‘What’s wrong with that?’
Seth stared. ‘I don’t mean for you to come crashing back down to earth with a bang, sweetheart...but it’s probably better if you don’t delude yourself.’
‘I’m guessing that you wrote the note?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘I don’t mean to intrude more than I’ve done already, but will you— Can you tell me what happened?’
He moved down the stairs to stand in front of her, his expression a mixture of anger and resignation, and she didn’t know why he didn’t demand she leave.
‘The lady died...end of story.’
But Imogen saw that it wasn’t the end of the story. How could it be?
‘I’m so sorry.’
She meant it with all her heart. It was only natural that she’d commiserate with his loss. It honestly grieved her that fate had intervened and stolen the couple’s happiness. God knew it was hard enough to come by.
Seth Broden wore the scars of that loss as if they were physical ones. They weren’t easy to hide in such a compellingly carved face. Amidst such perfection the smallest irregularity couldn’t fail to show.
‘How did it happen?’
‘It was a hit and run. The bastard didn’t waste his time waiting to see what he’d done. Just left her lying in the road.’
‘Dear God...’ The shock ricocheted right through her.
Seth’s tormented glance seared hers. ‘No amount of condolence or sympathy is going to bring her back, so don’t get upset on my account. Is your car outside?’ he added sharply.
‘I didn’t drive. I walked here.’
‘I take it you must live in town, then? That’s about five miles away. Clearly a long walk doesn’t faze you?’
Imogen shook her head. ‘Not at all... I love it. It helps to keep me fit.’
‘Even so, I’ll give you a lift home. It’s getting late as well as becoming dark.’ He briefly glanced down at his watch. ‘I never meant to stay here so long.’
She wasn’t going to argue. She felt strangely reluctant to leave him. Perhaps on the way he might relent and tell her a little bit more about the woman he’d lost?
‘So long as you’re sure you’re ready to leave?’
‘I am. I was checking things over, but I’m finished now.’
‘Are you going to move in here soon?’
‘I haven’t decided.’
‘Oh. Well, I’m ready to go when you are, then.’
She swept back her silky brown hair and pulled the collar of her coat more snugly round her neck...not that it would give her much added protection against the wind that was howling outside. It sounded as if it was brewing up a cyclone!
They hurried out to his car. When they were ensconced in the sumptuous leather of Seth’s comfortable sedan, he turned to her and said, ‘Where to?’
As soon as Imogen gave him the directions he nodded in acknowledgement. ‘I know exactly where you mean.’ His expression failed to tell her whether the knowledge pleased him or not.
Leaving the impressive Gothic building behind them, they headed out through the tree-lined lanes towards the centre of the town. During the journey they were both silent. Imogen didn’t feel quite brave enough to question him again, and she wanted to respect his need for what must be quiet reflection.
Just twenty minutes later they arrived, and Seth negotiated the roads that took them to her address. As instructed, he pulled up in front of a neat black door with a gilt number one on it. It was dusk, and a lone street lamp helpfully illuminated the small row of terraced houses. Apart from the ethereal soughing of the wind, all was quiet. Most of the town’s workforce had departed for home.
Turning towards her companion, Imogen breathed out a sigh. Seth’s expression was as implacable as ever, but his strong, lean hands gripped the leather-clad steering wheel as though it was a much-needed anchor.
She was sorry they hadn’t had more time to talk. But, clutching at yet another straw, she said quickly, ‘Can I offer you a drink...in payment for the ride home, I mean?’
‘You think the age-old remedy of a cup of tea might help to set things right?’
The tone of his voice registered his scorn.
Pushing his fingers agitatedly through his hair, he continued, ‘I don’t want payment, but if you’re going to offer me a drink, then I’d prefer something stronger than tea.’
She sensed her cheeks flush heatedly as his intense blue eyes roamed her face. It made it doubly hard to form a reply. ‘I—I have some brandy that a friend bought me for my birthday. Will that do?’
‘Yes, it will—but only if you agree to join me. I won’t be making any more revelations, if that’s what you’re thinking, but a companionable silence might be welcome.’
Flushing again, Imogen nodded. ‘All right, then. Why don’t you park the car and come in? I’ll leave the front door open. My flat is on the ground floor.’ The words were out before she could stop them.
After unlocking the door, she entered the house. The small apartment she rented was easily accessible and the door opened onto a cosy, compact living room. She was putting a match to the tinder in the wood burner when she sensed Seth coming in behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his interested gaze scan the room.
As was her habit, she’d left everything tidy that morning. The task helped her to get clear about the day ahead. But strangely the ability seemed to elude her now, as her glance collided with Seth’s. Suddenly she didn’t feel clear about very much at all. And ever since she’d laid her hand on his shoulder to comfort him the oddly intimate sensation of warmth and strength hadn’t left her. It didn’t help that she still sensed his agitation. The note she’d found had clearly been a great shock to him.
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she invited. ‘I’ll get you that drink.’
‘Sure...’ he murmured, shrugging off his coat.
He draped it over the arm of a nearby easy chair as though it was nothing, but she glimpsed the Italian designer label attached to the silk lining. The garment was both exclusive and expensive, and it said much about the taste of its owner.
She watched thoughtfully as he dropped down onto the battered brown leather couch that had serviced several other tenants before Imogen. Even though she’d personalised it with the flowing red-and-gold Indian shawl that she’d draped over the back, it was still more ‘shabby chic’ than smart. Positioned next to the couch was a pile of hardback books on a maple-wood coffee table, and he picked up the top one to examine it.
‘Interesting,’ he murmured, reading the flyleaf. ‘I can see that you like a mystery.’
