The Earl's Secret by Kathryn Jensen Page A

say, Jennifer? You know the reality of our lives as well as I do. You live and work with your mother in America. My home is here.”
    She desperately wanted to run from the flat—clothed or not. Run from the overwhelming shame of having given herself to a man who took her so casually.
    â€œI have a daughter,” he continued. “I have obligations to her, to her school and to my properties on this side of the ocean. I’m no more free to pluck up my roots and move to another continent than you are. So what’s the use of pretending we might have a future?”
    â€œI see,” she breathed. It took all of her strength to get out those two little words.
    But he was only half-right. It wasn’t geography that ultimately kept them apart. It was her own deeply embedded fears.
    She reminded herself of all the nefarious ways her father had ruined his wife’s and daughter’s lives. He had squandered their livelihood on horses, women and expensive clothing. And here was aristocratic Christopher Smythe, ten times more fascinating and seductive than her father ever had been.
    â€œOf course you’re right,” she murmured. “I just thought…never mind.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you understood. What happened between us was purely physical. Great chemistry, but no more than a—”
    â€œA fling. A brief affair,” she supplied for him and looked up to meet his eyes. “Right?”
    â€œYes.” His gaze was steady, strong and determined. He obviously hadn’t fallen for her as she had for him.
    Holding back tears with enormous effort, Jennifer scooped her clothing from the chair and ducked back into the bathroom. Somehow she would have to make it through the next two days. Once she was back in Baltimore, she would find the strength to forget the earl of Winchester. It would take time and a truckload of distractions…but she would do it.
    Â 
    Christopher felt like hell as he lay in the bed, listening to the dull roar of Jennifer’s hair dryer. No. Worse than that. It seemed to him that he’d been allowed a glimpse of heaven before it was snatched from him. He had reacted in the only way he could—he’d pretended he didn’t care. And he’d hurt her feelings.
    Foolish woman. A single night of intimacy, and she was bubbling on about transatlantic visits! What on earth was she thinking?
    Yet the urge to stay with her was almost overwhelming that morning as he watched her leave, suitcase in hand. He simply didn’t know how to handle such foreign emotions or how to salvage her injured feelings. He would have liked for them to part as friends.
    Christopher spent the entire morning trying to puzzle out a way to patch things up between them, but came up empty-handed. He ended up back at her hotel, and waited there for her, hoping she’d return after delivering her charges to Heathrow. It was almost 1:00 p.m. when he spotted her.
    â€œI think we should talk,” he said, intercepting her halfway across the elegant lobby.
    She didn’t seem surprised to see him but slanted him a wary look. “A room has become available. I’m going to take my things upstairs. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
    Impatiently he waited for her, pacing the rich crimson carpeting, skirting potted palms and statuary. At last she stepped off the elevator, her posture perfect, her walk deliberate and confident, even though her pretty eyes were tinged with pink.
    â€œAre you all right?” he asked, gently guiding her to a small divan flanked by two enormous ferns.
    â€œOf course,” she said briskly. “I just have a lot to do before I leave tomorrow. My next trip is only a month away. A West End theater tour. I have reservations to make for the plays, restaurants to book…” She was stringing words together so fast he had trouble understanding her. Her eyes were too bright. Her face too taut.