wondering now if Micah Holbrook would make that same mistake.
Stepping aside, Bliss silently invited her guests into the foyer of the main house with an elegant sweep of her hand. She followed them, pausing in the center of the high–ceilinged room dominated by a gleaming crystal chandelier and a marble staircase that led to the upper level of the mansion.
"Welcome to Saint Thomas and Rowland House, gentlemen. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Bliss Rowland."
She immediately sensed the fury emanating from Micah. It rolled off of him in invisible waves, encompassing everything and everyone in its path. Bliss deliberately ignored his hostility.
"Some of you have been here before, so please settle in and reacquaint yourselves with the mansion. The two upstairs wings should accommodate all of you, but I’ll leave it to you to sort out the sleeping arrangements. Aside from the studio on the opposite side of the main courtyard, you have the run of the estate."
She approached Micah as she spoke. She knew she startled him when she took his hand. He flinched, but Bliss ignored his reaction and laced their fingers together as though they were old friends. "I’ll escort Captain Holbrook to his suite."
"Ma’am, I’m supposed to…"
She smiled at the young man who stood beside Micah. His uniform bore a corpsman’s insignia. "Please?"
Instantly charmed, he flushed. "Yes, ma’am."
"May I depend on you to deliver his luggage to his quarters?"
"Of course, ma’am."
"Thank you all." Bliss waited for them to disperse before she spoke to Micah. Once they stood alone in the sprawling foyer, she asked, "How was your trip?"
"Long."
He doesn’t remember me, she realized, a combination of relief and disappointment mingling within her. She took a moment to remind herself that most men rarely remembered mousy seventeen–year–old girls they’d met more than eleven years earlier. She also recalled Cyrus’s comment that Micah had been involved in numerous covert missions for Naval Intelligence, and she concluded that more recent violent events had eclipsed any recollection of a long ago terrorist assault on a London train station and shopping district.
"I have no medical credentials," she said, "although I am your hostess during your stay at Rowland House. Cyrus called earlier today. He explained your situation."
Micah remained mute.
Bliss smoothed her fingertips over their joined hands. She felt the answering clench of his strong fingers. "I’ll familiarize you with the mansion and the grounds of the estate. You’ll need to try to relax and trust me, which is a lot to ask of you right now, I know. Before we begin, I promise that I’ll try never to make you feel uncomfortable about your inability to see, but I won’t avoid the subject either."
"You don’t mince words."
She smiled. "No, I don’t. Do you mind?"
He tilted his head, as though he could see beyond the bandages that covered his eyes. She remembered from long ago the piercing quality of his dark–eyed gaze, and for a moment she felt relieved that he couldn’t see the hunger in her eyes as she studied him.
"Yes, I mind. I mind all of this."
"I don’t blame you. Cyrus has a way of bulldozing people into submission. He considers his judgment impeccable. The rest of us are left to deal with his orchestrations, so I guess it’s up to us to make the best of a potentially awkward situation."
He chuckled, but the sound lacked any genuine humor.
"I’ll show you to your suite now," she continued, not missing a beat. "I’m right–handed, so I generally lead off with my right foot."
Although pleased that he immediately adjusted his stride to her shorter one, Bliss didn’t kid herself that Micah Holbrook was feeling cooperative. She expected resistance and anger from him in the hours and days ahead. She understood and even empathized with his inner rage, but she was nevertheless determined to draw him out of the shell into which he’d recently
Stepping aside, Bliss silently invited her guests into the foyer of the main house with an elegant sweep of her hand. She followed them, pausing in the center of the high–ceilinged room dominated by a gleaming crystal chandelier and a marble staircase that led to the upper level of the mansion.
"Welcome to Saint Thomas and Rowland House, gentlemen. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Bliss Rowland."
She immediately sensed the fury emanating from Micah. It rolled off of him in invisible waves, encompassing everything and everyone in its path. Bliss deliberately ignored his hostility.
"Some of you have been here before, so please settle in and reacquaint yourselves with the mansion. The two upstairs wings should accommodate all of you, but I’ll leave it to you to sort out the sleeping arrangements. Aside from the studio on the opposite side of the main courtyard, you have the run of the estate."
She approached Micah as she spoke. She knew she startled him when she took his hand. He flinched, but Bliss ignored his reaction and laced their fingers together as though they were old friends. "I’ll escort Captain Holbrook to his suite."
"Ma’am, I’m supposed to…"
She smiled at the young man who stood beside Micah. His uniform bore a corpsman’s insignia. "Please?"
Instantly charmed, he flushed. "Yes, ma’am."
"May I depend on you to deliver his luggage to his quarters?"
"Of course, ma’am."
"Thank you all." Bliss waited for them to disperse before she spoke to Micah. Once they stood alone in the sprawling foyer, she asked, "How was your trip?"
"Long."
He doesn’t remember me, she realized, a combination of relief and disappointment mingling within her. She took a moment to remind herself that most men rarely remembered mousy seventeen–year–old girls they’d met more than eleven years earlier. She also recalled Cyrus’s comment that Micah had been involved in numerous covert missions for Naval Intelligence, and she concluded that more recent violent events had eclipsed any recollection of a long ago terrorist assault on a London train station and shopping district.
"I have no medical credentials," she said, "although I am your hostess during your stay at Rowland House. Cyrus called earlier today. He explained your situation."
Micah remained mute.
Bliss smoothed her fingertips over their joined hands. She felt the answering clench of his strong fingers. "I’ll familiarize you with the mansion and the grounds of the estate. You’ll need to try to relax and trust me, which is a lot to ask of you right now, I know. Before we begin, I promise that I’ll try never to make you feel uncomfortable about your inability to see, but I won’t avoid the subject either."
"You don’t mince words."
She smiled. "No, I don’t. Do you mind?"
He tilted his head, as though he could see beyond the bandages that covered his eyes. She remembered from long ago the piercing quality of his dark–eyed gaze, and for a moment she felt relieved that he couldn’t see the hunger in her eyes as she studied him.
"Yes, I mind. I mind all of this."
"I don’t blame you. Cyrus has a way of bulldozing people into submission. He considers his judgment impeccable. The rest of us are left to deal with his orchestrations, so I guess it’s up to us to make the best of a potentially awkward situation."
He chuckled, but the sound lacked any genuine humor.
"I’ll show you to your suite now," she continued, not missing a beat. "I’m right–handed, so I generally lead off with my right foot."
Although pleased that he immediately adjusted his stride to her shorter one, Bliss didn’t kid herself that Micah Holbrook was feeling cooperative. She expected resistance and anger from him in the hours and days ahead. She understood and even empathized with his inner rage, but she was nevertheless determined to draw him out of the shell into which he’d recently
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