Free An Affair Downstairs by Sherri Browning Page A

front of him, making herself unavoidable. He had no feelings for her at all. She was just another member of the family he served. Or so it had to be.
    An ache filled his lungs, nearly cutting off his ability to breathe. He hadn’t felt so empty, so alone, since Julia’s death years ago. But it wasn’t as if Alice had died, he reminded himself. She had her youth and good humor. A little heartache was part of growing up. What young woman hadn’t once cried bitter tears for the wrong man?
    Had Julia cried for him? He wondered. He’d never known. She’d chosen to marry Stanhope, and it had cost her dearly. She’d certainly cried over Stanhope, time and time again. In the end, Logan had been the one to comfort her, but he’d been all too aware that she’d soaked his handkerchief with tears of pain, sorrow, and regret for the man that the Earl of Stanhope had turned out to be, and not for what she’d given up with Logan. He’d lost her as a lover, but had remained her dutiful friend. Duty kept him centered. His life’s purpose had become to serve. There really wasn’t anything else left for him.
    Once Alice drifted entirely from view, Logan turned back toward the woods, lifted one of the loaded rifles, and shot at the thick trunk of the tree he’d stood in front of not long ago. He couldn’t see in the dark, but he knew that his shot hit dead center. His shots never missed the mark, even when words were his chosen weapon, a pity for poor young Alice’s heart.
    ***
    Alice wasn’t giving up. Once she’d calmed down and thought things through, she realized that Mr. Winthrop simply did not understand how much he needed her. Yet.
    The truth was that she’d given him reason to laugh again. Whatever he’d gone through in the past was serious and shattering, and no one had bothered to build the man back up. He certainly wasn’t capable of doing it himself. He’d buried himself in duty and responsibility and forgotten how to live . She meant to remind him.
    If he hadn’t been such a thoughtless prig during her shooting lesson, he might have had the honor of a visit from her after hours in the conservatory. She might have finally been bold enough to deliver the kiss that would rouse him from his slumber. Fairy tales could be reversed, couldn’t they? Perhaps in their version, he was the sleeping beauty, and she would have to fight the dragons of his past that weighed on him and leave him free to live again. She fancied herself in head-to-toe armor headed to battle. It was a good look for her. But tonight, instead of armor, she wore a rose-colored gown that Sophia had once feared would clash with the red in Alice’s hair.
    Ridiculous, she thought, looking into her mirror. It looked entirely too pretty on her to waste on Mr. Brumley. Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t left the plum sheath with the Elizabethan collar in Sophia’s dressing room. Perhaps if she left early, she would have time to change? But the Thornes were still in residence. Eve would probably interfere again and agree that the rose looked lovely on Alice, and Sophia would realize that even with Alice’s hair, the rose was better than the plum by far. She resigned herself to the rose.
    In any event, she wouldn’t see Mr. Winthrop tonight. He needed time to himself to realize just how miserable his dutiful life was without Alice to delight him.
    â€œAlice, you never fail to delight me.” He had said it in his kitchen just that morning. He could deny it and claim he’d said “surprise” instead of “delight” all he wanted, but she knew the truth. She’d heard him loud and clear. In an unguarded moment, he’d admitted how she truly affected him. He’d never convince her that he was indifferent to her, at least not for long.
    â€œThe spirits have been active!” Agatha declared, storming into Alice’s room. “We have a