Free From This Day Forward by Deborah Cox Page B

you like to know?" she asked, knowing full well that he didn't want to know about Wade at all. He wanted her to say something he could attack.
    "Oh, his name, what he looked like, how old he was...."
    "His name was Wade. Wade Marshall. He stood just under six feet tall, rather slim. His hair and eyes were brown. He was a year older than me and had all his permanent teeth, as far as I knew."
    "How did you meet?"
    Caroline released a tired sigh. He wouldn't be happy until she answered all his questions, when he had been so reticent about answering hers. "He was one of my father's apprentices."
    "Ah, so he was a doctor like your father," Jason said, pretending to give the matter careful consideration. "You must have had quite a lot to talk about."
    "He was not a doctor. My father left him enough money to finish medical school but—" She hesitated, the pain in her heart as acute as it had been three years ago. "Well, he lost it and he was never the same after that. It broke his spirit."
    Jason was quiet for so long that Caroline grew uncomfortable. Unable to meet his gaze, she rearranged the food on her plate with her fork. She'd told him what he wanted to know. Why didn't he say something? Why did he sit there as if he were analyzing her testimony for flaws, for hidden meanings?
    Finally he spoke, his voice soft and low. "If he had no more spirit than that...."
    Caroline faced him squarely, outraged at his unwarranted attack. Maybe Wade had been weak, but it was utterly unfair and petty of Jason to slander a dead man. "Not everyone has your strength. Not everyone can survive what you have—"
    As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to retrieve them. How could she have been so careless? She knew him so well it was hard to pretend they were complete strangers. She knew that his parents had been Irish, that his father's name was Cullen, that his sister had killed herself. And she knew that he'd overcome more in his lifetime than most men could have endured. Naturally he would disdain those weaker than he.
    But she wasn't supposed to know any of those things. He must never learn that she'd pretended to be Derek and answered his letters, read letters intended for his cousin. Deep in the pit of her stomach, she feared that he would never forgive her should he find out.
    She sat as still as a statue, watching him, gauging his reaction. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed, his face as hard and cold as granite. "How could you possibly know what I've survived?"
    Swallowing hard against the fear lodged in her throat, Caroline measured her words with care. Still she stammered guiltily when she finally spoke. "I... It's written on your face, in—in your eyes."
    "What did Derek tell you about me?" he asked, doubt and suspicion etched on his face.
    Caroline glanced away nervously. "Nothing, nothing really. He said you grew up in New Orleans and you came to Brazil when your parents died. That's all."
    "He must have told you something else, otherwise you'd still be in New Orleans."
    Oh, dear, how could she explain? To him, they were total strangers. To her, they were longtime friends. He sat staring at her, waiting for her to explain. She had to say something, but she couldn't think clearly. Her mind was still reeling from the fact that she'd almost told him too much already.
    "He told me you loved music," she lied with a tremulous smile. "He said that you weren't satisfied in the city where a man's potential is limited by his family connections and his wealth. He said you wanted to make something of yourself and build something with your own hands."
    The tension in Jason's face eased to a degree, and she could tell by his expression that he believed her, albeit grudgingly.
    "Then you know volumes more about me than I know about you," he said harshly. "I only found out today that you'd been married before. Did you love him? Your husband?"
    Caroline bristled, but tried to remain calm. "I don't see how that could possibly