The echoing monstrosity boasted every luxury and admirably performed its duty to impress, but the residence was devoid of human warmth or cheer. Sam climbed in and sat heavily on the black, embossed leather seat, impatient to get underway.Īs he waited, his gaze slid back to the Georgian edifice he'd acquired three years earlier. His advice on monetary matters was sought by everyone from potato farmers to Parliament members. Few rivaled his influence in financial circles. Far from going to bed with an empty stomach gnawing his ribs, sleeping in a drafty hovel and wearing itchy rags, he dined on delicacies, lived in a mansion and dressed in the finest Savile Row suits. He'd acquired more wealth than he'd ever dreamed as a young orphan in Ashby Croft. In the past nine years, he'd played the game well and few challenges remained. Relying on the years of strict mental discipline he'd employed to rise from being a village ne'er-do-well to one of London's most prominent stockbrokers, he forced memories of Rose's betrayal from his mind and descended the wide front steps of his elegant Mayfair townhouse. The last thing he wanted or needed was a morning poisoned by memories of the past. As the blonde disappeared into the sea of pedestrians, his mood soured that same instant. The waterfall of gold tumbling down her narrow back from beneath a serviceable black bonnet reminded him of Rose Smith. It was the woman's hair that drew Sam Blackstone's full attention.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |