Free The Runaway McBride by Elizabeth Thornton Page A

dismissal of something that had devastated him, but tried not to show it. He didn’t want to quarrel with her. He wanted to protect her, only this hard-eyed reincarnation of the girl he’d once loved was beginning to annoy him.
    Suddenly, her expression changed, and she said softly, “I’m sorry I spoke so harshly. I read somewhere that you were widowed not long after you were married. What happened between us must pale to a triviality compared to that. I’m truly sorry.”
    This was the Faith he remembered: soft, giving, misty-eyed and... and, he must never forget, treacherous. The old magnetism was still there, but he was older and wiser now. He wasn’t going to give in to it.
    In the same soft inflection, she went on, “You went to South America, didn’t you, after your wife died? And built railways there? I heard you did very well for yourself.”
    He’d gone to where he could make the most money to pay off his creditors, and that was before Fiona died. He’d been glad to get away from his wife, but he owed Faith no explanation, so he did not bother to correct her.
    His voice was clipped. “You seem to be well-informed about me. I, on the other hand, know very little about you, except that you hared off with that Donkey fellow without giving me a chance to explain.”
    Her voice was as icy as her eyes. “His name was Dobbin, not Donkey. As for how I come to know so much about you, I read the papers. You’re a celebrity, James, you know, the railway magnate who made his fortune building railways in South America.”
    She made it sound as though he’d robbed widows and orphans. A look of hauteur settled on his face. “Dobbin? I was sure he was one of the Donkeys of Derby, but I’m not very good with names.”
    “No, and you’re not very good at laying the past to rest, either. That’s what you said you wanted, isn’t it, to lay the past to rest? Well, consider it done.”
    With that, she turned on her heel and started to walk back to the house.
    He tried to be angry. He thought that he should be angry, that he had a right to be angry, but all he could feel was a strange sense of exhilaration. The carnal delights of the Golden Fleece could not compare to the slings and arrows of one disastrously righteous woman.
    What delights? What Golden Fleece? Since the night of his granny’s apparition, he’d sworn off women, sworn off gambling and, sadly, sworn off whiskey and concentrated all his thoughts on one provoking problem: Faith. And he felt more alive, more in tune with the world than he’d felt in an age.
    The half smile on his lips died the moment he recognized the gentleman who was coming from the house toward Faith: Mr. Danvers, the man who smiled too much. He greeted Faith like a long-lost friend, laughing, talking across her words. Cozy. Exclusive. Then Mr. Danvers glanced over Faith’s shoulder and shot James a look that was easy to read: Keep your distance was the unspoken message. She’s mine.
    Never tardy in taking up a challenge, James strolled toward them. He checked himself when he became aware that the precocious Miss Winslet was avidly observing everything from the shade of a weeping willow. He remembered Alex’s advice, to do nothing to draw attention to himself and to keep his mouth shut.
    He had come here for a purpose. Time to get on with it.
     
     
    Mr. Danvers said, “Who is that gentleman you were talking to?”
    It came to Faith, then, that she really didn’t like Robert Danvers. He took too much upon himself. He was easier to bear when he was the gay cavalier, but when he transformed into a model of virtue, she could hardly keep her distaste from showing.
    She answered him shortly, “He is an acquaintance of my former employer, Lady Beale. I haven’t seen him for years. The other day, I met him quite by chance in Pritchard’s Bookshop.”
    “And his name?”
    When she looked at him sharply, he gave her an engaging smile. “He looks familiar, but I can’t quite place