Her Wicked Surrender by Jade Lee

Author:Jade Lee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2015-09-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Brandon was glad he'd bothered to shave when Scheherazade came in. She'd been crying, he saw that immediately. Then he saw her beautiful blue dress and remembered Lily's tea. Bloody hell. Last, he noticed that she didn't wear her engagement ring. Her left hand was conspicuously naked. He struggled to sit up, torn between anger at his brother's wife and elation that the engagement with Kit appeared to finally be over.

"You're awake," she said needlessly when she entered his room.

"You've been crying," he returned. Then he wondered exactly where his smooth tongue had gone. Wasn't he the one who could charm a woman into anything? He'd been told that in India a dozen or more times at least. Of course, a lot of things had been true in India that had since deserted him.

Scheherazade attempted a cheery smile. It failed miserably to meet her eyes. "A surly temper is a sure sign of improvement."

"So is an appetite. Tell that woman Martha to feed me something more edible than gruel."

Her smile warmed, though not enough to reassure him. "Food needs to be paid for, Brandon." She sat down in the chair beside his bed. "Is there a reason you have not removed yourself from 'that woman's' care?" Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you letting your family worry about you?"

He frowned. "Who is worried?"

A flash of fury twisted her features, but she smoothed them soon enough. "Kit has asked after you."

"And Michael no doubt." He reached out and touched her hand. "What happened? Was it Lily's tea?"

She nodded miserably and looked away, but not before he caught the sheen of tears in her eyes. She said nothing more, and he knew better than to press. She would tell him in her own time as long as he kept quiet. But it was a hard wait. Especially as he could do no more than touch the edge of her fingers with his own.

"I want to hold you," he said softly. The words were out before he realized how inappropriate they were. She would see him as a cad pushing for favors when she was at her weakest. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "I should not have said that."

She turned back to him, but her eyes were looking at something long distant. "When I was little, I used to curl up on Pappy's bed and read. I liked his tiny room and the smell of his sheets. I would wake in the morning curled into his side, my book laid neatly on the floor by my shoes."

"You slept nights with a man in the troupe?" he frowned. "What must your mother have thought?"

"I don't know that she ever found out. And even if she did..." She shook her head. "I spent all the time I could with Pappy. He was my father. Not my real one, of course, but in all other ways. Besides, Mama was more concerned with Cleo."

He frowned. "Your sister Cleopatra."

The corners of her mouth turned up in a vague smile. "My mother liked dramatic names.

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