she added tautly.
He turned the book over in his hands that were long and slender, but nevertheless gave the impression of a steely strength. Sophie knew just how strong they could be, could still feel the imprint of those artistically shaped fingers on her wrist. She was trying hard not to remember how being hauled unceremoniously up against him had affected her. Luckily, his insulting behaviour since was making that very easy to do!
‘Jane Eyre.’ His mouth twisted mockingly as he read the title printed in gold-leaf on the front and spine of the book. ‘Let me guess,’ he derided harshly. ‘The arrogant but wealthy Rochester is a hero of yours?’
Sophie could cheerfully have slapped him at that moment for the cynical insult in his voice. In fact, she had to clasp her hands behind her back to stop herself from doing just that; she felt at that moment that she preferred Maximilian Grant cynically suspicious rather than derisively mocking! ‘Luckily,’ she snapped, ‘Rochester has more than his wealth to endear him to Jane; he is also blessed with a sense of humour!’
Maximilian’s mouth twisted, the implication not lost on him. ‘And you think I’m not?’
Sophie’s head tilted back challengingly, red curls gleaming like flame. ‘From our acquaintance so far, I wouldn’t know!’
He laughed at her sharp retort, actually laughed, while putting the book down on the coffee-table that stood beside the armchair. ‘Perhaps it’s a pity you won’t be staying on here after all, Sophie Gordon,’ he murmured softly, still smiling. ‘It seems I’m in need of reminding how to laugh at situations.’
Sophie was so mesmerised by the transformation the laughter had effected in the harshness of his features–the eyes a deep blue with humour, laughter-lines appearing beside his nose and mouth, his teeth very white and even against his tanned skin–that initially she didn’t take in what he had said. And then, when she did, she could only reflect how sad it must be to have to be reminded how to laugh.
What sort of life did this man lead, that he should need reminding? She knew he was a widower, her aunt had told her that, but from what she could gather his wife had died three years ago, so surely there must be another love in his life by this time, someone who could share in his laughter? It wasn’t very likely, Sophie was sure, that a physically fit man of thirty-nine should have remained celibate since the death of his wife, not when he had the added bonus of looking the way Maximilian Grant did. But she mustn’t think about how attractive he was, certainly shouldn’t remember that fierce physical ache she had known when her body was pressed so intimately against his such a short time ago!
And there was his daughter, sixteen-year-old Jennifer; didn’t she bring laughter and happiness into his life? As lovingly close to her own parents as she was, she couldn’t see how a father and daughter left alone together couldn’t become even closer because of their loss. But perhaps Maximilian Grant’s wealth even put a barrier between himself and his daughter; it would be extremely difficult in such circumstances, and given Maximilian’s wealth, not to at least financially spoil a young girl who had been left motherless. Perhaps there was something to be said for genteel poverty, after all…
‘Now, it seems, I’ve taken the laughter from your life too,’ Maximilian murmured with regret, blue eyes narrowed as he watched the differing emotions flickering across her face.
‘Oh, no,’ she hastened to reassure him. ‘I was just–thinking,’ she told him lamely, hoping he wouldn’t ask what she had been thinking about; she doubted that people very often felt sorry for this man, or that he would thank them for doing it!
‘A dangerous pastime, I’ve found,’ he drawled dismissively. ‘I think it’s time we went to bed now, don’t you? Why, “Jane",’ he taunted as her face went pink. ‘You surely didn’t think I was suggesting we go to bed together?’ He raised his brows mockingly.
This man did have a sense of humour after all, even if it was a little cruel! ‘Of course not,’ she snapped. ‘Mr Rochester would never have suggested anything so improper,’ she mocked in return.
Maximillian’s mouth twisted. ‘A twentieth-century Rochester might,’ he said softly. ‘Remember, he wasn’t averse to trying to marry Jane while already having a wife!’
Sophie gave that some thought. Mr Rochester hadn’t been above trying to take what he wanted, namely Jane as his wife, any way that he could within the bounds of Jane’s propriety; a modern-day Rochester probably would
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