Читать книгу The Wilder Wedding - Lyn Stone - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Ten days later, Laura had gotten herself in hand. She had taken control. Her course was set now. No more useless grieving, she had decided firmly. No more self-pity. Time was running out and she must make the most of what was left to her.

Lambdin had seemed agreeable when she announced her decision to go to London. He had said it was a famous idea to strike out on her own, and had even promised to create a diversion so that Mr. Williams would not notice her leaving until it was too late to stop her. Obviously, poor Lamb didn’t want to endure what was coming any more than she did. He never could face a crisis with any grace. Laura determined that she would.

Better to distance her mind from everything at home. She might long for Lambdin and her wonderful little mare, Cleopatra. Perhaps she would even miss silly old James and the villagers, but she would not return. Mere existence would no longer serve.

Once she had arrived in London, Laura had prepared herself immediately, with every intention of experiencing life to the fullest extent. Beginning without delay.

First she had confirmed Dr. Cadwallader’s diagnosis. The young doctor she had visited agreed with the findings the very moment after she had listed her symptoms. He specialized in treating young women and their ills, he had assured her. Though the man proposed a lengthy and rather expensive treatment, Laura had declined when he offered no promise of a cure. Obviously, there remained little anyone could do for her condition. That only strengthened her determination to carry out her plans. Voracious shopping had occupied the time she might have spent in further useless moaning about her fate. She found that if she stayed constantly on course, never stopping to think too deeply, she absorbed the pain of acceptance gradually.

Why, by this time she could even look forward to the bit of time she had coming to her. What adventures she intended. And not for tomorrow. Today was the thing. Right this very moment.

Laura straightened her skirts and strengthened her grip on her new parasol. Her hair lay expertly coifed under an elegantly feathered chapeau. An undetectable touch of cosmetics brightened her complexion and lips. Her frightfully expensive gown fitted superbly over delectable silk under-things. She wore the confident air of a woman who knew she appeared at the height of fashion.

The only accessory that did not coordinate perfectly was the expensive malacca cane, the one with the hidden catch, a sword cane. Just carrying the thing made her feel totally invincible for the moment.

Heads turned as she entered the Everton Building of Public Offices and crossed to the ironwork lift. They recognized a woman with a purpose when they saw one, Laura thought with a lift of her chin and a secret smile. Death be damned. Today she would begin living every single moment to the hilt. And given a bit of luck and a little more time, she would hire Mr. Sean Wilder to help her do it.

Once she reached the third floor, Wilder Investigations proved easy enough to find. The opaque, half-glass door stenciled gold and black with the company name stood open.

Laura allowed herself a moment to observe the man she had come to see. She watched the broad back and shoulders stretch against a dark brown gabardine coat. He was even larger than she remembered.

Conservative dresser, she mused. The earthen hues he seemed to prefer accentuated his coloring. Like the suit he had worn on his visit to the country, this one seemed designed to avoid ostentation. Not pricey, yet hardly cheap, and cut extremely well. No jaunty plaids or racy houndstooth for this fellow. His clothes were ordinary to a fault. Considering his extraordinary physique, however, Laura knew very well he could not have bought this suit ready-made.

She almost laughed at his studied attempt to avoid drawing attention to himself. Maybe he thought such was necessary in his line of work. He might as well wear glitter-paste stones and purple satin for all the good it did him. Sean Wilder couldn’t go unremarked in a crowd of thousands.

His size and good looks only accounted for a portion of that remarkability, however. Something within the man exuded absolute self-reliance, maybe even danger. Attractive trait, that. Adding intelligence, a sinfully handsome face, and compassion to his list of attributes, Laura knew she had selected the nearly perfect man.

There was his reputation, of course. There were truly wicked rumors about his sordid past, as well as his present endeavors. But those only added to his appeal as far as she was concerned.

When Laura saw him straighten and begin thumbing through the papers he had drawn out of his files, she took a deep breath and rapped on the door frame with the head of his cane. Time was wasting.

“Just leave the coffee on the desk,” Sean muttered. “There’s tuppence for you on the blotter there.” He flicked through the folders in the oak drawer and cursed when he found the one he wanted, misfiled. He pulled it out and riffled through it.

Good thing he had kept his own personal notes while he worked for the Yard. He needed access to the official records, but these jottings he had saved were better than nothing for the moment. Whoever had sent him the threatening letter this week must be one of the miscreants he had given evidence against at one time or another. There were certainly enough candidates for a lengthy list.

He favored George Luckhurst, a well-educated fellow he had nabbed for a murder down near Buck’s Row. The note’s penmanship indicated it had not been written by one of the usual inhabitants of his former beat. The folder in one hand, he reached atop the filing drawers and scanned the open missive again.

You bastard, I will destroy you.

Luckhurst had escaped later during a transfer from Fleet to another facility. Could be him, Sean mused as he laid the note aside. He would ask Inspector MacLinden about the fellow.

“Mr. Wilder?” a soft, musical voice enquired.

Sean turned swiftly. Papers from the folder in his left hand slid to the floor and scattered. He hardly noticed. The vision in lavender georgette smiled and inclined her head. “My apologies for interrupting your afternoon, sir, but I’ve come on a matter of business. Also to return your cane.” She glided forward and gently laid the object across his desk.

Recognition brought with it a fierce ripple of pleasure. He could hardly credit the change in her, but there was no mistaking who she was. Those huge, gray, dark-lashed eyes. That tender, expressive mouth, today unhampered by its former tremble. “Well now, if it isn’t Miss Middlebrook.”

“You remember me!” she exclaimed, dimpling. “I should have expected you would, given my behavior when you visited. I do apologize. You must have thought me the worst sort of ninny.”

“Not at all,” he replied to the flirtation. Then more to the point, he added, “Where is your brother?” Sean, more than most, understood the dangers of a woman going about without protection. “Surely you haven’t come here alone?”

She nodded slightly and sent the long, delicate feather in her hat swaying. “I’m afraid I have. Not at all the thing, is it? But my business has nothing to do with Lambdin, or my father’s dealings with you, for that matter. May I sit?”

“Yes, of course.” Sean pulled one of the captain’s chairs around to a more convenient position and held it for her to be seated. Then he took the other facing her and leaned forward. A subtle hint of jasmine surrounded her like an aura and drew him closer to the source. Warnings of danger clanged like bells on a fire wagon inside his head. He ignored the sound and smiled.

What an amazing metamorphosis. Gone were the out-of-date clothes and haphazard hairstyle. The gorgeous gray eyes looked clear and direct, so unlike the teary, heart-clutching sight they had appeared when he first saw her. That sunny smile of hers, which he hadn’t been subjected to until now, could melt stone. Sean felt entranced in spite of himself. His better judgment didn’t seem to count for a damned thing.

He deliberately shook off the abhorrent thought. Entranced, indeed. The girl had come to discuss business, not to be ogled. Sean straightened in his chair and forced himself to relax. “So then, what may I do for you, Miss Middlebrook?”

She wound her hands together around the silken cords of her reticule, betraying a subtle attack of nerves. “I have come to make you a proposition, Mr. Wilder.” Her gaze settled directly into his, stealing the breath he had been about to take. “As you may or may not know, I am moderately wealthy in my own right. I have an inheritance from my maternal grandmother, a lump sum amount and a healthy trust, plus stock in several companies. I reached my majority six months ago and control it, independent of my stepfather or brother.”

“How fortunate for you,” Sean said, amazed that her family let her wander out of the house alone. The woman needed a constant keeper if she bandied about facts such as this. “There is a point to your offering me this financial information, I presume?”

“Indeed,” she said. “Every farthing I own will be yours unconditionally if you agree to take on the task I’m about to propose.” Her perfect brows drew together. “And, sir, I do pray you will.”

How serious she looked about it. Sean smiled and nodded to himself. She probably wanted him to investigate someone who had offered for her. Wanted to see whether the rascal had a mistress tucked away or if he might be prone to reckless gambling. Simple matters, easily unearthed. One should also discover beforehand any dangerous or peculiar sexual habits, as well, for her safety’s sake, but she would never think to ask for that.

At any rate, Sean admitted she showed a modicum of good sense in checking a suitor’s background. He only wondered why the men of her family left it to her to determine the fellow’s worth.

Sean hoped the man in question deserved her. The gossamer cloak of innocence she wore could too easily be ripped away, leaving her victim to some scoundrel bent on ill use of that lovely body and the little legacy she mentioned.

As for the offer of her whole inheritance, he knew that a few hundred pounds would seem a fortune to this little country rustic. That hardheaded stepfather of hers would never allow her control over more than that, Sean felt certain.

She regarded him steadily, as though she were taking in every nuance of his expression. A bit unnerving, that regard of hers. And women never unnerved him. He knew them too well.

He shifted, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Must be very important to you, this proposal.”

“Quite,” she answered. “I wish to be married.”

“I figured as much,” he said, fully intending to send her down the hall to an acquaintance of his who handled such personal investigations. He usually limited his own tasks to matters of commerce. Nevertheless, he was curious enough to wonder whether his own intervention might not be more helpful if warding off a rake became necessary. Why not give the lady a hand with this? He had only one small case pending, and that figured more in the nature of a short holiday.

“Very well, then. Who is this lucky fellow you have set your sights upon?” he asked politely.

“You, sir,” she replied with a dimpled smile. “I want to marry you.”

Him? She wanted to marry him? Sean choked back a laugh. He sucked in a deep breath and bit his lips together. He must try not to sound condescending or he would hurt her feelings. She obviously considered this a legitimate proposal. Damned serious business, too, judging by the look of her.

“Well now, I am truly flattered, but I’m afraid I must decline, Miss Middlebrook. I have no desire to enter into the wedded state. I’ve been there, you see, and I can’t say that I liked it in the least. Nothing personal, you understand.”

For the first time, she appeared somewhat flustered. Sean watched as she recovered her decorum and lifted that sweetly rounded chin. Her words held a slight ring of desperation. “You are a man of much experience, are you not, Mr. Wilder?”

“Yes, you could say that, however—”

“You have traveled? Faced dangerous situations? Known a great number of…of women?”

Sean felt uncomfortable with her frankness, but only because of her obvious innocence. He couldn’t think of a soul he knew well who possessed that quality. His wife surely hadn’t, and Camilla wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.

How much did this Laura Middlebrook really know about him? he wondered. Rumors abounded, of course. He had even created some of them himself. But the truth about him was even worse. He might have to give her that truth to dissuade her from this madness.

For now, he simply answered, “Yes.”

“I have been in town for a week, sir. I have made it a point to ask about you.” She looked neither apologetic nor embarrassed by the admission, he noted. “Please don’t be upset about it. I’m certain you make enquiries about people every day as a matter of course, given your line of work.”

Sean straightened and leaned forward again, his face not an arm’s length from hers. “Does your brother know you have come to me with this ridiculous proposition?”

She shook her head and brushed her feather aside with one gloved hand. “Of course not. He would never have allowed it.” Annoying how quickly she had recovered that composure of hers, he thought.

“I shall be direct with you, sir,” she said, lowering her head and peering up at him through those long, dark lashes. “I need a husband immediately, one who knows the ways of the world and how to take me about in it. I mean to travel as far and as fast as I can, see everything possible, do everything possible.”

“Indeed.” He cocked one brow, encouraging her to continue.

“Yes. And that doing everything must include marriage. Therefore, I want someone appealing, someone with exper tise in that area. So I chose you.”

“May I ask why? We are practically strangers.”

She answered immediately, as though she had her answers catalogued. “As I said before, you are a man who knows his way about, Mr. Wilder. Also, I sensed your sincere concern for me when I was so distraught. That speaks well for your character, I believe, since you didn’t even know me at the time.” Her head ducked shyly again and he lost sight of those luminous gray eyes as she added, “And I do find you enormously attractive.”

Sean crossed his legs to hide his sudden reaction to that bold statement. He swept away images of long, liquid satin hair drifting across his bare chest, of sweet young breasts pressing against him, of smooth, slender limbs entwined with his. His avid response, along with her presumption that he was for sale angered him. She must know of his childhood—a time when he had been bought and paid for—to suggest such a thing. “A stud for your stable, eh?” he asked with a harsh, forced laugh.

She raised her head and arched one beautifully shaped brow. “Certainly not! I wish to hire you. To exchange six hundred thousand pounds for a few months—perhaps only weeks—of your time.”

“Six hundred thou…?” Sean swallowed hard to prevent choking visibly. “I do believe you are mad.”

“No,” she declared reasonably, “I am merely trying to arrange all that has been left to me, and help someone in the process.” The gray eyes increased their earnest regard. “I would like for that someone to be you.”

Sean had a sudden desire to shock her out of her pantalets. “Just how much do you know about me, Miss Middlebrook? Let us set your facts straight, shall we?” he dared.

She nodded amicably. “My solicitor has it that you were indigent as a lad.”

“A real beggar from birth. Brought up in a whorehouse,” Sean affirmed. “That is no secret. All of London knows it.”

Her lips pursed and the eyebrows raised a fraction as she continued, “He says that a wealthy benefactor rescued you and saw you properly educated.”

“Ah, the royal benefactor story again,” Sean said, pulling a wry face. “Triggered by my uncanny resemblance to the old Prince Consort.”

She inclined her head smiled doubtfully. “True?”

“Would you like it to be?” he countered. The last woman he asked that certainly had.

“No, of course not. Yet I can see how the idea might be helpful to you. Gain you entrance into certain circles for investigative purposes and all that.” Her small gloved hand executed a wave of dismissal. “Judging by his pictures, you look nothing like Prince Albert did, by the way. And he probably died before you were ever born!”

“Just after,” Sean supplied. “I am twenty-eight.”

“Well, much as she adored the prince, Her Majesty would hardly dote on you if it were true. Ridiculous notion. I cannot imagine how the gossip started unless you initiated it yourself for the very reason I mentioned.” She ran her pink tongue over her bottom lip. He followed the motion of it with salacious interest. “Well, did you?” she asked.

Sean laughed sincerely this time, in spite of himself. The little minx was as charmingly direct as she was beautiful. All of a sudden, this interview was highly entertaining. “As a matter of fact, I did. You’ve caught me out,” he admitted. “Although the command for a private audience with the queen to ascertain the truth of the rumor certainly did nothing to quell it. Quite the opposite. And she quite liked me afterward, by the way. I confess, it was my saintly grandmother who finally rescued us for my mother’s sake, not Her Majesty for the prince’s.”

Miss Middlebrook nodded, a smile tugging at her beautifully shaped lips.

“Surely you shan’t stop here? Please, do go on!” Sean invited.

“Very well. You have a manor in Cornwall,” she stated.

“Compliments of my unsaintly grandfather,” he supplied, amused by her aplomb and surprised by his own willingness to abet her rather thorough background enquiry.

“Once you finished at Oxford, you enlisted in the army, spent two years in Africa, then resigned and took a position with Scotland Yard.”

He smirked, narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “And soon took my leave of that. Tedious livelihood.”

“Since you have entered into your private enquiry business, you accept dangerous assignments for exorbitant fees. Therefore, I conclude that you have constant need of large sums. I can make those risks unnecessary, sir. All you have to do is marry me.”

“So you want me to squire you about and take you to bed?” he added with blunt sarcasm. “In exchange for your money.”

“Exactly.” Her nod was succinct.

He held on to his fury with both hands. It was that or wring her presumptuous little neck. “As I divine it, you aren’t looking for a permanent attachment. So what, may I ask, do you intend to do after you have experienced these ‘months—perhaps only weeks’ of nomadic, marital bliss and unloaded your considerable fortune?”

She lowered those gorgeous eyes again for a mere second and then refastened that determined gaze on his. “I am going to die.”

Sean felt his lungs collapse and his stomach lurch. For a long moment he couldn’t speak. Then, as dispassionately as he could manage, he looked directly into her eyes. “There are far worse things than death, Miss Middlebrook.”

She didn’t even blink at his insensitivity. “Yes, I expect so,” she said in a small voice, “however, I haven’t needed to face any of those as yet.”

Intently Sean searched her face, took in the slight movements of her hands, her body, for signs of a lie. “Illness?”

“Yes,” she affirmed, and hurried on, saying things that barely registered through his hidden shock, “but my malady will be nothing dangerous to you. It is noncommunicable and hardly even noticeable. Just a jot of dizziness here and there, leading to a quick and painless end, so I understand.” She smiled. She actually smiled. “I’ve already seen to the…final arrangements. So you needn’t have that bother.”

Appalled by her words, Sean struggled to utter some denial, anything to refute them. But the certainty in the depth of her eyes, augmented by her courage, convinced him she spoke the truth as she knew it. He reached out and grasped her hands in his before he thought what he was doing. Her steady grip affected him more than a copious flood of tears would have done.

“You should see another doctor. Get another opinion,” he suggested evenly, burying his pity. She would not want that. “I will find a good one for you. Go with you, if you won’t go alone.”

She squeezed his hands again as though to comfort him. “Dr. Cadwallader has served as the county’s only medical resource for man and beast since long before I was born, Mr. Wilder. I have implicit faith in the man. However, I will confess this last diagnosis of his did shake it a bit. I saw one of his younger colleagues the day before yesterday. I explained Dr. Cadwallader’s findings and my symptoms. He concurred immediately.”

“Perhaps there is some treatment—”

She rolled her eyes and smirked. “Oh, Dr. Smithers had some idea of confining me to bed, dosing me daily with a concoction he admittedly brewed up on his own. But he flatly refused to state just what that medication would alleviate. Certainly not my demise. And thus far, anticipation of that is all that really troubles me. His vague answers and nervous disposition told me all I needed to know. Other than making himself rich at my expense, there is nothing he could do. And I don’t plan to waste my last days lolling about in a sickbed, ingesting heaven knows what, when I feel just fine as I am. For now, anyway.”

Sean sighed, feeling a regret such as he had never known. His own problems seemed trifling in view of Laura Middlebrook’s dilemma. Then it occurred to him. “You had only just found out about this that day I came to your home, hadn’t you?”

“Yes, and you were very kind to me then. As I said before, that is one reason I chose you to help me.”

“I cannot do this, Miss Middlebrook, even if I wanted to. There are obligations, you see. I’m preparing to travel to Paris before the end of the week. Tomorrow, in fact. I am already committed to a case.”

“How marvelous!” she said, grinning. “I’ve always wanted to go there!”

Sean quickly shook his head. “This jaunt will be no pleasure trip,” he lied. “It could very well prove dangerous. So you see—”

“I promise not to distract you from your work. And, as for the danger, I have very little to fear, now have I? Perhaps I could even assist you.”

“Don’t be absurd! That’s impossible.”

“Come now, you won’t be discommoded by this. I promise. All you need do is tolerate my presence for a bit. You needn’t nurse me if I sicken, or feel you have to mourn when…well, when everything’s over and done. Please marry me, won’t you? Just for a little while?”

Her desperate look of entreaty made him blink against a burning in his eyes. He never wept. Never let himself care enough to weep. Tears never solved a damned thing, he knew that. But his inability to reassure her, this damned helplessness to alter what she faced, wreaked havoc with his senses. He swallowed hard and shook his head, struggling one last time to deny her. But the wall Sean had hastily constructed eighteen years before to encase his innermost self simply collapsed. He felt it crumble to dust.

“I intend to go with no regrets, Mr. Wilder. And I promise to leave you with none,” she declared softly. “Please, sir, do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely. He heard the word come out of his mouth and scrambled to form another that would retract it. Hell, he hadn’t meant to agree. “Look, I don’t…oh hell, I wish…”

She released his hands and stood abruptly. “Wishing is for fools and dreamers, Mr. Wilder. Now, step lively! We can make the magistrate’s office before closing if we hurry.”

What was he doing? Sean wondered frantically as he pulled his office door shut and rushed to catch up to her. What in the holy name of God was he doing?

“’Under the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Great Britain, I pronounce that you are husband and wife,” ’ Sir Buford Mallory intoned as though he did it every day. Sean couldn’t imagine weddings all that commonplace around here, Mallory being a senior justice and all. She had said the old curmudgeon was a friend of her grandmother’s solicitor. Sean had met him officially while employed by the Yard. The blighter had more than a few screws loose. That condition must be highly contagious. At the moment, everyone in the room seemed afflicted, himself most especially. The Book of Offices snapped shut.

Sean blinked sharply at the sound and looked down at the girl whose fingernails were cutting into his palm. She immediately rose on tiptoe and planted a quick, noisy kiss on his open lips. Good God, he was married. Again. An involuntary shudder of foreboding racked his spine.

“There now!” she said brightly, turning to the magistrate. “Where do we sign, sir?”

She had handled everything, Sean thought with disbelief—the special license, the official to do the deed, the rings, even the kiss. He was amazed there was no choir and banks of flowers crowding the chamber.

The old judge shoved two papers across his desk and pointed to a blank spot on the first. Sean watched her write her name on both in bold, flowing script. She did it without a tremble, without a speck of hesitation. Laura Malinda Ames Middlebrook. His own fingers felt numb as he took the pen she offered and scratched his own signature.

“Cavendish?” she asked with a grin. Her shoulders shook with what he supposed to be a quiver of mirth. “How terribly awesome!”

“My mother’s maiden name,” he justified his middle one defensively. He was damned if he would explain the other two, both products of a whore’s whimsy. His glare fastened on her wide gold ring as it disappeared beneath the lavender glove. The band she had slipped on his finger felt abominably tight at the moment.

She pulled a face as he looked up again. The corners of her mouth turned down even as her eyes sparkled with merriment. “I’m only teasing. Cavendish a wonderful name. Sounds as if it needs a Lord in front of it, at the very least.”

He quirked a brow at her impertinence. “Don’t you wish.”

She ought to have looked properly chastened, but Sean heard the barely squelched giggle.

Her persistent good humor made him want to shake her till her teeth clicked. Was she bordering on hysteria? How could she smile? How could she jest?

All the way over to the law courts here in the Strand she had chattered incessantly, interrupting herself to clasp his arm excitedly as they walked. Sean had no idea what she’d talked about. He had been too preoccupied thinking of the horrendous step he was taking. Correction: they were taking. And never, not once during that whole time, had he uttered a single word to halt this travesty. Where the devil was his mind? What had happened to all that control he’d thought he had?

Why hadn’t he sent her and her nonsense packing, he asked himself with a sharp shake of his head. He was afraid he knew. He was terrified that he couldn’t deny this woman anything she asked of him. Because she was going to die, he told himself, forcing the dreaded thought to the forefront of his mind. Compassion was the only reason he had agreed to this. He thought surely he had killed that feeling along with the others, but what else could it be?

He could not bear for her to face what was left of her short life alone. Yes, that must be it. Compassion. Well, surely he could afford to exercise that full measure in this instance. Where was the harm? It was not as though he must devote the rest of his life to it. Only the remainder of hers.

The brother, that young scamp who was about as deep as a dish of tea, would be no consolation whatsoever in her final days. He would likely spend most of them mucking around the damned stables with his bloody stupid horses. Those parents of hers were still racketing around the globe just as they had been doing most of her life, from what he knew of them. Sean hated the thought of Laura left in the care of a hired servant or some such.

“Tell me truly,” she said, as they made their way out of the building and into the approaching twilight, “doesn’t it feel wonderful to be wealthy, Mr. Wilder? Aren’t you glad I had this idea? Think of the freedom this will offer you!”

Freedom? Sean glanced down at her, hoping the horror in his eyes was concealed, for he knew it was there right enough. He had totally forgotten the original transaction, the money. Had not really thought of it once she had told him she would soon die. Bought.

He changed the subject abruptly, unwilling to dwell on that one, lest he resort to cruelty. No point to it now. He might not relish the idea of being purchased again, but Laura certainly had no evil intent. The other had happened so long ago he seldom thought of it anymore. He wouldn’t now.

“Shouldn’t we dispense with formality?” he asked, striving for civility. “Shall I call you Laura?”

She beamed. “Of course you may! And I shall call you Sean. Unless you prefer Cavendish, of course. How should you like that?”

“I should hate that,” he remarked as he turned her in the direction of his rooming house.

“Are you hungry?” He didn’t think he could force down a bite if his life depended on it. His stomach felt like a melt pot full of lead. Perhaps some kind of illness had struck him, as well. Would that explain a total change in character?

She shook her head, setting the jaunty ostrich feather waving. “Not hungry really, but coffee would be nice. Yes, we shall have that and a sweet in lieu of a wedding feast. Perhaps then we should go home.” She clutched his arm with both hands. “You are taking me home with you, aren’t you? We can discuss our trip to Paris. Have you wine? We could buy some champagne along the way if we pass a wineshop. Oh, I do love walking this time of day, don’t you? The sunset would probably be glorious if we could just see past the fog.”

Before he could tell her it wasn’t fog at all, just the usual dirty air of London, she had skipped to the topic of their crossing the channel.

When she pulled him into a tea shop, where she ordered coffee and lemon cakes to celebrate, Sean allowed her to chatter on, changing subjects by the sentence. He supposed that might be how she coped, never dwelling on any one thing long enough to form a profound thought. Thinking, living, only for the instant.

If only he could make her forget completely, make her smiles real and heartfelt. Did he even remember how to do that for a woman? Had he ever done it at all?