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Written In The Heart
Judith Stacy
SHE COULD READ BETWEEN THE LINES,and Caroline Sommerfield knew at a glance that business mogul Stephen Monterey had written off any prospect of joy for himself. But working for this very private man convinced her that her true talent was a gift for living, one she was more than willing to share…with Stephen!Given the choice, Stephen Monterey would prefer to remain tied to his desk, hard at work, rather than spend his time with frivolous amusements. But that was before Caroline Sommerfield danced her way into his ordered existence, creating her own special chaos and determined to rewrite the story of his life…!
“Are you all right? Did something happen?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She turned away. Nothing, except that her pulse was racing from what she’d just seen.
“Why are you out here?”
He stopped beside her. She felt the heat from his body and knew he was close.
“I just…”
She glanced back at him, and that one tiny glimpse drew her uncontrollably. His hair was ruffled. Whiskers darkened his chin. He’d closed the center button on his shirt, but that was all. The tail flapped in the breeze. The cuffs were open. Black crinkly hair covered his chest. His broad, bare chest.
“What are you doing out here?” Stephen asked.
Never—ever—in her entire life, in all the countries she’d lived, in all the circumstances she’d found herself, had Caroline once wanted to press her hands against a man’s chest. Until now….
Dear Reader,
This month our exciting medieval series KNIGHTS OF THE BLACK ROSE continues with The Rogue by Ana Seymour, a secret baby story in which rogue knight Nicholas Hendry finds his one true love. Judith Stacy returns with Written in the Heart, the delightful tale of an uptight California businessman who hires a marriage-shy female handwriting analyst to solve some of his company’s capers. In Angel of the Knight, a medieval novel by Diana Hall, a carefree warrior falls deeply in love with his betrothed, and does all he can to free her from a family curse. Talented newcomer Mary Burton brings us A Bride for McCain, about a mining millionaire who enters a marriage of convenience with the town’s schoolteacher.
Whatever your taste in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historicals novel. We hope you’ll join us next month, too!
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell,
Senior Editor
Written in the Heart
Judith Stacy
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Available from Harlequin Historicals and JUDITH STACY
Outlaw Love #360
The Marriage Mishap #382
The Heart of a Hero #444
The Dreammaker #486
Written in the Heart #500
To Judy and Stacy—thanks for always listening
To David—thanks for always being there
Contents
Chapter One (#u11012b66-909a-5f39-a199-e50881f473c5)
Chapter Two (#uaabc6cd9-300f-5b7f-afd6-e0b7411e6d4c)
Chapter Three (#u44a3dff6-6773-5e0a-8ff8-cc37f1c15c24)
Chapter Four (#u9755dace-c0d9-53a8-978c-645b3217ada2)
Chapter Five (#u50d8d52b-af13-5d99-a25a-44f07ec97d63)
Chapter Six (#ue46d5dec-59e0-59b8-b3fe-8fc25fa3c41e)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Los Angeles, California
April 26, 1896
Surely there was an easier way for a woman to get work.
Caroline Sommerfield shifted on the leather seat of the hansom cab, mentally rehearsing the speech she’d prepared. She’d waited weeks for this chance. She wasn’t about to waste it. Even if it meant sneaking around and lying about her whereabouts tonight.
“Who is it you’re visiting, Caroline?”
Across the darkened hansom Caroline heard her cousin’s voice. She hadn’t wanted Sophie to come along with her tonight. But since they’d both been leaving their aunt’s at the same time she couldn’t reasonably protest.
“A friend,” Caroline said. “A sick friend.”
“I didn’t realize you knew anyone in the city but family,” Sophie said.
“I’ve met a few others,” Caroline said.
Sophie was quiet, so Caroline figured she’d accepted her lie as fact. Which was good, because Caroline wasn’t particularly adept at telling less than the truth, even to someone she hardly knew, like her cousin.
“How did you meet this friend?” Sophie asked.
Caroline cleared her throat. “All those parties Aunt Eleanor arranged invitations for.”
“Really? Which party?”
“Last Saturday night’s.”
“And whose was that?”
Caroline tightened her grip on her handbag to keep from wrapping her hands around her cousin’s neck. This thing of having family, of answering to other people, was getting on her nerves. It was all so strange. And inconvenient.
Still, Caroline had no one but herself to blame for her uncomfortable circumstances tonight. This wasn’t what her father had had in mind when he insisted she travel to Los Angeles and move in with her aunt a month ago.
“The Latham party,” Caroline said. “We met there.”
“Oh, yes, the Lathams,” Sophie said. “That’s where you showed off your—what is that thing again?”
The thing that had nearly sent Aunt Eleanor into a faint.
“Graphology,” Caroline said. She’d repeated the word dozens of times since arriving in Los Angeles.
“Oh, yes. Quite…interesting,” Sophie said. “Aunt Eleanor was…”
“Surprised?”
Sophie managed a polite laugh. “Yes, something like that.”
Despite Aunt Eleanor’s embarrassment, Caroline had been the hit of the party. The craft of analyzing handwriting was a novelty here, but Caroline had studied it from masters in France and Germany, where the skill was taken more seriously. After only a few minutes of studying a handwriting sample Caroline could interpret the character of the writer. Only a few people in this part of the world could do that.
“Did your father know about your…talent?” Sophie asked.
“Of course,” Caroline said. “He encouraged me.”
Caroline wished her father were here with her now. Instead he was happy and contented in Europe—where Caroline wished she were—while she’d been exiled to the States.
To find a husband, of all things.
She’d been annoyed with him for weeks but now she just missed him. He meant well. After all, at twenty-four years of age Caroline was more than old enough to be married. That’s why she’d agreed to come, why she hadn’t protested this husband-hunting expedition, why she let Aunt Eleanor parade her from party to party.
Besides, Aunt Eleanor wasn’t as smart as her father and didn’t know her as well, so she wouldn’t catch on to Caroline’s real intentions until it was too late. She didn’t want or need a husband. She had plans of her own.
Caroline gazed out the window of the hansom, forced to admit that those plans weren’t turning out as well as she’d like. She’d been a little surprised by the reception she’d gotten two weeks ago at the Pinkerton Detective Agency—even after she’d dropped her father’s name.
They recognized Jacob Jackson Sommerfield as the renowned detective on the Continent, the man who’d solved some of Europe’s most intricate, puzzling crimes. But how, exactly, did that apply to his daughter?
No one at the Pinkerton Detective Agency knew what a graphologist was. She’d explained it, presented her references, even offered a demonstration, but they simply weren’t interested.
Undaunted, Caroline had trotted out her skills at all the parties she’d attended these last weeks. Parlor tricks were hardly what Caroline had intended when she’d studied the craft, but it looked as if they had finally paid off. She’d been approached by a Mr. Richard Paxton on behalf of his employer, who had offered her a job. A real job.
The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves ceased and the hansom swayed to a stop. Sophie peered out the window. The glow of the streetlamps reflected on her face and Caroline saw her eyebrows bob.
“Good gracious, Caroline, you didn’t tell me your friend was rich.”
“Rich?” She leaned closer to the window.
“Yes, rich. This is West Adams Boulevard. It’s become as famous as San Francisco’s Nob Hill and New York’s Fifth Avenue. Haven’t you heard of this place before?”
She’d heard. The elite of the nation had considered Los Angeles a vacation spot, then moved here permanently once they’d recognized the area’s potential wealth. These affluent people built their mansions in the West Adams district, setting standards and creating the finest homes found in the city.
“Goodness,” Sophie said. “Just look at this house.”
Caroline gazed out the hansom at the beveled and stained glass windows of the magnificent three-story house. It was a huge square brownstone with circular turrets on each corner. Palms, shrubs and hedges flourished behind a scrolled wrought-iron and stone fence.
When Richard Paxton had instructed her to meet with his employer at his home tonight, she’d had no idea the man was wealthy—at least, not this wealthy.
Visions of an aging, cranky old man came to Caroline’s mind. A curmudgeon too set in his ways to see her during normal business hours, in his office.
“Oh, and look, Caroline. They’re having a party,” Sophie said.
The house was lit from top to bottom. Faint music drifted out into the street. Dancers glided past the glowing windows on the second floor. On the balcony a man in a tuxedo stood with a woman in an exquisite gown.
“Are you properly dressed?” Sophie asked, concern in her voice.
Caroline looked down at her blue dress. It was the height of fashion, since her father provided a generous allowance, but far from appropriate for a party on West Adams Boulevard.
Caroline reined in her panicky thoughts. “I’m here for a jo—to see a sick friend, not attend the party.”
