The Burlington Manor Affair

Rex looked at the portrait again with different eyes, saw again the likeness between them, but more than that, he noticed the thoughtful, inquisitive look in his father’s eyes. Charles Carruthers had enjoyed a good mystery, and puzzles. Had he set one up in his very will?

Rex gazed into his father’s eyes, wanting to know.

Why the hell did you wait so long?

It hit him then—a sense of loss. Totally unexpected and without warning g

rief barreled up inside him. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands, his emotions churning.

His father had wanted to make amends, after all. It tore him apart.

Because it’s about Carmen, and we should have been together long before now.

Somewhere in there, though, there was plain old sadness and regret.

I’m sorry, old man.

For a few moments he closed his eyes and imagined his father saying the words in the letter, aloud, to his face, and offering his hand.

Raw emotion buckled him, and he wept.

Darkness fell, but Rex remained there at the foot of his father’s portrait, deep in thought.

Sometime later a light was switched on in the corridor outside and he heard Mrs. Amery’s voice in the distance.

He swiped his hands across his eyes, pushed his fingers through his hair, then rose to his feet. Once he’d smoothed the letter out he folded it neatly and stored it away in his wallet.

The following weekend, he’d show it to Carmen.

That meant they’d be forced to consider their relationship anew. Rex was ready for that. Was Carmen? He wasn’t sure. Her fiercely guarded independence might force her to deny that it was anything more than a sexual trade-off. That’s what he figured she was doing, after these past two days together. They’d swapped places, in that respect. As a teenager, she’d wanted romance. Now, she wanted the house. And he wanted her more than ever.

The letter would force the issue. He’d find the right moment, and they could calmly consider it. Some groundwork would help. They’d already broken down one barrier—Carmen knew why he’d left all those years ago. Now they had to consider why they were back together.

Did it really matter? He just wanted to be with her, always had. Probably always will.

Rex contemplated the question.

It did matter. It mattered because, if his suspicions were true, it was an apology of sorts—an apology to them both.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

BY TUESDAY EVENING, Carmen was already planning what she would take with her to wear the following weekend. So far she’d dressed conservatively, her initial reservations about Rex’s sexual agenda not allowing her to be overtly provocative. Since she’d accepted his argument about burning out the old flame, she’d begun to relax somewhat. She’d also thought about her appearance differently. At the back of it all, her newfound knowledge about Rex’s history with his father made her thoughts more tender, and that led to her acceptance of his terms.

There was no reason why she shouldn’t enjoy it. So long as she guarded her emotions and kept the relationship within certain bounds, then she’d always have it—the affair she’d craved as a younger woman. And it was even more hot and wild and fulfilling than she’d ever dreamed it might be.

When it came to sex, Rex was persuasive, demanding and predatory. That was no surprise. What was surprising was the extent of his sexual prowess and his sensitivity to her needs. She hadn’t expected him to be so responsive and attuned, and the edgy side to their sexual encounters was one hell of a bonus. She liked the way he pushed her for honesty and made her exhibit her needs. No matter how unusual, it was wildly empowering.

Rex hadn’t been far from her thoughts since they’d said goodbye on Sunday afternoon. In the shower after work it was his hands she was imagining on her skin as she lathered herself, and her entire body pulsed with energy, responding. When she got out and wrapped herself in a towel, she closed her eyes a moment, and thought of his arms around her. As she slipped a flimsy nightdress on, she imagined it was his mouth she felt moving against her skin.

Nevertheless, when her phone rang and it was his voice at the other end, her pulse stalled, then raced on. “Rex? How the hell did you get my number?”

“I asked Mrs. Amery for it.”

That easy. Of course. Mrs. Amery wouldn’t think there was anything odd about it. “I should hang up on you.”

“But you won’t.”

The sensible thing would have been to follow through on her threat, to keep the arrangement on simple terms. The fact that hearing his voice thrilled her to the core made that impossible. Carmen sat down on her bed, then lay down, picturing him while he spoke to her. Two days it’d been since they’d parted, but they parted with hungry kisses, both of them openly eager for the next weekend. And now he’d called, and the sound of his voice was too good. So she didn’t hang up. Instead, she cradled the phone to her ear. “I suppose I could humor you for a short while.”