Christmas in the City - Jill Barnett Page 0,6

number of things."

She looked up. "What an interesting philosophy. So you think you have to be rich to be confident?"

"It helps. Money can buy anything."

"I don't think so." She shook her head.

"Fine, then. Name something money can't buy."

"People."

He laughed then, at her naïveté. "I buy people every day."

"Do you really? Hmmm." She frowned, then mumbled, "I had thought slavery was illegal."

He wasn't certain if she'd just cut him purposely or not. Before he could comment, she continued: "Okay then. How about love? Money cannot buy love."

"For a small part of my fortune there are at least a hundred women, perhaps a thousand, who would be happy to love me."

The sparkle left her eyes and she gave him a long pensive look that made him feel uneasy. "Memories," she said so quietly that he wasn't certain he'd heard her right. "You can't buy memories. You have to make them."

"It takes money to do things that make memories."

"No it doesn't," she said, with a certainty that jarred him.

"Nothing in this world comes free."

"I assume," she said, sarcasm filling her words, "from this conversation... that money is important to you."

"At one time it was." He shrugged. "Now it's a means to an end."

"I see. So what do you do with all this money? Set up charities? Help the sick and poor?"

"No."

"Did you ever hear the expression 'You can't take it with you'?"

"Of course."

"Where I come from, wealth doesn't matter."

"Then it's probably a place I'd rather not visit."

She looked away and muttered, "I don't think that will be a problem."

After an awkward silence, she began to pluck at the coverlet.

"Tell me where to find your family."

"I can't." She stilled. "You can't find a family that doesn't exist. I have no family."

He didn't know why he tensed inside, but he did. Something in her manner, something in the way she couldn't look him in the eye, said she was either lying or ashamed. He changed tack. "Where do you live?"

She was too quiet, and he knew then that she was going to lie to him, which angered him more than he cared to admit. He didn't want her to be like every other woman he'd known. He wanted her to be different. "Are you going to answer me?"

I don't know."

He leaned over her, placing one hand on either side of her hips, and brought his face closer to hers. He looked right at her, just a few inches away. It was intimidation at its best. "I insist."

"No, you don't understand." She returned his look with one so innocent he almost fell for it. "I am answering you. I don't know where I live."

He straightened. "How convenient."

She stiffened as if he had slapped her. "You don't believe me?"

"No. I don't believe you."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want apologies, just answers.

"I wasn't apologizing. I'm sorry for you."

"Don't be." He turned and walked to the door and opened it. "I have everything I could ever want. I don't need anything."

"Except more money," she said.

He froze, then turned very slowly, scowling. "Tomorrow, Lillian, you will tell me the truth." Just before he closed the door, he added, "And drink the damned medicine."

She didn't drink the medicine.

A short time later, she tiptoed down the dark staircase, her leather half boots in one hand, the other using the thick, smoothly polished banister to steady herself. She was still a little light-headed from the accident.

But not light-headed enough to stay in this place even another few hours.

She reached bottom and slowly made her way across the dark foyer until she felt the wood of the front doors. Leaning against them, she pulled on her boots, then, as quietly as possible, opened the door, blanching when the handle made a loud click in the eerie stillness of the mansion.

She stood frozen and listened, heard nothing, then carefully opened the door a little wider and stepped outside.

It was freezing, colder than the highest and stormiest cloud in Heaven. She shivered and stared at the bleak darkness before her for an uncertain moment, then pulled her short woolen jacket even tighter around her. She took a deep breath and watched it turn to frosty mist in the night air.

Lilli closed her eyes and said a quick prayer, then ran down the front steps. In less time than it took a tear to fall, she had disappeared into the winter darkness of New York City.

Angels keep their ancient places,

Turn but a stone, and start a wing!

‘Tis ye, 'tis your estranged faces,

That miss the many splendoured thing.

—Francis Thompson

Chapter Four

WHAT