discharged a warning signal. This woman was dangerous.
“You’re our guest. She wants you to be comfortable here.”
“Yet I don’t make you comfortable, do I?”
He did look at her then. Even with her wet hair plastered to her face and head and her clothes disheveled, she was beautiful. The vulnerability he sensed in her touched a chord deep inside.
Setting his jaw, he hardened his heart. “You don’t affect me at all, Miss Morgan. Evenin’.” He tugged on his hat’s brim and, pivoting on his heel, left her staring after him.
Chapter Six
S tung by his cool dismissal, Kate watched him stride away. He held himself stiffly erect, his broad shoulders taut with tension. Well, he’d certainly told her, hadn’t he? She’d been forward and assuming. What did she expect?
Josh was merely tolerating her presence. She was an interloper, a painful reminder of loss and betrayal.
She didn’t fit in at home, and she certainly didn’t fit here.
Shivering in the late-afternoon sunlight, she went inside to change. The quiet that greeted her inside the quaint space compounded her loneliness. At the estate, she was never completely alone. Butlers, footmen, housekeepers, ladies’ maids and manservants moved discreetly about, attending to their business, seeing to the day-to-day running of the expansive mansion and tending to the needs of its occupants.
Though New York was her home, she wasn’t happy there. And while she gained immense satisfaction from her photography work and her gardening, she lived with the knowledge that her presence wasn’t wanted or needed by anyone. She didn’t brighten anyone’s day or bring a smile to a loved one’s face. No one was eager to share secrets with her or give her a hug.
From the time she was a little girl, she’d known something was wrong with her. Her mother had never looked at her with pride and pleasure, as she had Francesca. Instead, whenever her gaze lit on Kate, her mouth would tighten and a wrinkle would form between her brows, as if puzzling out an impossible riddle.
The nightmare with Nanny Marie underscored her feelings of inadequacy.
By the time Wesley Farrington IV entered her life when she was seventeen, she’d been desperate to forge a connection with someone, anyone.
Seated on the edge of the bed combing out the tangles in her hair, her eyes drifted shut as she recalled their first meeting. Her parents were hosting an elaborate party, and everyone who was anyone in New York society had made an appearance. The ballroom glittered and sparkled like the contents of a jewelry box with its crystal and gold chandeliers, gilt-edged mirrors and jewel-toned carpets. The air was sweet with the fragrance of fresh flowers spilling from vases placed about the room, the sets of French doors thrown open to the balmy night.
While Kate had watched from the sidelines as gaily dressed couples swirled and dipped across the marble floors, Francesca had been surrounded by a bevy of admirers.
She’d noticed Wesley the instant he entered the room. Darkly handsome, with a smile that hinted of secrets and promises, the Oxford graduate had captured the attention of nearly every female under the age of sixty. Kate watched him charm each one, in turn, never dreaming he’d spare a word for her.
So when he’d appeared at her side not an hour later and requested a dance, she’d gaped at him. He laughed and repeated the request. They danced the next two dances, then escaped outside to stroll through the gardens. By the end of the night, she was certain she was in love.
Over the course of two months, he took her on carriage rides in Central Park and showered her with trinkets and roses and boxes of chocolates from Paris.
Kate had never been happier. Wesley treated her as if she were the most special girl in the world. He loved her. He hadn’t voiced the words, but she could see it in his eyes.
It was that assumption that had ultimately led her to make the worst decision of her life.
“You’re our guest. She wants you to be comfortable here.”
“Yet I don’t make you comfortable, do I?”
He did look at her then. Even with her wet hair plastered to her face and head and her clothes disheveled, she was beautiful. The vulnerability he sensed in her touched a chord deep inside.
Setting his jaw, he hardened his heart. “You don’t affect me at all, Miss Morgan. Evenin’.” He tugged on his hat’s brim and, pivoting on his heel, left her staring after him.
Chapter Six
S tung by his cool dismissal, Kate watched him stride away. He held himself stiffly erect, his broad shoulders taut with tension. Well, he’d certainly told her, hadn’t he? She’d been forward and assuming. What did she expect?
Josh was merely tolerating her presence. She was an interloper, a painful reminder of loss and betrayal.
She didn’t fit in at home, and she certainly didn’t fit here.
Shivering in the late-afternoon sunlight, she went inside to change. The quiet that greeted her inside the quaint space compounded her loneliness. At the estate, she was never completely alone. Butlers, footmen, housekeepers, ladies’ maids and manservants moved discreetly about, attending to their business, seeing to the day-to-day running of the expansive mansion and tending to the needs of its occupants.
Though New York was her home, she wasn’t happy there. And while she gained immense satisfaction from her photography work and her gardening, she lived with the knowledge that her presence wasn’t wanted or needed by anyone. She didn’t brighten anyone’s day or bring a smile to a loved one’s face. No one was eager to share secrets with her or give her a hug.
From the time she was a little girl, she’d known something was wrong with her. Her mother had never looked at her with pride and pleasure, as she had Francesca. Instead, whenever her gaze lit on Kate, her mouth would tighten and a wrinkle would form between her brows, as if puzzling out an impossible riddle.
The nightmare with Nanny Marie underscored her feelings of inadequacy.
By the time Wesley Farrington IV entered her life when she was seventeen, she’d been desperate to forge a connection with someone, anyone.
Seated on the edge of the bed combing out the tangles in her hair, her eyes drifted shut as she recalled their first meeting. Her parents were hosting an elaborate party, and everyone who was anyone in New York society had made an appearance. The ballroom glittered and sparkled like the contents of a jewelry box with its crystal and gold chandeliers, gilt-edged mirrors and jewel-toned carpets. The air was sweet with the fragrance of fresh flowers spilling from vases placed about the room, the sets of French doors thrown open to the balmy night.
While Kate had watched from the sidelines as gaily dressed couples swirled and dipped across the marble floors, Francesca had been surrounded by a bevy of admirers.
She’d noticed Wesley the instant he entered the room. Darkly handsome, with a smile that hinted of secrets and promises, the Oxford graduate had captured the attention of nearly every female under the age of sixty. Kate watched him charm each one, in turn, never dreaming he’d spare a word for her.
So when he’d appeared at her side not an hour later and requested a dance, she’d gaped at him. He laughed and repeated the request. They danced the next two dances, then escaped outside to stroll through the gardens. By the end of the night, she was certain she was in love.
Over the course of two months, he took her on carriage rides in Central Park and showered her with trinkets and roses and boxes of chocolates from Paris.
Kate had never been happier. Wesley treated her as if she were the most special girl in the world. He loved her. He hadn’t voiced the words, but she could see it in his eyes.
It was that assumption that had ultimately led her to make the worst decision of her life.
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