Across the River of Yesterday by Iris Johansen Read Free Book Online Page B

Her memory of him had always been of gentle, glowing tenderness, not this fiery sensuality. “It’s been too long. I’m not the same person.”
    He studied her thoughtfully. “I know you’ve changed, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be good together. It might even be …” He stopped and then asked abruptly, “Do you still paint?”
    “Occasionally,” she answered, surprised. “I don’t have much time these days.”
    “You wanted to be an artist, yet you became a fashion designer.” His eyes were narrowed on her face. “Why?”
    “It was necessary.” She shrugged. “I had a commercial talent that could be exploited. I’m very successful at what I do.”
    “I know. I’m just curious why the daughter of Countess Mara de Lâncombe and the stepdaughter of one of the richest men in England felt the need to make such a compromise.” His gaze held her own and his lips curved in a bitter smile. “Your Italian husband had nothing to offer besides the title, from what I understand, but surely your mama and papa were willing to help.”
    “You know a great deal about me.” Her gaze slid away from his.
    “Not enough. That’s one of the reasons you’re here. Why didn’t you ask them for help?”
    “That’s none of your business.” Her now defiant gaze returned to him. “It’s my life, and you have no part in it. Everyone has to make compromises. I just grew up.”
    “I see.” There was a touch of sadness on his face. “You did it quite beautifully. I just wish I’d been around to watch you and help you out now and then. I would have liked that very much.”
    That same poignant melting occurred within her again, even stronger now. Just when she thought her resentment of his actions had drowned any spark of softness, he said something like this. “Gideon, don’t— Let me go. None of this is going to do any good.”
    “Well see. If not, it’s back to the foxholes.” He turned. “Eight o’clock. We’ll dress for dinner. Downstairs or here? It’s up to you.”
    The door shut behind him.
    At seven-thirty Serena took a last look in the mirror. If sophistication could intimidate Gideon, then the lounging pajamas she had chosen to wear tonight would accomplish her purpose. The violet trousers were so full they could easily be mistaken for an evening skirt, and the matching loose tunic top of silk suggested rather than outlined her curves. However, the square neckline was so low it barely covered the tips of her breasts and the silver scrolled trim that bordered the neckline blatantly called attention to their swelling fullness. She had worn the outfit only once before, to a press party introducing her spring line, and brought it with her only because she might need its glittering sophistication to charm an official and help her spring Dane from jail. It was a little too revealing for her personal taste, but if it served now to prove to Gideon how much she had changedfrom the wide-eyed child he had known so briefly, so much the better. She slipped on a pair of high-heeled silver sandals, smoothed her chignon into sleek order, and nodded with satisfaction at her reflection. Confidence, elegance and sophistication were what she had targeted, and she had hit the bull’s-eye.
    Ross met her at the foot of the stairs, dressed in a dark blue tuxedo, and gave an admiring whistle, half beneath his breath. “Lovely.” His gaze lingered on the swell of her breasts revealed by the tunic. “Not exactly safe, but lovely.”
    “It’s very fashionable. I should know. I designed it myself,” she said. Then, realizing how defensive she had sounded, she continued quickly, “Things around here have certainly changed.” She gestured at the gleaming black and white tiles on the floor and then at the exquisite crystal chandelier lighting the foyer. “Aubusson carpets, a Ming vase in the upstairs hall, and your sartorial elegance. Do you always dress for dinner?”
    He shook his head. “Hardly ever. We get too