letter with the others on the hall table. Wow. Talk about clingy exes. At least she’d let Logan go gracefully when he flew the coop. This chick needed some serious therapy.
Jamie opened the first door she came to and was pleasantly surprised by the sight that greeted her. A garden with high brick walls and the early blooms of spring surrounded her. She let the door fall shut behind her as she walked down the gravel path into the vibrant-hued sanctuary.
There was a slight nip in the air, and her arms were quickly covered in goose bumps beneath the thin fabric of her borrowed dress. Fortunately, all the layers over her middle kept her core warm. She started to enjoy her little stroll. Buttercups were out in full force, undaunted by the remnants of winter. The whole garden had an air of burgeoning life, a promise of wakefulness that the coming spring would deliver. She took a deep breath and surprised herself by smiling. This wasn’t so bad after all. She hadn’t really spent much time outside in the last couple of years. Life had been too busy, too hectic, first with Logan, and then with the gnawing depression his absence had left her with.
The path curved past a tree, and a stone bench was nestled there beside the mossy trunk, out of sight of the house. She sat down on it, the cold stone slightly damp. She didn’t care. She breathed in the crisp, clean air and enjoyed the scenery around her.
“Lovely, is it not?”
Her calm dissipated like smoke in the breeze, and she whipped her head around at the sound of that voice. Of course, it was Mike. He rounded the bend in the gravel path, his boots crunching on the small stones. So much for her solitary peace. No way could it withstand another verbal boxing match with Mike.
“Don’t you have someplace to be?” She didn’t bother to hide her weary tone.
He sat on the bench next to her, ignoring her question. “I often come to sit out here. It’s very tranquil, quiet. It helps to be alone with one’s thoughts sometimes.”
“I wouldn’t know.” She lifted a brow at him pointedly. He looked at the low-hanging branches beside him, examining the tiny green buds. A ball of nerves grew in her chest. Why was he there? He didn’t like her, so why was he sitting next to her? There was a good six inches between his leg and hers, so why did it seem like his leg was burning her through the tight linen pants he wore?
“I would often come out here last season, when things were not so pleasant. I took peace in the solitude, the lack of accusing eyes…” He fell silent, leaving her wondering what the hell he was talking about. He then cleared his throat and spoke again. “Miss Marten, I must again apologize to you. I had no intention of being rude to you at the breakfast table, but I did just that. I behaved like a boor. Please do forgive me.”
He was unbelievable. She searched his features, looking for the punch line, but all she saw was clarity in his face and in the set of his broad shoulders.
Jamie didn’t know what to say. Maybe he had been upset at breakfast by that letter. Maybe she should forgive him. She tried to ignore the fact that he was so close to her and so handsome and looking at her, but her stupid body wouldn’t cooperate. Warmth bloomed in the pit of her stomach, and she was suddenly very self-conscious. She tried to tear her eyes away from the strong line of his jaw, the way his hair curled over his ears, the way his nose was a little too shiny, but she couldn’t. Her brain was useless.
“Miss Marten?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. I…yeah. Sorry.” English had apparently deserted her with the sum total of her good sense.
“You are welcome to stay in my home as long as is needed.” The polite smile dissipated as he drew in a deep breath, and his eyes were troubled. “There are many dangers that can befall a female person in the streets of London.”
“Thanks,” she said lamely. She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, but of
Jamie opened the first door she came to and was pleasantly surprised by the sight that greeted her. A garden with high brick walls and the early blooms of spring surrounded her. She let the door fall shut behind her as she walked down the gravel path into the vibrant-hued sanctuary.
There was a slight nip in the air, and her arms were quickly covered in goose bumps beneath the thin fabric of her borrowed dress. Fortunately, all the layers over her middle kept her core warm. She started to enjoy her little stroll. Buttercups were out in full force, undaunted by the remnants of winter. The whole garden had an air of burgeoning life, a promise of wakefulness that the coming spring would deliver. She took a deep breath and surprised herself by smiling. This wasn’t so bad after all. She hadn’t really spent much time outside in the last couple of years. Life had been too busy, too hectic, first with Logan, and then with the gnawing depression his absence had left her with.
The path curved past a tree, and a stone bench was nestled there beside the mossy trunk, out of sight of the house. She sat down on it, the cold stone slightly damp. She didn’t care. She breathed in the crisp, clean air and enjoyed the scenery around her.
“Lovely, is it not?”
Her calm dissipated like smoke in the breeze, and she whipped her head around at the sound of that voice. Of course, it was Mike. He rounded the bend in the gravel path, his boots crunching on the small stones. So much for her solitary peace. No way could it withstand another verbal boxing match with Mike.
“Don’t you have someplace to be?” She didn’t bother to hide her weary tone.
He sat on the bench next to her, ignoring her question. “I often come to sit out here. It’s very tranquil, quiet. It helps to be alone with one’s thoughts sometimes.”
“I wouldn’t know.” She lifted a brow at him pointedly. He looked at the low-hanging branches beside him, examining the tiny green buds. A ball of nerves grew in her chest. Why was he there? He didn’t like her, so why was he sitting next to her? There was a good six inches between his leg and hers, so why did it seem like his leg was burning her through the tight linen pants he wore?
“I would often come out here last season, when things were not so pleasant. I took peace in the solitude, the lack of accusing eyes…” He fell silent, leaving her wondering what the hell he was talking about. He then cleared his throat and spoke again. “Miss Marten, I must again apologize to you. I had no intention of being rude to you at the breakfast table, but I did just that. I behaved like a boor. Please do forgive me.”
He was unbelievable. She searched his features, looking for the punch line, but all she saw was clarity in his face and in the set of his broad shoulders.
Jamie didn’t know what to say. Maybe he had been upset at breakfast by that letter. Maybe she should forgive him. She tried to ignore the fact that he was so close to her and so handsome and looking at her, but her stupid body wouldn’t cooperate. Warmth bloomed in the pit of her stomach, and she was suddenly very self-conscious. She tried to tear her eyes away from the strong line of his jaw, the way his hair curled over his ears, the way his nose was a little too shiny, but she couldn’t. Her brain was useless.
“Miss Marten?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. I…yeah. Sorry.” English had apparently deserted her with the sum total of her good sense.
“You are welcome to stay in my home as long as is needed.” The polite smile dissipated as he drew in a deep breath, and his eyes were troubled. “There are many dangers that can befall a female person in the streets of London.”
“Thanks,” she said lamely. She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, but of
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