the other hand, were unabashedly, gloriously fierce. He had the face of a hardened ascetic, a man who had spent years gazing into the depths of an alchemist's seething flask in search of arcane truths.
Harry looked like a man who had practiced self-control and self-denial for so long that those qualities had been absorbed into his very flesh and bone. It seemed to Molly that some very old fires burned in Harry's amber eyes. His powerful, long-fingered hands promised the possibilities of both great art and great despair.
“Next time, try knocking,” Molly suggested. She sank down onto the arm of the leather sofa. She could not have remained standing a moment longer. Adrenaline still surged unpleasantly through her veins.
“I'm sorry about this, Molly.” Harry looked at his young cousin. “Ms. Abberwick is a client of mine. She's got a point. Next time, knock first.”
Josh chuckled, apparently oblivious to Harry's irritation. “Didn't mean to scare the daylights out of you.”
“I'm delighted to hear that,” Molly grumbled.
Still shaken by what she had just witnessed, she looked at Harry for an explanation. His ferociously intelligent eyes met hers with an expression of rueful chagrin. She got the distinct impression that he was not quite sure what to do next.
Molly was briefly intrigued by that insight. At no time during the past month had she ever seen him betray so much as a hint of uncertainty. Until tonight he had exhibited an almost Zen-like self-assurance. It was a little unnerving.
His unshakable control and bird-of-prey patience together with his undeniable brainpower had combined to make Molly wary. And deeply, inexplicably curious. A moth and flame sort of thing, she had concluded. Very dangerous. Especially for a woman who had always been too burdened with responsibilities to take risks.
She had been flabbergasted to discover that she was attracted to Harry. As soon as the realization had hit her—a momentous event that had occurred the day she met him—she had made a valiant effort to conceal it. She had needed time to decide how to handle it. She was still working on the problem.
Harry Stratton Trevelyan could have been a swordsman, an artist, a monk, or a vampire. With such a range of career options, Molly found it intensely interesting that he had chosen a scholarly vocation.
At first she had rationalized Harry's impact on her senses as a function of the fact that she was just not getting out enough these days. Aunt Venicia, her sister, Kelsey, and her counter assistant, Tessa, were forever telling her that she ought to get a life.
Easy for them to say, Molly thought. What with raising Kelsey, running her business, sorting out the complex legal tangle of her father's affairs, and establishing the Abberwick Foundation, there was not a lot of room for a private life. There never had been.
Molly dated occasionally when she had the time and the opportunity. A year ago she had thought she might finally settle down into a contented relationship with Gordon Brooke, the owner of an espresso shop located near Abberwick Tea & Spice. She and Gordon had a lot in common, and Gordon was an attractive man. But that possibility had evaporated months ago.
For quite a while now, Molly had found herself far more consumed by her busy routine than she was by thoughts of passion. Lately even her quarterly business tax forms seemed more interesting than the men she met. She had begun to wonder if her female hormones had gone into permanent hibernation.
That particular concern had vanished the day she had looked straight into Harry's amber eyes. All of her hormones had sat bolt upright and immediately launched into a stirring rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus.
Her common sense did not join in the refrain, however. It had several pithy things to say on the subject of Harry Trevelyan. They all boiled down to a loud warning to stand clear. Unfortunately, while she had not inherited the family
Harry looked like a man who had practiced self-control and self-denial for so long that those qualities had been absorbed into his very flesh and bone. It seemed to Molly that some very old fires burned in Harry's amber eyes. His powerful, long-fingered hands promised the possibilities of both great art and great despair.
“Next time, try knocking,” Molly suggested. She sank down onto the arm of the leather sofa. She could not have remained standing a moment longer. Adrenaline still surged unpleasantly through her veins.
“I'm sorry about this, Molly.” Harry looked at his young cousin. “Ms. Abberwick is a client of mine. She's got a point. Next time, knock first.”
Josh chuckled, apparently oblivious to Harry's irritation. “Didn't mean to scare the daylights out of you.”
“I'm delighted to hear that,” Molly grumbled.
Still shaken by what she had just witnessed, she looked at Harry for an explanation. His ferociously intelligent eyes met hers with an expression of rueful chagrin. She got the distinct impression that he was not quite sure what to do next.
Molly was briefly intrigued by that insight. At no time during the past month had she ever seen him betray so much as a hint of uncertainty. Until tonight he had exhibited an almost Zen-like self-assurance. It was a little unnerving.
His unshakable control and bird-of-prey patience together with his undeniable brainpower had combined to make Molly wary. And deeply, inexplicably curious. A moth and flame sort of thing, she had concluded. Very dangerous. Especially for a woman who had always been too burdened with responsibilities to take risks.
She had been flabbergasted to discover that she was attracted to Harry. As soon as the realization had hit her—a momentous event that had occurred the day she met him—she had made a valiant effort to conceal it. She had needed time to decide how to handle it. She was still working on the problem.
Harry Stratton Trevelyan could have been a swordsman, an artist, a monk, or a vampire. With such a range of career options, Molly found it intensely interesting that he had chosen a scholarly vocation.
At first she had rationalized Harry's impact on her senses as a function of the fact that she was just not getting out enough these days. Aunt Venicia, her sister, Kelsey, and her counter assistant, Tessa, were forever telling her that she ought to get a life.
Easy for them to say, Molly thought. What with raising Kelsey, running her business, sorting out the complex legal tangle of her father's affairs, and establishing the Abberwick Foundation, there was not a lot of room for a private life. There never had been.
Molly dated occasionally when she had the time and the opportunity. A year ago she had thought she might finally settle down into a contented relationship with Gordon Brooke, the owner of an espresso shop located near Abberwick Tea & Spice. She and Gordon had a lot in common, and Gordon was an attractive man. But that possibility had evaporated months ago.
For quite a while now, Molly had found herself far more consumed by her busy routine than she was by thoughts of passion. Lately even her quarterly business tax forms seemed more interesting than the men she met. She had begun to wonder if her female hormones had gone into permanent hibernation.
That particular concern had vanished the day she had looked straight into Harry's amber eyes. All of her hormones had sat bolt upright and immediately launched into a stirring rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus.
Her common sense did not join in the refrain, however. It had several pithy things to say on the subject of Harry Trevelyan. They all boiled down to a loud warning to stand clear. Unfortunately, while she had not inherited the family
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