Meet a Dark Stranger by Jennifer Wilde

Author:Jennifer Wilde
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497698345
Publisher: Open Road Media Romance

9

The moon came out from behind a bank of clouds and misty light spilled into the hall through the side windows, staining the floor with silver, heightening the shadows massed along the walls. My hand was still on the bolt, fingers gripping the cold metal, and my heart seemed to have stopped beating. I had never known such fear. In the past I’d been amused to read about icy chills creeping up and down some heroine’s spine, considering the expression both hackneyed and wildly exaggerated, but now I knew exactly what it meant. My whole body seemed to be tightly gripped by some gigantic, invisible hand, ice cold, robbing me of reason. Something rustled on the other side of the door. There was a shuffle of footsteps, an impatient grunt, another knock, louder this time.

“Are you going to open this bloody door?” he rumbled.

“Stephen?”

“Who the hell were you expecting?”

Fear vanished, replaced by an equally intense rage. My hand fumbled with the bolt, fingers trembling, and it took me almost a minute to get the door unlocked. I threw it open, glaring at him with an expression that Medusa would have envied, but Stephen Brent didn’t turn to stone. He merely stood there gripping his small bag, totally unperturbed.

“Why didn’t you answer me!” I exclaimed.

“I didn’t think it was necessary. The idea is to keep this secret, not rouse all the neighbors with shouting matches through closed doors. I told you I’d be here. Who did you think I was, Boris Karloff?”

“I don’t find that at all funny. I’ve just lost ten years’ growth! When you didn’t answer, I—”

“Relax,” he said, nonchalantly stepping into the hall.

A shaft of moonlight streamed through the open door, silhouetting him, a tall, dark form outlined in silver. Still fuming, I closed the door and locked it, then groped along the wall for the switch and pressed it. Light poured down from the chandelier overhead. Completely at ease, indifferent to my anger, Stephen Brent gazed around appreciatively, taking in all the details of the place. When he turned to me, his gaze was equally appreciative. I shoved a lock of chestnut hair from my temple and bit back several unladylike phrases.

“You’re quite attractive like that,” he remarked, “cheeks pink, eyes flashing.”

“I’m glad you think so,” I said bitterly.

“Really? Nice place you have here. I don’t actually know all that much about antiques, but I’d say your brother has a fortune here. Chippendale chairs, Aubusson carpet. That chandelier must date back to—”

“I’m not at all interested in your evaluation of furniture, Mr. Brent. You frightened the life out of me. If you only knew what I thought when no one answered—”

“Sorry, luv,” he said, stifling a slight yawn. He strolled over to examine a small Sheraton table, picking up the Meissen box sitting on it. “You really should keep these things dusted, you know. Have you prepared the children for my entrance?”

I gave him a brief rundown on what I’d told them, and he nodded with approval.

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