Regency Scandals. Sophia James

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СКАЧАТЬ laughed. “You’re subtle, sir. Are you saying she’s made a plan for me?”

      He took her hand again. “I don’t have time to be subtle. I declared a recess to give myself a brief break from court. I wanted to tell you we’d love to have you stay here as long as you can.” He let her go and reached back for the door. “God, you look like Sylvie. I’ve missed you and your mom and dad. There’s been a hole in my life ever since you left.”

      “Mine, too.”

      Grinning, he looked back one last time. “You listen to my wife. She’s rarely wrong.”

      Clair smiled back at him as he headed out. If Selina was never wrong, she’d been better off in foster care. Hard to believe.

      She glanced into the dining room. It looked empty, but a man’s husky voice came from around a paneled corner.

      “I won’t do it, Wilford. I don’t care who finds out about the will or anything else Jeff did. You’re an executor and my attorney. Get me out of this. Give everything to my mother.”

      “You know it doesn’t work that way. Your cousin will inherit and move her out like yesterday’s rubbish.”

      Clair leaned around the door frame, shamelessly curious, but when she met Nick Dylan’s dark blue gaze, she almost lost her balance and fell. She fled—from him and the appalled-looking white-haired man he was talking to.

      An image of The Oaks reared in her mind, peeling, anchored deeper to the ground by its aura of neglect. She’d lost everything to that man’s family. She’d had to flee, or she’d say things that would force her to leave a town where Dylan word might still rule.

      Crossing the lobby, she snatched a newspaper off the stack on Mrs. Franklin’s desk and sprawled on the love seat. Footsteps made the floor creak. She knew when she looked up she’d see Nick standing in the doorway.

      “Good morning,” he said.

      She nodded. He looked lean and barely leashed, as if the powerful emotion that darkened his eyes might explode from his body at any moment. Restraint furrowed strong lines from the aristocratic nose someone had bent for him to his surprisingly full mouth.

      “Maybe we should talk.” The husky voice that had drawn her into the dining room took on a deeper timbre.

      He stepped closer. She held still while inwardly she strained to look indifferent. Nick Dylan would never best her as his father had.

      “I don’t need to talk to you.” Her voice sounded smooth to her, and she took courage.

      “I know who you are.”

      “Because I look like my mother. You remember her?”

      He took another step closer. Losing her grip on her composure, she pressed against the love seat’s cushions.

      “Are you afraid of me, Clair?”

      “Your father bought our mortgage and bided his time until Dad got in trouble and he could demand payment in full. Jeff hounded my father into his grave, and why? For the sake of his sick, obsessive love for my mother. He destroyed my father out of vengeance. Should I be afraid of you?”

      Nick yanked at his black tie as if it had tightened around his throat. “I’m not my father.”

      “Then give me my family’s house. Do what’s right.” Her unreasonable demand poured out of her.

      His desperate look reached inside her, made her feel for him. “I can’t.”

      The other man had come out of the dining room. “Nick, your hands are tied until you do what your father wanted,” he said. He took Nick’s arm, but Nick pulled away.

      “We’ll talk somewhere else, Wilford.” He turned back to Clair. “I can’t give you that house. You’re asking me to do what I cannot do.” He turned and waited for Wilford to leave in front of him.

      Clair let out her breath when the door closed behind his too-straight back. She resisted the sympathy she’d felt for his pain. His weakness gave her strength.

      It seemed he wanted to give her house back, and she’d take it if he gave her the slightest opening.

      She turned her face to the newspaper, visions of her empty home haunting her. What if she stayed? What if she found a job?

      Assuming she could persuade Nick Dylan to at least sell her the house, she’d still never find the kind of money he’d want. How would she find a job that could pay her that kind of money?

      She simply didn’t have the qualifications to afford a falling-down, hundred-year-old house. After she’d dropped out of college, she’d been a ticket taker in a theater, she’d managed a Laundromat and she’d washed dishes in a diner. Then she’d found landscaping. She’d planted other peoples’ yards from D.C. to Boston for the past five years. But without a degree, she couldn’t command the kind of pay a qualified landscape designer could.

      “Clair? Why are you sitting out here?” Mrs. Franklin had come out of nowhere—or at least from the shadows behind her desk. She set her mouth. “You’re upset because you saw the house.”

      Clair didn’t feel comfortable enough with Selina yet to share what had just happened between herself and Nick. She attempted a smile that trembled uncomfortably on her lips. “The judge met me at the door.”

      Selina smiled knowingly. “I thought he’d drop by. He’s glad you’re home.”

      Home? Clair wasn’t sure yet. She changed the subject, lifting the paper. “Still published twice a week?” The pages rustled in her shaking hands. She flattened the paper on her lap.

      “Thursday’s edition still carries the classifieds.”

      Clair understood Mrs. Franklin’s message. “I haven’t said anything about looking for a job here.”

      “But you’d like to stay? You feel strong ties. The house wouldn’t have bothered you if you could just leave.”

      “You make it sound as if I can turn my life around overnight.” But hadn’t she already decided to stay? The moment she’d received Mrs. Franklin’s invitation? Hadn’t she decided then?

      Mrs. Franklin came around the desk, ushering Clair before her into the breakfast room. “At least think about staying.”

      “I’m thinking I can’t buy my house back.”

      “What kind of work do you do?”

      Clair stopped beside a small round table that glittered with crystal and china, and reminded her of the table her mother used to set. “Where do you want me to sit?”

      “Wherever you like. You didn’t answer me.”

      She hadn’t because Mrs. Franklin’s eagerness, after twelve years of silence, put her off. “Most recently I worked for a landscaper. I notice there’s a landscaping business on the square.” She pulled out a chair and sat while the older woman brought a coffee carafe from the sideboard and poured her a cup. She left the carafe on СКАЧАТЬ