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His smile flashed, but it was twisted. Very quietly, he said, "I believe we met at a reception in New York City in honor of the mayor."
She was so very ill. "Oh? Then your memory apparently serves you far better than mine does me!" Tears were interfering with her vision. Damn it. Damn him.
"Miss Boothe." His tone was gentle. "In case you have forgotten, the name is Wainscot. Bruce Wainscot."
Forgotten-in case she had forgotten! "I have forgotten nothing," she cried harshly. "But I thought the name was Braxton!"
He stared, unmoving, mouth grim.
And A
"A
A
"I am so worried about you," Lizzie was saying, her brow furrowed in that familiar way she had.
A
And suddenly an image A
Had Lizzie seen Braxton? Had Lizzie recognized him? *
"You never get headaches," Lizzie said, taking her arm. But her gaze lifted to the sweeping staircase. Following her regard, A
A
“Your room is the other way," Lizzie pointed out. "A
Lizzie had not recognized Braxton or she would have immediately commented upon it. She had only glimpsed him for a moment, and that from behind. A
A
And there was also Melissa and her husband and Adam to consider. Missy was very sharp, unlike her dim-witted husband, and Adam was also clever. A
And she should be glad. She should even identify him herself. She could be the one to send him to prison. It would be her vengeance and his due. But instead, she was worried over his being discovered. It was preposterous.
"A
"I am going upstairs to my room," A
Lizzie nodded uncertainly. Then, before A
"I had forgotten all about him, to tell you the truth," A
"I do think Mr. Frank is very set on you." Lizzie's tone was hopeful. "He seems so kind, A
A
Lizzie's face crumpled and she bit her lip. "You just won't give anyone a chance," she cried. "Sometimes I think you are pining for that thief-and waiting for him to reappear in our lives!"
A
Lizzie regarded her sadly.
A
to condemn him to a life of imprisonment, either-and something was surely wrong with her for not wanting to see him in jail. A
But the long, plushly carpeted hall was vacant, except for one uniformed housemaid with a cart of cleaning tools.
A
Tears shamelessly filled her eyes.
Oh, God. A
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Poor, poor A
A
There was a knocking at her door.
A
Her pale hair was spilling out of its chignon, her high-necked gown was wrinkled, and her face was very pale. In contrast, her eyes were so blue that they almost seemed black. A
Braxton stared at her.
She had known it would be him. For one moment A
Immediately Braxton stepped into her room, closing the door behind him. In the blink of an eye, he had locked it and pocketed the brass key. "Now that we have gotten that out of the way, hello, A
She was trembling, with rage, she supposed. "Get out. Before I am ruined twice."
He continued to regard her very intently, but his eyes gave no clue as to his thoughts or feelings, and it was not at all like her dreams-she saw no sign of regret upon his features. "You have not changed," he said after a long moment.
"Have you?" she asked caustically.
"You are angry." He did not move. He stood against the door, inches away from her. "You wanted to be ruined, A