It Happened One Night Anthology

Cassie…

Her name reverberated through his brain, then rushed to his lips, but he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything save stare.

Her skin paled, then flushed crimson before his disbelieving eyes, and for several long seconds the only sound he heard was the frantic beat of his heart. And then, in that same soft voice he still heard in his dreams, she broke the silence.

“Hello, Ethan.”

Chapter Two

Hello, Ethan.

With those two simple words, the years fell away and Ethan was once again a green lad, working in her father’s stables, eagerly awaiting the moment she would arrive for her daily ride and greet him with a dimpling smile that could chase even the darkest clouds from the sky and those two words. Hello, Ethan.

Hello, Cassie. The reply crammed into his tight throat, and he clenched his jaw to contain it. For she was no longer the Cassie he’d grown up with, the shy, awkward girl who’d blossomed into a beautiful young woman, the best friend with whom he’d shared countless hours. She was now Lady Westmore. A countess.

And by God, she was still beautiful. With her huge blue eyes and pert nose and full, bow-shaped lips, she looked as if the gods had taken extra care when fashioning her. Yet, as he studied her face, he noted subtle differences. The lack of sparkle in those eyes. The slight tightness around her mouth. The thi

And then with a jolt he noticed her clothing, the unrelieved black that encased her from head to foot. She was in mourning. But who had died? Her mother or father? Surely not. Lord and Lady Parrish’s estate was only a two-hour journey from St. Ives. If either had died, word would have reached him via the gossip grapevine. That left her husband.

For one terrible, ridiculous instant his heart leaped at the thought of her no longer being married, then reality returned with a bruising thump. It made no difference if she had a husband or not. Not now, not ten years ago, not ever. She was so far above his station as to be laughable. The platonic relationship they’d enjoyed as children and young adults was long since over. That his feelings had deepened far beyond mere friendship was his own pain to bear. She’d certainly never given him hope that there could be more between them-the limitations were never questioned. A stable boy and a viscount’s daughter? Utterly impossible. Yet that hadn’t kept his stupid, foolish heart from falling hopelessly, irrevocably for that which he could never have.

Reality’s bruising thump also brought with it a jolt of anger-at himself, for never being able to forget the past, forget her, or talk himself out of his futile feelings. And anger at her, for showing up like this, and still having the power, after all these years, to tilt his world on its axis by simply standing there.

Years ago he’d done everything in his power to hide his feelings, yet part of him had unreasonably resented the fact that she’d never guessed. How could she not have noticed what to him seemed to glow like a beacon from his every pore? Clearly he was an accomplished actor and liar. Of course that last year she’d been too preoccupied pla

She cleared her throat, and with a jolt he realized he was staring and wondered how long he’d stood there gaping in silence.

“Lady Westmore.” The words felt like a knife in his gut. “Please forgive my silence. I’m simply surprised to see you.”

Something he couldn’t decipher flickered in her eyes, followed immediately by what appeared to be relief. Surely she hadn’t thought he wouldn’t remember her. A humorless sound rose in his throat. Bloody hell, if she only knew how hard he’d tried to forget her.

Clutching her reticule to her midsection as if a band of thieves were about to burst through the door she said, “Not unpleasantly surprised, I hope.”

“No, of course not,” he said, not certain that was completely the truth.

“It’s been a long time.”

Ten years, two months, and fourteen days. “Yes.” His voice sounded rough and harsh, as if he hadn’t used it during that entire decade.

Her gaze searched his face. “You’ve been well, I hope…?” Her words tapered off, and he knew the instant she saw the puckered scar that marred his left cheek. He hadn’t been handsome before the disfigurement, but the mark had wiped away any vanity he might have foolishly possessed. A daily reminder of the past. His jaw tightened at the shock and sympathy brewing in her eyes. Damn it, he didn’t want her pity. Anything but that.

Her gaze lingered for several seconds on his ruined skin, then moved downward, over his clothing to his boots, and he barely suppressed a groan. Bloody hell, how many times had he imagined this scenario in his dreams? Of her coming to his i

Hands clenched, he bore her brief scrutiny and tersely reminded himself it didn’t make any difference what he looked like or smelled like. He was what he was, what he’d always been-a commoner, a man of the working class.

When her gaze once again met his, he lied and said, “I’ve been well. And you?”

“I’ve…managed.” One gloved hand brushed over her black gown, and her bottom lip trembled. “Westmore died. Two months ago.”

God help him, he’d wanted to hate Westmore, and he supposed in some ways he did-hated him for his perfect, handsome face and title and wealth that allowed him to have the one thing Ethan had wanted and loved above all else.

Cassie.

Yet how could he hate a man who’d given her everything she deserved? Glittering parties and fancy gowns. A title, wealth, and a place in society. A comfortable, happy life. She clearly deeply mourned his loss, and for that he was sorry.

“Please accept my condolences.”

She gave a tight nod, then said, “I’m on my way to Land’s End, to Gateshead Manor.”

“For a visit, or to stay?”

She hesitated, then said, “To stay.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. She’d be only two hours away.

God help him.

“You’re not continuing on today?” he asked, experiencing a sudden, almost desperate need for her to leave. Before he said or did something he’d regret. “This fine weather may not last.” Having you here, in my i