The Blood of a Baron - K.J. Jackson Page 0,15
on his deepest well of strength. “For tonight we do not need to hate each other. We can just be.”
“You think it that easy?”
“I think we’re both capable of it. I swear I will curb my anger.”
Her head dropped forward, her eyelids closing.
If only.
If only she’d kept her mouth shut all those years ago. If only she’d not drunk so much port. If only she’d known how terrible she was at keeping secrets.
If only.
Her head didn’t lift, but her eyes cracked open.
Wes’s hand below, open, outstretched to her.
Waiting. Patient.
Her left hand lifted, her fingers slipping into his palm.
The feel of it so familiar, it was like only yesterday that she’d last touched his hand in just this way. Last looked to him as her champion for everything she’d ever wanted in life.
Too familiar.
Too dangerous.
But it was just for one night.
For one night she could just be.
One night.
{ Chapter 8 }
The street empty at the dark hour, Wes opened his front door, ushering Laney in past him.
Of all the women he’d ever thought to have in this house, she was the last female he ever could have imagined.
Yet here she was, stepping into the townhouse he’d bought merely because it looked over Berkeley Square. The view was what had mattered. An oasis in the madness. He’d looked out the windows and he’d bought the place. He could have not cared less what the house looked like or how it’d been decorated.
His years at sea had made him rather wealthy. Wealthy enough to afford Berkeley Square. And he’d practically stolen it, buying it off an idiot viscount that had lost his fortune and then his wife’s fortune at the racetracks. What was it about the peerage that inspired them to lose such vast fortunes to the horses and the tables? Were they too idle? Needing to prove how manly they were, since they couldn’t swing a sword?
Of course, he’d been headed down that same path once in his life, so it wasn’t his place to judge. Though he had no qualms now about taking advantage of their desperation.
How his life had turned had gotten him this house and far more coin than he’d had access to when he was nineteen.
His boot heels clunked along the marble floor of the entrance hall and he moved past Laney to the sconce nestled along the wall of the curved staircase.
After lighting it, he picked up a nearby candle, touched wick to flame, and then moved about the house lighting sconces and lamps on the ground level. The lower drawing room, corridors, the dining room, and the library at the rear of the house overlooking the gardens.
Laney walked along behind him, silently shadowing him with her light, hesitant footsteps. For a woman only a head shorter than him, she was amazingly light on her feet.
Once the lamps and wall sconces were lit, Wes stood in the middle of the library, looking at the fireplace. “I don’t have staff present either—it was unknown as to when I would return. I’ll go up and start a fire in one of the guest rooms, but let me first light the fire in here to take off the chill in the air while you wait.”
Her arms crossed and her palms rubbed against the black wool of her military-styled pelisse wrapping her upper arms, warming herself. “That would be nice. Thank you.”
Wes nodded, then moved to bend down on one knee on the black marble hearth, starting a fire in short order.
“This is unexpected.” Laney moved behind him and sat down on the settee angled toward the fireplace.
He glanced back to her. “What is?”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as her hands flipped around in a circle. “This. This townhouse. It is most grand and decorated quite well. I imagine the upper levels are the same.”
He turned back to the fire, jabbing at the coals with the iron poker. “You don’t think I can afford it?” The ire in his voice was far more evident than he’d intended.
“No—I didn’t say that.” She cut the sigh that escaped her mouth. “It is just that for a single gentleman, this is tasteful, elegant. I expected dark woods and a few pieces of black furniture and for everything to smell like cheroots. You never had a sense of caring much on your surroundings when we were together.”
One last jab at the coals and Wes hung the poker, then stood to face her. “It came furnished and I purchased it several years