Read The Haunting of Brier Rose for Free Online Page B

liquor
cabinet. Rose selected a bottle of Glenmorangie and poured some into a glass.
She wondered if she should add anything else, but since Mr. Wolfe hadn't
requested it, she decided to take it to him straight. She shut the doors of the
cabinet and hurried out of the drawing room.
    Mr. Wolfe was still sprawled in the bench, his head resting
against the wall, his lips slightly apart.
    "Here's the Scotch," she said softly, not wishing to
startle him.
    He put out his hand without opening his eyes, and she placed the
tumbler in his fingers.
    She was surprised to hear him mutter a husky thank-you. Then he
raised his head slightly and brought the glass to his lips.
    She surveyed his face while he drank. At first glance she had
considered him handsome, but upon closer inspection she decided he wasn't
handsome in the classic sense of the word. Instead of working together as a
harmonious whole, his features battled each other for dominance once his intense
eyes were closed. His sharp nose and cheekbones contrasted with his wide
sensual mouth and generous lower lip. Staring at him, she saw power and
authority in the ridge of his pointed nose and strong jaw, which was offset by
the sardonic upturn at the left corner of his mouth. He looked like a man who
had seen the world—perhaps too much of it—and found his place in it
somewhat ludicrous. His face seemed a contradiction in terms, and she wondered
if such a face reflected the character of the man.
    He pinched the skin between his dark brows and leaned back again.
    "Is there something wrong with your eyes?" Rose asked
as she stepped closer.
    He ignored the inquiry. "I'll be all right in a
moment."
    She clasped her hands and waited for him to recover.
    "Ms. Quennel," he said at last, "do you hear a
buzzing sound?"
    She looked around the entryway as if she could glimpse visual
proof of the sound to which he referred. "No—"
    "I thought not." He scowled, pressing his lips
together, and then releasing them. Rose regarded his mouth, wondering what he
was talking about, and wondering what it would be like to lean over and kiss
those firm lips. It almost seemed as if a kiss would be a familiar gesture with
Mr. Wolfe, when in fact she had never kissed a man in her life. She flushed,
glad that his eyes were still closed and he couldn't see her blush.
    Her reaction to his mouth confounded her, especially after he had
been so rude to her. She put it out of her mind, chiding herself for being as
hot and cold as Mr. Wolfe. Then she lifted one of his bags and struggled with
it to the foot of the stairs.
    Though Mr. Wolfe was foul-tempered, he held her future in his
hands. She shouldn't antagonize him any further, in case he might tell her to
pack her bags and leave. She couldn't jeopardize her position at Brierwood,
because it was imperative that she finish her fabric
project before the end of the week, when her client was to pick it up. Then she
would have enough money to rent a place of her own, where she and Bea could
live.
    Mr. Wolfe finished his Scotch and rose to his feet, his bad leg
making him appear clumsy.
    "I assume there must be a free bedroom somewhere."
    "Yes." Rose had cleaned and polished every inch of the
master bedroom, taking great care to see to Mr. Wolfe's comfort. She hoped that
he might overlook the condition of the rest of the estate once he saw evidence
of her hard work in his room. She hadn't anticipated the fact that he had difficulty
walking. Had she known, she would have made arrangements for him to stay on the
ground floor. But it was too late for that now.
    "The master suite is on the second floor, Mr. Wolfe. Do you
think you can make it up the stairs?"
    "Of course I can." He glanced up the curving walnut
staircase and took a deep breath.
    “I’ll show you up to the room if you wish.”
    "Thanks, but you don’t have to wait on me." He reached
for the bag she had picked up, pulled it out of her grasp, and tucked it under
his arm. Then he bent to pick up the