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EXCERPT:
Collin Blackburn froze at the
sound of her voice. She watched him turn and step back inside, watched
his eyes slide past her to search the corners of the huge entry for a
more likely figure, but when he realized who she was, only the barest
lift of russet brows betrayed his shock. “Lady Alexandra.”
She let him stare a moment,
let him take in the oddness of her attire. No gentleman had ever seen
her in riding breeches before, none other than her brother. She was
dressed inappropriately, indecently even, but it mattered not in the
least. She was a fallen woman. She’d earned the freedom to do as she
pleased, so she let him look his fill and took the chance to study him
as well.
He stood as tall as her
brother but wider. Wide shoulders, broad chest. Definitely no padding in
that coat. His body wasn’t bulky though. He was, in a word, solid.
His face looked purely
masculine. Not handsome exactly, but stark and compelling. The slightly
crooked nose spoke of an old fight, but his high cheekbones and wide
mouth turned the mind to more pleasurable pursuits. She glanced back to
the clear gray eyes that studied her so intently and saw his pupils
tighten when he met her gaze.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
“Prescott, would you have tea
brought to the office, please? Mr. Blackburn?” Gesturing back toward the
hall, she spun on her heel to lead the way. Her long red coat opened as
she turned, and she felt the hem brush against the buff riding breeches
that hugged the curve of her thigh and hip. There was no mistaking the
widening of his eyes, even at the corner of her vision. He’d had quite
the view.
Gritting her teeth against
the thrill that chased through her, Alexandra buttoned the coat and
hurried toward the door of her cramped office. The morning room would be
more appropriate, she supposed, but not dressed like this. Her men’s
clothes would be a startling sight against a backdrop of flowered
upholstery.
Alexandra stepped into the
office and waved Blackburn toward a pair of chairs by the window. He
waited until she took the chair opposite his, then sat and crossed a
booted ankle over his knee.
“What did you wish to discuss
with me, Mr. Blackburn?”
He let a heartbeat pass, then
another. He watched her and frowned. A lock of hair fell over his brow
when he finally inclined his head. “I’m here to ask a few questions.”
“Questions?”
“About Damien St. Claire.”
The name tightened the muscles
of her jaw in a painful bunch. Blood rushed to her ears, roared like
crashing waves. She couldn’t move for a long moment, couldn’t make her
throat work. A deep breath forced it open. “I think that you should
leave,” she said very carefully, very evenly.
Blackburn shook his head,
began to protest, but she stood and stabbed a finger at the door. “No.
It’s obvious my brother did not send you here. Leave. You can find your
way out.” She pushed past him to the desk and dropped into the seat
behind it, hands frantically shuffling papers. A rush of hurt surged in
her chest. Why would she think he’d be different than any other man?
Standing with slow purpose,
he stepped toward her and leaned to rest his fists on the desktop. His
jaw looked as hard as hers felt. “Lady Alexandra, I need to know what
happened between you and St. Claire--and John Tibbenham.”
“Truly? How does it involve
you?” Making an obvious show of widening her eyes, she looked up at him
with mock dismay. “Oh, I’m sorry. You must have been one of my lovers. I
find it so hard to recall them all.”
His eyes narrowed as
if her words had been a slap, then a sneer twisted his mouth as he
leaned close. “Believe me, my
lady. If I’d
been one of your lovers, you’d remember it.”
“Truly?” Alexandra
let her gaze drift down to rest on the front of his trousers.
His fists tightened
to rock on her desk. “Dinna think--” he began, but she cut him off
again.
“You are not the
first man to come here on the scent of easy prey. A ruined woman who
just happens to be an heiress? Is that what you were thinking? Not very
original, Mr. Blackburn. Please get out of my home.”
“John Tibbenham was
my brother.”
Alexandra stared at
him for a moment, rage trapped like ice in her chest, cracking against
her ribs. When his words sunk past the roar of blood in her ears, she
flinched and looked down, back to her rumpled papers, away from the hate
in his eyes. The heat that had rushed to her cheeks drained away.
John’s brother. He
had mentioned a half-brother once, as they’d trotted through a long
country dance. Not the night he’d died. Perhaps the night before.
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