Only Mine Read Online Free PDF Page A

entourage.”
    “In America they are. An American woman does for herself and for her man as well.”
    “Betsy said she worked in a household that had twelve servants.”
    “Betsy must have worked for a carpetbagger.”
    Jessica blinked. “I don’t think so. The man sold stocks, not rugs.”
    Wolfe tried not to let humor blunt his anger. He wasn’t completely successful. “A carpetbagger is a kind of thief,” he said carefully.
    “So is a rug merchant.”
    Wolfe made a muffled sound.
    “You’re laughing, aren’t you?” Delight and relief were in Jessica’s voice and in her face when she looked over her shoulder at him. “You see? It won’t be so bad, being married to me.”
    The line of Wolfe’s mouth flattened once more.All he could see from where he stood was a badly buttoned dress and the graceful curve of a woman’s neck. But Jessica wasn’t a woman. Not really. She was a cold, spoiled little English aristocrat, the precise kind of woman he had detested since he had been old enough to understand that the glittering ladies of privilege didn’t want him as a man; they wanted only to know what rutting with a savage was like.
    “Wolfe?” Jessica whispered, searching the face that had once again become that of a stranger.
    “Turn around. If I don’t get this bloody thing done up, we’ll miss the stage.”
    “But I’m not dressed for the theater.”
    “Theater?” Belatedly Wolfe understood. “Stage coach. Not that you’re dressed for that, either. Those crinolines will take up half the bench.”
    “Stagecoach?”
    “Yes, my lady,” Wolfe said mockingly. “A means of conveyance having four wheels, a driver, horses—”
    “Oh, do hush up. I know what a stagecoach is,” Jessica interrupted. “I was just surprised. We went by horseback and carriage before.”
    “You were a proper little aristocrat then. Now you’re a plain old American wife. When you get tired of it, you know the way out.”
    Wolfe reached for another button. A gold chain gleamed just beneath his fingers. He remembered giving the chain and locket to her. It was a symbol of a time that would never come again, a time when he and his redheaded hoyden had been free simply to enjoy one another.
    Except for an occasional low curse, Wolfe silently finished fastening the maddening jet buttons on Jessica’s day dress.
    “There,” he said with relief as he stepped away. “Where are your trunks?”
    “My trunks?” she asked absently, wanting to groan with the relief of no longer having to hold the heavy, slippery mass of her hair over her head.
    “You must have packed your clothes in something. Where are your trunks?”
    “Trunks.”
    “Lady Jessica, if I had wanted a parrot I would have become a sea captain. Where are your damned trunks?”
    “I don’t know,” she admitted. “The footmen attended to them after Betsy unpacked.”
    Wolfe raked a big hand through his hair and tried not to notice the picture Jessica made with her ice-blue day dress peeking through the muted fire of her unbound hair.
    “Bloody. Useless. Lady. ”
    “Swearing at me won’t help,” she said stiffly.
    “Don’t bet on it.”
    Wolfe stalked out of the hotel room and slammed the door behind himself.
    Jessica barely had enough time to hide her unhappiness beneath a serene expression before Wolfe reappeared with a trunk balanced on each shoulder. Behind him were two rough-looking strangers who were little older than boys. Each carried two empty trunks. The young men dumped their cargo and stared with great interest at the fashionably dressed woman whose loose hair tumbled in shimmering waves to her hips.
    “Thank you,” Wolfe said to the young men as they set down the trunks.
    “My pleasure,” said the younger one. “We heard a real English lady was in town. Never thought we’d get a chance to see one.”
    “Actually, I’m Scots.”
    The youth smiled. “Either way, you’re pretty as a kitten in a velvet box. If you need any help getting