No Other Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

conversation, I’m afraid I’m a bit weary. If you’ll excuse me …”
    Charlotte opened her mouth as if to reply, but Luke gave her no time. Taking the stairs as fast as his ankle would allow, he made for his chamber. Once inside he fell back into a green brocade armchair, a cast-off from the drawing room that had been a favorite of his mother’s.
    He seethed for several minutes over his conversation with Charlotte, but before long Rose’s accusations pushed their way to the fore. Now that he thought about it, he saw how people might misconstrue things, though surely that would blow over when it became clear there was nothing between them.
    Then again, he did seem to be taking an inordinate amount of interest in her. She was a maid in his father’s house, and just minutes ago he’d accosted her in the morning room.
    What had she said? Oh, yes, she’d accused him of not considering the maid who’d been sent back to the scullery.
    He’d always considered himself a liberal thinker, but the fact was he had not for a moment thought about how his request would affect the other servants. Aside from Mrs. Craig, whom he’d known since he was a boy, they remained in the background seeing to the family’s comfort. Though he certainly never wished them ill, on the whole he didn’t worry about their feelings. Why bother when he’d soon be gone?
    Which made it even odder that he’d taken such an interest in the new maid. Or perhaps not so odd, given her extraordinary beauty and mysterious background. Still, it had been years since he’d gone out of his way for a woman. Not since Catherine, come to think of it.
    Unbidden, the memory came to him of Catherine as she lay dying, her heart-shaped face pale, her eyes glazed over. As always, he pushed the image away before it could take root.
    Catherine had died six years ago, and not once had he wavered in his decision never to marry again. He wasn’t a man to make the same mistake twice. Nor had he felt more than casual interest in any woman since.
    Of course, when it came to Rose Stratton, any man with eyes felt more than casual interest. But what did she mean, she was nearly betrothed? One either was or one wasn’t. If he were betrothed to her, nearly or otherwise, he sure as hell wouldn’t let her slave away in some stranger’s house.
    He picked up one of the rocks he’d set on the table near his chair, mementos he kept to remind him of where he’d been these past six years. He’d pulled this one, a rock of hardened red clay, from the ground on a foray into Mexico some three years ago. Just holding it brought back the heat of the day and vastness of the land, the absolute freedom he’d felt.
    He felt anything but free here. Even now Catherine’s death, and the death of their unborn child, weighed him down, haunting his every step. It was the reason he’d left six years ago, though he’d hoped that the years between would have dulled the memories.
    But then, why should it be different? Guilt had just as tight a hold on him now as it did the day he left. But whereas out west he had only his own conscience to contend with, now he was back on the streets they’d once walked together. Boston had once been the town he called home. Now it was the scene of his greatest regrets.
    For the last six years he’d gone weeks at a time without seeing or speaking to anyone, and he still wasn’t used to the noise and commotion of Boston, to all the people and constant conversation. Oh, he could converse well enough in the course of his work, but that was with businessmen. Clearly he’d forgotten how to behave around other people.
    Maids, for instance.
    Also on the table was a bottle filled with rough little garnets he’d panned from the gravel of Sully’s Creek. They’d need to be smoothed and polished before they looked like jewels, but even so the light from a nearby candle struck sparks in them.
    All at once he remembered the brilliance of Rose’s hair lit by the late