“What are you doing here?”
He exhales. “Come off it now, it’s only me. Came to water the plants.” He flips out his key to the flat. He closes the door andseats himself at the table in Ansel’s spot, his gaze never leaving my face. He’s suspicious of me. He was then, too. Why? What had I done in my past life? The reason bobs in the distance, a quick flash of color that won’t come into focus.
“I see you’ve decided to return home.” His voice jars me into the present.
With a glare, I fling the curtain closed across the alcove holding the bed, separating it from the rest of the flat. I hear the door open and close as he discreetly excuses himself, but when I drop the quilt in the privacy of the makeshift bedchamber, I realize I climbed into bed fully clothed, my gown a rumpled mess. Like my poor brain. My whole life, really.
Pouring water into the basin, I strip to my chemise and wash quickly, selecting a simple eyelet gown from the wardrobe and buttoning it in front. Blush-colored with a scarlet sash, the gown doesn’t look familiar, but it does look like me. When I’ve scrubbed my teeth and twisted my hair into a loose chignon, I emerge and call out, “Hello?”
He reenters and closes the door behind him, striding to the kitchen to water the plants.
“Who are you, exactly? And how’ve you come by a key to my flat?”
He turns and his face shutters again. The only other time I’ve seen such abhorrence is on Sabine St. Laurent. “Nigel Brooks, Mrs. Winthrop. AJ gave it to me so I could care for the place.”
“I assume we’ve met before.”
“Far too many times.”
“And you are what, a relation? Friend?”
He sets down the watering can and comes to stand directly before me. “Stop with this silly game, Merryn. AJ may be blind, but I’m no fool.”
“Good. Then you’ll be able to answer questions for me.” I sit at the table, forearms crossed.
He lowers his eyebrows and sits opposite me.
I focus on the argument I overheard between this man and my husband.She will find out, Winthrop. She’ll find out what you’re up to and leave you so fast your head will spin.There’s deep loyalty underscoring those words. “First question. Why are you indebted to my husband?”
He looks uncomfortable. He didn’t expect that question, apparently. “You already know the answer to that.”
“Humor me, then.” I smile as I rise and move into the kitchen. “Tea?”
“Coffee. And I’m his business partner.”
“So he’s helped you become successful in business, and now you owe him. Which is why you despise me. You like Ansel, yet you believe I’m no good for him.”
“A man’s entitled to his opinions.”
“Next question. Whataremy husband’s business interests?”
“None, thanks to you. Everything is gone.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“He successfully started and ran several businesses, the details of which you never cared enough to know. First a hotel, with locations in several seaside towns. That fared well, so he opened a small department store near London. Leiths, it’s called. Then when purchasing habits grew unstable, he veered into automobiles. The most unusual, ahead-of-their-time machines owned by England’s wealthiest. He was brilliant at it, except he had a certain someone at home, badgering him about paying more attention to her.” He stiffens. “He straddled those fences as long as he could—home and business. Then just when business wasbooming,suddenly he backs out. Walks away with his hat and case, and hands over the keys. Never darkened the door of that place again.”
“And you blame me for that.”
“Shouldn’t I?” His eyes are a flinty color.
My heart pounds. Was I truly demanding?
“He sold all his businesses off at once, dumping them like a load of trash. Everything he’d dreamed of and worked for.”
“Because I asked him to?”
“Because youbroke his bloody heart.” He slams the table.
