Книга - The One Month Marriage

The One Month Marriage
Judith Stacy


Brandon Sayer Wanted His Wife Back. What Could Be Simpler?Jana would come home, and they could resume their marriage. All he had to do was give her a little guidance–as all wives needed. But Jana was not the naive girl he married, and didn't seem to want his guidance!Jana Sayer Wanted A Divorce. What Could Be Simpler?Brandon's buiness dealings still kept him too busy to be married, let alone be a father to the son he'd never seen. But he insisted Jana try marriage for one month more. And her traitorous heart had her deciding to give the man he'd become one last chance….









“Lovemaking is something entirely different.”


Jana looked up at him then. He lowered his head, but didn’t kiss her. Instead, he touched his cheek to hers, nuzzling her, brushing his lips against her.

His mouth played along the curve of her jaw. “If you’ve forgotten the difference between the two,” Brandon murmured against her ear, “I’ll be happy to demonstrate.”

His lips claimed her neck once more, sending a rush through her. Jana closed her eyes for a moment, then drew in a breath and pushed away.

“No,” she said, wanting to sound forceful but failing miserably.

Brandon didn’t protest, but she saw the wanting in his darkened eyes, his heavy breaths, his flushed cheeks. For an instant Jana wanted to throw herself into his arms once more, have him carry her into her bedroom as he used to do.

But that would only complicate things…!




Praise for Judith Stacy’s recent titles


“Wild West Wager” in A Hero’s Kiss

“A starchy heroine and disreputable hero strike a ‘Wild West Wager’ that sets tongues a-wagging in Stacy’s romantic, funny tale.”

—Romantic Times

The Nanny

“One of the most entertaining and sweetly satisfying tales I’ve had the pleasure to encounter.”

—The Romance Reader

The Blushing Bride

“…lovable characters that grab your heartstrings…a fun read all the way.”

—Rendezvous

The Dreammaker

“…a delightful story of the triumph of love.”

—Rendezvous




The One Month Marriage

Judith Stacy







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Thanks to David, Judy and Stacy

for always doing more than you have to.

And thanks to Jolene,

for being that once-in-a-lifetime friend.




Acknowledgment:


The author wishes to thank Martha Cooper

for her assistance with this book.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six




Chapter One


Los Angeles, 1897

S o she was coming home.

Brandon Sayer stared down at the telegram lying atop the papers and ledgers on his desk. Jana was coming home. His bride—if one could be called such after so long a time—was returning.

Brandon rose from his chair and crossed to the window, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet. He gazed down at the corner of Broadway and Third, the most prestigious business address in the city of Los Angeles. The trolley, delivery wagons, private coaches and eight-team oil wagons choked the intersection. Pedestrians scurried across the street, rightly fearing for their lives. Brandon pressed his palm against the warm glass of the windowpane.

Jana was coming home.

After all this time.

“Brandon?”

He turned from the window, saw Noah Carmichael standing just inside the doorway, and suspected that Noah had called his name several times. Beyond, the sound of clicking typewriter keys and muted voices drifted in through the open door as Brandon’s office staff went about their work.

“Another brilliant idea cooking in that brain of yours?” Noah asked with the easy smile their years of friendship and many successful business ventures had brought.

Brandon didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. An odd feeling for the man who, in the last five years, had built a business empire that rivaled the greatest industrialists on either coast.

Noah’s eyebrows pulled together and he tossed aside the stack of papers he’d brought into the office with him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Brandon just stared at him for a moment, then gestured lamely at his desk. Noah picked up the telegram, read it once, twice, then let it drop.

“She’s coming back?” Noah shook his head. “My God, how long has it been?”

“I’m not sure,” Brandon said. But he knew. He knew exactly.

“What are you going to do?” Noah asked.

Brandon shrugged. “Do? Why would I do anything?”

“She’s been gone all this time without a word—not a single word—and suddenly she’s returning? You have to do something.”

“She’s my wife.”

“Barely.”

Brandon turned toward the window again. He couldn’t argue with Noah. Everything he said was true.

After three months of marriage, Jana had left. Simply packed her belongings and disappeared. No warning, no notice, no explanation. He heard from her only once in a telegram a few days after her abrupt departure. She’d gone home to her aunt in San Francisco. They were leaving for Europe to visit a cousin.

And now she was coming home.

Brandon’s stomach tightened with anticipation.

His wife was coming home. After one year, two months and six days, she was coming home.

Thank God.



“I think we’re all settled now,” Jana Sayer reported as she entered the parlor of the hotel suite and gestured behind her at the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

Her aunt, Maureen Armstrong, reclined on the chaise. Tall, her dark hair showing only a hint of gray, Maureen possessed a gentle, artistic soul. She preferred her own company to that of most everyone else.

“Everything’s unpacked,” Jana said. She’d taken care of the important matters herself, then supervised the staff of servants who’d accompanied them on their transatlantic and transcontinental journeys.

“Should we order supper?” Maureen asked, looking up from the newspaper on her lap.

Jana tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear and sank into the wingback chair by the window. A heavy sigh slipped from her lips. The trip had been arduous, the day was late and she was tired.

“Nothing for me,” Jana said.

Outside, the Los Angeles rooftops darkened in the fading light. The Morgan Hotel was among the best in the city. This suite, with its lavish maroon-and-ivory decor, marble, etched glass and silk linens was its finest.

“Perhaps I’ll order a little something for myself,” Maureen mused. A moment passed before she spoke again, changing the subject. “Is it tomorrow, then?”

Jana’s heart fluttered, charging her with an unexpected surge of emotion, or energy—or something. She forced it down and drew in a calming breath.

“Yes, tomorrow,” she said. “I’m going tomorrow.”

“So soon? You’re sure you’ll be up to it?” Maureen asked in the kindly fashion of hers that always reminded Jana of brief childhood sicknesses or rainy days when her aunt stayed at her side, seemingly reading her thoughts and always making her feel better.

Maureen Armstrong had been doing just that for the past sixteen years since Jana’s parents had been killed when she was five. Never married, Maureen had raised Jana in her San Francisco mansion as her own, long-awaited child. Both had flourished in the arrangement.

“I want to handle it right away.” Jana rose from the chair and walked closer to the window. “I want to get it over with.”

Maureen folded her hands in her lap. “He’ll be angry,” she said softly.

The first three hellish months of her marriage flashed in Jana’s mind. Whatever Brandon’s feelings might be tomorrow weren’t her primary concern.

Really, she didn’t know what to expect from him—because he’d never expressed any emotion whatsoever about her departure. She’d received only one telegram from him, and that had been sent to Aunt Maureen shortly after Jana’s departure, asking if Jana had gone home. She’d gotten nothing else from her husband. Nothing. Until three months ago. Then a letter arrived at their London town house telling—not asking—her to come home.

So here she was.

“I know it will be difficult for you to break the news,” Maureen said.

Jana turned, a knot of determination tightening around her heart. “What news? I have no news for Brandon.”

“No news?” Maureen frowned. “But surely you’re going to tell him—”

“No.”

“Jana, you can’t allow him to believe—” Maureen paused. “When we were in Europe all these months, I understood why you didn’t…tell him. But now that we’re here?”

“He doesn’t need to know.”

“Then why did you agree to come here?” Maureen asked.

Jana drew in a breath. “To tell Brandon that I want a divorce.”




Chapter Two


H ome.

Or so she’d believed.

Jana gazed out the window of the hansom cab as it turned onto West Adams Boulevard, the place that had been her home for three months. The first time she’d laid eyes on this neighborhood of wide streets, swaying palms, wrought-iron and stone fences that fronted extravagant mansions, she’d been married but two days, and her husband had been at her side.

Fourteen months ago.

A lifetime ago.

He had built the house for her. Without really wanting to, Jana smiled as she recalled the day Brandon had told her that his wedding gift to her would be a new home in the prestigious West Adams District of Los Angeles. She’d been absolutely thrilled. But everything about Brandon was thrilling…back then.

Handsome, wealthy, successful, Brandon Sayer had instantly become the talk of the San Francisco social scene when he’d come to the city on business and been introduced into polite society. All the young women had vied for his attention. Mothers had sized him up as husband material for their daughters. Fathers had known of his business successes and wanted a part of it.

But Brandon had had eyes for only one young woman.

Jana shifted on the carriage seat, the leather creaking beneath her, as she recalled Aunt Maureen’s pleasure that Brandon had asked if he could call on her. Never leaving anything to chance—especially where Jana was concerned—her aunt had paid a private investigator to delve into the past of the man who seemed too good to be true.

But Maureen’s concern had been for naught. Brandon Sayer, the grandson of one of the East’s wealthiest, most highly regarded industrialists, had come West to expand the family fortune in California. His parents long dead, no siblings, Brandon had forged a name in his own right and built an enviable empire for himself in Los Angeles. When he had asked for Jana’s hand in marriage after a whirlwind courtship, Maureen had readily agreed.

Even now, Jana could hardly remember the details, it had all happened so quickly. Brandon had returned to Los Angeles to run his business, but had visited San Francisco as often as possible. Their long-distance courtship had continued as wedding preparations were underway. Aunt Maureen had staged the grand wedding she always dreamed of for Jana. Jana had felt as if she were a princess as she’d walked down the aisle and become Brandon’s wife.

From fairy-tale bride to crying alone in her bed at night.

The hansom cab swung into the driveway and pulled to a stop, yet Jana made no move to exit. She leaned closer to the window and eyed the magnificent house that had once been her home.

Three stories tall, built entirely of redwood with brownstone trim, the mansion featured a steep roof, a grand entryway and a tower room on the front corner, all snuggled comfortably amid two lavish acres of palms, shrubs, manicured lawns and refreshing fountains. Swedish wood sculptors had hand-carved the home’s woodwork, both inside and out. Italian marble and French stained glass graced the floors and windows, along with bronze hardware in all the fixtures. Brandon had spared no expense.

A lump of emotion rose in Jana’s throat. How could a life that had begun with such promise have turned into…this?

For an instant, she considered shouting to the driver to take her back to the Morgan Hotel. Perhaps Aunt Maureen would come back with her when she faced Brandon? Maybe she could simply send him a letter advising him of her intentions? Or leave the whole ugly mess in the hands of her aunt’s attorneys to sort through and resolve?

Jana reined in her runaway thoughts. No, she’d do none of those things. She’d face Brandon. After all, she was hardly the same woman she’d been when she married him. Many things had changed these past fourteen months—none more than Jana herself.

With a quick, determined breath, she allowed the driver to assist her from the cab.

“Please wait,” she said, passing him the fare and a generous tip. “I won’t be long.”

After all, how long could it take to advise one’s husband of an impending divorce?

“Thank you, ma’am,” the driver said, tipping his hat and stepping out of her way.

Jana squared her shoulders and climbed the steps to the double front doors. She stopped, unsure of what to do. Knock, or simply walk inside? Neither seemed quite right.

But she was saved from the dilemma when the door opened in front of her.

Brandon?

Jana’s heart slammed against her chest and rose into her throat. Did she look all right? She’d chosen to wear for the occasion a dark blue skirt, drawn across her front and gathered high in a bustle, a matching jacket with leg-o-mutton sleeves, an ivory blouse closed at the throat with a large bow. Her wide-brimmed hat dipped fashionably over one eye.

Had the ride over crushed her skirt? Was her hat on straight? Would Brandon like the dress she’d selected, notice the darker color or the—?

“Ah, Mrs. Sayer.” Charles, the white-haired butler stood in the open doorway, giving Jana the closest thing to a smile she’d ever seen on the man’s face.

“Hello, Charles,” she replied, chastising herself for her runaway thoughts a moment ago.

“Welcome home,” he said, stepping back and gesturing her into the house.

For a moment she hesitated. Home? This wasn’t her home. It had never been her home. Her home was in San Francisco with her aunt, not here—

Jana pushed the thought aside, gathered her skirt and stepped into the vestibule.

The red marble foyer, the sweeping staircase, the woodwork, the stained glass, the sights, the smells…the memories. The assault on her senses stopped Jana still in her tracks.

Over the past fourteen months, she’d occasionally wondered if the three months of her marriage had really happened. Had it instead been just a dream—a bad dream?

No. It had been real. Every moment of it. The memories twisted Jana’s stomach, as painful and strong as the actual experiences had been all those months ago.

She steeled herself, pushing away the hurtful thoughts. She had to be strong. She would be strong. After all, she wasn’t in this alone.

A warm shudder swept over her, prickling her skin and standing the hair at her nape on end.

Brandon.

She turned and saw him striding toward her. Her knees weakened and her heart thumped wildly beneath her breast.

Good gracious, he was handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, brown hair highlighted with the gold of the California sun, piercing blue eyes.

He’d grown even more good-looking these past fourteen months. How could that be possible?

And how could she still sense his presence after all this time?

For an instant, the need to run to him overwhelmed Jana. She wanted to snuggle against his hard chest, feel his arms pull her close.

But Brandon stopped at the edge of the foyer, as if some unseen line had been drawn between them and he wouldn’t step over it. His face was set in hard, cautious lines, a look Jana had seen far too many times already.

Her surge of emotion—or whatever it was—ebbed. Jana reminded herself why she was here…and why she’d left in the first place.

A long, tense moment dragged by with them eyeing each other from opposite ends of the foyer. What do a husband and wife say after so much time apart? Jana decided to leave that up to Brandon. It was he, after all, who’d asked her to come home.

“You’re looking well,” Brandon said.

His voice sent a tremor down her spine, bringing with it the memory of the first time she’d heard his voice. Standing in a friend’s parlor she’d been swathed in pale pink. Brandon, tall and sturdy among the delicate furnishings, had looked so handsome she hadn’t thought she could manage to speak a single word, and then—

Again, Jana pushed aside the memory and replied, “You’re looking well also.”

Her tone matched his, so they both sounded as if they’d just encountered a casual acquaintance whose name neither could remember.

“How was your crossing?” Brandon asked.

“Calm.”

“And the rail journey?”

“Uneventful.”

“Is your aunt well?”

“In excellent health, thank you,” Jana replied.

Conversation stalled, but the awkward moment continued. Jana hadn’t really expected her husband to sweep her into his arms, profess his love, pour out his regret and apology, but she’d seen Brandon give warmer receptions to business acquaintances.

“Perhaps we should go into my office?” he asked, gesturing behind him.

There was no reason not to. After all, they could hardly discuss their situation standing in the foyer. Charles had disappeared, as butlers always do, but she was certain he and some of the other staff were well within earshot. Yet going deeper into the house—with Brandon—caused Jana’s palms to dampen and set her nerves on end.

The heat of his body wafted over her as she crossed the foyer and he fell in step beside her. His scent came with the heat, stirring her memories once more.

As they passed the parlor doorway, Jana glanced inside, then stopped and gasped aloud. The room that she’d begun decorating—along with the entire rest of the house—stood just as she’d left it fourteen months ago. One wall half papered, cans of paint in the corner, shrouded furniture pushed to the center of the room.

“You never finished the work?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

“No, of course not,” Brandon replied, as if he didn’t really understand why she would ask such a question.

He continued down the hallway leaving her to follow. When she stepped into Brandon’s office, another wave of emotion struck her. The room, with its heavy walnut furniture, deep green carpet and drapes, had been the first completed in the new house. The decorator—that dreadful Mr. McDowell—had seen to it. No one had asked Jana’s opinion of the color scheme or the furnishings. Or anything else, for that matter.

But it suited Brandon. The office was his refuge. He spent most of his time there, when he was home. Jana had seldom entered the room.

How odd that she’d be there today, when she intended to end their marriage.

Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to sit on the dark leather sofa. She stood, with the oil painting of cornered foxes, snarling bears and mountain lions glaring down at her.

“I see you’ve kept everything here the same,” she couldn’t help but say.

Brandon’s gaze bounced from wall to wall, then fell on her again as she stood a few yards in front of him.

“Why would I change it?” he asked, frowning slightly.

Why, indeed? Brandon preferred—demanded—things stay the same. Jana knew that all too well.

A long silence passed, and finally Brandon spoke again.

“So,” he said briskly. “You’re home now. That’s the important thing. We can put all this nonsense behind us and—”

“Nonsense?”

“Yes,” he went on, rubbing his palms together. “We can forget about what you did, and get on with our lives.”

Stunned, Jana just stared, unable to speak.

Brandon moved to his desk and began sorting through papers. “You’ll want to continue with decorating the house and pick up where you left off with the women’s organizations in town. The servants have done an adequate job, but you’ll need to supervise them more closely this time. There are invitations and correspondence that you will need to attend to before—”

“You…you expect me to take over all my old duties?” Jana asked, shaking her head slowly. “Is that why you think I came back?”

Brandon’s hands stilled on the papers and his gaze came up quickly. “Well, yes.”

“That’s not why I came here,” Jana said. “I’m only here to tell you I want a divorce.”

Breath left Brandon in a huff as color drained from his face. Jana rushed on, anxious to get this ordeal over with, to leave and never return.

“My aunt’s attorneys will arrange everything,” she said.

Brandon didn’t respond.

“You needn’t worry. I won’t ask for anything.” Jana gestured around the room. “You can keep it all.”

“No…”

“I’ll be certain everything is handled quickly. Goodbye, Brandon,” she said, and hurried toward the door.

“No!”

The wrath, the raw anger in Brandon’s voice brought Jana up short. She whirled. Fists clenched, shoulders rigid, jaw set, Brandon glared at her.

She hadn’t expected him to say nothing at all. But she hadn’t expected him to disagree, either. After all, it had been fourteen months, fourteen long months, with no communication whatsoever. Certainly, Jana hadn’t anticipated the fury she saw now on her husband’s face.

He came around the desk. “You want a—a—a divorce?”

Jana drew up her courage. “Yes.”

Brandon didn’t speak, just glared. She rushed on, feeling pressured to explain. “I’ve been gone too long. We’re practically strangers.”

“No…”

Jana drew in a breath. “Our marriage is dead.”

“No!”

She dug deep, finding the calm she’d struggled to develop these last fourteen months. “Brandon, you have to face the truth. It’s over.”

“We’re married,” Brandon told her, his anger growing. “Whether you like it or not. Legally and in the eyes of God. We’re married.”

Her anger flared. “I hardly need you to remind me of the vows I took.”

“Somebody needs to.” Brandon flung the words at her. “Before you go running off again.”

“I don’t deserve to be spoken to as if—”

“And fourteen months ago I deserved to hear you tell me to my face that you were leaving!”

“I was gone two days before you realized I’d left!”

That shut him up. Brandon’s anger subsided, but only a little. He drew in a breath and tilted his head left, then right, easing the tension in his neck, as she’d seen him do so many times before.

“At the time, I was heavily involved in a crucial business deal that was teetering on collapse, if you recall,” Brandon explained, his voice softer but just as tense. “I had early-morning meetings, meetings that stretched into the night. It didn’t occur to me to look into my wife’s bedroom each evening to see whether or not she’d run off.”

Jana met his gaze but didn’t answer. His explanation was reasonable, yet didn’t erase the pain she’d gone through at the time.

After another long moment, Brandon spoke again, his voice straining for calm.

“As I said, we are married. You and I are bound together by law and in the sight of God. Our marriage isn’t over simply because you declare it to be.”

A thread of panic whipped through Jana. “We haven’t seen each other in months. We hardly knew each other to begin with—”

“Then how can you know that our marriage is over?” Brandon demanded, his eyes boring into her. “How can you declare it dead when we haven’t even given it a fair chance?”

Jana determinedly held herself rigid, refusing to let him see the chaos his words—his logic—stirred in her.

“What makes you think, after all this time and all that’s happened, that we can make it work?” Jana demanded.

“Nothing’s happened that can’t be undone,” Brandon insisted.

Jana gulped, guilt replacing her panic. “That’s not true. Things—”

He put up his hand, silencing her. “Perhaps we can’t work out these problems you believe we have. But we won’t know unless we try.”

Her resolve crumbled further. “Brandon, it’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is,” he said. “And if our marriage dies, at least it will die with us trying to do the right thing.”

Jana’s knees weakened, but for a different reason now. Never—ever—had she imagined Brandon would be so adamant about keeping their marriage together. She had no idea their union meant so much, or anything at all, to him.

“Just say you’ll try,” Brandon said.

Did she hear a plea in his voice? She wasn’t sure.

Jana shook her head. “I can’t live here forever, waiting, wondering how things will turn out.”

“Then give it a month,” Brandon said quickly. “Four weeks. Our vows are worth that much, aren’t they?”

Jana didn’t reply. How could she disagree?

“I’ll think it over,” she finally said.

That didn’t seem to suit him, but he nodded. “Tomorrow? You’ll give me your answer?”

“Yes, I’ll come back tomorrow. Before six,” Jana said, the old habit returning without her even realizing it. Six o’clock. He had always wanted her home before six o’clock.

“Promise?”

An odd wave of vulnerability sounded in his voice, and for an instant, he looked hurt and lost, touching Jana’s heart unexpectedly, making her want to rush to him, touch her palm to his cheek, soothe him.

But in the next instant, Brandon’s expression hardened again and so did Jana’s heart.

“I’ll be here before six o’clock,” she told him. “I promise.”

Brandon just nodded. He stood there looking at her for a while, and Jana didn’t know what to do or say. Nothing seemed appropriate, so she simply turned and left. To her surprise, Brandon walked alongside her through the house and out into the driveway. He waved off the driver up top and opened the hansom door for her himself.

“I’ll send my carriage for you tomorrow,” Brandon said.

“It’s not necessary.”

He gestured to the cab. “You needn’t ride around in public transportation. I’ll send my carriage—”

Jana touched his arm, even though she hadn’t meant to.

“I said I’ll be here tomorrow, and I will,” she told him.

His jaw tightened, but finally he nodded. “Fine, then.”

Jana climbed into the cab, pointedly ignoring his proffered hand. Brandon closed the door and held on to the handle.

He gazed at her though the open window. “There must have been something…something you liked about our marriage.”

“No.”

“Something you liked about…us.”

Jana gazed steadily at him. “Nothing.”

Brandon stepped back and signaled the driver who turned the cab into the street. Jana watched out the window at Brandon standing on the steps, following the cab with his gaze.

She turned away, slumping deeper into the seat.

How could she live here, in the house, for four weeks? How could she manage it…when her heart was somewhere else?




Chapter Three


R aised voices in the outer office took Brandon’s attention from the ledger that lay open on his desk. Glad for the distraction, he closed the book. He couldn’t concentrate on the figures anyway.

How could he after last night?

The commotion beyond his closed office door continued. Brandon heard the voice of his secretary, Mr. Perkins, raised in protest. Still, Brandon remained in his chair, confident the white-haired, wiry secretary could handle whatever situation presented itself.

Brandon had no energy for confrontation today. Since receiving the telegram from Jana advising him of her return, he’d slept little. All he could think was that, at last, the ordeal would be over. His wife was returning. He’d thought everything would be back to normal.

Brandon sank lower in his chair, tuning out the disturbance in the outer office, preferring thoughts of his wife.

Their fourteen-month separation had changed her in subtle ways. He noticed each and every one of them yesterday when they’d stood across the foyer from each other and he’d been trying to put together a cohesive sentence.

Even more beautiful. The notion had hit him square in the chest yesterday. Her face a little more mature, after so short a time, her dress more sophisticated, her figure a trifle fuller. He had wanted her right there in the foyer.

He had wanted her even when she asked for a divorce.

Brandon grumbled aloud. A divorce. What nonsense. True, Jana had been young, pampered and spoiled when they married. She’d run back home to her aunt who, with the best of intentions, had taken her in and allowed Jana to accompany her on a long-planned extended trip to Europe. Brandon understood how impetuous his young wife had been, and how her aunt couldn’t say no. He’d indulged them both.

But now—

His office door burst open and Mr. Perkins rushed into the room on the heels of the woman who had, surely, been the cause of the commotion.

“Now see here, madam,” Mr. Perkins barked, his face red. “You can’t come pushing your way in here. I told you that Mr. Sayer isn’t seeing anyone today without an appointment, and you haven’t—”

“Since when do I need an appointment?”

Leona Albright directed her question at Brandon, her words a seductive whisper that brought him out of his chair.

Seeing his battle lost, Mr. Perkins turned to Brandon. “I told her, Mr. Sayer, I told her you weren’t seeing anyone today without an appointment. That those were your instructions and I couldn’t allow—”

“It’s all right,” Brandon said.

“I told that young fella from the newspaper the same thing this morning. That Mr. Fisk. I told him you weren’t seeing anyone today without an appointment.” Mr. Perkins threw Leona Albright a scathing look. “Only he had the decency to respect your wishes and go about his business.”

“Thank you, Mr. Perkins,” Brandon said. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Albright.”

Mr. Perkins shot her a final contemptuous glare, then huffed out of the office, closing the door with a little more force than necessary.

Leona, her gaze still on Brandon, gave him a slow, steady smile, one that brought lesser men to their knees.

“You’ve been keeping secrets, Brandon, dear,” she purred and walked closer.

“You like secrets,” he countered.

Leona Albright did indeed like secrets. She liked everything. Tall, ten years older than Brandon, though she’d never admit it to anyone else, Leona wore her dresses cut a fraction lower than was considered decent—especially for her ample figure—and her hair a shade more fiery red than nature alone could provide. Yet her wealth, her social position and political connections on both coasts kept anyone from commenting—in public, anyway. She’d recently lost her fourth, much-older husband and, according to the latest rumor, had already turned down two marriage proposals.

“You know me well,” Leona purred.

“Which of my secrets have you uncovered?” he asked, motioning her toward the seating group at the other end of his office.

Leona took her time settling onto the sofa, arranging her skirt, shifting her shoulders in a way that called attention to her impressive bosom. Brandon took the chair to her immediate left.

“I’m terribly hurt,” Leona declared. “This Jennings deal of yours. You never mentioned a word of it to me.”

“There’s talk?” Brandon asked, a little concerned.

“Whispers,” Leona said, and raised an eyebrow suggestively. “I learned of it from an unnamed, but very satisfied, source.”

The Jennings Building, a five-story structure in a prime location, currently housed the Los Angeles Messenger. Brandon owned both the newspaper and the building. Over the last year he’d refused to renew the leases of tenants until now only the newspaper remained. It, too, would be gone soon. Then his new project would be officially announced, though it had been quietly in the works for some time.

“And is this ‘unnamed source’ of yours interested in the project?” Brandon asked.

“Of course,” Leona said. “Everyone is interested in anything that involves you, Brandon, dear. Your name attached to any project guarantees success.”

Brandon smiled, not unhappy to hear a compliment.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll give you the details before the public announcement.”

“Of course you will,” Leona said, favoring him with another smile. “Now, on to your next secret.”

Brandon frowned, trying to imagine what she referred to this time.

“The return of your wife,” Leona said. “I admit, I’m surprised you’re even here at your office today.”

Brandon shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. He was certain everyone who’d heard of Jana’s return was curious to find him at work today, rather than at home rolling around in bed with her, making up for their fourteen-month separation.

The playfulness left Leona’s face. “Not a joyful reunion?”

“Not exactly,” Brandon said. He didn’t hesitate to explain further, knowing Leona would keep his confidence, even to unnamed—but satisfied—sources.

It wasn’t the first time she’d kept silent on his behalf.

“She wants a divorce,” Brandon explained. “I told her no, of course. She agreed to work on our marriage.”

“So you have everything under control,” Leona said.

Brandon nodded. He’d thought about it all last night, all morning, all afternoon. He knew what to do.

“Jana is my wife. She must live up to her responsibilities. It’s her duty.”

“You romantic devil, you,” Leona said.

Brandon sat forward. “I have duties in our marriage. She does too. Everyone has duties. We all must live up to them.”

“Duties?”

“Of course,” Brandon said. “Jana needed a firm hand. It was my fault she left, really. I was too easy on her. I’ll be sure she understands her responsibilities this time.”

“Well, as long as you have everything under control…” Leona rose from the sofa, bringing Brandon up with her. She gave him a long, sultry look. “You should have married me.”

“All your husbands die.”

“But they go with smiles on their faces.” Leona sauntered to the office door, threw him one last knowing look, and left.



“I see you’ve made your decision,” Maureen said.

Jana glanced back at her maid closing the latches on her trunk. “It wasn’t exactly my decision,” she said. “Brandon refused to grant me a divorce unless I did as he asked.”

“He has a point,” Maureen said.

Jana didn’t respond, just moved past her aunt, down the hallway and into the parlor of the suite. Brandon did, indeed, have a point. It was all she’d been able to think about since they’d talked yesterday.

Legally and in the eyes of God they were married. Brandon had been right about that. And Jana could find no argument to refute his assertion. She’d taken vows, pledged her life to their union. None of which should be taken lightly.

It had all seemed so much easier, so much clearer in London. There, she’d known exactly what she wanted. With the distance from her husband, she’d realized exactly what sort of man he was—and what sort of man she wanted.

But after seeing him again yesterday…

Jana sank onto the settee. She’d tossed and turned, paced the floor all night. Was she being foolish? Wishing for something that would never be there? Expecting more from Brandon than he’d given in the past?

Or had he changed? She certainly wasn’t the same person she was fourteen months ago. Could Brandon have changed, as well?

For better or worse, their marriage vows had stated. Could the “worse” really be behind her?

Jana sensed her aunt come into the parlor and rose from the settee. “I owe it to the marriage to give it another chance.”

Aunt Maureen raised her brows. “And you’ll do that? Give it an honest chance?”

Jana nodded. She’d do just that. If not, why bother with it at all?

“I think it’s better that we try one last time,” Jana said. “As Brandon says, if it still doesn’t work at least we’ll know we tried to do the right thing.”

Maureen nodded. “It will be easier to explain…later on.”

Doubt swept through Jana, but she pushed on.

“You’ll take care of everything here?” she asked. She’d discussed it with her aunt already and she’d agreed, but Jana felt she had to ask one last time.

“I’m ready for some rest, some solitude.” Maureen gestured toward the window. “The sunsets here are glorious, at times. I want to try and capture them on canvas. I have books to read and poetry to write. I’ll be fine, dear. Don’t give it a thought.”

“I’ll come visit every day,” Jana told her.

Maureen smiled gently. “I understand.”

Jana took one last look around, then drew in a breath. “Well, I’d better go.”

She pinned on her hat and found her handbag as the servants took her trunk out the door.

“I’ll see to it the rest of your things are packed and sent over tomorrow,” Maureen promised, then as if reading Jana’s thoughts added, “Don’t worry. I won’t let any of our staff go to the house. Someone from the hotel will deliver your things.”

Jana rushed to her aunt and gave her a quick hug. “If anything happens—anything at all—let me know. Day or night. Don’t hesitate.”

“Of course, dear,” Aunt Maureen promised.

With a final hug and peck on the cheek, Jana left the suite and set off yet again for her new life with Brandon.

When she arrived at the house on West Adams, Jana instructed the hansom driver to place her trunk on the front porch. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to have it taken inside just yet. She wanted to talk to Brandon first, be sure they both understood their arrangement.

Parts of it he wouldn’t like. She was sure of it.

And if they reached an agreement on their unorthodox arrangement, today—though only a few hours were left in it—would count as day one. Twenty-nine to go.

“Good evening, Mrs. Sayer,” Charles greeted her as she stepped into the vestibule. He eyed the trunk, but didn’t say anything.

“Good evening, Charles,” Jana said, glancing around, expecting to see Brandon waiting. It wasn’t quite six o’clock, her designated arrival time, so she was a bit early. “Would you tell him I’m here, please?”

“Mr. Sayer isn’t home.”

A knot jerked in Jana’s stomach. “He’s not here?” she asked, hearing the accusation in her voice. Though only she was supposed to be home by six, she expected Brandon to be here also, under the circumstances.

Charles cast his gaze away. “No, ma’am.”

“I see.” Jana drew herself up. “Cook is preparing supper?”

“Yes, ma’am. Seven o’clock, as always.”

“Of course. Seven o’clock.” How could she have forgotten Brandon’s designated supper hour?

“Shall I have Cook prepare you some refreshment?” Charles asked.

“No, thank you.” Jana removed her hat and passed it to the butler along with her handbag. “That’s all, Charles. Thank you.”

He dipped his head slightly and crept away.

Jana moved through the still house, switching on lights as she went. The fixtures had been built for both gas and electricity. Tonight, the electrical current flowed smoothly, making the more reliable gas jets unnecessary.

In the parlor, the light cast a harsh glare on the half-papered walls and reflected off the white furniture shrouds. The smell of paint hung faintly in the air. Jana stood in the center of the room, turning to take it all in.

Good gracious, had she really picked out this wallpaper, this paint color? And the mural on the ceiling. A hunting scene? Hideous. What had she been thinking?

Her thinking had been just fine fourteen months ago, she suddenly remembered. But no one had been interested in her opinion.

The color samples, fabric and wallpaper swatches were piled in a heap on the shrouded settee. Jana sat down and immersed herself in them, her mind filling with ideas that would do this room justice. She lost track of the time until, vaguely, she heard a clock chime the hour once more. Seven o’clock.

Seven o’clock and no Brandon. Jana rose from the settee and went to the vestibule. She peeked out. Gaslights burned on West Adams Boulevard. The trolley had stopped for the night, but carriages made their way up and down the street.

No sign of Brandon.

At seven-thirty, Jana went to the dining room, ate alone, then returned to the parlor. At eight-fifteen Brandon arrived home. She went to meet him.

“You’re here. Good,” he said, passing his bowler and satchel to Charles, and striding across the foyer to where she waited. He looked rushed, hurried, distracted.

“I ate supper already,” Jana told him, just for something to say.

He frowned. “You know I prefer we eat together. Well, no matter—this time. I saw your trunk outside. I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. Have it brought inside and—”

“We need to talk first.”

Brandon stopped, seemed confused for a moment, then nodded. “Well, all right.”

She trailed along behind him as he strode to his office. He flipped through a stack of envelopes on his desk, then glanced up.

“So, you’re staying,” he said. “Good. We can—”

“For thirty days,” Jana pointed out. “I’ll give it a month. That’s our agreement. Unless, of course, at some point you change your mind.”

Brandon frowned. “I have no intention of changing my mind.”

“Fourteen months have passed,” Jana said. “You might realize too much is different now.”

“Nothing’s different,” he insisted.

“It was your idea that we try again,” Jana said. “If you find that it’s a mistake, I won’t hold you to the agreement. I think that’s only fair.”

“Fine, then.” Brandon went to the door, called for Charles, then instructed him to have Jana’s trunk taken to her room.

When he turned to Jana again, his expression changed. It was subtle, unnoticeable to anyone who didn’t know him well. Darker eyes, deeper breathing.

She knew what it meant.

“Shall we go…upstairs?” he asked, his voice low.

Jana didn’t answer. He walked beside her through the hallway, up the wide curving staircase, down the carpeted corridor to the suite of rooms they’d occupied as husband and wife.

Jana opened her door and walked inside, feeling the heat of Brandon’s body behind her. She hadn’t delivered all her conditions for staying yet. She’d saved the last one for now because she intended to deliver it at this time and at this place, so as to leave no question in Brandon’s mind.

She swung around to face him. “Where are you going?”

Brandon stopped short in the doorway. His gaze darted past her, then landed on her again, looking slightly confused.

“Your room is next door, if I recall,” she said.

He frowned, as if still not understanding. “But this is your room, and here is where we always used to…you know.”

“Well, there will be no ‘you knowing’ between us,” Jana informed him.

Color drained from his face. “But…”

“Not for thirty days, anyway.”

“Thirty days?”

“It’s the trial period you agreed to,” she reminded him.

“Yes, but I didn’t think you meant we couldn’t—”

“Our lives are too unsettled,” Jana said. “We wouldn’t want to complicate them further.”

“But—I—”

“Good night, Brandon.”

“But—”

She closed the door in his face.




Chapter Four


A brisk knock and the door easing open brought Jana fully awake. She pushed herself up, holding the bedcovers over her breasts, and tossed her dark hair over her shoulder.

Brandon? Her heart thumped harder, jolting her. Was Brandon entering her room? Last night she’d forbidden him to enter and he’d respected her wishes. But now at dawn, had he changed his mind?

Jana squinted across the room and blinked the sleep from her eyes, bringing into focus the figure of a young woman, not her husband, entering her bedchamber.

“Abbie? Is that you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Sayer. Good morning,” the maid replied crossing to the bed.

Jana sat up, genuinely pleased by something in this house for the first time since her arrival.

“Good gracious,” Jana said, “I can’t believe it’s really you. You’re still here?”

Abbie smiled, a warm familiar smile, looking equally pleased. “Yes, ma’am. I’m still here. After all this time.”

“But—how? Why? I thought you’d be long gone.”

The young woman—not much older than Jana—had been her maid when she’d first arrived here as Brandon’s new wife. Abbie didn’t look any different, dark curls barely contained in her white cap, gray uniform with crisp apron, a pleasant smile on her face. Abbie had been Jana’s lifeline, at times, during that tumultuous period.

“I thought I’d be let go for sure, after you left,” Abbie confided. “But Mr. Sayer wouldn’t have no part of it. He said I was to stay. For when you got back.”

Jana’s stomach twisted into a knot. “When I…got back?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Abbie assured her, bustling about the room, picking up the clothing Jana had left on a chair last night. “I’m truly sorry, ma’am, that I wasn’t here when you arrived. My aunt, she was feeling a bit under the weather, so I was visiting with her. Charles, he sent for me, told me to get back here straightaway.”

“It’s all right, Abbie,” Jana said. “I managed well enough for myself last night.”

Abbie turned to her, Jana’s dress folded across her arm. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Sayer. Truly, it is.”

“Thank you, Abbie,” she replied, climbing out of the bed.

“Does this mean you’re staying?” she asked. “This time?”

Jana could have been insulted by Abbie’s question, offended by her impertinence. But Jana liked her. They’d become more than employer and maid in the past. Jana could use Abbie’s allegiance—and confidence—this time, as well.

“I wanted a divorce, but Brandon insisted we give our marriage another chance,” Jana told her. “I decided we should do just that…and see what happens.”

Abbie cast a pointed glance at the bed, the covers still tucked in neatly at the bottom, barely disturbed. But she said nothing as she headed for the large redwood closet.

With the first rays of morning sunlight beaming in through the heavy drapes, Jana’s room brightened slowly, giving her a good look at the things she’d barely noticed last night in her haste to get into bed.

She turned in a slow circle, and stopped still in the center of the room.

Nothing had changed.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All stood exactly as she’d left it fourteen months ago.

The bed with the pink-and-white coverlet. The cherry furniture. Her dressing table with the carved ivory brush set, the ostrich feather perfume bottles, jars of lotion, powder and creams—all exactly where she left them.

“Mr. Sayer wouldn’t let us change nothing.”

Jana turned at the sound of Abbie’s voice. “What?”

“Not one thing was to be moved. Everything was to be left exactly as it was.” Abbie rolled her eyes. “And when one of the girls—you remember Rita, don’t you?—when she suggested everything ought to be packed away, Mr. Sayer hit the ceiling.”

“Brandon became angry?” Jana asked, trying to picture it in her mind. In all their time together, courting and during the three months of their marriage, Jana had seldom heard Brandon raise his voice. She couldn’t ever remember him becoming truly angry.

“Yes,” Abbie declared, nodding her head. She leaned a little closer. “He fired Rita on the spot.”

Jana gasped. “He didn’t.”

“He did.” Abbie nodded once more. “And he wouldn’t let your bed linens be washed, either. Not for the longest time.”

Jana hardly knew what to make of this. But then, she reminded herself, much about her husband always had been a mystery.

“I’m glad you’re still here, Abbie,” Jana said, picking up her handbag from the bureau.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Abbie said, then seeming to sense a change in Jana, stopped her work.

“You, of all people, understand the reasons I left,” Jana said.

Abbie nodded. “I do. Yes.”

“You were a great comfort to me during that time,” Jana said. “I appreciated that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Abbie replied, frowning slightly, obviously wondering where this conversation was going.

“You’re employed by Brandon. Everyone here is,” Jana said, waving her hand to indicate the entire house. “But I want to hire you away. I want you to work for me.”

“But Mrs. Sayer, I do work for you. I’m your personal maid. Everything I do is—”

“No, you don’t understand,” Jana said. “You’re a good person, Abbie, so I don’t want you to feel your loyalties are divided. I’ll pay your salary myself—confidentially, of course—to you personally. You can have it in addition to whatever Brandon pays you.”

Jana pulled a wad of money from her handbag and thrust it at Abbie. The maid’s eyes bulged and her mouth sagged open.

“Take it,” Jana said. “Go on, take it.”

“But…” Abbie accepted the bills, holding them at arm’s length. “This is too much. Much too much. Mr. Sayer doesn’t pay me near this amount. It’s not right—”

“Yes, it is,” Jana told her. “You work for me now. All I ask is that you keep this arrangement to yourself. No one is to know, not your family, friends, and certainly not the other servants.”

“Yes, ma’am, if that’s what you want—”

“And,” Jana told her, “you are to speak to no one about what you might hear…or see…here in my room.”

Abbie’s expression darkened. But she nodded in agreement. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jana sighed with relief. “Thank you, Abbie. Now, I need to dress so I can join Brandon for breakfast.”

Abbie’s brows rose. “You do?”

She nodded briskly. “I do.”

The maid shrugged as if she didn’t understand that either, and set about laying out Jana’s clothes.

Brandon was already seated at the table, when Jana arrived in the breakfast room. The small, oval room was painted pale yellow and featured windows on two sides to let in the morning sun. The gardens just outside offered a view of blooming flowers and climbing roses.

Jana paused in the doorway, her breath suddenly catching. The view of her husband was nothing to be ignored either.

Brandon sat at the table turned out quite nicely in a dark blue suit, snowy shirt and deep red necktie. His wide shoulders and broad chest couldn’t be hidden beneath the cut of the cloth. His big hand and long fingers grasped a fork as his attention shifted back and forth between the two newspapers laid out on the table beside his plate.

And why had she denied him entrance to her bedchamber last night…?

Jana quickly banished the thought and entered the breakfast room.

“Good morning,” she said, a little surprised to hear the effortless cheer that lightened her voice.

Brandon’s gaze jumped to her and quickly ran the length of her, head to toe. He flushed slightly, making her more than pleased with the forest-green dress she’d selected for the morning.

He rose from his chair, catching the linen napkin in his lap before it fell.

Was he glad to see her? Jana couldn’t tell.

“Good morning,” Brandon said, watching her carefully, cautiously almost.

A moment passed and finally Jana said, “I thought I’d join you for breakfast.”

“Well…” Brandon glanced at the two newspapers on the table. “You know I always eat breakfast alone, but well, if you’d like to it’s fine…this time.”

He rounded the table and pulled out a chair for her at the opposite end. For a few seconds she thought he was staring at her backside as she lowered herself into the seat, then dismissed the idea. Her imagination, surely.

A maid entered the room, greeted her and poured coffee as Brandon resumed his chair and his reading.

Another long moment passed in silence after the maid disappeared. The clock in the hallway ticked.

“I see you’re reading two newspapers?” Jana ventured.

Brandon looked up. “The Times and the Messenger,” he said and turned back to his reading.

Jana fiddled with her spoon. “I thought it would be nice if we hosted an informal supper.”

Brandon looked up again, a frown on his face. “A supper?”

“Yes, so that I can get reaquainted with—”

“You know I like the house quiet.”

Jana shifted in her chair. “Yes, but since I’ve been away, I thought a small supper would be a good way—”

Brandon pushed out of his chair, then folded and tucked both newspapers under his arm. “When I come home in the evenings after a busy, sometimes difficult day, I want things quiet. I don’t like suppers and that sort of thing, and you know it. I don’t know why you’d even suggest it.”

“But—”

“I’m going to the office.” Brandon stopped in the doorway. “I notified that decorator, the one who was here before, what’s-his-name, that you’re ready to resume work on the house.”

Jana’s eyes widened. “Mr. McDowell?”

“Whatever.” Brandon dismissed the name with a wave of his hand. “He’ll be here today.”

“But—”

Brandon walked away without another word, without listening, leaving Jana with a familiar knot of dismay coiling in her stomach.

After a moment, she went up to her room, fetched her hat and handbag, and left the house. At the corner of West Adams Boulevard and St. James Place, she boarded the trolley, paid her nickel fare and spent the day with her aunt.

She was at the house again that evening, well before the designated six o’clock hour. Not that it mattered. Jana passed the time in the one and only decent sitting room until shortly after seven when she ate supper alone, her only company an occasional servant and the ticking of the hallway clock. When Brandon arrived home just after eight, Jana was on her way upstairs.

She turned on the bottom step, watching as he gave Charles his bowler and satchel. After what must have been a long, trying day for him, Brandon still looked fresh…handsome.

Jana silently reprimanded herself for having the thought.

“I received a telephone call from Mr. McDowell today,” Brandon said to her.

“And good evening to you, too,” she countered.

He didn’t notice. “McDowell told me he came by the house but you weren’t here.”

“That’s correct.”

“I told you he was coming by.”

“I’m aware of that,” Jana said. “But, Brandon, I don’t like—”

“I expect things to get back to normal.”

“Back to the way they were?”

“Certainly,” Brandon told her.

Jana stood on the step a moment longer, gazing at him, fighting off a dozen storming emotions.

“You really have no idea at all why I left, do you,” she said. It was a statement, not a question, because she knew without a doubt that he was completely ignorant on the subject.

Brandon just stood there, staring, looking confused, as if trying to understand where her comment had come from, why she’d said it.

When he came up with no response, Jana knew she’d gotten her answer after all.

She turned her back on him and climbed the stairs.




Chapter Five


B randon slapped the papers down on his office desk. “Unacceptable.”

In the chair across from him, Noah Carmichael raised an eyebrow. “Frankly, Brandon, I thought you’d be in a little better mood, now that your wife is back.”

Brandon’s already grumpy disposition grew more foul. He glared at Noah and sat back in his chair. Outside the open window, noise from the traffic on Third and Broadway drifted in, a low hum that was at times soothing, other times irritating.

Today it was irritating. Like everything else in Brandon’s life.

“I take it your reunion isn’t going exactly as you’d planned,” Noah ventured.

“That’s for damn sure,” he grumbled. He sat up straighter in the chair. “Last night she accused me of having no idea why she left.”

“And do you?”

“Of course,” Brandon declared.

“You know because you asked her?”

“Well, no.” Brandon shoved out of his chair. “I don’t need to ask her. I already know.”

Noah eased back and folded his arms over his chest. “You’re even more brilliant than I suspected, Brandon, if you can know what’s in a woman’s mind.”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Brandon insisted, striding toward the window.

“Did you talk to her about it?”

He glanced back. “Talk to her?”

“Yes, talk. Women like to talk.”

“Oh, hell…” Brandon stopped and huffed. “Since when did your six-month marriage make you an expert on women?”

“My wife is still in town,” Noah pointed out gently. “And still warming my bed.”

Heat slashed through Brandon at the thought—the very thought—of having Jana in bed again. Her warm, supple body. Her arms cradling him. Her legs entwined with his.

During their three months together, Jana had been receptive to their lovemaking, anxious, he’d thought, to share her bed with him. He couldn’t remember one single time—not once—that she’d not happily welcomed him.

And now, after fourteen very long months of separation, she insisted that they wait another month? Brandon didn’t understand it. Nor did he know how he’d endure it.

“You should talk to her,” Noah said.

A new flash of irritation came over Brandon as he realized he was once more standing at the window, staring out. He turned away quickly, shoving away the realization and the old feelings that came with it.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Noah offered, rising from his chair.

He didn’t disagree. Noah’s wife was, indeed, still home.

Brandon sighed heavily. “You’re probably right. I’ll talk to her.”

“Things will work out,” Noah said. “The important thing is that she’s home.”

Brandon’s belly clenched. No, the important thing was that she stayed.



Muffled voices greeted Jana as she descended the curving staircase, piquing her curiosity. She’d just returned home from another day with her aunt, the clock was about to strike six and someone had come to visit? Calling hours ended at five. A tremor of unease swept through her. Had something happened at Aunt Maureen’s after she left?

Or had Brandon actually come home on time?

At the foot of the stairs Jana saw Charles in the foyer talking with a tall, slender man, not much older than herself, respectably dressed in a decent, though not expensive, suit. The men quieted as Jana approached.

“Good evening, Mrs. Sayer,” Charles intoned. “This gentleman has come to call on Mr. Sayer.”

The man pulled off his bowler and pressed it against his chest, holding the brim with both hands. Small, round eyeglasses reflected the glow of the wall sconces.

“Please forgive my intrusion, Mrs. Sayer,” he said, changing the grip on his bowler. “My name is Fisk. Oliver Fisk.”

“I explained to Mr. Fisk,” Charles said, “that Mr. Sayer isn’t home.”

“How is it you know my husband?” Jana asked, walking closer.

“I’m a business associate. Well, actually, I’m an employee,” he said. “I’m the editor of the Los Angeles Messenger. The newspaper.”

With his slender frame and bookish appearance Jana thought he looked more like an accountant or librarian.

Fisk fidgeted with his hat. “Mr. Sayer owns the paper, as you know…or perhaps don’t know, since I’m sure you’re much too busy to concern yourself with matters of business. That’s not to imply that you’re flighty or ignorant, but rather—”

“Mr. Fisk,” Jana said, taking pity on him. “Would you care to come in and wait for my husband?”

Rather than looking relieved, Oliver’s anxiety ratcheted up another notch. He drew in a breath, seemingly searching for, and finding, a dose of courage.

“Yes,” he proclaimed. “Yes, I’d like to do just that. I’d like to wait for him.”

“Charles, would you be kind enough to have some refreshment sent to the sitting room?” Jana asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied and relieved Oliver of his bowler.

“Please come this way, Mr. Fisk.”

She led him down the hallway to the sitting room she liked and seated herself on the settee. Oliver folded his long, ungainly arms and legs into the chair across from her with little grace.

“I can’t promise when…my husband…will arrive,” Jana said, the term odd on her tongue. It wasn’t pleasant admitting, even to this stranger, that she had no idea what Brandon’s schedule was.

“I don’t mean to cause trouble,” Oliver fretted, though he’d done nothing that required an apology. “I’ve tried numerous times to see Mr. Sayer at his office, but I’ve been unsuccessful. And I must speak with him right away. That’s why I took this chance of coming here, to his home, even without an invitation, this late in the day.”

Something about Oliver Fisk touched Jana’s heart. “Is there a problem at the newspaper?”

“Yes, there’s a problem. Very much so.” He nodded his head vigorously. “Mr. Sayer is closing it.”

Jana’s eyes widened. “The newspaper? Brandon is closing the newspaper?”

“It hasn’t been as prosperous as any of us would have liked,” Oliver admitted. “But I can turn things around. I know I can. If Mr. Sayer would just give me a little more time I could make the Messenger the premier newspaper in the city.”

Jana suddenly understood why she’d seen Brandon reading two newspapers at breakfast. Comparing the Messenger to the very popular Times, no doubt.

“I’ll be the first to say that I lack a great deal of experience in the newspaper game,” Oliver said, lacing and unlacing his long fingers. “But when the editor position fell to me, I was confident I could make a go of it. I still am. All I need is more time.”

“That sounds reasonable to me,” Jana agreed. “In fact, it seems to me that—”

Brandon strode into the room as if he were a force of nature, bringing both Jana and Oliver Fisk to their feet, commanding their attention with his very presence. He wasn’t happy. Jana wasn’t sure who Brandon was more annoyed to find in his sitting room: the newspaper editor—or her.

A tense silence froze the room as Brandon glared at them both, then settled his gaze on Jana.

“Would you excuse us?” he asked, though it was a command not a request.

“But Charles is bringing us refreshment—”

“No, he’s not.” Brandon’s gaze drilled into her. “Would you please excuse us?”

The unreasonable fear that had tickled her stomach hardened into a knot of anger. Jana felt her shoulders square and her chin go up a notch. Yet she didn’t want to make a scene in front of Oliver Fisk.

“Good evening, Mr. Fisk,” she said, managing to sound pleasant as her temper simmered, and left the sitting room feeling as if she’d abandoned the gentle editor.

In the foyer she saw Charles lingering. He didn’t make eye contact with her—he never did—but at least he had the good grace to look uncomfortable that he’d ignored her request for refreshments on Brandon’s orders.

Jana pounded up the staircase, resisting the urge to work off her anger by taking the steps two at a time, and fetched the small book she’d brought with her from Aunt Maureen’s hotel suite today. She took the back stairs down to the kitchen, her footsteps echoing on the bare, wooden risers.

The cook, Mrs. Boone, was busy at the stove while her two assistants chopped vegetables at one of the worktables. The kitchen, equipped to prepare everything from intimate family meals to elegant affairs for hundreds of guests, dwarfed the three women. The aroma of the soon-to-be-served supper mingled with the steam rising from the pots.

Mrs. Boone’s eyes narrowed as Jana approached. Of all the servants still in the household, Jana was sorry to see that Mrs. Boone was among them. A gray-haired, sturdy woman, Mrs. Boone ruled her kitchen with an iron hand. She had no use for suggestions from anyone, including Jana.

But that was fourteen months ago, Jana reminded herself.

“Good evening, Mrs. Boone,” she said.

The woman gave her a curt nod. “Evening, Mrs. Sayer.”

“I wanted to speak with you about the menus,” Jana began and held up the book. “I have some new recipes here that I’d like you to incorporate into the meal.”

“As it should be obvious to almost anyone,” Mrs. Boone said, and jerked her thumb toward the stove, “supper is fully underway, requiring my whole attention. I don’t have time to be discussing things at the moment.”

From the corner of her eye, Jana saw the two assistants glance at her, then turn away quickly.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Jana told her, placing the book on the sideboard beside the stove. “These are the recipes. Include them in this week’s meals.”

Mrs. Boone shook her head. “Mr. Sayer likes his meals just so…in case you don’t know. He doesn’t cater to fancy food or newfangled dishes. Did he tell you to make these changes?”

Jana pressed her lips together. “No,” she admitted.

Mrs. Boone picked up the recipe book, gave it a cursory glance and handed it back to Jana. “When Mr. Sayer says it’s all right to change something, then I’ll change it.”

The cook turned back to the stove, ending their conversation.

Jana’s cheeks warmed, and not from the heat of the cookstove. She turned sharply and left the kitchen.

Fourteen months had passed…and nothing had changed.

As Jana passed Brandon’s study, she spotted him at his desk, flipping through papers. He had, apparently, already dispatched Oliver Fisk. And that didn’t suit Jana.

She walked into the study, Brandon’s earlier dismissal and the cook’s blatant disregard for her instructions still stinging.

“Why are you shutting down the Messenger?” she asked.

Brandon looked up. “You needn’t concern yourself with business matters.”

She stood in front of his desk. “I want to know.”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m certain I can follow.”

He studied her for a moment, then sat back in his chair. “I purchased the newspaper two years ago. It was a strong rival for the Times. A few months later, the editor died. The paper floundered. A succession of editors couldn’t revive it. Oliver Fisk is the latest to try.”

“But you won’t give him the time he needs?” Jana asked, hearing the edge on her voice.

Brandon heard it too, obviously, because he sat forward again and began rummaging through the desk. “I gave him six months to show an improvement. That hasn’t happened.”

“Then give him more time.”

“I did.” Brandon opened a lower drawer. “I gave him two additional months—three times.”

“But if even more time is needed—”

“No more time.” Brandon closed the drawer with a thud and looked up at Jana. “The Messenger is losing money every minute of every day. I won’t tolerate that sort of loss any longer. Fisk has another six weeks to turn the paper around, or it will be closed. Permanently.”

“But what about all the employees?” Jana asked. “You can’t put those people out of work.”

“Most of them will find jobs at the Times. The others might find work at one of my other businesses,” Brandon said.

“And you won’t even consider giving Mr. Fisk another extension?”

“It won’t matter,” Brandon said. “If that newspaper could have been saved, it would have happened already. It’s a lost cause. Besides, I already have another project in the works for the Jennings Building. It’s coming along nicely. Once the newspaper is closed and moves out, I can go forward with it.”

“But that’s hardly a reason—”

“It’s the only reason I need.” Brandon came to his feet, the tone of his words and the look on his face ending their conversation. “And in the future, when someone such as Oliver Fisk shows up here, you are not to offer them any hospitality whatsoever.”

Jana’s simmering anger flared. “Are you telling me I cannot be civil to whomever comes to the house?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.” Brandon softened his voice. “It’s all right…this time. You didn’t know.”

Jana just looked at him, too stunned to speak.

Brandon came around the desk. “There’s something else I want to talk to you about. Last night you said I had no idea about why you left. I thought about that today.”

“You did?” Now she was truly stunned.

“Yes. I thought about it and I want you to know that I’m fully aware of why you left.”

A different sort of unease came over Jana. “You are?”

Brandon straightened his shoulders. “It was my fault, really. I didn’t give you enough guidance. You were young and somewhat pampered, and I should have provided more direction, made you more aware of your duties and responsibilities.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “As I said, it was really my fault. It was my duty as your husband to provide those things. I was remiss in not doing so.”

Her expression soured. “How generous of you to admit it.”

“Yes. Well, I want to assure you the situation will be corrected. So,” he said, drawing in a breath, “with your—and my—new commitment to our marital responsibilties, I’m sure everything will be fine. This time.”

A thousand retorts jetted through Jana’s mind, itching to be spoken, hurled at him like spiked daggers.

But she held her tongue. A sense of calm came over Jana.

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that,” she said softly, never meaning anything more in her life.

Brandon smiled, apparently pleased with himself. “Good. I’m glad that settled things.”

“Oh, that settled things, all right.”

Jana left the study, determination and strength lengthening her strides as she bounded up the stairs and into her room.

Yes, Brandon’s assessment settled things, all right. But not the way he thought.

Jana drew in a deep, cleansing breath, knowing without a doubt what would happen next.

She’d leave.

Nothing had changed in the past fourteen months—including Brandon. Everything that had driven her from the house was still firmly in place.

The servants who ignored her instructions.

That awful decorator Mr. McDowell who bullied her.

Not being allowed to have guests in her own home.

The loneliness.

The loneliness had been the hardest. She’d left all her friends behind in San Francisco when Brandon had brought her here. Aunt Maureen, hundreds of miles away. Everything that was familiar, friendly, comforting.

And Brandon, always gone. Up early, not wanting her presence at the breakfast table. Out late, business keeping him occupied well into the evenings.

Crying alone in her bed at night.

He had seemed almost a stranger during those first three months, always busy, in a rush, hurrying off to attend to something important. She hadn’t felt she could approach him about anything—certainly not her unhappiness.

Jana drew herself up and took a deep breath. She wasn’t crying anymore.

Perhaps nothing in this house had changed in the past fourteen months, but she certainly had. The decision she’d made in London now looked all the more correct.

She absolutely would not live her life under these circumstances.

She was leaving.

Jana pressed her lips together. She’d never last the remaining four weeks under this roof. Yet she’d given her word, committed to stay. Her only escape would be Brandon himself releasing her from her promise.

A slow smile spread across Jana’s mouth. Brandon would ask her to leave.

She’d see to it.




Chapter Six


“G ood morning.” Jana breezed into the breakfast room, her smile as cheery as the sun streaming in through the lace-covered windows.

Brandon’s gaze came up from the two newspapers on the table in front of him, frowning slightly.

“Jana, I thought we agreed that I was to have breakfast alone. You know I need this time to think over the day, get a jump—”

“I was simply too excited to wait.” Jana yanked out the chair at his right elbow and planted herself in it. “First of all, I have to thank you for clarifying things for me last night. I realized you’re absolutely right. We both must live up to our duties and responsibilities if our marriage is going to work.”

Brandon nodded thoughtfully. “Good. I’m relieved to hear you say that.”

“Yes, I thought you would be.” Jana plucked a grape from the fruit bowl on the table and popped it into her mouth. “And I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

Brandon’s gaze lingered on her lips. “Well, huh, yes, so am I.”

Jana took another grape, rolled it against her lips, then pushed it into her mouth, her finger lingering a few seconds between her lips.

“So, today,” she went on, rubbing her lips together, “we will both go forth with a new commitment to our roles as husband and wife. I’m excited.”

Brandon shifted in the chair. “I’m growing excited myself.”

“I’m starting on the house today. The decorating is long overdue. I intend to give it my full attention. Nothing will be left undone.” Jana selected a banana from the serving bowl, peeled it and slid it past her lips. She paused, not biting into it, and pulled it out again. “If that’s all right with you, of course.”

“Huh?”

She touched her tongue to the tip of the banana. “Do I have free rein to decorate the house?”

He just looked at her.

“Brandon? The decorating? Brandon?”

He dragged his gaze from her lips up to her eyes, then ran his finger under his shirt collar. “Oh, yes, the decorating. Of course. Do whatever you want. The house is yours.”

“And you’ll take care of the grounds?” Jana asked, biting slowly into the banana.

He gulped, his gaze dropping to her mouth again. “What…whatever you want.”

Jana chewed slowly, then swallowed. “The grounds, like so many other things here, are in need of some long overdue attention. Wouldn’t you agree?”

His breathing picked up. “Oh, hell yeah…”

“I’ll inform the gardeners of the changes I want, and you’ll oversee their work, if that’s all right with you.” She closed her lips around the banana once more and bit into it.

“Certainly…”

She swallowed quickly, laid the banana aside and jumped to her feet. “Excellent. I’ll get started immediately.”

“You’re—you’re leaving?” He came out of his chair.

“Duties and responsibilities call,” she said briskly and snatched up both newspapers from the table. “I’ll need these.”

Brandon looked at the spot where the newspapers had lain, then up at her. “What for?”

“As I recall, the Times has the best advertisements for all those fabulous stores along Wilshire.” Jana waved her hand about the room. “Brandon, I have an entire house to decorate.”

“What about the Messenger?” he asked, gesturing lamely to the other newspaper.

“After you explained to me last night about the situation with the Messenger, I wanted to look it over, see if I can discern exactly what you mean,” Jana explained.

“But I always read the newspaper on the way to the office,” Brandon said.

“I’m sure that after our breakfast together this morning, you’ll have plenty to occupy your mind.” She flicked the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip, gave him a slow smile, and left the breakfast room.

“Jana! Wait!”

She turned back to see Brandon hurry after her. His cheeks were slightly flushed and a tiny drop of perspiration hung in his sideburn.

She’d seen those things before.

Brandon eased closer. “Does our new commitment to our duties and responsibilities include a resumption of our…marital relations?”

She frowned thoughtfully, then nodded. “Oh, you mean our lovemaking. As we used to do. You and me rolling around beneath the covers until the wee of the morning? All those delightfully sinful moments we shared?”

His breathing quickened. “Yes?”

“Hum…” Jana tapped her finger against her lips. “Perhaps we could consider that.”

“Now?”

She tsked. “Brandon, we have our responsibilities to see to today.”

“Yes, but—”

She touched his chest with the newspaper. “Let’s discuss it at supper tonight, shall we?”

“I’ll be home early,” he promised.

Jana gave him a saucy little grin and left him standing in the doorway.



“What the hell!”

Brandon’s roar rang through the house, down the hallway and into the sitting room, bringing Jana up out of her chair.

Though she felt a little guilty about her blatant flirting and not-so-subtle innuendo this morning at the breakfast table, she’d assuaged her conscience today with the conviction of her decision: if she couldn’t get him to stay home, she could never torment him enough so that he’d ask her to leave.

She glanced at the mantel clock and smiled to herself. Just past the stroke of six and Brandon was home.

So far, her plan was working beautifully.

Jana left the sitting room and found Brandon in the foyer glaring at the scaffolds, reams of wallpaper, cans of paint, tools, equipment and the dozen workmen extending down the hallway.

“Good evening, Brandon,” she greeted him, a placid smile on her face. It wasn’t easy holding that expression in place against Brandon’s scowl, even though she’d expected it in this next phase of her plan.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, raising his voice over the din of banging hammers and grinding saws.

“I’m decorating,” she said. “Remember? We discussed it at breakfast this morning.”

“This isn’t decorating!”

“It’s the way I decorate,” she said crisply. “I’m knocking out a few of the walls.”

“Knocking out the—what?” He gaze pinged around, then turned back at her. “Jana, you can’t knock out a—”

She drew herself up a little. “You told me this morning that I could do whatever I wanted with the house.”

He blinked. “I said that?”

“Oh, yes. My mind reeled with the possibilities. After all, you put me in charge of this project so I want to do my very best to please you. And, of course, to live up to my duty as your wife.”

Brandon’s gaze crawled over the workmen. “I never said you could do all of this.”

“But you did put me in charge of the house, correct?”

“Yes, of course, I did. But—”

“And you do expect me to take my responsibilities seriously?”

“Yes—”

“And it is my duty as your wife to take over the house, is it not?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Good. I’m glad I have your approval. Come along. I want you to see everything I’m doing.”

Jana led the way down the hallway, skirting workmen, stepping over tools, and stopped at the doorway to the parlor. She waved her arm.

“I’m taking out those two walls, widening this whole wing of the house and lowering the floor.”

“Lowering the—”

“And wait until you see what I’m doing to your study.”

“My study?” Brandon bristled further. “My study is—”

“—part of the house, correct?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I take the responsibilities you’ve given me very seriously, Brandon,” she informed him. “I’m reworking the entire house, which includes your study. Come, I’ll show you.”

Jana ducked under ladders and sidestepped scaffolding until she reached Brandon’s study. With the furniture pushed to the center of the wall and shrouded beneath a tarp, three carpenters stripped the walls, ceiling and floors.

Brandon pressed his palm against his forehead, his eyes wide. “What the…?”

“I’m renovating the entire room, floor to ceiling. For you,” Jana announced.

“Where the hell am I supposed to work?”

“I found you a new spot,” Jana told him. “A room off the kitchen.”

He frowned. “What room?”

“The one next to the pantry.”

“That’s a storage room.”

“It will be cozy. You’ll feel snug in there,” Jana assured him. “Your things are already in place…those that fit, anyway.”

“This is unacceptable,” Brandon declared. “I need a place to work.”

She gazed up at him. “Didn’t you say we both had to accept our responsibilities? Are you saying you’re not willing to do that?”

“Of course, but—”

“Then you understand that we both have to make a few minor adjustments to get our marriage back on track. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I need my study,” he insisted.

“And you’ll have it,” she assured him. “I’m instructing the carpenters to make this room their first priority. Now, here’s what I’m doing with your study. You’ll love it. It’s going to be pink.”

“Pink?”

“Pink.”

“Pink?”

“It’s the rage in Europe. I don’t know why it hasn’t caught on here yet,” Jana declared. She gestured to the walls. “There’ll be a mural of lambs and ducks over there, and cherubs frolicking on clouds on the ceiling. It will be very soothing.”

Brandon closed his eyes, pressed his fingertips against his temples and rubbed little circles. He drew in a breath and looked at Jana.

“When you said you were going to decorate, I didn’t think you meant—”

“See? You’ve just proved my point. You’re tense and anxious after a hard day at the office, and the new, more restful motif in your study will be just the thing to relax you.”

He blew out a tired breath. “Jana, I don’t—”

“The workmen are leaving momentarily.”

“Good,” he mumbled, releasing a heavy sigh.

“Our guests are arriving shortly.”

He jerked upright again. “Guests? Tonight? You know I prefer quiet evenings at home.”

“A man in your position has social obligations, all of which have been overlooked for far too long,” Jana told him. “But don’t worry, I’m taking charge of that also. Just as you wanted.”

Jana strode off down the hallway toward the kitchen. “Do change your shirt,” she called, not looking back.

When she reached the kitchen door she paused and glanced back. Brandon stood among the disarray, the pounding hammers and grinding saws, rubbing his forehead.

A pang of guilt swept through her. She’d never seen him look so distressed. For an instant she wanted to shout at the workmen to leave, take Brandon to the sitting room, place a cool cloth on his head.

But Jana did none of those things. She pushed into the kitchen hoping with all her heart that Brandon would ask her to leave soon. This plan of hers was harder to execute than she imagined.




Chapter Seven


H e couldn’t remember a more miserable evening.

Slumped in his office desk chair, Brandon threaded his fingers together across his chest, remembering the hellish evening he’d spent last night—in his own home, no less.

Bad enough that he’d walked in on the complete chaos of workmen, loud noises and flying sawdust. Then he’d had to endure supper with two young women he didn’t know and whose names he’d forgotten before the soup was served.

Friends of Jana’s, she’d explained shortly before their arrival. She’d run into them that morning while shopping on Wilshire and invited them for supper. Brandon had hardly been able to get through the meal for all their incessant chatter about fabric, hats and closet space.

He’d have left the table had it not been for Jana’s gown—or, more accurately, Jana’s bosom.

The familiar craving claimed him once more, just as it had all evening, all during the night and all morning. His desire for Jana simmered, bubbling up over and over by thoughts of her continually popping into his head. He’d cancelled an appointment today to hide out in his office, not thinking himself fit to be seen in public.

Oh, God, how he wanted her.

He’d done an admirable job of controlling himself, he thought, since her return. Not an easy undertaking, given that she was under his roof, steps away, even more beautiful and voluptuous than when she’d left fourteen months ago.

Yes, he’d managed just fine until last night…until she showed up at the supper table in that gown.

Brandon ached anew at the recollection of sitting at the opposite end of the table from her with a nearly unfettered view of his wife’s breasts which threatened to escape her bodice at any moment.

Or so he’d caught himself hoping.

He’d never seen the amethyst gown on her before so he figured she’d purchased it while in Europe. Perhaps the style was different there, gowns cut lower than usual. Her creamy white skin had shone in the lamplight, glistening against the dark purple fabric of the gown. Her full, plump breasts undulated with each breath, each movement, mesmerizing him.

He’d nearly groaned aloud when she reached for the salt.

Jana had magnificent breasts. He remembered that from their first three glorious months together. But somehow, they looked bigger now.

Or perhaps it was just that he hadn’t seen them in a while. Or touched them. Or—

A brisk knock sounded on his office door and Noah Carmichael stepped into the room. Brandon rolled his chair farther under his desk, and grumbled, “What do you want?”

Noah frowned. “Still no marital bliss, huh?”

“I know you have an office in this building, so why don’t you stay there?” Brandon asked, squaring off the stacks of papers and ledgers on his desk.

“I take it the answer to my question is no,” Noah said, settling into a chair in front of Brandon’s desk. He held out a piece of paper. “Several more people interested in the Jennings Building. You and I are going to make a fortune on this thing.”

Brandon snatched the paper from his hand and, after a cursory glance, slapped it down. “I don’t know why the hell it should be so difficult to have a wife.”

“No honeymoon,” Noah told him.

Brandon pressed his lips together to stifle a moan as another wave of wanting swelled in him.

“You should have taken Jana on a honeymoon,” Noah continued. “Just the two of you. Endless days of mindless lovemaking. Nothing to do but burrow beneath the covers and—”





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