family history was specific.
She realised she’d become more than a little possessive about the note, and didn’t easily want to relinquish it. That was, not until she found out who its author was. She was uneasy. She realised she would have to tell him about it, even if it meant he demanded she return it.
‘The other day I bought something from a local charity shop,’ she began. ‘I was told it had come from here. They’d taken delivery of a box of books from the house.’
Not commenting, Seth walked across to the window next to the door with a distinctly unhurried gait and stared out. What was he thinking about? He was still not saying anything, and his closed-off demeanour hardly suggested he was eager to break the silence.
The formidable quiet that ensued started to worry her. She was just about to ask if anything was the matter when he suddenly snapped out, ‘So you found a book...? Care to tell me the title?’
With a helpless shiver Imogen hugged her arms over her coat. ‘It’s a book of love poems by William Blake.’
‘Is it, indeed? You admire his work, do you?’
When Seth turned to face her she was mesmerised. The carved contours of his face might have been fashioned out of marble, they were so still. There was no expression in them whatsoever...none. And yet the burning blue of his eyes was fierce...
‘Yes, I do...very much.’
‘I once knew someone else who was fond of his poetry.’
The admission came out of the blue, and stunned Imogen because she hadn’t expected it.
‘Was it someone who lived at the house?’ The question was out before she could check it.
‘It might have been. Wasn’t the owner’s name in the book?’
‘No, it wasn’t. There was only—’
The man in front of her raised a dark eyebrow interestedly. ‘You were going to say, Miss Hayes...?’
Fearing she’d said too much too soon, Imogen parried the question with another one of her own. ‘Was the person who enjoyed Blake’s poetry a woman?’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
Her companion’s lightly lined forehead warningly grew tighter, and it was easy to sense the shield that had slammed down into place. But no shield—however strong and impenetrable—could hide the truth. It was right at that instant when Imogen remembered the initials that had signed off the note—SB.
The person who’d written in such beguiling and heartfelt tones was Seth Broden himself...
SETH IMMEDIATELY SAW what he took to be dawning realisation on Imogen’s face. He didn’t know why, but his heart started to pound.
‘Do you have the book with you? I’d like to take a look if you have,’ he said.
The sigh that escaped her was no more than a whisper but he heard it easily. The melting brown eyes before him were fused to his for the longest moment, and he wondered the reason behind it. Then, delving down into her shoulder bag, she produced a compact yellow book without a jacket. Flicking through the pages, she carefully extracted a piece of paper. Not knowing why, he caught his breath.
Crossing the floor, she handed him the note.
‘What’s this?’
‘It was inside the book when I bought it.’
Seth’s insides clenched hard as a painful sense of knowing gripped him. Seconds later his glance fell upon the words he had written all those years ago.
The realisation that Louisa had kept his message inside the pages of her favourite poetry book was bittersweet. He hardly knew what to think, what to feel.
He had sent the note to her at the university, to make sure she received it. They hadn’t met since that humiliating meeting with her father.
She’d been utterly distraught when she had realised there was no hope that he’d consent to them being together—‘not even if World War III is threatened!’ That was how intransigent the man had been.
As all her hopes had seemingly turned to dust she hadn’t been able to hide her sorrow. Before Seth had been able to reassure her that nothing would break them apart, she’d mouthed a forlorn I’m sorry, then quickly fled upstairs. He’d hardly known what to do.
After that, things had just gone from bad to worse. Once again he’d tried to get Siddons to relent and see sense but it had been useless. The man had been about as flexible as an iron wall. There had been no ‘give’ in his heart whatsoever.
Seth had slammed out through the door in a temper, vowing again that no matter what he and Louisa were going to be together. The pompous banker could do his worst, but Seth would find a way.
The next day he’d left Louisa this note at the university, because before he’d left the house her father had cruelly declared that he was confiscating her phone. To leave her a note had been Seth’s only means of reaching her until he’d figured out something better. One thing was for sure: Siddons would burn the missive if he found it first.
But a few days later his whole world had shifted on its axis and been demolished, all his hopes and aspirations turned to rubble. A friend of Louisa’s had knocked on his door in the early hours of the morning to inform him tearfully that she’d been killed in a hit-and-run accident. Seth had wanted to die, too. Just how was he going to carry on without her?
Now, tightly clutching the note, he walked across to the staircase and sank down onto one of the steps. He knew that it should comfort him to know that Louisa had read the message before she died and briefly treasured it, but he had been waiting too long to find that out, and in the meantime the damage had been done.
All that seeing it had done was reaffirm the fact that he should have tried harder to be with her, much harder... Even if her unrelenting father had come up with some trumped-up reason to prosecute him and had him thrown into jail.
Feeling enraged, he muttered a furious curse.
Watching Seth, Imogen felt two things hit her at once. The man was distraught. The repercussions that she had been wary of had come to pass. The muscle that flickered at the side of his lean, carved jaw immediately informed her that he was having significant trouble in containing his emotions. One thing was certain—seeing the note hadn’t given him any pleasure.
That led to her next realisation. He and his loved one hadn’t stayed together. No matter how much she’d hoped, true love hadn’t sustained them after all. She felt like crying.
But her deep sense of disappointment was quickly overridden by her concern for the man sitting on the stairs. Leaning towards him, she gently laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’
Even as the words left her lips Imogen knew the question was futile.
Turning his haunted blue eyes towards
