He heard her voice--surprised that he could identify it
after all these years. It had changed slightly, he
couldn't deny that. Grown softer, with a gentler timber
that could lure a man in before he realized he was well
and truly captivated.
That's how Thomas Warner felt. Captivated.
And he sure as hell didn't want to be.
There wasn't much in life that Tom dreaded, but he'd been
dreading this encounter from the moment that it had dawned
on him that sooner or later it would come to pass. He'd
put it off as long as he could, and now that it was here,
he was torn between wishing it had come along sooner and
wishing that it had never arrived.
While the butler--in a snit because Tom didn't have a
proper calling card--had gone to inform the Earl of
Ravenleigh that Tom had come to call, Tom had been
standing in the entry hallway, cooling his heels, waiting.
But he hadn't been doing it patiently. He wasn't used to
waiting on any man, was accustomed to giving the orders
and having them obeyed without question.
Then he'd heard the voices, talking almost too fast to
decipher . . . and then her voice. She'd lost a good bit
of the slow drawl that had once been music to his ears,
but he could still hear it when she spoke certain words,
like a memorable chord wafting off a fiddle. So he found
himself listening intently for the familiar.
He'd eased over to the doorway, leaned against the
doorjamb, and just . . . spied on them. A gathering of
women, so intent on their visiting that they weren't
noticing him. He remembered times in his life when he'd
yearned for a woman's presence with such longing that he'd
thought he'd die from the wanting. Not only her touch, but
her fragrance, her softness, the comfort she could offer.
He knew it was wrong to stand there, knew he should
announce his presence, but he wasn't sure what would
happen once Lauren saw him.
Did she even remember him?
When he'd never been able to forget her?
