Heartless by Anne Stuart

Author:Anne Stuart [Stuart, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Impeccably Demure Press
Published: 2018-05-14T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Emma opened her eyes, blinking in the murky darkness. Her dreams had been so vivid—the man with the knife, slashing at her, his familiar eyes vivid, but this time they were someone else’s eyes, someone’s uncovered face, and she sat up in sudden panic.

It took her a moment to catch her breath, and then she forced a shaky laugh. In her nightmare the marauding attacker had been no other but Mr. Amasa Fenrush, chief surgeon at Temple Hospital, his eyes mad with murderous fury.

Which was, of course, a total absurdity. Her attacker had been huge, Fenrush was a small, bird-like man. He had almost colorless blue eyes, her attacker’s eyes had been small and black, like currants. On top of that, the thought of such a fastidious man as Fenrush lowering himself to a brawl in a rain-soaked field was simply absurd.

It was no surprise that her sleeping mind had chosen Fenrush. If she had to name one person who truly hated her it would be her erstwhile superior, and a part of her was dreading what was awaiting her when she returned to London. He wouldn’t take his demotion with any good grace, particularly by a woman, and she rather dreaded facing him.

And then there was Brandon. His appearance in her dreams had been no surprise—he’d been haunting them since he’d strode back into her life. If she were truthful she’d admit he’d haunted her for almost four years, but she steadfastly refused to consider it.

She tried to summon up the healthy irritation that kept him at arm’s length, but she couldn’t remember why she was angry with him. He hadn’t done anything to hurt her. In fact, it seemed as if he’d actually been kind to her, in his own way. In her sleep-drugged state she couldn’t remember much, she just had a general sense of unease, but the memory of Brandon was different. He somehow felt . . . right.

She opened her eyes again, growing slowly more alert as her memory filtered back. Brandon Rohan was the farthest thing from “right.” He was engaged to marry a very sweet, very unhappy girl. And yet he’d kissed her—several times, very thoroughly, and she hadn’t fought him.

Hadn’t fought him? She’d gone willingly, damn her idiocy! Hadn’t she learned after all this time?

The house seemed almost unnaturally still, even for the dark of night, and then she realized what was different. The lashing rain had finally stopped.

It was well after midnight—she’d always had an instinctive sense of time, whether it was close to dawn or dusk, and it didn’t fail her now. It was the depth of the night, the time she usually woke when her sleep was troubled. A sound finally came to her—the muffled wail of a miserable baby, and she recognized her unhappy goddaughter.

The floor was cold beneath her feet when she rose, reaching for her heavy shawl. The crying was getting louder now, and she pushed open her door, making her way slowly down the hall, wishing she’d at least had stockings to warm her bare toes.

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