Love's Revenge (Entangled Scandalous) by Joan Avery Page A

and prayed he would leave.
    The touch of his finger beneath her chin sent a jolt through her already tense body. The gentle pressure that lifted her face was a force that drew every fiber of her being toward him despite her efforts to prevent it.
    “I assure you the train-car does not threaten my financial well-being. It belongs to a friend who offered it to me for the trip.”
    “You have very loyal friends.” She meant it to sound sarcastic. But the warmth of his fingertip on her flesh distracted her.
    “You have yet to find out my strengths, Katherine.” Her name had always seemed plain and unexciting, but on his lips, it sounded exotic, full of mystery and promise.
    “What you may consider strengths, I may not, Mr. Worth.” She forced an edge back into her voice. It succeeded in getting him to remove his finger.
    “Mr. Worth? I believe we are past formalities. I am, if nothing else, your brother-in-law. I think people might question our relationship if you insist on calling me Mr. Worth.”
    What would they question? Certainly there was no impropriety. She had insisted on Fiona for just that reason. Certainly people wouldn’t think…the possibilities caused her to blush deeply.
    “Perhaps you are right.” Still, she couldn’t say his given name.
    “Perhaps you are right…?” He forced her hand, repeating her phrase like a parent with a difficult child.
    How dare he toy with her? The fact that he momentarily had the upper hand angered her. She whispered his name hoping to diminish its impact. “Stephen.” It had just the opposite effect.
    …
    Later that evening, Kate was on the back platform of the train. The air was cool and refreshing, the sky clear and overflowing with stars. The moon was a slender crescent, low in the night sky. It looked as if it had been placed by an artist on a canvas.
    Andy was safely tucked into bed in the adjoining car. Fiona was sharing a sleeping compartment with him. Kate was in no hurry to retire. She was still too warm from the dining car and the glass of wine she had had at dinner.
    She had dreaded dinner. Dreaded being with him. But surprisingly, he had said little. He had asked about the iron ore business and she had found herself caught up in an explanation of the troubles she had faced since her father’s death. He had listened attentively, only stopping her occasionally to ask a question. For a while she had forgotten the threat he posed.
    It was only when she had exhausted her business discussion that she felt the awkwardness return. She had excused herself then to say goodnight to Andy.
    Now, as she enjoyed the beautiful night sky, she questioned the wisdom of her decision.
    She let her shawl fall loosely from her shoulders, baring them to the welcome coolness of the night. She stepped back against the rear of the car and rested her head on the swaying wall.
    The door opened, hiding her in its shadow. Stephen stepped out, oblivious to her presence.
    He lit a cheroot. The smell of it drifted to her behind the door, before being caught by the breeze and carried off. He appeared different than earlier in the day.
    All day with Andy, he had been patient and ingenious, managing effortlessly to keep Andy from getting too restless. He had taken the boy to see the engine and Andy had come back in his father’s arms flushed with excitement.
    Now, he stared at the same stars she had just admired. A day’s growth of beard had darkened his features. His hair in the thin silver moonlight was like velvet once more. Did it smell of bay rum and cheroot?
    She tried to read his thoughts. It was impossible. He remained an enigma. Every moment she spent with him left her with doubts—doubts not so much about him, as about herself. Was he thinking of Lizzie? Of his son? Did he ever think of her in a way unrelated to Lizzie, unrelated to Andy?
    He had said to call him Stephen. She repeated the name again in her head, trying to make it fit comfortably. Stephen .
    She thought she had