Page 40 of If the Slipper Fits
She nibbled the inside of her cheek, never taking her eyes off him. “I feared he may have recognized me.”
The hidden identity thing, back in play. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned one shoulder into the wall behind them. The settee creaked in protest. He hoped it wouldn’t collapse under them. “I think it’s time—past time—you tell me what is going on.”
Her expression turned mutinous. Not good.
He summoned an encouraging smile. “Let’s start with the name you’re using. Mrs. Anna Jones. You’re a widow? That part is true?”
Her mouth firmed, but she did not bite her lip. “Yes.”
Not lying, then. An inexplicable stab of pure jealousy pierced his gut at the thought of her wedded to—and bedded by—another man. How utterly ridiculous.
Her hands fisted on either side of her skirts and her eyes turned pleading. “Can’t you leave it, Caden? You know the name I went by as a girl, and you know who I am now. A widow in the employ of Lady Wentworth. As to the rest…believe me when I tell you, you don’t want to embroil yourself in my affairs.”
“Anna.” He took her hands with his own, one at a time, unfurling her gloved fingers.
Her hands felt delicate and feminine engulfed in his large palms. Her diminutive size slipped his notice much of the time because she carried herself like royalty, just as she had as a girl, convinced she could snap her fingers and the world would rearrange itself to her liking. Now, however, she called to mind a fragile bird with a damaged wing. He had the inane desire to scoop her into his arms, carry her out of here and…what?
Hell and damnation. Until now he hadn’t thought beyond getting her to admit her identity and stealing more kisses. Perhaps more than kisses.
Sudden, fierce resolve filled him. Hewouldhelp her. He hadn’t lied about having experience aiding damsels in distress. His brother’s wife’s recent situation had involved danger, intrigue, kidnapping, even attempted murder, and he had played no small role in untangling her from her snares. Anna’s difficulties couldn’t possibly surpass Lady Kitty’s.
“I can handle messy, but I need the truth. And that starts with why you’re so concerned with keeping your identity secret.”
She pulled her hands from his and wrapped her arms around herself, her face a study in misery. “Please don’t ask me, Caden.”
For the love of everything holy. The need to move, to prowl, filled him, and he unfolded his body from the settee.
“Anna—Mrs. Jones—whatever you’d like me to call you. It’s clear you’re in trouble. It’s clear you need help—and I’m offering to lend a hand. But how can I if I don’t know what I’m up against?”
Her spine stiffened and her chin lifted a fraction. “I don’twantyour help. I never asked for your help. In any case, you could not hope to extricate me from my”—she cleared her throat—“situation.”
And there it was. She doubted his capacity to assist her. Cold seeped into him, as if the room’s temperature had dropped by twenty degrees. It would serve her right if he turned his back on her and left the chamber right now. He bloody well should.
Instead a bull-headed resolve to match hers reared up inside him. Hecouldhelp her. He would prove it—to both of them.
“Start with why you’re lying about who you are.”
She groaned and slanted him a vexed glance. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
“Very well.” She heaved a sigh. “If you must know, I lied on my employment application. After the death of my…” She broke off, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Gad, was she fighting tears? He hoped not, with every fiber of his being.
“Your husband?” he prodded.
She half nodded, half shook her head as if she wanted to move past a painful memory. No tears dampened her cheeks, thank God.
“…I discovered myself to be not only alone, but destitute.”
“Discovered, you say? You had no fore-knowledge of your depleted means?”
“None.”
“I see.”
A sardonic smile curved her lips. “A man inyourposition—”
