Noelle. Diana Palmer

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СКАЧАТЬ on a trail drive, or a soldier home from the war. It didn’t really matter, anyway, he told himself. Except that he’d like to have known.

      He looked out the window at the bland expanse of grassland. News of this woman who’d been taken into his family disturbed him. He paid the bills for his grandmother, and, necessarily, Andrew. It would have been politic to ask if he minded another mouth to feed before they dumped this woman in his lap. He knew nothing about her, and he wondered if they did. It had apparently been Andrew’s idea to send for her; she was actually a distant cousin of his, which made her no relation at all to Jared.

      He remembered so well the wording in his grandmother’s letter:

      …Andrew feels that she would be so much better off with us than in Galveston, especially since it holds such terrifying memories for her. She would not go back there for all the world, but it appears that her uncle is insisting that she accompany him now that the city is rebuilt and he has work there again. While it has been a year and a half since the tragedy, the poor girl still has a terror of living so close to the sea again. I fear her uncle’s insistence has brought back nightmarish memories for her…

      He wondered about the remark, about why she should be afraid of going to Galveston. There had been a devastating flood there in September of 1900. Had she been one of the survivors? He recalled that some five thousand souls had died that morning—in only a few minutes’ time—as the ocean swallowed up the little town. And didn’t he remember that his grandmother had written of Andrew visiting the Texas coast only recently? Connections began forming in his mind. He was willing to bet that this so-called cousin of Andrew’s was little more than a new girlfriend upon whom he was fixated. If that was the case, Jared had no intention of supporting her while his stepbrother courted her. She could be sent packing, and the sooner the better.

      As the train plodded across the vast plains, he pictured the woman in his mind. Knowing Andrew, she would be pretty and experienced and good at getting her way. She would probably have a heart like a lump of coal and eyes that could count a wad of money from a distance. The more he thought about her the angrier he grew. His grandmother must be getting senile to even allow such a thing. That feisty little woman, who’d moved in with his stepbrother after he left for New York, had never been known for foolish behavior. Andrew must have pulled the wool over her eyes. He wouldn’t pull it over Jared’s.

      

      The train pulled into the station late that night. He got off at the platform with only his valise and made arrangements to have his trunk delivered to his home the next morning. Although it was late, he was still able to find a free carriage to hire to take him around to the sprawling Victorian home, on a main street, where his grandmother and Andrew now lived.

      He felt his age when he disembarked at the door, valise in hand. He hadn’t wired them to expect him. Sometimes, he’d reasoned, surprises were better.

      He walked with a pronounced limp after the exercise his wounded leg had been forced to endure on the long passage from New York. His dark, wavy hair was covered by a bowler hat, tilted at a rakish angle. His vested navy blue suit was impeccable, if a little dusty, as were his hand-tooled black leather boots. He looked the very image of a city gentleman as he walked up the flower-bordered path to the porch.

      Although it was dark, he could see that the elegant house was in good repair. Light poured in welcome from its long, tall windows, spilling onto the gray porch where a swing and settee and some rocking chairs with cushions sat. He had never lived in this house, but he’d visited it on occasion since he’d bought it for his grandmother to live in. He approved of the neat cushions on the chairs and the swing, with their wide ruffles in white eyelet. They gave the house a subdued elegance that went well with the exquisite gingerbread woodwork all around the eaves of the house.

      He paused to open the screen door and use the brass door knocker, in the shape of a lion’s head. The noise provoked voices from inside.

      “Ella, could you answer the front door please? Ella! Oh, bother! Where is Mrs. Pate?”

      “Never mind, Mrs. Dunn. I’ll see who’s there.”

      “Not you, Noelle. It is not fitting…”

      The admonition in his grandmother’s soft voice trailed off as her instructions were apparently ignored. He got a glimpse of thick auburn hair in an upswept hairdo before the door opened and a lovely, oval face with thick-lashed green eyes looked up at him inquiringly.

      His blue eyes narrowed so that even their color wasn’t revealed under the brim of his hat. His gaze swept over the woman, who was wearing a simple white blouse with a high, lacy neck and a dark skirt that reached to her ankles.

      “What do you want?” she asked in a voice that, while pleasant, reeked of South Texas backcountry and contained a belligerence that immediately raised the hair at Jared’s nape.

      He removed his hat out of inborn courtesy, leaning heavily on the cane. “I would like to see Mrs. Dunn,” he said coolly.

      “It’s much too late for visitors,” she informed him. “You’ll have to come calling another time.”

      He lifted an eyebrow. “My, aren’t you arrogant for a servant, madam,” he said, with biting sarcasm.

      She flushed. “I’m no servant. I’m a member of the family.”

      “Like hell you are!” he returned abruptly. His eyes were glittery now, steady, unblinking—dangerous.

      She was taken aback by those eyes, as well as the curse, which was at such variance with the deep, soft tone of his voice. No gentleman used such language in a lady’s presence!

      “Sir, whoever you are—” she began haughtily.

      “Andrew should have made you aware of my identity,” he continued coldly. “Especially since I pay the bills here. Where’s my grandmother?”

      Belatedly she realized to whom she was speaking. Andrew had mentioned his stepbrother, of course. He hadn’t mentioned that the man was Satan in a business suit. He was very good-looking, despite those gray hairs at his temples, but he was tall and intimidating, and his eyes were like blue steel…in a face about that yielding.

      “You didn’t present your card,” she said, defending herself as she quickly opened the door for him.

      “I hardly felt the need in my own house,” he returned irritably. His leg hurt and he was worn out.

      She saw the cane then and noticed the taut lines around his thin mouth. “Oh…you’re crippled,” she blurted out.

      Both eyebrows went up. “The delicacy of your observation leaves me speechless,” he said, with biting sarcasm.

      She did blush then, partially from bad temper. He was tall, and she had to look a long way up to see his face. She didn’t like him at all, she decided, and she’d been foolish to feel sorry for him. Probably he’d gotten that bad leg kicking lame dogs…

      “Mrs. Dunn is in the drawing room,” she said, and slammed the door.

      “My valise is still outside,” he pointed out.

      “Well, it can let itself in,” she informed him, and swept past him toward the drawing room.

      He followed her, momentarily bereft of speech. For an indigent relative, the woman took a lot СКАЧАТЬ