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door closed in R. J.’s face, effectively dismissing him. What had he expected? He was nothing more than a servant who’d done his job. Hell, at least Max Devereaux had said thank you, which was more than most of his kind ever did.
    R. J. headed down the steps to Eartha’s car, but before he reached the bottom step he thought he heard someone crying. Stopping abruptly, he listened. The sound came from the side of the house. A rather loud, mournful weeping. So what? he thought. The lord of the manor has just died. It was only natural that the family would be mourning. But what the hell was somebody—some woman from the sound of the crying—doing outside on such a hot, humid night?
    Get in the damn car and go back to town. Whoever is crying has nothing to do with you. This is none of your business .
    Instead of following his own good judgment, he walked back up the steps and around to the side veranda, searching for the source of the pitiful crying. Huddled against one of the one-story columns that supported the veranda, R. J. saw the shadow of a woman. Her black hair shimmered in the moonlight, which outlined her slender curves. He knew he was asking for trouble if he spoke to her, but damn if he could just walk away and leave her.
    â€œHey, there. Are you okay?”
    She jumped and gasped simultaneously, jerking her hand to her mouth. “Who are you?”
    â€œR. J. Sutton,” he replied. “I work at the Sumarville Inn. Miss Eartha asked me to drive Mr. Clifton home.”
    â€œIs Uncle Parry all right?”
    Uncle Parry? That meant this woman was Clifton’s niece, sister to Max Devereaux no doubt. “He had a little too much to drink, but he’s all right.”
    When she took a tentative step in his direction, he saw that she was young, just a teenager. But she was beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful. “I heard you crying,” he said.
    â€œMy father died tonight.”
    â€œMr. Royale. Yeah, I heard. I’m sorry.”
    â€œDid you know my daddy?”
    â€œNever had the pleasure.”
    â€œHe was a very special man.”
    â€œI’m sure he was.”
    When she moved closer to him, only a couple of feet separating them, he caught a whiff of her perfume. Something subtle and probably very expensive. One good look at her told him that she was not only too young for him, but way out of his league. Miss Royale lived in this big fancy house and belonged to whatever upper-crust society that existed in Mississippi.
    â€œIs there anything I can do for you?” he asked, all the while his common sense warning him to back away, to leave this damsel in distress to be taken care of by a real knight in shining armor.
    â€œThat’s very kind of you, Mr.—?”
    â€œR. J. Sutton.”
    â€œOh, yes, you told me already. Well, hi there, R. J.” She offered him a fragile smile. “I’m Mallory. Mallory Royale.”
    Heaven help him! He wanted to put his arms around this sweet thing and comfort her. Big mistake .
    She looked up at him with a pair of dark blue eyes, so rich and deep a blue that they appeared almost black. Totally disregarding the warning bells going off inside his head, he reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek.
    â€œMallory!” A rough baritone voice called from behind them.
    Every muscle in R. J.’s body tensed. Damn! Max Devereaux had just seen him touch his baby sister. R. J. swallowed hard. The last thing he wanted to do was to be forced to confront the big man himself.
    â€œI’m here, Max,” she replied, “talking to Mr. Sutton.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t be out here alone. Come back inside.”
    R. J. sensed rather than saw Max. Actually, he kept his back to the man, just the least bit uncertain what would happen if he turned to face him.
    â€œI had to get out of there for a while,” she told her brother. “I can’t bear to look at Mama, to see her in such