Unraveled by Her by Wendy Leigh Page B

was real. Georgiana wasn’t buried inside the mausoleum, she wasn’t burned to death in her tomb. She is alive, waiting to pounce on me again and to steal Robert from me and make him her own forever.
    But Robert is mine, all mine, and I must hold fast to that knowledge, and not allow the thought of Georgiana and her evil machinations to undermine it.
    I know she’s still on Robert’s mind, though, but only in a negative way, thank goodness. When I finish breakfast, he turns to me and says, “To tell you the truth, I’m glad that the mausoleum burned down. I’m glad that Georgiana isn’t in there anymore. I’m glad she’s well and truly gone at last, God forgive me.”
    And—God forgive me, too—I just look at him and nod.

Chapter Nine
    Once breakfast is finished, I assume that Robert will be at his habitual all-day meetings. In an attempt to prevent myself from spending the day brooding on everything, or torturing myself with the ever-present dilemma of whether to tell him the whole truth, part of the truth, or none of it at all, I plan on distracting myself by exploring Hartwell Castle’s library to check out some of the literally thousands of autobiographies it houses.
    Instead, to my delight, he announces that now that the doctors have pronounced that I’m fully recovered, we are going into Manhattan together.
    The Rolls is parked in the forecourt, but the usual chauffeur, James, is nowhere to be seen. I am just about to inquire what has happened to him, and whether he is all right, when Robert opens the car door for me, then gets into the driver’s seat himself.
    As I sit in the front of the Rolls with Robert as we drive down the Long Island Expressway, the horror of the past few days subsides and I suddenly find that I am drawn to the erotic sight of his big hands on the steering wheel. He drives as fast as the speed limit allows, weaving in and out of traffic with confidence and control, and the power of his oh-so-masculine hands, his driving skill suddenly excite me through and through. I am stunned that Robert can arouse me sexually by something as innocuous as simply driving a car well. But I guess I should have been prepared for that—he exudes sexual charisma and his capacity to inflame my desire is never-ending.
    Just as we arrive at the city, although I had such a big breakfast, I suddenly have a yen for something sweet and ask Robert whether James keeps any chocolate in the car.
    He makes a sudden turn and snakes into a parking space just off Third Avenue, outside a Victorian-style town house with the name “Serendipity 3” emblazoned on it.
    â€œSerendipity! You used that word in Palm Beach, the day you proposed to me, and then I used it to toast Lindy,” I say.
    â€œThat’s one of my reasons for bringing you here. Step inside, and you’ll discover the other. And I’d bet a six-figure sum that you’ll more than enjoy it,” he says, and my heart leaps in anticipation.
    Inside Serendipity 3, a treasure trove of trinkets are on sale, and at the back of the store, there is a pretty dessert parlor lit by Tiffany lamps. Without even a glance at the menu, Robert immediately orders me Serendipity’s specialty, Frrrozen Hot Chocolate—which turns out to be a massive chocolate milkshake creation served out of a giant goblet.
    Thrilled with the most chocolaty-chocolate treat of all time, I gulp it through an extra-thick straw and savor every single luscious mouthful.
    â€œDon’t you want to try it?” I say, and pass him a second straw, but he just laughs his rich and infectious laugh.
    â€œDarling Miranda, I first enjoyed a Frrrozen Hot Chocolate here when you were about five years old!” he says.
    I never think about the age difference between us, but right now, as I gorge myself on my chocolate extravaganza, he watches me with all the fond indulgence of a father.
    Not my father, of course; the