face and trembling mouth belying the defiant tilt of her chin. She was dressed in a blue gown, but her hair still tumbled in loose, burnished mahogany waves down her back, and she was barefoot.
She had changed—he couldn’t help but think with an unwanted twinge of astonishment—so much. Four years were as nothing, yet a gap as wide as the ocean. The caterpillar was gone, replaced with an exquisite butterfly.
God, she was beautiful. Her features were delicate and perfectly formed, her skin smooth and unblemished, her eyes large and framed by dark lush lashes. As he knew well after their encounter on the stairs, she’d matured in an unsettling fashion, her natural slenderness emphasizing the fullness of her breasts and gentle curve of her hips.
He smiled crookedly. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me. I believe you banished me to a place no lady should order someone to go.”
Her gray eyes flashed and her chin tipped higher. “You’re the only one who can tell me what’s going on, so I’ve changed my mind.”
He gave a brief bow. “Always a woman’s prerogative.”
“Answer my question. I need to know what happened.” The bitter edge in her voice was sharp as the blade of a knife.
He gave her an even glance and motioned to one of the leather wing chairs. “All right. Sit down.”
Her gaze was icy. “I prefer to stand.”
Away from him. Across the room in the doorway, with the vast emptiness of the stripped house behind her. In her pale blue dress, she stood defiant. That’s right, he’d almost forgotten, she hated him. She might have changed, but that had not.
He said deliberately, “Well, I
Alex’s smile was full of weary cynicism. “Think about it, Jess. Look at this place. Nothing is left but the grounds and the house. No stock, no furniture, not one servant. It can be. It is. Robert sold it to me.”
Despite herself, she began to shake, to tremble so violently she was afraid she would let go of her ruined clothing and humiliate herself further. Her brother had sold their family home and worst of it was, she believed Alex was telling the truth.
“Jess?” Alex straightened and took a step toward her in alarm.
Then she fled, stumbling, running like a madwoman through the blackness of the hallway.
Alex propped his booted feet on the desk and took another hearty sip of brandy.
This had turned into one hell of a night, he thought wryly.
In one fell swoop he’d managed to frighten Jessica nearly to death, rip her clothes off, and then render the news that she was homeless in an extremely insensitive manner. Not to mention their interesting tussle at the top of the stairs. It probably wasn’t too surprising she had locked herself in one of the bedrooms and did not answer his knock.
The worse part of it was he felt a cowardly relief that he didn’t have to explain her brother’s actions.
He wanted to avoid her and the inevitable telling of the truth as long as possible.
So he’d retreated downstairs without much of an argument and discovered to his relief that Robert had at least prudently left his study untouched, complete with port, tobacco and a full bottle of the finest brandy. With an assessing gaze, he saw the room as he remembered it in the soft glow of the lamp he’d found on top of the mantel—a rosewood desk, tall bookcases with dusty unused volumes and leather chairs by the fireplace. He’d opened the window and let the soft night air waft inside, dispelling the musty, disused smell.
If he couldn’t have a bed and soft blankets, at least he could drink himself to sleep in a room that was civilized and comfortable.
“Tell me, did he really sell you the house or did he lose it in a game of dice or cards?”
The sound of the cool interruption made Alex straighten, his feet sliding off the desk with a thump as he quickly rose in automatic politesse. Jessica stood in the doorway, her pale face and trembling mouth belying the defiant tilt of her chin. She was dressed in a blue gown, but her hair still tumbled in loose, burnished mahogany waves down her back, and she was barefoot.
She had changed—he couldn’t help but think with an unwanted twinge of astonishment—so much. Four years were as nothing, yet a gap as wide as the ocean. The caterpillar was gone, replaced with an exquisite butterfly.
God, she was beautiful. Her features were delicate and perfectly formed, her skin smooth and unblemished, her eyes large and framed by dark lush lashes. As he knew well after their encounter on the stairs, she’d matured in an unsettling fashion, her natural slenderness emphasizing the fullness of her breasts and gentle curve of her hips.
He smiled crookedly. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me. I believe you banished me to a place no lady should order someone to go.”
Her gray eyes flashed and her chin tipped higher. “You’re the only one who can tell me what’s going on, so I’ve changed my mind.”
He gave a brief bow. “Always a woman’s prerogative.”
“Answer my question. I need to know what happened.” The bitter edge in her voice was sharp as the blade of a knife.
He gave her an even glance and motioned to one of the leather wing chairs. “All right. Sit down.”
Her gaze was icy. “I prefer to stand.”
Away from him. Across the room in the doorway, with the vast emptiness of the stripped house behind her. In her pale blue dress, she stood defiant. That’s right, he’d almost forgotten, she hated him. She might have changed, but that had not.
He said deliberately, “Well, I
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