belongings filled the room. Fine suits, high-polished boots. A cashmere robe.
In the early morning hours, she had pulled it on, wrapping it around her. His scent clung to the material, clean and musky. She had the fleeting image of his arms wrapped around her, and a shiver drifted down her spine.
He was a man now, not a boy, fulfilling all the promise he had shown years ago.
She groaned at the thought of him. Truly he unsettled her. And staying in a room full of his belongings hadn't been one of her smarter decisions. It made her remember him—made her question her determination to be independent. And that made her mad.
The fact of the matter was, she didn't know how to be anything else. Her mother had taught her to be free, had never made the slightest mention of how society expected a woman to do a man's bidding. She didn't know the first thing about running a household or preparing a meal.
And children.
She pressed her eyes closed at the unexpected thought of holding a baby, Grayson's baby, in her arms. Snuggling close. Someone to love her.
She shook the thought away. She cringed to think of what a mess she would make of a child. Beyond which, she hadn't worked five long years only to toss her success away at the first feel of a cashmere robe around her shoulders. The garment was soft and sweet. Grayson, the man, was anything but.
The clomps from belowstairs broke into her reverie. With little help for it, Sophie secured the tie at her waist, searched the floor for a pair of feather-trimmed slippers, then went in search of whoever was making all the racket.
Just when her foot hit the bottom step, she came face-to-face with a severe-looking woman who looked to be a hundred if she was a day. She wore a no-nonsense hat over steel gray hair, and a starched gown that made Margaret's prudish attire look provocative.
"You look a bit prim to be a thief," Sophie stated without preamble, rolling the long cashmere sleeves up a few turns. "Would you care to explain what you are doing here?"
"I'll not be explaining anything to the likes of you," the woman said with a sniff, her tone censorious as she looked Sophie up and down. "I'll not abide a lady of the night waltzing about a respectable man's home. Get away with you, girl, and believe you me, I'll be having a word with young Mr. Hawthorne."
Young Mr. Hawthorne
, as if he were a boy still in knickers. Who could this dour lady be?
Sophie would have laughed her delight had she not been so surprised.
But she was saved from having to do anything when Grayson pushed open the front door. He wore a fine wool overcoat and clapped his gloved hands together to warm them. A rush of cold air came in with him.
He glanced down at the lock as he passed across the threshold, and when he looked up he noticed the two women. Sophie saw his eyes darken when he noticed her. His gaze traveled over her, seeing his robe, the motion like a caress. Then he smiled, surprisingly bright and rich considering he had left her yesterday in a dour mood.
"Make a note to have this door fixed, Miss Pruitt," he said, shutting out the cold before continuing toward them.
He was beautiful, and Sophie's heart kicked. His hair was still damp from his bath despite the weather, and he walked with an ease that few men possessed. It was all she could do not to smile back.
She really had to make an effort not to be pulled in when he decided to turn on the charm. She couldn't afford to let down her guard for so much as a moment. They had become adversaries. He had Swan's Grace. She wanted it back.
Grayson stopped and looked from woman to woman. "I see you have met."
They looked at each other with asperity.
Grayson chuckled. "I wondered what would happen when the two of you came face-to-face. Let's make it official. Miss Altima Pruitt, may I introduce Miss Sophie Wentworth."
"What is going on here?" Sophie demanded.
Miss Pruitt pulled her sturdy shoulders back. "I'll not be working here if you plan to
In the early morning hours, she had pulled it on, wrapping it around her. His scent clung to the material, clean and musky. She had the fleeting image of his arms wrapped around her, and a shiver drifted down her spine.
He was a man now, not a boy, fulfilling all the promise he had shown years ago.
She groaned at the thought of him. Truly he unsettled her. And staying in a room full of his belongings hadn't been one of her smarter decisions. It made her remember him—made her question her determination to be independent. And that made her mad.
The fact of the matter was, she didn't know how to be anything else. Her mother had taught her to be free, had never made the slightest mention of how society expected a woman to do a man's bidding. She didn't know the first thing about running a household or preparing a meal.
And children.
She pressed her eyes closed at the unexpected thought of holding a baby, Grayson's baby, in her arms. Snuggling close. Someone to love her.
She shook the thought away. She cringed to think of what a mess she would make of a child. Beyond which, she hadn't worked five long years only to toss her success away at the first feel of a cashmere robe around her shoulders. The garment was soft and sweet. Grayson, the man, was anything but.
The clomps from belowstairs broke into her reverie. With little help for it, Sophie secured the tie at her waist, searched the floor for a pair of feather-trimmed slippers, then went in search of whoever was making all the racket.
Just when her foot hit the bottom step, she came face-to-face with a severe-looking woman who looked to be a hundred if she was a day. She wore a no-nonsense hat over steel gray hair, and a starched gown that made Margaret's prudish attire look provocative.
"You look a bit prim to be a thief," Sophie stated without preamble, rolling the long cashmere sleeves up a few turns. "Would you care to explain what you are doing here?"
"I'll not be explaining anything to the likes of you," the woman said with a sniff, her tone censorious as she looked Sophie up and down. "I'll not abide a lady of the night waltzing about a respectable man's home. Get away with you, girl, and believe you me, I'll be having a word with young Mr. Hawthorne."
Young Mr. Hawthorne
, as if he were a boy still in knickers. Who could this dour lady be?
Sophie would have laughed her delight had she not been so surprised.
But she was saved from having to do anything when Grayson pushed open the front door. He wore a fine wool overcoat and clapped his gloved hands together to warm them. A rush of cold air came in with him.
He glanced down at the lock as he passed across the threshold, and when he looked up he noticed the two women. Sophie saw his eyes darken when he noticed her. His gaze traveled over her, seeing his robe, the motion like a caress. Then he smiled, surprisingly bright and rich considering he had left her yesterday in a dour mood.
"Make a note to have this door fixed, Miss Pruitt," he said, shutting out the cold before continuing toward them.
He was beautiful, and Sophie's heart kicked. His hair was still damp from his bath despite the weather, and he walked with an ease that few men possessed. It was all she could do not to smile back.
She really had to make an effort not to be pulled in when he decided to turn on the charm. She couldn't afford to let down her guard for so much as a moment. They had become adversaries. He had Swan's Grace. She wanted it back.
Grayson stopped and looked from woman to woman. "I see you have met."
They looked at each other with asperity.
Grayson chuckled. "I wondered what would happen when the two of you came face-to-face. Let's make it official. Miss Altima Pruitt, may I introduce Miss Sophie Wentworth."
"What is going on here?" Sophie demanded.
Miss Pruitt pulled her sturdy shoulders back. "I'll not be working here if you plan to
Similar Books
