Hearts Out of Time by Chris Lange Read Free Book Online

ready.”
    Then he left her alone.
    By the time he knocked on her door, she had managed a thorough scrub in the bathtub despite the mild temperature of the water, the lack of high-pressure shower, hydro massage tub, or soothing whirlpool spa.
    The maid had set her up, fastening her borrowed dress and styling her hair in the local, nineteenth-century fashion. Standing in front of a tall mirror, a not-quite-familiar person looked back at her.
    She wore a long and graceful, cream-colored gown that brushed the ground. A pigeon breast corset, emphasizing her narrow waist, gave an impression of an even slimmer, elongated silhouette.
    Her hair was piled high upon her head, but she discarded the very broad hat. The accessory might damage her hair-do and she wasn’t supposed to go outside tonight. At least, Garrett didn’t mention the possibility during their silent walk to the mansion.
    She opened the door, twirling around to show her delight. “So, how do I look?”
    Her tacit invitation encouraged him to enter her bedroom. It took him a few seconds to pronounce a single word. “Ravishing.”
    “Thank you.”
    He stared at her with an expression she didn’t expect to see on him. Her belly fluttered as his appreciative eyes traveled slowly over her exposed throat and the full roundness of her breasts. The neckline was so low-cut and daring, she felt close to naked under his disturbing scrutiny.
    “Please, allow me.” Matching gesture to offer, he came to stand behind her to place his hand on her bare shoulder.
    She shuddered, a twinge of desire running through her veins, wondering why she responded with such intensity to this severe man, foolishly hoping his warm hand would come down to cup her breast.
    It didn’t, of course. With a slight chill, his fingers relinquished their claim. A pearl necklace glistened around her neck, enhancing the silver one from her father. The one she could not, would not take off.
    “We ought to go, Miss Richardson,” he said.
    The moment was over and she bit her lip. Was he referring to the people waiting for them downstairs, or to the fact that they were alone in the bedroom? Struck with an unexpected bout of embarrassment, she felt incapable of looking him in the eye. He offered her his arm and she took it with grace. Together, they cleared the long hallway before descending the grand staircase.
    Passing through the gray entrance hall, she marveled at the splendor of the mansion, the high decorated ceilings, the marbleized woodwork, the grained finishes, the thick walls resembling blocks of stone.
    Thanks to her diligence during her four years spent at San Francisco Academy of Art, she was able to pick out and appreciate the various styles, mostly Second Empire, Queen Anne and Shingle.
    Three people and a wolfdog awaited their arrival in the dining room. Weedon Welsh raised his half-full glass in salute while White Fur trotted to her and licked her hand, his tail wagging.
    Taking up three quarters of the back wall, a massive gothic fireplace drew her attention. An ornately decorated sideboard appeared to be the focal point of the room, along with a dense oak table and six chairs. A dark walnut chandelier lit the space, giving it an air of luxury and comfort.
    A person observed her. In his late-thirties, well-built and medium height, the very good-looking man took a resolute step toward them. He moved about as if he owned the place while she took in his roguish countenance, riveting blue eyes, and the bewitching smile creating a dimple in his chin.
    He wore black, tight leather pants, a brown vest with golden embroidery over a white shirt, and a black tie. Around his waist, a leather gun belt with bullet holes held a Colt hanging from a holster on his hip.
    She’d watched too many movies not to be impressed, and she instantly labeled him as a bad boy from the Wild West. Her amazement caused her to stare at him openly when Garrett presented him.
    “Miss Richardson, allow me to introduce