Second Chance Cinderella. Carla Capshaw

a little imagination a body can’t be bothered to wallow in the past for long, and it didn’t take much for me to realize I’d be better off without you.”

      She gasped at the spike of pain that pierced her heart. “I see.” Hating that her eyes misted with tears, she glanced out the window. Gas lamps glowed along the street, alleviating the darkness and eerie wisps of fog.

      Bitterness welled inside her at the unfairness of the situation. While he’d been playing away in London, uprooting her from his heart, she’d been expecting his child, terrified and lonely to her bones.

      She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Honesty insisted she tell him he was a father since he’d given no indication he knew about their son, but for now Andrew seemed to be her secret. She planned to keep it that way until Sam proved he could give her a fair hearing. Since he harbored such ill feelings toward her, he would no doubt use Andrew as a weapon to punish her for her supposed wrongs, and she’d be mad to give this wrathful, unforgiving stranger such a powerful means to ruin her life.

      Besides, her heartache demanded she let him stew for a little while longer. All of his indignation was for show. He may have been disappointed when he learned of her marriage, may have even convinced himself he’d been heartbroken for a time, but unlike her, he’d recovered from their separation with far too much ease to claim his love had been of the eternal variety.

      What a fool she’d been to believe they’d shared something special. She’d been no more to him than a habit he’d easily broken. She hated that she’d missed him when he didn’t deserve such sentiment almost as much as she loathed the inviolate hope that whispered time was all they needed to clear the air.

      Yet, how could they become reacquainted when they were no longer equals? To others they were as different as gold and rust. She’d grown up in a small village, but she wasn’t completely ignorant of the ways of the world or society’s expectations. Sam’s wealth placed him head and shoulders above her. She couldn’t see him coming to the kitchen to chat while she peeled potatoes.

      No, he was one of the privileged now, a fact he must realize given how easily he’d used his higher status to intimidate her.

      “Since you’re over me, why did you bring me here?” she asked past the lump in her throat. “To make a display of yourself and show me what a fool I’ve apparently been for not pining for you all these years?”

      “That’s part of it,” he answered flatly.

      “Then I didn’t miss a thing.” The chiming of the clock almost drowned out her strained whisper. “You’re petty and coldhearted. I’m fortunate I never tied myself to a cad like you.”

      His dark eyes shimmered with thinly veiled rage. She teetered on a knife’s edge, stunned by her outburst when she had so much to lose. Certain he’d send her packing, she felt every nerve in her body clench with dread.

      A knock on the study door shattered the tension.

      “What?” Sam snapped.

      Robert opened the door and took a hesitant step into the room. The shiny, brass buttons of his uniform glistened in the lamplight. Although he seemed a bit winded, his sallow face had been wiped clean of emotion. “Forgive me for interrupting, sir, but Mr. Hodges sent me to inform you Lord Sanbourne and his daughter, Miss Ratner, have arrived. Mr. Hodges installed them in the drawing room, but Miss Ratner—”

      “Has declined to wait,” a feminine voice announced from the corridor. A petite beauty with light brown hair breezed past the footman and into the study without further introduction. Artfully wrapped in a silk lavender gown, she made her way straight to Sam and kissed him in greeting. “I think it’s positively ghastly to suggest I do so when you should at least pretend to be on pins and needles waiting for your hostess to arrive.”

      Aggravated by the brunette’s pawing of Sam, Rose noted he didn’t untangle himself with any haste. Obviously, he approved of Miss Ratner’s brazen ways.

      At the end of her patience, she headed for the exit without waiting for Sam’s permission to leave. Robert withdrew first, but she managed a narrow escape just before the door clicked shut in her wake.

      * * *

      Sam watched Rose dart for the door and checked the impulse to call her back. The newspaper boy might as well have stabbed him in the vitals when he confirmed that Rose Smith did, indeed, work for Baron Malbury. Used to dealing with the ’Change’s unexpected variables, he rarely suffered from surprise. However, the knowledge that Rose lived within striking distance had knocked the wind from his lungs and he had yet to catch his breath.

      How dare she act as though she were the injured party? He’d done nothing wrong. He’d sought to make a better life for them. She had forgotten him like week-old rubbish the moment someone new came along.

      “Sam?”

      “What?” He blinked and focused on Amelia. Glad for the distraction of her arrival, he detested the noxious mix of resentment and regret coursing through his veins.

      “Are you listening to me, darling?”

      “Of course.” Using all his powers of concentration, he forced Rose from his mind, although she refused to go without a fuss. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m more than a little overcome by how lovely you look this evening.”

      She smiled and angled her trim body to show her gown to best advantage. The shining silk and lace belonged on a duchess instead of the daughter of an impoverished viscount, but Amelia wasn’t one to burden herself with such pesky distinctions. The bright blue ribbons framing her oval face and the sapphire gems at her throat reminded him of Rose’s eyes. He gritted his teeth. Everywhere he looked today, Rose was there to taunt him.

      “You seem distracted.” As was her wont in private, Amelia dismissed propriety and sank gracefully into one of the leather armchairs. “I saw you on Oxford Street earlier today. You looked rather harassed. I had my driver hail you, but you quite had your head in the clouds.”

      “I’ve been preoccupied with a personal matter.” His gaze drifted to the door. How was it possible that Rose was even lovelier than he remembered? Over the years he’d forgotten the blueness of her eyes and the natural blush of color in her smooth, fair cheeks. Worse, no one made him feel more invigorated than she did. The moment she entered the room he lost track of all else. “It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

      She glanced at him from under downcast lashes. “It’s not financial difficulties, I trust? After the grandeur you’ve become accustomed to, one doubts the Marshalsea would suit your tastes in the least.”

      Compared to the squalor he and Rose had lived in once the orphanage closed its doors, the notorious debtor’s prison qualified as a palace. “I’d manage.”

      “I’m certain you would. I find it excessively appealing that you’ve remained a scrapper beneath all the polish you’ve acquired, but I’m quite certain I’d die if I ever found myself in such a hideous place.” Her gloved hand soothed the silken folds of her gown. “If you are in dire straits, I hope you will remember you can come to me should you ever need a confidant—”

      “I’m much obliged, but you needn’t fret.”

      “As long as you know I’m always here for you.”

      He tamped down the cynical suspicion that her loyalty depended on the sum of his bank accounts. “Your friendship is dear to me.”

      She smiled. “As you’re aware, I want very much to be more than just your friend.”

      Still rough from his confrontation with Rose, he leaned back against the desk. His fingers clutched the lip of the desktop, his right ankle crossed casually over the left.

      This wasn’t the first time Amelia had made her wishes known. Just as she’d hinted on several occasions, he should probably marry her. In truth, he’d been considering a proposal for weeks. Her father’s hapless investments had made her family desperate enough