hating the fact that she’d had to give her name, but knowing there was no other way to have been admitted. “May I sit?”
“Oh, do,” Annabelle said carelessly, as if she didn’t know what a deliberate insult it was to make her visitor ask.
Brenna sat, gingerly, and took a deep breath. Shelooked around, trying to regain her composure. It was a lovely room, done up in the latest style with yellow and blue wallpapers in a Chinese theme, matching green draperies, and graceful, expensive furniture, all in the Eastern motif. The lady who sat posed on a long yellow satin settee was no less lovely, graceful, and expensive.
They were both dark-haired women. The resemblance, Brenna thought gloomily, ended there.
Her hostess was dressed in a golden silk morning gown trimmed with white. She had beautiful blue eyes in a no-less-lovely face. She was altogether dainty, curved, milk white and ebony, a little Dresden figure of a lady. Except for her expression. She sat at her ease and eyed her visitor openly, with undisguised distaste.
The lady was so perfectly set in her parlor, she made Brenna feel too big, rawboned and shabby, although she knew she wasn’t. She might have her faults, but she knew very well they were none of those things. She had no idea that her hostess agreed.
Annabelle watched her visitor with concealed chagrin. Her mama spent so much time and money getting this room perfectly right. It had been, until now. The one thing it had lacked, it seemed, was this slender, graceful woman. She completed it. She wore a simple green walking dress, but her looks were as exotic as the distant lands everything in the room came from. Even her faint perfume was spiced rather than sugary.
It made Annabelle doubt her own attractionsagain. She’d thought only Damon’s beautiful wife could cause her this kind of confused pain.
But everything she’d seen of this woman so far was shocking and disturbing. She been roaming about a bachelor’s house, half-dressed, or half-naked, depending on how one looked at it. And the look of her! Fresh from a bath and scented like a harem. Rafe had tried to say she was simply his friend’s sister. A friend’s sister! Dressed or undressed like that! Even so, if she’d tried to trap him into a proposal that day, she was an unprincipled monster. If it was a lie and she was simply his mistress, it was almost as upsetting. Apart from causing doubts about her own appeal, Annabelle wasn’t used to dealing with that class of woman. The evidence seemed clear that her visitor was not her equal, in class, mind, or principles.
For once, Annabelle wasn’t sure how to deal with a social situation. But if she was interested in any future with Rafe, she had to. It rankled.
“Rafe says you’re not his mistress,” Annabelle said suddenly.
Brenna’s face paled. There was no attempt to sugarcoat the thing, or broach it gently. This was insult, not even thinly disguised. She rose to her feet.
“Oh, bother. Sit down, if you please,” Annabelle said, annoyed with her own clumsiness. “If I meant to insult you, I’d do better than that. It’s just that we’ve no time for trivialities and it’s hardly the place for them. Did you want to discuss the weather or fashion before we spoke about it? We haven’t thetime. Rafe’s a blunt man. I’ll be no less so. Is what he says true? And can you prove it?”
“Absolutely true,” Brenna said, sinking to her chair again. “I’d never met him before we arrived at his house two days ago. He’d even forgot he’d invited us. My brother, Eric, served with him in the Peninsula. They met in a hospital there, when Rafe was wounded,” she added to the faint crease of puzzlement she saw on her hostess’s otherwise unlined brow.
“Oh, yes,” Annabelle said, though she hadn’t known Rafe had been wounded.
“Eric collapsed,” Brenna went on. “We’d just returned from India where he’d been gravely ill, you see. Rafe insisted we stay on with him
“Oh, do,” Annabelle said carelessly, as if she didn’t know what a deliberate insult it was to make her visitor ask.
Brenna sat, gingerly, and took a deep breath. Shelooked around, trying to regain her composure. It was a lovely room, done up in the latest style with yellow and blue wallpapers in a Chinese theme, matching green draperies, and graceful, expensive furniture, all in the Eastern motif. The lady who sat posed on a long yellow satin settee was no less lovely, graceful, and expensive.
They were both dark-haired women. The resemblance, Brenna thought gloomily, ended there.
Her hostess was dressed in a golden silk morning gown trimmed with white. She had beautiful blue eyes in a no-less-lovely face. She was altogether dainty, curved, milk white and ebony, a little Dresden figure of a lady. Except for her expression. She sat at her ease and eyed her visitor openly, with undisguised distaste.
The lady was so perfectly set in her parlor, she made Brenna feel too big, rawboned and shabby, although she knew she wasn’t. She might have her faults, but she knew very well they were none of those things. She had no idea that her hostess agreed.
Annabelle watched her visitor with concealed chagrin. Her mama spent so much time and money getting this room perfectly right. It had been, until now. The one thing it had lacked, it seemed, was this slender, graceful woman. She completed it. She wore a simple green walking dress, but her looks were as exotic as the distant lands everything in the room came from. Even her faint perfume was spiced rather than sugary.
It made Annabelle doubt her own attractionsagain. She’d thought only Damon’s beautiful wife could cause her this kind of confused pain.
But everything she’d seen of this woman so far was shocking and disturbing. She been roaming about a bachelor’s house, half-dressed, or half-naked, depending on how one looked at it. And the look of her! Fresh from a bath and scented like a harem. Rafe had tried to say she was simply his friend’s sister. A friend’s sister! Dressed or undressed like that! Even so, if she’d tried to trap him into a proposal that day, she was an unprincipled monster. If it was a lie and she was simply his mistress, it was almost as upsetting. Apart from causing doubts about her own appeal, Annabelle wasn’t used to dealing with that class of woman. The evidence seemed clear that her visitor was not her equal, in class, mind, or principles.
For once, Annabelle wasn’t sure how to deal with a social situation. But if she was interested in any future with Rafe, she had to. It rankled.
“Rafe says you’re not his mistress,” Annabelle said suddenly.
Brenna’s face paled. There was no attempt to sugarcoat the thing, or broach it gently. This was insult, not even thinly disguised. She rose to her feet.
“Oh, bother. Sit down, if you please,” Annabelle said, annoyed with her own clumsiness. “If I meant to insult you, I’d do better than that. It’s just that we’ve no time for trivialities and it’s hardly the place for them. Did you want to discuss the weather or fashion before we spoke about it? We haven’t thetime. Rafe’s a blunt man. I’ll be no less so. Is what he says true? And can you prove it?”
“Absolutely true,” Brenna said, sinking to her chair again. “I’d never met him before we arrived at his house two days ago. He’d even forgot he’d invited us. My brother, Eric, served with him in the Peninsula. They met in a hospital there, when Rafe was wounded,” she added to the faint crease of puzzlement she saw on her hostess’s otherwise unlined brow.
“Oh, yes,” Annabelle said, though she hadn’t known Rafe had been wounded.
“Eric collapsed,” Brenna went on. “We’d just returned from India where he’d been gravely ill, you see. Rafe insisted we stay on with him
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