A Cry at Midnight by Victoria Chancellor Read Free Book Online Page B

man stood at the end of the hallway. "Come with me, Miss Galloway," he said. His tone of voice wasn't at all shy, pleading, or coaxing. He obviously thought of this house as his domain, and seemed to sense that she was as out of place in this lifestyle as she was in these clothes.
    "Lead on," she murmured, struggling with the long skirt and too-tight shoes. With luck, she wouldn't fall flat on her face. With control, she wouldn't tell Jackson Durant exactly what she thought of him and his wealthy, parasitic life.
    But Randi Mae Galloway, outspoken, unconventional middle child, had never been very good at keeping her opinions to herself.
    She made her way down the steps carefully, holding her skirts up slightly with one hand, grasping the banister in a white knuckled grip with the other. Before long, she was following Lebeau down a short hallway that led to an open door.
    "Please, don't announce me or anything," she asked him. "I'd rather not interrupt him if he's busy, and if he's not . . . well, I'd just rather let him see me on his own."
    Lebeau titled his head back, peering from glasses perched halfway down his wide nose. "As you wish," he finally said before turning away with a very slight bow, leaving Randi alone in the hallway.
    "Okay, it's now or never," she mumbled to herself. Consciously relaxing her tense body, she released her grip on her skirts.
    She tiptoed to the doorway and looked inside. She was prepared to face Jackson Durant on his turf, to play the sweet-tempered young lady to the best of her ability. What she wasn't prepared for was the sight of the man who'd been nothing but angry and macho toward her, now holding his happy, gurgling baby daughter in his arms. Surrounded by all the masculine decorations, he looked as endearing as a Hallmark card commercial, as poignant as a Kodak ad.
    Her hand drifted automatically to her flat stomach and she swallowed the lump in her throat. She would not cry in front him . . . and now was not the time to mourn the emptiness of her own arms.
    Before he noticed her, she forced herself to stand straight, then pasted a smile on her face. By God, she'd get through this time-travel business even if it meant giving an Oscar-caliber performance that Dorothy, Alice, and Scarlett would be proud of.
    #
    Jackson knew he flaunted convention, but he couldn't stop this one departure from common wisdom. Each evening after Suzette fed Rose, he spent time with his daughter outside the nursery. At times they sat on the verandah and listened to the sounds of frogs and crickets. She'd watch the lanterns and doomed moths with glee, pushing with her dimpled legs until at times Jackson thought she might walk right off his lap.
    Other times he'd carry her to the stable, where Rose would reach chubby fingers toward the horses and squeal in delight. In a few years, he'd teach her to ride. A good seat was necessary for a man, but admirable in a woman. Before she danced her first waltz, she'd be able to clear a three-foot fence with ease. Rose would ride to the hounds or pursue any other equestrian event she cared to try.
    Tonight, rain threatened, sending thunder and occasional flashes of lightening through the northwest sky. Jackson settled on pacing his study with Rose cooing over the colored spines of his books and decorative items on his shelves. She reached for everything she saw, and he knew from experience that whatever she snagged would be immediately placed in her mouth.
    "This is a crystal decanter, young lady," he informed his infant daughter. "Crystal could cut your mouth, so I won't let you hold it. Isn't it pretty, though? When you're older, you can have all the beautiful crystal you want. When you marry, I'll send to France for the finest service money can buy. You'll be the envy of all your friends."
    Rose cooed and smiled, wiggling toward the glasses and decanters on the cherry sideboard that matched the massive desk and wall of shelves. This room was Jackson's favorite, a retreat