“Is that so?” She cocked a brow. “You must admit, this is most unexpected. After you left, I never imagined you would devote your efforts to anything that did not add to your coffers.”
If she’d intended her words to wound, they hit their mark.
She watched him then, studying him in that all-too-observant way of hers. Once, he’d believed she could see right through his indifferent mask. Alexandra had cared for him without limits, without shielding her tender nature.
But he’d walked away.
He’d been a coward. Young. Obsessed with making his fortune.
So bloody foolish.
He deserved every bit of scorn she mustered.
Damned shame regret did not change a thing.
He could not alter the past. He could not lay claim to a future with Alexandra at his side.
No, he’d cast that all away. But now, he’d do what he’d come to do.
“Generally, I make it a policy to avoid taxing myself with matters that do not offer some tangible benefit—but there is always an exception.”
“And I am thatexception?” She cocked a dubious brow. “How very fortunate for me.”
Pain flashed in her eyes, quick as a blink. The sight of it punched him in the gut. He shrugged it off and set about his immediate task. Keeping the intruder in his sights, he crouched at his side. The hulk of a man lay bleeding on the carpet, thrashing and moaning in pain.
“His name is Rooney…or so I’m told.” Benedict retrieved a length of rope from his jacket pocket and secured her assailant’s arms behind his back. “My apologies. I’d hoped to avoid staining the carpet.”
“A minor concern.”
She kneeled to retrieve a pearl-handled pistol and slid the weapon into her skirt pocket.
Benedict moved to bind the brute’s feet. Tugging at the ropes, he tested their strength. Confident the knots would hold, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and fashioned a crude gag over Rooney’s mouth.
Rising to his full height, he turned back to Alex.
The tense set of her full mouth betrayed the lingering fear she could not entirely mask. “You still haven’t told me precisely why you came here tonight.”
Alex should hear the truth. Though perhaps not all of it.
He caught her hands in his. “You are in grave danger. If you want to live, you’ll listen to me.”
Chapter Two
Alexandra allowed herself a few moments to study the man she’d once loved. Benedict had always known how to make an entrance, hadn’t he? Taking in the nuances of his expression, the flicker of response in his eyes, she searched for the truth he knew all too well how to hide.
If Benedict believed the solemn set of his features would make his rather melodramatic words more palatable—or more believable—he was sorely mistaken. She’d trusted him once. But whatever his reasons for coming here, she knew better than to put blind faith in this man, no matter how very right the touch of his warm skin felt against hers.
His just-in-the-nick-of-time arrival like some noble hero seemed far too convenient. Did he know she possessed the amulet? Had he come to secure the piece for a collector who’d further fill his coffers?
For years, she’d imagined their reunion in her mind. So many nights, she’d lain alone in her bed, visualizing the moment when his green-flecked hazel eyes once again met hers.
But this wasn’t as she’d pictured it. Not at all.
What in blazes was the scoundrel doing creeping into her study, charging to her rescue like some knight-errant in tarnished armor?
If you want to live, you’ll listen to me.
His words played in her thoughts. She could not deny her relief that he’d disabled the foul-smelling attacker. But she knew better than to approach Benedict with anything resembling trust.
