The Third Heiress by Brenda Joyce

some time—spying upon them. Jill was angry. She felt violated. And standing there beside Alex, with Thomas staring at her, she felt cornered, she felt trapped. She did not like the look in his eyes—it was the look of a suffering animal, made mean with pain and ready to lash out.
    He wanted to lash out at her—hurt her, punish her, for Hal’s death. Jill was certain.
    His golden gaze remained on Jill, unwavering. “So you have had an … interesting afternoon?” His tone was civil, nothing more.
    She lifted her chin, expecting an attack. “It was very interesting.”
    His stare remained. “So you are a history buff—like Hal.”
    “No.”
    Both dark slashing brows lifted. “Then why the library?”
    She wet her lips. “Didn’t you overhear my reasons for being there while you were standing in the doorway, listening to my conversation with your cousin?”
    It was hard to tell if he smiled, and if it was pleasant or not. “Actually, I do believe you said that you think this woman, Kate Gallagher, is an ancestor of yours.”
    “I do.”
    “Who is Kate Gallagher?” he asked after drinking from his scotch.
    “Your grandmother was a friend and host to her in 1906,” she said with some defiance and some trepidation.
    “So?”
    “Hal had a photo of the two women in his room. We share the same last name, and Hal asked me to marry him, and I find the whole thing too extreme to be a coincidence.” She knew she was baiting him. But she could not help herself.
    His expression was more than amused. “So you claim. Hal never told us that he was thinking of marrying you.” His gaze went to her hands. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
    “We didn’t have time to go shopping for a ring,” Jill said firmly.
    “Ah, yes. Dancing must be an exacting … er … profession.” His tone told her he didn’t think it a profession at all.
    “It is,” she said flatly. “I have trained six, even seven days a week, my entire life. I started ballet when I was four—at six I was training three, four hours a day. I was seventeen when I was accepted at Juilliard, eighteen when I joined the New York City Ballet. Being a member of the corps there is even more demanding. I can’t begin to describe what it is like. A few years ago I gave up ballet for the stage.”
    “Are you trying to impress me?” he asked.
    Jill finally flushed, with anger. “I know what you think of me. And I don’t care. I also think very little impresses you,” Jill said. She stopped. She had been about to descend to his level and tell him that what undoubtedly impressed him, other than his blue-ribbon pedigree and his wealth, was himself. But she was not about to become as ugly as he was.
    He smiled at her. “Go ahead. Speak your mind, Miss Gallagher. Tell me what you think.”
    “I don’t think so,” Jill said. She set her half-empty glass down. “I’m going to bed.”
    “Hal never told you about Marisa,” Thomas said too softly.
    Jill faltered. Instinctively, she knew Thomas was about to deliver a brutal blow.
    “I’m right.” Thomas stepped closer to her. “He didn’t tell you anything, did he?”
    Lips pursed, she shook her head. She didn’t want to hear this. But she knew she had to.
    “Hal knew Marisa for most of his life. Our families are close. In essence, Hal and Marisa grew up together—they were childhood sweethearts. They started seriously dating when Hal was in his final year at Cambridge, and he only waited so long because of her age—she was only sixteen. They’ve done everything together—skied the Alps, safaried in
Kenya, toured China, hiked India. They broke up a few times, but they always got back together. Always.”
    Jill didn’t move. Her heart drummed heavily, loudly, in her chest. But Marisa had married someone else, she managed to think.
    “Thomas.” Alex stepped between them. “Leave it alone. She’s splitting tomorrow.”
    “No,” Thomas barked.
    And dully, Jill thought that Alex wasn’t a