Portrait Of A Lover Read Online Free PDF

handing it to Annabelle.
    “Does anyone see my pen?” the older lady asked, appearing flustered as she searched around her seat. “My grandson gave it to me. Did it fall on the floor?”
    Everyone leaned forward to look. Then Annabelle was struck by a thought. Well, not so much of a thought. It was more of an involuntary action. She reached into her own reticule for her pen and sketch pad, and while everyone was distracted by the older lady’s panic, she scribbled something on a small corner of the pad and ripped it out.
    The pen was soon located by Mr. Edwards, who had spotted it under Aunt Millicent’s feet. Annabelle quickly crumpled the note in her hand.
    She knew she was doing something rash and imprudent, but she couldn’t help herself. She could not get off this train and say good-bye forever to Mr. Edwards. She could not explain it. She simply had to see him again, even if it was only to discover he was an unscrupulous character. At least then she would know.
    A short time later the train screeched to a halt at the station and they all stood.
    “It was a pleasure traveling with you,” the older lady said to Annabelle and Aunt Millicent.
    “Indeed it was,” Millicent replied.
    One of the uniformed guards opened the door and helped the elderly lady down first, and as soon as Millicent took the first step down, Annabelle turned and discreetly slipped her crumpled note into Mr. Edwards’s hand.
    He glanced up, surprised at first, then his eyes filled instantly with a flirtatious spark of understanding that sent Annabelle’s senses whirling. He held her for a moment in the pounding allure of his gaze.
    That instant, she knew she had to see him again. She simply had to, and she prayed he would understand what she had written in the note and would not let her down.
    Physically wrenching herself away, she turned for the door, seizing the opportunity to steal just one more backward glance at him before she left the train.
    Magnus watched Miss Lawson walk the length of the platform until she was gone from view, then he immediately opened the tiny, crumpled note and read it.
    Bloody hell…
    He stuffed the note into his breast pocket.
    What had he done? What the devil was wrong with him?
    Sitting forward, he dropped his head into his hands, raking his fingers through his hair. He could never have her. Never, never, never. She came from that world. She lived with—and loved—the very people he despised, the people who despised him equally in return.
    He still could barely comprehend that she was one of them, because she was so undeniably different, and for most of the day he had practically forgotten the connection. He supposed he’d been distracted by the shining, disturbingly lovely blue of her eyes.
    Magnus sat back again and gazed with weariness out the window at the mulling crowd on the platform. The uniformed guard blew his whistle, signaling that it was time to depart.
    This was a wretched predicament indeed, he thought, recalling the pleasure of stroking her slender wrist and the displeasure of having to resist touching his lips to it.
    His actions had been beyond reproach, to say the least, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
    No, he should not see her again. He should not, for on top of everything, he had lied to her about who he was.
    The best thing to do was put her from his mind. Forcefully.Permanently. He was a strong man. He could do it.
    But as the train pulled away from the station, damned if he wasn’t thinking about her luscious full lips again, and feeling most inconveniently aroused.

Chapter 3
    1892
    S truggling to banish such painful memories of her unforgettable first love, Annabelle gazed upward at the swaying branches of the oak tree and listened to the leaves fluttering in the wind. She covered her face with both hands.
    A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed hard over it, trying to suppress it, but couldn’t, because it had been years since she’d recalled that day in such