Marshal and the Heiress by Patricia; Potter Page B

believe: that he would give up the large room for a child and a wayward cat. In her family, a child hadn’t existed except as an object of anger.
    Did he really think Sarah Ann was in danger? Was that why he’d put her in what should have been his room? The notion was ridiculous. No one here would hurt a child.
    â€œCome,” she said. “I’ll get something for that burn.”
    He hesitated again for a moment, but then nodded. “My lady,” he said almost mockingly as he went to the door and waited for her to lead the way.
    When he closed the door behind them, she looked at him curiously.
    â€œAnnabelle,” he explained. “There’s no telling where she’d go if she got the chance. At least Henry’s not around.” The amusement was back in his voice again, and she thought how pleasant it was. No hint of nastiness colored it—as was often the case with Hugh’s brand of humor.
    She liked Ben Masters. An uncomfortable thought.
    â€œWhy is she always wearing the scarf?” Lisbeth asked as they walked side by side down the corridor.
    â€œIt was her mother’s,” he said. “She never wants it far away.”
    She wanted to ask about Sarah Ann’s mother, but his voice had turned cold and hard. He’s hurting, too, she thought.
    He’d been so blunt, so direct … so American. It seemed odd, to run suddenly into a topic that caused him such obvious discomfort.
    But then, maybe it wasn’t so odd. Maybe he had very strong feelings about Sarah Ann’s mother. Perhaps he’d been in love with her and mourned her still. That would certainly explain his tenderness toward Sarah Ann, a child who wasn’t even his own.
    Suddenly, it occurred to Lisbeth to wonder if Sarah Ann, in fact, was Ben Masters’s daughter. Birth certificates could be faked. Perhaps Masters had entered into a conspiracy with the American solicitor Mr. Alistair had hired. Wouldn’t Hugh love to prove that.
    Lisbeth, however, found no joy in the prospect. She didn’t want Ben Masters to be a liar. For the sake of her own and Jamie’s dream, she needed him and Sarah Ann to be exactly what they claimed to be. She refused to admit to herself that she might also have other, more personal reasons to want Masters to be honest and trustworthy.
    They reached the bottom of the staircase, and walked through the lower floor to the kitchen. Lisbeth lit several lamps, then went to the storage room where herbs and the medicine box were kept. She also found a bottle of brandy kept for medicinal use. She didn’t know whether the American needed it, but she bloody well did.
    Loaded down with her supplies, she returned to the kitchen. He was lounging against one of the walls, looking like two tons of masculinity. He was barefooted. But he’d buttoned his shirt halfway, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Still, her gaze automatically focused on the part of his chest that remained exposed. God’s toothache, she hadn’t imagined its impressiveness, nor had the darkness exaggerated.
    Lisbeth scolded herself for having such thoughts. He might well be a confidence man and thief. He might be anything.
    And you need him. She had the fleeting thought that it might be like needing an asp.
    Lisbeth felt a bit aspish herself and banged down the medicine box on the kitchen table. “Aren’t you cold?” she inquired.
    He took a long, lazy look over her nightdress. “Aren’t you?”
    â€œDo you always answer a question with a question?” She couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice.
    â€œNot always,” he replied complacently.
    Frustration boiled in her.
    You need him on your side.
    Even if he’s a charlatan?
    Hugh’s the alternative.
    She smiled through clenched teeth. “Where is your home?”
    â€œIn America?”
    â€œYes,” she said, clenching her teeth even harder.
    â€œThe last place was