Page 39 of A Second Chance for Love

Some days her daughter’s presence was the only thing that made it worthwhile to get up in the morning.

As hard as she tried to forget him, Justin Taylor had taken up residence in her brain—and heart—and seemed in no hurry to leave. It was foolish and self-destructive to allow herself to think of him as she’d most certainly killed any chances she’d had with him after leaving him in such a deceptive, underhanded way.

After spending one more night with the Cantrells, the road had been clear enough to head south. She’d arrived in London, collected her small cloth bag of possessions from her landlady, and took a hotel for the night. She’d spent most of that evening thinking about the money Juss had offered her. By the following morning she’d decided to keep four hundred pounds for the four days she’d spent on the journey and returned the rest along with a brief letter—the hardest letter she’d ever written. All Oona had said was that she was grateful for their time together and his generous offer of money.

Juss would be hurt and rejected, but he was a gorgeous, powerful, wealthy man and any pain he felt would likely pass quickly. At least she hoped he wouldn’t suffer. Not like she was suffering. But she had the added pain of knowing she had left a man she loved; yes, there was no denying that this much agony could only mean love. The shameful truth was that Oona would have been his mistress in a heartbeat if matters had been different.

She felt a familiar prickling behind her eyes that heralded tears and dropped her gaze to her idle hands. She couldn’t cry—not in the middle of the day. That is what nighttime was for: yearning for Juss and crying. Because it certainly wasn’t for sleeping.

“Mama?”

Oona looked up through bleary eyes. “Hmm?”

Katie had put aside her quill and pushed up from the table where she’d been working on her sums, which she hated. “There is a man on a magnificent horse coming down the drive.”

Oona jabbed herself with her needle, yowled, and stood so abruptly her tambour slid to the floor; she knew who it was before she rushed to the window.

“Oh.” Oona clutched her throat, drinking in the sight of his powerful, elegantly clad body like he was a pitcher of cool water and she was a parched wanderer in the desert. Which was not far from the truth.

“Who is it and why would he be coming here on Christmas Eve?” Katie asked, her gray eyes crinkling at the corners as she gazed up at Oona. Her eye color was the only feature she’d taken from her father—at least when it came to looks. But when it came to behavior, Katie had Viscount Edward Venable’s persistence and charm, and then some. Her father had been able to charm the birds from the trees—or at least a governess into his bed—by making Oona feel as if she were the only woman in the world. Katie was almost as skilled at charming her way out of chores.

“Mama?”

“You stay here,” Oona said, waiting until Katie nodded before moving toward the door, her hands unconsciously going to her hair. She swallowed several times, hoping to generate some moisture in her suddenly bone-dry mouth, to no success.

Quit acting like a fool and get out there!

Oona jerked open the front door and found him only a few feet away.

He stopped, his jaw dropping in a way that would have been comical if she wasn’t in such physical pain looking at his beautiful face.

“Oona.”

The sound of her name on his lips made her flushed and dizzy. “What are you doing here, Mr. Taylor?”

He recoiled—either at the cool tone, formal greeting, or both—and his face darkened. “I came to see you, obviously.”

“On Christmas Eve?”

“Yes. On Christmas Eve.” His beautiful eyes were stormy—angry and sad and something Oona couldn’t decipher.

She smoothed her skirt, unable to stay still. “Didn’t you receive my letter?”

His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “You mean the one with three sentences and three banknotes?”

Her face heated.

“Yes, I received that.”

“Then why are you here?”

He took a stride toward her and she stepped back.

He stopped, his expression one of barely suppressed fury. “What the hell happened between the time we said goodbye and three days later when I returned to London?”

“You were back in three days?” she blurted.

He brushed aside the question. “I deserve an answer. You told me you would be in London, that you would be wa—” His hot blue gaze slid to something over her shoulder and his jaw sagged.