Free Dreaming of You by Lisa Kleypas Page A

her conscience waged a war with her curiosity. Unfortunately the latter won out. Quickly she plucked the notes from their resting place.
    The first note was a list of random tasks, with Worthy’s name written across the top:
    Worthy,
    Riplace carpits in card rums 2 and 4
    Credit to be rifused to Lords Faxton and Rapley until acownts seteld.
    Have Gill sampel next brandy delivry…
    Sara felt compassion as she glanced over the laboriously scrawled note. Craven’s handling of the written word was nothing short of a massacre. On the other hand, there was nothing wrong with his mathematics. On a few occasions she had observed him multiplying and dividing figures in his head with bewildering speed, easily juggling betting odds and percentages. He could watch a card game in progress, silently calculate the cards that had been played, and predict the winning hand with unfailing accuracy. He glanced over the account books and rapidly totaled columns of figures without ever reaching for a pen.
    His other talent was just as extraordinary—an apparent ability to see inside peoples’ minds. He couldunerringly sense a well-hidden vulnerability and skewer it with a casual remark. His alert gaze took note of every nuance in a person’s expression, in a tone of voice…It made Sara realize with some surprise that he was every bit the observer she was, that he also felt a distance between himself and the rest of the world. At least, she thought, that was one thing they had in common.
    Sara picked up the second note, which was inscribed in an elegant feminine style, all pretentious loops and curls. It was an odd, abrupt message which gave her a cold sensation.
    Now you wear my mark for everyone to see.
    Come take your revenge if you dare.
    I still want you.
    —J
    “Oh, my,” Sara whispered, staring at the elaborately scrawled initial. She had no doubt the reference to a “mark” meant the slash on Craven’s face. What kind of woman would pay to have a man’s face ruined? How could Craven consort with such a female? Slowly Sara put the letters back in place, not wanting to see any more. Perhaps this “J” felt a kind of twisted love for Craven that was aligned with hatred. Perhaps Craven felt the same for her.
    It was difficult for Sara, who had always known love as a gentle and comforting emotion, to understand that for others it was sometimes dark, primitive, sordid. “There are so many things I don’t know,” she muttered, taking off her spectacles and rubbing her eyes. Perry had always been helpless in the face of her “moods”…He saw little reason one should be interestedin anything outside Greenwood Corners. She had learned to conceal her occasional frustrations from him, or he would give her one of his lectures about being sensible.
    Her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet voice from the doorway. “What are you doing in my apartments?”
    Sara turned in the chair and flushed. Derek Craven stood there, an unfathomable expression on his tanned face. “I’m sorry,” she said with an appealing glance. “Usually I work at Mr. Worthy’s secretaire, but he asked if I would use your desk today, since you were gone and he needed—”
    “There are other rooms you could have used.”
    “Yes, but none that offered privacy, and I can’t work with distractions, and…I’ll leave now.”
    “That’s not necessary.” He walked toward her. Although he was a large, powerfully built man, he moved with catlike grace. Sara lowered her head, focusing on the desk blotter. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Craven touch her discarded spectacles. “How many of these do you have?” he asked, nudging them an inch across the surface of the desk.
    “Only two.”
    “You leave them everywhere. I find them on bookcases, desks, edges of picture frames, wherever you happen to set them aside.”
    Sara picked up the spectacles and adjusted them on her face. “I can’t seem to remember them,” she admitted. “It’s very