Second Chance Cinderella. Carla Capshaw

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      Her cheeks burned. She wished otherwise, but she’d never had any strength of will when it came to Sam and she hated that he could see her weakness while he was the picture of strength. “Think what you like, sir. If I may, I’d like to return to work.”

      She turned, desperate to leave, to regain her breath and her bearings. Somehow she managed to navigate halfway to the door before he stopped her. “There’s no use for you in the kitchen.”

      She stumbled midstep, then whipped around to face him. Sheer panic seized her. “Are you sacking me?”

      He studied her for such a long moment she squirmed like a butterfly pinned to a board.

      “That depends on if you’re nice to me or not.”

      “I’ve never been cruel to you, Sa...Mr. Blackstone. Unlike you and how you’re treating me at present.”

      “Is that so?” He returned to his desk and sat in his imposing leather chair. “Then I suppose you thought you were doing me a favor when you ran off and married another man?”

      Her knees buckled and the room tipped to an unnatural angle. Only God’s mercy kept her upright. She gripped the back of a chair, her fingers digging into the soft leather. Had she heard him correctly? How did he know about her marriage? Did he know about his son?

      Fear invaded the deepest recesses of her being. Having inhabited a lower rung in society all her life, she was used to being powerless. More than once she’d seen the rich get away with all sorts of evil simply because they had the means to buy their own justice. Was that why he’d brought her here? To show her he had the wealth to bend the law to his will? Was he simply funning with her before he revealed his knowledge of Andrew and that he meant to snatch their son from her care?

      Nausea soured her stomach. How could she live without her child?

      “How...?” She cleared her throat. Voices in the hall competed with the rush of blood in her ears. “How did you learn about Harry?”

      He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

      “It does to me.”

      “What is he? A footman?” His lip curled. “No, my money’s on a groomsman. You always did want a horse.”

      “He was a farmer, if you must know,” she said, irked that he didn’t answer her. “A good and godly man. He deserves your thanks for helping me, not your scorn.”

      He surged to his feet. All six feet two inches of lean, hostile muscle. “I’ll be flayed alive before I thank the likes of that clodhopper. You were my girl, Rosie! You promised to wait for me forever if need be. Those were your words, not mine. Imagine my surprise when I went to fetch you in Ashby Croft and learned your definition of forever meant less than eight measly months.”

      In the wake of his outburst, a hush fell over the room. “You came for me?” she whispered, unable to accept he told the truth.

      “Of course.”

      “Of course?” She balked at his arrogance. “There’s no of course about it. You said you’d return in a few weeks.”

      Color scored his high cheekbones. “Settling in and learning my trade took longer than I expected. Stark had me working eighteen hours a day for months...I wrote to you. I hoped you might get your friend, Lizzy, or that layabout of an innkeeper you worked for to read my letters.”

      “Letters? As in more than one?”

      He weaved a letter opener between his long, elegant fingers before letting the ivory-handled implement clatter to the desktop. He cleared his throat. “The post isn’t always reliable. I wanted to be certain you heard from me.”

      Her heart plummeted. If he was telling the truth, where had those messages gone? Had they truly been lost or had someone stolen them? How different their lives might have been if she’d received even one. “None of them reached me.”

      He shrugged. “Water under the bridge now that you’re wed.”

      She flinched at the accusation in his voice. Whatever he knew of her marriage, he mustn’t be aware that she’d been widowed within weeks of saying her vows or that Harry’s wounds had made it impossible to make a true union. Was it possible he didn’t know of Andrew’s existence, either?

      Hope buoyed her for the first time since she’d entered the study. “I did wait for you, but I’d been ill and—”

      “Are you ill now?”

      “No, but—”

      “Then details aren’t worth a farthing as far as I’m concerned. What it boils down to is you didn’t have enough faith in me and you ran off with the first available chap to come along. But don’t worry. It didn’t take me long to get over you, either. As you might expect, a city as lively as London offers countless diversions.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “With a little imagination a body can’t be bothered to wallow in the past for long, and it didn’t take much for me to realize I’d be better off without you.”

      She gasped at the spike of pain that pierced her heart. “I see.” Hating that her eyes misted with tears, she glanced out the window. Gas lamps glowed along the street, alleviating the darkness and eerie wisps of fog.

      Bitterness welled inside her at the unfairness of the situation. While he’d been playing away in London, uprooting her from his heart, she’d been expecting his child, terrified and lonely to her bones.

      She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Honesty insisted she tell him he was a father since he’d given no indication he knew about their son, but for now Andrew seemed to be her secret. She planned to keep it that way until Sam proved he could give her a fair hearing. Since he harbored such ill feelings toward her, he would no doubt use Andrew as a weapon to punish her for her supposed wrongs, and she’d be mad to give this wrathful, unforgiving stranger such a powerful means to ruin her life.

      Besides, her heartache demanded she let him stew for a little while longer. All of his indignation was for show. He may have been disappointed when he learned of her marriage, may have even convinced himself he’d been heartbroken for a time, but unlike her, he’d recovered from their separation with far too much ease to claim his love had been of the eternal variety.

      What a fool she’d been to believe they’d shared something special. She’d been no more to him than a habit he’d easily broken. She hated that she’d missed him when he didn’t deserve such sentiment almost as much as she loathed the inviolate hope that whispered time was all they needed to clear the air.

      Yet, how could they become reacquainted when they were no longer equals? To others they were as different as gold and rust. She’d grown up in a small village, but she wasn’t completely ignorant of the ways of the world or society’s expectations. Sam’s wealth placed him head and shoulders above her. She couldn’t see him coming to the kitchen to chat while she peeled potatoes.

      No, he was one of the privileged now, a fact he must realize given how easily he’d used his higher status to intimidate her.

      “Since you’re over me, why did you bring me here?” she asked past the lump in her throat. “To make a display СКАЧАТЬ