The Spare by Carolyn Jewel Page B

you have."
    "You were Andrew's lover."
    "No."
    "He was a handsome man, Miss Willow, who deserved his reputation as a rake. He collected mistresses the way other men collect snuff boxes. You would not be the first young lady to fall prey to a charming rogue."
    "I never did." Her head pounded, and she put her hands to her temples, wishing she could rub away the throbbing pain.
    "Don't hide your face from me. I said I'd call you to account, and I will. I wonder what is your true character. Innocent spinster or desperate female who steals from her host? Neither James nor his sister, thank God, have any idea of what went on between you and my brother."
    "Nothing did."
    His lip curled. "Well, perhaps James does know, and that's why he's after you like a dog after a—"
    She shot to her feet. "How dare you? You— You— You—rascal."
    "That's the worst you can think of? Rascal?"
    "If I were a man, I'd—I'd—"
    One eyebrow lifted. "What?"
    "I don't know. I'd—"
    "Shoot me dead?"
    "Your brother was my friend."
    "Your
particular
friend?"
    "He was kind to me and nothing, nothing ever happened between us. Andrew was good and kind, and never, ever anything else. You're just like all the others. Men who think my hair means I cannot control my passions. That I haven't a good character. Well, I do have. I defy you to prove otherwise."
    "Miss Willow," he said crisply, striding to his desk. He swept a hand above the box. "Do you recognize this?"
    "No."
    "Look closer."
    "Why?"
    "Because I told you to." He pushed the chest across the desk. It skidded, but stopped just before the far edge. Metal straps curved over the rounded top of dark wood. "Well?"
    "If it's full of money, yes, it's mine."
    "Answer me."
    "I've never seen it before."
    He flicked up the metal tongue. "Are you quite certain?"
    "Of course."
    The top opened with a chirp of stiff hinges. More quickly than her eye could follow, he turned the chest toward her. "Look inside, Miss Willow, and tell me that again."
    His mouth thin with anger made her heart hammer, but she felt nothing. No emotion whatever. In his view whatever was inside damned her. She walked to the desk and looked into the chest with no idea what she would see but certain whatever it was would be easily explained. And then let him grovel with his apology.
    On the very top of the jumble of items inside lay her father's watch, engraved with his name and the outline of the tree that represented their family name. Her heart swelled. Tangled in one of the fobs was a slender gold chain with a willow-engraved medallion, a gift from her father just a few months before he died. His signet ring, two bracelets and several dozen buttons. Her brother's pocket knife. Beneath those, a pair of kidskin gloves, an ivory fan, tortoiseshell haircombs, embroidered handkerchiefs, a set of silver brushes and combs. The trappings of a life long lost to her.
    "My dear Miss Willow," he drawled, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "How could you have been so careless with your things?"
    She touched the watch and the pocket knife. "I thought I'd never see these again. How did you— Where did you get them?"
    "Andrew."
    Their eyes met over the chest. Anger and suspicion filled his, not that his reaction mattered anymore. "How is that possible?" Oh, her heart was going to break. Surely, it would.
    He pointed at the open chest. "You're a clever girl. Let's see how fast you think on your feet. Explain how your belongings came to be here. In my brother's effects."
    "I don't know."
    "He was a married man, Miss Willow."
    Her hand flew through the air. He caught her wrist, stopping her palm inches from his cheek. "You have no right," she said. "No right at all to level such an accusation."
    "On the contrary. I have every right. Did you know, Miss Willow, that the very day before he died, he instructed his solicitor to begin an action for divorce?"
    "I don't believe it." But something nagged at her. The harder she tried to think what, the more her