Scandalous Lovers by Robin Schone

Author:Robin Schone [Schone, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Erotica
ISBN: 9781575666990
Google: UJjk6hGdA7IC
Amazon: B001UFP4UA
Publisher: Brava
Published: 2007-01-14T16:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 32

"Miss Dennison."

The woman in the tailored dark coat and tall, ostrich-plumed hat froze.

A rhythmical tap-tap-tap permeated the frigid silence.

Frances remembered the chicken at last year's fair that had pecked out an off-key tune on a miniature piano. The comical vision of the speckled hen instantly dissolved into the face of Ardelle Dennison.

She thought of all the ugly words the publicist had said. And wondered if she had lost her mind as well as her morals.

"Miss Dennison." The tap of Frances's heels echoed the length of the corridor. "I wonder if I might have a word with you."

Ardelle Dennison's voice was as chill as the spring air. "This section of the museum is for employees only, Mrs. Hart."

The rebuff wasn't unexpected.

"Mr. Harmon said I might have a few words with you." Heart pounding, Frances stepped ahead of the publicist and turned to directly confront her. "I hoped we might take lunch together. Would you care to join me at the coffeehouse?"

The publicist's amber eyes were on a level with Frances's: they were as chill as her voice. "I'm meeting a client for lunch."

And, of course, she did not consider Frances worthy of introducing to her client. Whereas James had introduced Frances to several members of Parliament.

"Then I won't keep you." Frances squared her shoulders. "But I would like to take a moment to apologize."

Surprise blanketed the coldness in the publicist's eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"Mr. Manning caused you distress," Frances said. "And for that I am most heartily sorry."

She couldn't mend the hurt she had caused her daughters, but she could aid this woman who was young enough to be her daughter.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ardelle Dennison said, quickly recovering from her surprise. "Mr. Manning has done nothing to distress me."

Frances studied the publicist in the dim corridor, a beautiful woman reduced to shadow. "I quite think any woman who has affection for a man, Miss Dennison, would be distressed if that man said he did not find her worthy of marriage."

The angry red in Ardelle Dennison's cheeks paled to shocked white. She, too, vividly remembered the conversation that had occurred ten days earlier.

"I know he hurt you," Frances said compassionately, "because I felt your hurt."

"And how, Mrs. Hart"—the publicist's scorn was a strained imitation—"did you deduce that this hurt you felt came from me and not someone else?"

Frances had always been able to read her children. "By your eyes, Miss Dennison."

The publicist's soft lips folded into an thin, ugly line, silently refuting Frances's observation.

"I knew, of course, that you held Mr. Manning in high esteem," Frances continued evenly. "But I didn't realize that the hurt I felt came from you until last Saturday. When Mr. Nickols suggested we stop meeting at the museum, I saw the look in your eyes: you were afraid to meet Mr. Manning outside of a meeting."

There was no reaction in the publicist's eyes, just the shocked awareness that she had revealed her secret.

"I think you must be very lonely. But you needn't be.

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