The Impostor's Kiss. Tanya Crosby Anne
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Название: The Impostor's Kiss
Автор: Tanya Crosby Anne
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
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She’d threatened to call him out.
The very idea turned his smile into a grin. Damn, but she was a fiery little vixen. There wasn’t a woman in all of Meridian or London who intrigued him more. His grin widened as he thought of Ian in London. He’d like to see how Ian fared in his shoes amid the hordes of eager debutantes. Unless Ian came forth at once, he was likely to be immediately inundated by the wearisome social schedule Merrick had managed, by the skin of his teeth, to escape.
But some things could not be avoided.
He made his way to the garden, his gut churning at the thought of facing his birth mother. He would need to face her soon; better that it should be on his own terms.
Would she suspect?
Would she recognize him?
Or, like everyone he’d met, would she be blind to the differences?
The garden was Fiona’s sanctuary.
No one could comprehend what this place meant to her. It reminded her of things impossible to forget. The roses she’d planted were the same as those that had once crept outside her window in Meridian. Only here they scarce bloomed, despite that she lovingly coaxed them. When, by chance, a blossom emerged, she cherished its rare crimson beauty. Along the garden pathways, in stark contrast to the deep green rose vines, grew vivid primrose, gayfeather and bright-colored lilies.
At times, such as this morning, whilst she’d looked over Ian as he’d slept, she felt acutely the pain of loss. And yet she could not quite regret the past entirely, for Ian had grown into such a remarkable man. And Merrick…she knew he would want for naught. Julian would give him everything.
Still, so many questions plagued her about him.
Julian, she knew, would never allow her to risk Merrick’s succession to Meridian’s throne. He’d threatened her quite enough through the years, warning her to keep her distance.
In truth, he’d never released her from his prison, only widened the perimeter of her cell. Edward was nothing more than her turnkey. Julian was a selfish, conniving, lying, controlling devil of a man who did not want her, but neither did he wish anyone else to have her. He’d stolen her life, her child and her freedom. She hadn’t the least control over Glen Abbey Manor. After her father’s death, Julian had retained the property for her own good and that of his son.
And yet the years had not been merciful enough to erase the memory of his loving or the pleasures of his touch. After all this time, the memories could still ravage her heart.
By God, whoever said love and hate were opposites knew not of what they spoke. Fiona loved Julian and despised him both. What she truly wished was that she just would not care.
Noting a particularly healthy section of vine, she reached out to better examine what looked to be the promise of a bud. The sight of it gave her heart a little leap of joy. She reached for it, but it eluded her and she eyed the chair with no small measure of disgust. The contraption might be a godsend to those who required it, but for Fiona it was a sentence—another reminder of her many deceptions—one more horrid lie atop the rest. After casting a glance about to make certain no one was watching, she lifted herself slightly from the chair to snatch at the bud.
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