Twin of Ice (Montgomery/Taggert 6)

Kane had looked sulky at that, but he’d given in. “All right then, I’ll have a suit made like you want, and I’ll go to your dam . . . your lovely, dainty tea party,” he changed it to, making her smile, “but I don’t know about them other parties.”

“We’ll do one day at a time,” she said, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I must return home. My parents will be worried.”

“Come ’ere,” he said, motioning her around his desk.

Thinking he wanted to show her something, she did as he bid. Roughly, he caught her wrist and pulled her into his lap. “You get to be my teacher, I guess I’m gonna have to teach you about some things, too.”

He began nuzzling her neck with his face, his lips nibbling her skin. She was about to protest his treatment of her, but then parts of her body began to melt.

“Kane,” Edan said from the doorway. “Excuse me.”

Without ceremony, Kane pushed her off his lap. “You’ll get more of that later, honey,” he said, as if she were a street trollop. “Go on home now, I got to work.”

Houston swallowed what she wanted to say and, with a face red from embarrassment, murmured a good night to both men and left the house.

Now, driving home at last, tired, hungry, still suffering from an emotion that was half anger, half embarrassment, she faced telling her family that she’d agreed to marry the notorious Mr. Kane Taggert.

Why, she asked herself as she slowed the horse to the barest walk. Why in the world was she agreeing to marry a man she didn’t love, who didn’t love her, a man who made her furious every other minute, a man who treated her like something he’d bought and paid for?

The answer came to her quickly.

Because he made her feel alive. Because he needed her.

Blair had said that when they were children, Houston had thrown snowballs with the best of them, but Duncan and Leander had taken away her spirit. Long ago she’d learned that it was easier to give in to the men, to be the quiet, ladylike, spiritless woman they wanted.

But there were times, at receptions, at dinner gatherings, when she felt as if she were a painting on a wall—pretty and nice to have around, but completely unnecessary to anyone’s day-to-day well-being. She’d even said something like this to Leander once and he’d talked about the quality of life changing without art objects.

But in the end, Lee had traded Houston’s quiet, serene beauty for a woman who set his body on fire.

Never had a man made her feel as Kane Taggert did. Lee’s taste in clothing and furniture was impeccable. Easily, he could have done the interiors of the house he’d had built for them by himself. But Mr. Taggert was at such a loss about what to do that, without her, he couldn’t even arrange his furniture, much less buy it.

Houston thought of all the years of work she’d gone through at school. Blair seemed to think her sister had done little but drink tea and arrange flowers, but Houston remembered the strict discipline and Miss Jones’s ruler slapping on tender palms when a girl failed.

When she was with Lee, she had to make a conscious effort to put all her schooling into effect because Lee would know when she was wrong. But with Mr. Taggert, she felt free. Today she’d screeched at him. In fourteen years of knowing Lee, never once had she raised her voice to him.

She took a breath of cool, night air. All the work ahead of her! Arranging the wedding, the surprise of exploring the attics and putting

the furniture where she wanted it. And the challenge of trying to turn Mr. Taggert into some form of gentleman!

By the time she reached home, she was bursting with excitement. She was going to marry a man who needed her.

She left the horse and carriage with the groom, straightened her shoulders, and prepared herself to face the storm that was her family.

Chapter 7

Much to her surprise—and relief—the house was quiet when Houston entered through the kitchen, only the cook and Susan washing up.

“Has everyone gone to bed?” she asked, her hand on the big oak table that nearly filled the room.

“Yes, Miss Blair-Houston,” Susan answered as she cleaned the coffee grinder. “More or less.”

“Houston,” she said automatically, ignoring the maid’s last comment. “Will you bring me something on a tray and come to my room, Susan?”

As she walked through the house to the stairs, she noticed several large bouquets of freshly cut flowers, not flowers from her mother’s garden. She saw a card attached:

To my wife to be, Blair, from Leander.

Leander had never sent her flowers in all the months they were engaged.