Written In The Heart. Judith Stacy

shifted, keeping her chin high and her shoulders straight. The movement rustled her clothing, and Stephen imagined peeling away all those layers. Lace, silk, bows, ribbons, all waiting there for him to discover…and discard.

      “I’m glad I slapped you last night,” Caroline said, still refusing to turn away from the window.

      He deserved that slap. And he could probably use another right now. Something to bring him back to reality and restore a little sanity to his thoughts. He’d been almost continuously aroused since he’d laid eyes on her last night, and he never did his best thinking in that state. In fact, he could hardly think at all. Except about one thing.

      On the way over here this morning he’d planned what he’d say to her. Richard had told him how she wanted to work for Pinkerton, and that she’d been sent to Los Angeles to find a husband. He’d intended to use that against her, threaten to tell her aunt, force Caroline to come to work for him.

      Running an international corporation meant using what means were at his disposal to get what he wanted. Tough problems needed tough solutions sometimes. And that was all right with Stephen. He liked getting his way.

      But this time, with Caroline, it brought him no pleasure. No business opponent had ever looked hurt before, as Caroline did. None had made him feel ashamed, as she had.

      She turned then, her chin still high. Her nearness hummed through Stephen. She smelled rich and earthy. If he moved forward, just the tiniest bit, he could touch her.

      Instead he forced himself to back up a step.

      “It appears you’ve left me no choice,” she said.

      She held herself rigid, clinging to her dignity and pride despite the fact he’d forced her to do it his way. The desire to kiss her roiled through Stephen. He wanted to replace that hurt look with pleasure, make her smile again.

      But the image of Russell Pickette appeared in Stephen’s mind, along with the memory of his father. He wouldn’t let either of them get the best of him. For that he needed Caroline. And now he had her.

      “All right, Mr. Monterey, I’ll accept your job,” she said. “But this is strictly business. No personal involvement of any kind.”

      Stephen nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

      Chapter Five

      Aunt Eleanor glided into the parlor, still smiling.

      “Bessie will have tea for us in a moment,” she said.

      Stephen retrieved his derby from the table. “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Markham, but Caroline and I are going out.”

      “You are?” she asked.

      “We are?” Caroline echoed.

      Stephen turned to her. “We are.”

      “But—”

      “You should bring a wrap,” Stephen said. “We’ll likely be out until late.”

      “But…Now?”

      Stephen smiled. “No sense in waiting.”

      Caroline planted her hands on her hips. “Did it occur to you, Mr. Monterey, that I might already have plans for today?”

      He shrugged indifferently. “No, not for a minute.”

      “Run along, Caroline, dear,” Aunt Eleanor said. “You mustn’t keep Mr. Monterey waiting.”

      Caroline threw Stephen a sour look and left the room in a huff.

      Aunt Eleanor waved goodbye from the front porch a few minutes later as Caroline rode away in Stephen’s carriage, with him seated across from her.

      “Well, I hope you’re happy,” Caroline said, and jerked her chin at him.

      He nodded. “I’m very happy.”

      “Do you always get your way?”

      “Most always.”

      “Then I suggest you brace yourself for a few disappointments, Mr. Monterey,” Caroline told him. “You’ll find that I’m not like everyone else you know.”

      He smiled a slow, lazy smile. “I’m already aware of that, Miss Sommerfield.”

      Caroline tugged on her skirt and turned her face to the window, ignoring him.

      Since she refused to speak to him, Caroline had to content herself with watching the homes of the West Adams district roll past the carriage window. In the morning sunlight, with their large green lawns, swaying palms and ferns, stone walls and wrought-iron fences, they were even more impressive than when she’d seen them last night.

      The homes displayed a variety of grand architecture. There were storybook houses with gingerbread and scrollwork, great stone castles, English Tudors, white brick Colonials with Grecian columns.

      The carriage swung into the driveway of Stephen’s home. The brownstone looked bigger, more imposing that it had last night. Witches’ caps topped the circular turrets on the house’s four corners. Balconies opened on the second story. Massive stone chimneys and dormers punctuated the steep roof.

      “My uncle Colin and I designed the house,” Stephen said, gesturing out the window. “It’s on two acres, one of the biggest lots in the city.”

      “It is a beautiful home,” she agreed.

      “Seven bedrooms, not including the servants’ quarters. A trophy room, a card room, a billiard room, several sitting rooms and parlors, a formal dining room and breakfast room, and probably several other rooms I’ve never been in.” He smiled. “We had marble brought in from Italy. The stained glass windows are from France. Aunt Delfi always has some decorating project going on.”

      The carriage stopped. Stephen climbed out and helped her down. Richard waited on the front steps. He broke into a full smile when Caroline stepped out of the carriage.

      “Miss Sommerfield is starting work today, Richard,” Stephen announced, and presented her as if she were a trophy from a big game hunt.

      “Welcome, Miss Sommerfield,” he said. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

      “Thank you,” Caroline said. She liked Richard and wouldn’t be rude to him, even though she might have decidedly different feelings for Stephen.

      The front door opened and the butler stepped outside.

      “Excuse me, Mr. Monterey. Your aunt asks that you come to her at once.”

      Stephen nodded, then excused himself and went inside. Richard stepped over to Caroline.

      “His aunt Delfina,” he explained. “The slightly materialistic, indecisive worrier.”

      Caroline remembered her from the handwriting sample last night. “Oh, yes. Her. Is she ill?”

      “Aunt Delfina?” Richard chuckled. “She’s never had a genuine illness in her life. But that doesn’t stop her from being a…situation that Stephen must contend with. He has several…situations.”

      Caroline was certain she’d been one of those situations this morning. What did that make her now? No longer a situation, had she been clicked over into the “dealt with” category?

      “Well, I suppose we’d better go in,” Richard said.

      But instead he stood there gazing toward the far corner of the house for so long that Caroline turned and looked also.

      “Is something wrong?” she asked.

      “What?” He turned back. “Oh, no. I just…I just wanted to mention that you should see the grounds. They’re impressive.”

      Caroline wasn’t all that anxious to go inside, so if Richard wanted to stand here