Gracious Lady. Carole Mortimer

the same time as Sophie registered all of this, she also knew that she had never been so aware of a man in her life before. Bone-meltingly, pulse-racingly, cheek-burningly aware of Maximilian Grant with every part of her, her senses singing, from the top of her head to the tips of her tingling toes.

      And if she didn’t start to breathe again soon she was going to faint dead away at his feet!

      Maximilian solved the problem for her by thrusting her away from him, his eyes narrowed to steely slits now as he still held her in his gaze at least. Sophie rubbed at the painful part of her wrist where he had held her so tightly, at the same time taking huge gulps of air into her starved lungs, still too shocked to actually say anything after being taken so much by surprise by the fierceness of his attack.

      It must be almost half an hour now since she had left his study, and, while she at least had taken off the uncomfortably high-heeled shoes since going to her bedroom, Maximilian looked exactly as he had when she had left him, still fully clothed and not——

      ‘What are you doing in here?’ he demanded harshly, his body tautly challenging.

      He looked almost threatening, seeming to bar her way to the door that still stood slightly open, reminding Sophie that she had been the one to leave it that way initially, which was why she hadn’t heard Maximilian’s entrance a few minutes ago.

      She eyed him warily. ‘Looking for a book to read…?’ She gave a hopeful shrug, wondering why she should have such a strong feeling that he wouldn’t believe her; this was the library, after all. What did he think she was doing in here?

      The icy-blue gaze didn’t waver. ‘At this time of the morning?’

      He didn’t believe her! ‘I couldn’t sleep after our talk,’ she shrugged. ‘I mean–I knew I wouldn’t be able to, even if I went to bed,’ she added hastily as he looked pointedly at the blouse and skirt she still wore, making it obvious that she hadn’t even gone to bed to try to sleep yet. ‘Too much on my mind,’ she grimaced.

      He folded his arms in front of his chest. ‘A guilty conscience can make you feel like that.’

      ‘Guilty——? Now look here,’ she spluttered indignantly. ‘I don’t have anything to feel guilty about.’ She glared at him at the implication that she had. Good God, if he was still going on about her wandering down the darkened road earlier, that had been his fault. And she was going to tell him so too if he didn’t stop throwing it up in her face!

      Dark blond brows rose over coolly assessing blue eyes. ‘Implying that I do?’ The query was made silkily soft.

      Her gaze dropped from his. ‘Well, I certainly have nothing to feel guilty about!’ she insisted stubbornly. God, she hadn’t been intending to steal a book from his precious library, if that were what he was worried about; could she do nothing right where this man was concerned? ‘I realise that perhaps I should have asked before borrowing a book.’ Her gaze returned the challenge in his now. ‘But given the lateness of the hour, and the fact that I would have returned the book to its shelf in the morning before I left, without anyone being any the wiser——’ she watched as he bent down to retrieve the book from the carpeted floor at their feet ’—I didn’t think that would be necessary. Obviously I was wrong,’ she added tautly.

      He turned the book over in his hands that were long and slender, but nevertheless gave the impression of a steely strength. Sophie knew just how strong they could be, could still feel the imprint of those artistically shaped fingers on her wrist. She was trying hard not to remember how being hauled unceremoniously up against him had affected her. Luckily, his insulting behaviour since was making that very easy to do!

      ‘Jane Eyre.’ His mouth twisted mockingly as he read the title printed in gold-leaf on the front and spine of the book. ‘Let me guess,’ he derided harshly. ‘The arrogant but wealthy Rochester is a hero of yours?’

      Sophie could cheerfully have slapped him at that moment for the cynical insult in his voice. In fact, she had to clasp her hands behind her back to stop herself from doing just that; she felt at that moment that she preferred Maximilian Grant cynically suspicious rather than derisively mocking! ‘Luckily,’ she snapped, ‘Rochester has more than his wealth to endear him to Jane; he is also blessed with a sense of humour!’

      Maximilian’s mouth twisted, the implication not lost on him. ‘And you think I’m not?’

      Sophie’s head tilted back challengingly, red curls gleaming like flame. ‘From our acquaintance so far, I wouldn’t know!’

      He laughed at her sharp retort, actually laughed, while putting the book down on the coffee-table that stood beside the armchair. ‘Perhaps it’s a pity you won’t be staying on here after all, Sophie Gordon,’ he murmured softly, still smiling. ‘It seems I’m in need of reminding how to laugh at situations.’

      Sophie was so mesmerised by the transformation the laughter had effected in the harshness of his features–the eyes a deep blue with humour, laughter-lines appearing beside his nose and mouth, his teeth very white and even against his tanned skin–that initially she didn’t take in what he had said. And then, when she did, she could only reflect how sad it must be to have to be reminded how to laugh.

      What sort of life did this man lead, that he should need reminding? She knew he was a widower, her aunt had told her that, but from what she could gather his wife had died three years ago, so surely there must be another love in his life by this time, someone who could share in his laughter? It wasn’t very likely, Sophie was sure, that a physically fit man of thirty-nine should have remained celibate since the death of his wife, not when he had the added bonus of looking the way Maximilian Grant did. But she mustn’t think about how attractive he was, certainly shouldn’t remember that fierce physical ache she had known when her body was pressed so intimately against his such a short time ago!

      And there was his daughter, sixteen-year-old Jennifer; didn’t she bring laughter and happiness into his life? As lovingly close to her own parents as she was, she couldn’t see how a father and daughter left alone together couldn’t become even closer because of their loss. But perhaps Maximilian Grant’s wealth even put a barrier between himself and his daughter; it would be extremely difficult in such circumstances, and given Maximilian’s wealth, not to at least financially spoil a young girl who had been left motherless. Perhaps there was something to be said for genteel poverty, after all…

      ‘Now, it seems, I’ve taken the laughter from your life too,’ Maximilian murmured with regret, blue eyes narrowed as he watched the differing emotions flickering across her face.

      ‘Oh, no,’ she hastened to reassure him. ‘I was just–thinking,’ she told him lamely, hoping he wouldn’t ask what she had been thinking about; she doubted that people very often felt sorry for this man, or that he would thank them for doing it!

      ‘A dangerous pastime, I’ve found,’ he drawled dismissively. ‘I think it’s time we went to bed now, don’t you? Why, “Jane",’ he taunted as her face went pink. ‘You surely didn’t think I was suggesting we go to bed together?’ He raised his brows mockingly.

      This man did have a sense of humour after all, even if it was a little cruel! ‘Of course not,’ she snapped. ‘Mr Rochester would never have suggested anything so improper,’ she mocked in return.

      Maximillian’s mouth twisted. ‘A twentieth-century Rochester might,’ he said softly. ‘Remember, he wasn’t averse to trying to marry Jane while already having a wife!’

      Sophie gave that some thought. Mr Rochester hadn’t been above trying to take what he wanted, namely Jane as his wife, any way that he could within the bounds of Jane’s propriety; a modern-day Rochester probably would