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Authors: Cassandra Ormand
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Standeven has informed us that you are to have anything you like."
She struggled to find her voice. The maid's announcement came as a shock. Mr. Standeven's generosity was truly a surprise. He seemed to have no qualms whatsoever about her beggarly condition.
"That's very kind of him, but the soup is sufficient."
"Would you like me to warm it for you?"
"Thank you. But...it's fine."
"Very well then. I'll just leave you to it."
She watched the maid pick up a few last dishes and then leave the room just as quietly as she had entered. They were all so kind, so unlike the household she had grown accustomed to. Their concessions astonished her. Their caring went beyond the bounds of the humanity she had known. It gave her an odd warmth somewhere in the region of her stomach, a warmth that was slowly but surely beginning to spread throughout her body, despite all her doubt.
She gave a cautious glance around the room to make certain she was indeed alone, then turned her attention to her soup. It looked delicious, and her stomach instantly responded to the visual stimulus by emitting an insistent growl. After all they'd done for her, the least she could do was show her appreciation by eating Mrs. LeFonde's dinner before it became stone cold. Relaxing a little, she picked up her spoon and dipped it into the warm stew.
Christopher Standeven stood watching through the half open door. She looked so vulnerable sitting there, so lost. Perhaps it was the vulnerability that intrigued him so, that made his own protective instincts rise so willingly to the fore.
Who was she? He yearned to know. Never in all his life had he been more curious about another human being. Never had he stooped to the vulgarity of eavesdropping.
Eavesdropping?
When he realized the magnitude of what he was doing, his jaw tightened and he resolved to make an end of it before it got out of control. Despite the fact that she was his guest, he had no right to spy on her or to pry into her affairs. His only business with her was to provide shelter and anything else he could offer in order to help her regain her memory. That was all. In future, he would do well to remember that.
He waited until she took her first bite of stew before he quietly turned and made his way back down the hall, his curiosity forcibly quashed for the moment.
CHAPTER FIVE
Somehow, she found the bravado to make her way downstairs, to venture toward the study to retrieve a book from one of the many which sat along the oak shelves lining the walls. Mrs. Avery had encouraged her to do anything she pleased in the house, to relax and enjoy, not to be fettered by her ordeal. The older woman had insisted that she was welcome. But in the doorway, she paused, her heart beginning to throb intensely at the sight of Christopher Standeven standing in the middle of the room. He was half turned away from her, his head bowed over the sheaf of papers he held in his hands. She would have turned and left immediately, but something held her there. Something compelled her to take this opportunity to look at him, really look at him for the first time. He was so arresting, so dignified in his bearing.
He was tall, with broad shoulders and slender hips. He wore gray trousers and a white button-up shirt left open at the throat, the sleeves turned up to just below the elbows. Somehow, his attire made him look even taller, even more imposing, and more handsome. He had such striking features, with his jet-black hair, his high forehead, and his crisp blue eyes. And skin that looked smooth, touchable.
For the first time she noticed the silver strands of hair at his temples, strands that only added to his mystique. When he wasn't aware that he was being observed, he didn't seem quite as threatening, though he was nonetheless commanding. He was very intent on the paperwork he held in his hands. Something he was reading apparently displeased him.
He must have sensed her presence because he suddenly turned his
She struggled to find her voice. The maid's announcement came as a shock. Mr. Standeven's generosity was truly a surprise. He seemed to have no qualms whatsoever about her beggarly condition.
"That's very kind of him, but the soup is sufficient."
"Would you like me to warm it for you?"
"Thank you. But...it's fine."
"Very well then. I'll just leave you to it."
She watched the maid pick up a few last dishes and then leave the room just as quietly as she had entered. They were all so kind, so unlike the household she had grown accustomed to. Their concessions astonished her. Their caring went beyond the bounds of the humanity she had known. It gave her an odd warmth somewhere in the region of her stomach, a warmth that was slowly but surely beginning to spread throughout her body, despite all her doubt.
She gave a cautious glance around the room to make certain she was indeed alone, then turned her attention to her soup. It looked delicious, and her stomach instantly responded to the visual stimulus by emitting an insistent growl. After all they'd done for her, the least she could do was show her appreciation by eating Mrs. LeFonde's dinner before it became stone cold. Relaxing a little, she picked up her spoon and dipped it into the warm stew.
Christopher Standeven stood watching through the half open door. She looked so vulnerable sitting there, so lost. Perhaps it was the vulnerability that intrigued him so, that made his own protective instincts rise so willingly to the fore.
Who was she? He yearned to know. Never in all his life had he been more curious about another human being. Never had he stooped to the vulgarity of eavesdropping.
Eavesdropping?
When he realized the magnitude of what he was doing, his jaw tightened and he resolved to make an end of it before it got out of control. Despite the fact that she was his guest, he had no right to spy on her or to pry into her affairs. His only business with her was to provide shelter and anything else he could offer in order to help her regain her memory. That was all. In future, he would do well to remember that.
He waited until she took her first bite of stew before he quietly turned and made his way back down the hall, his curiosity forcibly quashed for the moment.
CHAPTER FIVE
Somehow, she found the bravado to make her way downstairs, to venture toward the study to retrieve a book from one of the many which sat along the oak shelves lining the walls. Mrs. Avery had encouraged her to do anything she pleased in the house, to relax and enjoy, not to be fettered by her ordeal. The older woman had insisted that she was welcome. But in the doorway, she paused, her heart beginning to throb intensely at the sight of Christopher Standeven standing in the middle of the room. He was half turned away from her, his head bowed over the sheaf of papers he held in his hands. She would have turned and left immediately, but something held her there. Something compelled her to take this opportunity to look at him, really look at him for the first time. He was so arresting, so dignified in his bearing.
He was tall, with broad shoulders and slender hips. He wore gray trousers and a white button-up shirt left open at the throat, the sleeves turned up to just below the elbows. Somehow, his attire made him look even taller, even more imposing, and more handsome. He had such striking features, with his jet-black hair, his high forehead, and his crisp blue eyes. And skin that looked smooth, touchable.
For the first time she noticed the silver strands of hair at his temples, strands that only added to his mystique. When he wasn't aware that he was being observed, he didn't seem quite as threatening, though he was nonetheless commanding. He was very intent on the paperwork he held in his hands. Something he was reading apparently displeased him.
He must have sensed her presence because he suddenly turned his
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