Read Online The Third Heiress by Brenda Joyce - Free Book Online

found herself locking gazes with him. He made her uncomfortable and immediately she turned her head away. “Don’t do this,” she said, low. “Not now, not this way, not tonight. I can’t handle this.”
    “Hal was my cousin. We grew up together. I want to know what really happened. You weren’t concentrating on the road. That’s my conclusion. Which means you were distracted.”
    Jill broke. “I am going to live with the fact that I was driving and I hit that tree and I killed Hal for the rest of my life. I don’t know what happened,” she cried. Jill hugged herself, finding it hard to breathe, hating Alex for pressing her this way. “I’m not hiding anything,” she whispered.
    “What were the two of you talking about?” he asked ruthlessly.
    “I don’t remember!”
    “How convenient,” he responded. “Were you arguing?”
    Jill knew she had turned white.
    “You were arguing,” Alex said quietly, his gaze holding hers. “And I can guess what you were arguing about.”
    Tears filled her eyes. “Your family is terrible,” she cried. “You are terrible. I loved Hal! Can’t you see that? Can’t you? You are the coldest person I have ever met! I have lost the man I love,” she shouted at him. “The man I’ve spent my whole life dreaming of!”
    “And I’ve lost my cousin. Thomas and Lauren lost their brother, my aunt and uncle have lost their son, God damn it,” he said harshly. “Everyone is shocked, everyone is sick, we are all suffering, damn it.”
    Jill backed away from him.
    He turned abruptly, his broad shoulders trembling. He was suddenly very angry.
    Jill stared at his back. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered finally. He did not turn. “I know you hate me, all of you, but I already hate myself. Please, please don’t do this to me anymore.”
    He did not move.
    Jill sank back down on the bed. Her hands were shaking—she was shaking. Briefly she covered her face with her palms, but she could not seem to stop trembling, she could not find even a hint of calm. “Tomorrow I’ll find a hotel somewhere.”
    Alex faced her. His expression was now implacable. “Forget it. There’s not a decent room available; I had my travel agent working on it all day.”
    It was clear that he wasn’t being kind. Was anyone in Hal’s family capable of compassion? she wondered. Very unsteadily, very spontaneously, Jill whispered, “Why aren’t we helping one another now, sharing our anger and our grief, instead of confronting one another like this?”
    “Because Hal is dead,” he said simply.
    Jill clapped her hands over her mouth, almost bursting into tears. How right he was. Hal was dead, and his legacy was anger and hatred and all of her lies.
    “Look, let me take you back to your room,” Alex said. “It’s late and I’m tired.”
    Jill did not look up at him. She wasn’t ready to look at him. She didn’t answer him, either.
    “You ready?” He cocked his head toward the door. “Even if you can’t sleep, I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be one helluva day.”
    Jill flinched. Reality crashed over her then, making her forget all about the photograph and Alex’s hateful questions. Tomorrow. Tomorrow they were burying Hal.
    “After you,” he said, gesturing for her to precede him out. He touched her arm impatiently.
    Jill shrugged him off. She didn’t want him touching her, not even in a casual gesture. And as she moved past him, she wondered how she would get through the next day. She did not know if she had the strength to endure Hal’s funeral.
    W orried about whether or not she had asked her next door neighbor to look after her cat, Jill dialed New York. By her estimation, it was about eight in the evening there. But her neighbor, an unemployed actress, kept very odd hours. She went through jobs the way Madison Avenue women shopped. Jill was relieved when the phone was picked up on the second ring. “KC, this is Jill. I’m calling from London,” Jill