The Tycoon's Bought Fiancée by Sandra Marton Page B

wasn’t the kind of place that made you want to open old trunks and delve through the contents, despite the fact that it was a repository of castoff furniture and knickknacks that dated back two centuries. Under ordinary circumstances, she’d probably have been fascinated by the stuff—but these weren’t ordinary circumstances, and never had been.
    â€œYou have married into a fine old family,” Clare had said on their wedding day, “but you will never be part of it.”
    Stephanie smiled grimly as she slammed the attic door behind her and edged her way down the steep wooden steps with her suitcase in her hand.
    â€œI’ll do my best to fit in,” she’d said—but that was when she was still naive, when she’d believed in Avery’s promises and in his kindness.
    â€œYour best could never be good enough,” Clare had replied with a brittle smile, and Stephanie, stung, had started to answer but Avery’s hand had tightened painfully on hers and he’d drawn her into a corner. It had been the first indication of what her life as his wife was really going to be.
    â€œLesson one,” he’d said with a phony smile plastered to his face so that anyone watching would think he was only whispering sweet nothings in her ear. “Don’t you never sass my sister, you understand?”
    Oh, yes, she’d understood. Avery had lied…but what could she do about it? He was all that stood between her and despair.
    Stephanie carried the suitcase down the hall and into her bedroom. The lies, at least, were over now. She had no place to live, no money, and her brother’s bills to meet, but at least she didn’t have to pretend anymore. That was something to be grateful for, although she hadn’t done much to keep up the pretense that she was glad to be Avery’s wife the last couple of years. It hadn’t been necessary. Avery had been too sick to appear in public very often. There’d been no reason to smile when he told a vulgar joke, or try not to shudder when he put his arm around her.
    There’d been no reason to do much of anything—but she’d done it anyway, slept in the room next to his, as she’d done from the beginning; tended him when he woke during the night, gave him his medicines and fed him his meals and cleaned up his messes when he’d refused to let the nurses do it, because, after all, she’d given her word.
    If only Avery had adhered to the same philosophy.
    No. Stephanie opened the suitcase and stared down at the things inside iL She wouldn’t think about that. She wouldn’t think about anything, not until she spoke with Jack Russell’s associate.
    A woman from his office had phoned late yesterday. Mr. Russell was sending a colleague to meet with her, she’d said. Not Mr. Russell himself? Stephanie had asked, trying not to let her disappointment show. No, the woman had said briskly. An associate. A gentleman, who’d be paying a courtesy call in late afternoon.
    After she hung up the phone, Stephanie realized she’d neglected to ask the gentleman’s name. Not that it mattered. She was in no position to make demands on Mr. Russell. So long as he wasn’t sending the office boy, she’d be satisfied. Russell’s firm was well-respected. Avery had said as much once, in a left-handed way.
    â€œOl’ Jack’s the one man in Washington I’ve never been able to buy,” he’d said with a wheezing laugh.
    Stephanie blew a tangle of curls off her forehead. As far as she was concerned, there couldn’t have been a better recommendation.
    â€œOkay,” she muttered, “let’s see what’s still usable here.”
    A musty smell wafted from the suitcase as she opened it. Stephanie wrinkled her nose, went to the windows and threw them open. Then she bent over the neatly folded clothing she’d put away seven long years ago…
    And groaned.
    The