The Widow's Secret Read Online Free PDF Page A

the line of his clean-shaven jaw while he studied Jocelyn. Unable to stop herself, she stared back. He was tall; even when seated he dominated the room, with those clever gray eyes and thick tawny-brown hair whose prosaic color she envied with all her heart. As before, he was dressed in a gentleman’s day wear: gray-striped trousers that matched his eyes, and a double-breasted waistcoat under his black woolen frock coat—a thoroughly masculine man comfortable enough to make himself at home in her fussy, feminine parlor.
    This man was going to arrest her—and she was gazing at him as though he were her savior instead of her executioner.
    But from the instant they’d met the previous afternoon, something about him had quickened feelings inside her thatshe thought were as dead and cold as her marriage. His deep voice washed over her, and she drifted in the currents, savoring the fleeting connection.
    If only she could pray for strength, and be equally soothed by the assurance of a response.
    â€œWe don’t usually chase after thieves,” he was informing her, “unless they also print money from counterfeited engraved steel plates. Benny Foggarty’s one of the best engravers in the business. He’s also a gifted forger, taking photographs of bills, then touching them up with pen and ink. For the past nine months Benny’s been…ah…helping…me track down the principals in a notorious gang of counterfeiters. If we can’t put the ringleaders out of business, last year’s financial woes will look like a picnic in comparison.”
    He paused, but when Jocelyn did not respond he shrugged, adding softly, “Life can be complicated. You’re an intelligent woman, Mrs. Tremayne. But you’re also…let’s say, a ‘guarded’ woman. Makes me wonder what’s happened to you over these past ten years.”
    She almost leaped off the sofa. Ten years? Ten years? What could he mean—He must know Chadwick, after all. And if he had known Chadwick ten years ago, he must know who she was. He probably also knew—
    Rising, she locked her knees and struggled to breathe. “I need to…” The words lodged beneath her breastbone. She pressed her fist against her heart. “Operative MacKenzie…”
    Her entire marriage had been a lie; how ironic that finally telling the truth would result in her complete destruction. She could feel the internal collapse, feel her will buckling along with her knees, until ten years of secrets and shame collapsed into rubble.
    â€œTake your time, Mrs. Tremayne. Contrary to what somewould have you believe, Service policy prohibits the use of thumbscrews on widows.”
    Because he didn’t modulate the tone, it took Jocelyn a second to realize he was actually teasing her, as though he’d peeked inside her soul and discerned what would disarm her the most effectively. Disarm, yet somehow calm. Chadwick had used sarcastic humor as a weapon, but never tolerated laughter directed his way—never.
    But Chadwick’s image blurred, then dissipated like a will-o’-the-wisp until she could see only the commanding figure of a man with windswept hair and smoke-gray eyes…who had risen from the chair. Whose hand was stretched out as though he were about to touch her.
    Prickles raced over Jocelyn’s skin. She might crave his touch with a force more powerful than the longings for Parham, her long-lost family home, but she had long ago given up girlish dreams.
    In a flurry of motion she sidestepped around him, practically babbling in her haste. “I have something for you, something B-Benny dropped in my shopping bag the other day. I didn’t discover it until yesterday morning. I was going for a ride in the country and—Never mind. I should have told you before, but I—but I—”
    His hand dropped back to his side. “It’s all right, Mrs. Tremayne. Go ahead, finish it.