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DEAR ONE NIGHT STAND

SINCERELY YOURS SERIES

LANA DASH
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue

Also By Lana Dash

About the Author
DEAR ONE NIGHT STAND is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,
places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or
used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by LANA DASH

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International
and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this
material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without express
written permission from the author/publisher, except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review.
 1

A NNIE
I couldn’t have known when this terrible day began that
it would end with the best night of my life.
“Don’t bother with the excuses,” My best friend and roommate,
Marnie, says to me when I knock on her bedroom door. “You’re
going tonight, Annie.”
She’s applying her makeup at her vanity table in the corner of
her room. She doesn't need to turn around, she can see me in the
mirror, and I can see her disapproving scowl.
“You don’t know what I came in here to say.” I fidget with the
hem of my shirt.
"Okay." She puts down her eyeliner and turns around in her seat.
"Then why are you hovering in the doorway of my room when you
should be getting dressed for the reunion?"
Our group of friends from college has plans to meet up in the city
tonight. It’s been a few years since all of us got together at once
since graduation.
“I’m just anxious to see everyone,” I say.
“Everyone or Baker?”
I glare at her. She knows we don’t say that name in this house.
“He’s part of the group, isn’t he?”
She holds her hands up. “I’m sorry. But I don’t think you should
miss out on catching up with everyone because He Who Shall Not Be
Named—”
“Thank you.”
“—dumped you after graduation.”
I straighten. “He didn’t dump me.”
“He voluntarily ended the relationship without your consent.
What would you call it?”
“I’m not going.” I turn around and walk down the hall to my
room.
“You’re going!” she calls after me. “I’m not about to let you miss
out on catching up with our friends because you think you can’t
handle seeing him. I’m not going to let him have the satisfaction in
thinking you can’t face him because you aren’t over him.”
“I am over him.” I slump down on my bed. “I just wouldn’t mind
it if he showed up tonight with a huge beer belly and no hair.”
Marnie crosses her arms and smiles. “That is the dream for all
exes.”
We both laugh.
“You really aren’t going to let me stay home tonight, are you?” I
ask.
“You have the rest of your life to stay home to watch romantic
comedies and eating mint chocolate chip ice cream.” Marnie walks
over to my closet and opens the door. “We are going to get you all
dressed up, I'm going to do your makeup, and we are going to show
Baker just what he missed out on.”
I let Marnie works her magic on me, and we are in a cab an hour
later. The restaurant we are meeting the group at already looks
pretty full by the time we arrive. We pay the driver and step out into
the cold early spring evening. I hug my jacket close around me as
we head towards the door.
Marnie gives our names to the hostess inside.
“Most of your party is already here,” she smiles at us. “If you’ll
follow me, I will lead you to the private room.”
Uneasiness fills me the closer we walk through the restaurant.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Baker, and yet somehow, at this
moment, it feels like no time has passed. I don’t have feelings for
him, at least I don’t think so, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to spend
the evening around him pretending the past didn’t happen.
I grab Marnie’s arm to stop her. “I need a drink.”
“Okay, we can order one at the table.”
I shake my head at her. "I need to gather myself before I see
Baker face to face, and I think a bit of liquid courage might help
me." I point over to the bar against the wall. "I'm going to get a
drink, and I will meet you back there.”
The hostess turns and realizes that we've stopped. She looks
annoyed, and I don't blame her. The place is getting busier as we
speak, and she doesn't have time to stand around and wait for us to
talk.
“You aren’t going to run out on tonight, are you?”
"I promise." I hold up my hand. "Just give me five minutes, and I
will join you."
“Ladies?” the hostess asks politely.
Marnie looks at her and then back to me. "You have five minutes,
and I'm coming to look for you."
“I’d expect nothing less.” I smile at her and turn to head back
towards the bar.
 2

C HRIS
She’s forty-five minutes late. I’m not even sure why I’m
still sitting here. I didn’t even want to go on this blind date,
and now I’m getting stood up. This is the last time I’m going to let
Dela try and set me up with one of her co-workers. My sister-in-law
is so annoying happily married to my brother, Brent, that she can’t
stand the idea that I’m alone. It's been six months since my last
relationship, and I'm not ready to jump into something else yet. I
told her a hundred times that not everyone in this world gets to
have a great love like her and Brent have. As much as I secretly
want what they have, I’m realistic enough to know that it’s unlikely
to be in the cards for me.
The restaurant is starting to fill up, and my guitar case sitting
next to me is taking up some valuable real estate. I have a gig later
tonight, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it back home to pick
it up if I didn’t bring it. It was helping me to hold the empty stool
next to me for my date.
A woman slides onto the stool, ignoring the case, and orders a
vodka cranberry from the bartender. He glances at me from across
the bar and then wordlessly down at the beer bottle in front of me. I
nod, telling him I’d like another, and he gets to work on our drinks.
I glance surreptitiously at the woman next to me, and my heart
flutters in my chest. She’s beautiful in that way that she either
doesn't realize it, or she doesn't care to show it off—a natural
beauty.
“Are you Gabby by any chance?” I ask, holding my breath.
She looks over at me, a small crease forming between her dark
brows, and she shakes her head. “Nope.”
Damn. I was already mentally high-fiving Dela for finally getting
one of her setups right this time. She tends to set me up with
women that are nothing like my type—like a thin, blonde Marilyn,
when my type is more of a curvy Jackie, like the gorgeous woman
currently sitting next to me.
“How late is she?” she asks.
I touch the screen on my phone, and the time lights up. "Forty-
three minutes."
The bartender sets down our drinks down in front of us.
“Ouch," she says, taking a sip.
“Not really. My expectations for tonight weren’t too high. Maybe
it’s for the best.”
“If it helps,” she says, turning towards me. “I’d happily change
places with you if I could.”
I match her movements and really take her in. Her fair skin is a
nice contrast to her dark curled hair. My eyes dip to the snug dress
hugging her curves, and my dick twitches at the sight of her ample
cleavage.
“Why is that?”
"I'm meeting my ex for the first time since he dumped me," she
says and takes a large sip of her drink. “And I’m pretty sure he’s
going to take one look at me and think that he made the right call
dumping me.”
I shake my head, feeling an easiness speaking to this stranger. “I
can guarantee you that he’s going to take one look at you and wish
he wasn’t such a moron letting you go.”
She smiles and looks down. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“It’s the truth.” I shrug and take a sip of my new beer.
“I’m Annie.” She holds out her hand to me.
I set down my beer and take her hand. “I’m Chris.”
I can’t deny the spark I feel the moment we touch.
 “I don’t know what he looks like,” a shrill voice says behind
Annie. “I told you it’s a blind date.”
Annie’s eyes widen, but neither one of us moves, instead,
listening to the one-sided conversation of my blind date.
“I don’t know what he looks like, but that doesn’t really matter.
As long as the rumors are true about the size of his trust fund, he
can have a second head for all I care."
I tense. There is no way that Dela tried to set me up with this
woman by selling me to her on the fact that I have a trust fund. She
knows I haven’t touched the thing since I turned of age and the
substantial amount of money was available to me.
I’ve always been fiercely independent and not one to state
through life using my family’s name to get what I want without
putting in the effort. I want to make it on my own, even if that
means taking the long, hard road.
Annie lets go of my hand and turns around on her stool to face
my date. When I realize what she’s about to do, I turn back to the
bar but watch from the corner of my eye.
“Are you Gabby?” she asks innocently.
The side-eyed look that Gabby gives Annie makes the protective
side of me want to put myself between the two of them.
“Hang on, Tori,” Gabby says and lowers the phone from her ear.
“How do you know my name?”
“I got your name from a guy named Chris. He was in here a
while ago, at the time you were supposed to meet him, but he got a
call a few minutes ago and had to leave.”
“And who are you?” Gabby asks.
Annie shrugs. “Just a helpful patron that offered to pass on the
information of what happened if you showed up.”
Gabby lifts her phone back up to her ear and turns to walk away.
“The jerk stood me up.”
Annie turns back to me with a sheepish smile on her face. “I
hope that was okay.” She points over her shoulder towards Gabby’s
retreating form. “What I just did.”
“Are you kidding?” I laugh. “You just saved me big time.”
 “I thought as much." She smiles. "You got this weird look on your
face, and I thought I’d spare you.”
“I owe you one.”
She waves my offer away like it was no big deal.
“Annie?” A male voice asks behind us.
Without turning to look and see who called her name, the color
in Annie’s face drains, and I realize that this must be the ex.
 3

A NNIE
For a moment between meeting Chris and saving him
from his gold-digging blind date from hell, I nearly forgot
what I was doing here tonight.
I turn around slowly and see Baker standing behind me with his
arm draped over the shoulder of a woman that eerily like me—dark
hair, pale complexion, and a curvy figure.
I can’t help but stare at her. My brain is slow to react until Baker
speaks again.
“I wasn’t sure if you were going to come tonight,” he says.
It takes everything in me to try to find the words to respond.
There is a slight buzzing in my head. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m
seeing Baker for the first time since he dumped me or if it’s because
he’s standing here with a woman that could be my doppelganger.
I slide off my stool. “I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.”
Baker smiles, and it almost looks triumphant, like he enjoys that
he's still got some kind of power over me.
“Babe, if you aren’t going to introduce me,” Chris stands and
holds out his hand to Baker. “I’m Chris, Annie’s boyfriend.”
Those last two words are enough to wipe the smug smile of
Baker’s face. He looks down at Chris’s outstretched hand. For a
moment, it looks like he isn’t going to take it, but then the fake smile
I've seen him use a thousand times while we were dating appears,
and he takes his hand.
"Nice to meet you," he says to Chris but looks at me. “I wasn’t
aware that Annie was seeing anyone.”
“Why would you?” Chris asks. “You two haven’t seen one another
since, well—”
Baker has the decency to look uncomfortable at Chris’s words.
Chris doesn’t waste any time continuing the charade and wraps his
arm around my waist and pulling me close to him. The warmth of his
body and the scent of his aftershave makes it harder to remember
why I was so worried about seeing Baker tonight.
"There you are," Marnie says, looking at me and then down at
Chris's hand resting on my waist. She’s quick to hide the look of
confusion on her face. She may not know what is going on, but she
has enough sense not to ask questions in front of Baker. “I thought
you said you were only going to be five minutes.”
I look from her up to Chris and then back to her. “Sorry, I was
having a quick drink with my boyfriend to catch up on our day
before heading back.”
“Your boyfriend?” Marnie mouths behind Baker and his date’s
back.
“I’m Nadine,” Baker’s date says, and all of our gazes turn to her.
“This is my fiancée,” Baker blurts out as if he'd suddenly
remembered that she's been standing next to him this whole time.
Baker proceeds to introduce Nadine to all of us, and as soon as
he finishes, there is an awkward silence that settles around us
despite standing in the middle of a crowded restaurant, but Marnie is
the first to break the tension.
“We have a private room,” she points over her shoulder.
“Everyone else is already here. Maybe we should all head back?”
"Sounds good," Baker agrees and starts heading back with
Nadine.
Marnie lets them by her but holds up her hand to stop me from
moving.
“You two aren’t going anywhere until you explain.”
“It’s not what it looks like,” I say.
 “It looks like you found yourself a fake boyfriend in the five
minutes I left you alone to get a drink at the bar.”
“Okay. That's exactly what it looks like."
“What is your plan here?” she asks.
I look at Chris, and he seems just as curious to hear how I will
answer this question from Marnie.
"I hadn't thought much past this moment, to be honest."
“It’s my fault,” Chris interrupts. “Annie did me a favor with my
blind date, and I thought that I would return the favor when her ex
showed up.”
Marnie looks curiously between Chris and me.
“Okay, I will go along with this, but only because I know that she
—“ Marnie points at me. “Will bail on tonight if I don’t.”
“Full disclosure, I have a gig later tonight at a club down the
street, so I’m going to have to duck out early.”
“Perfect,” I say and turn back to Marnie. “That gives me some
time to say hello and then I have the perfect excuse to duck out
early. No one will begrudge me for leaving early if I'm just a
supportive girlfriend."
“Fine, do what you want.” Marnie sighs and turns around to head
back to where Baker and Nadine were headed. “I’m done trying to
make you stay.”
Chris lets me go and turns back to where we were sitting,
dropping a few bills on the bar, and grabbing his guitar case.
It's weird, but I already miss him holding on to me. It's like our
bodies are two pieces to a puzzle, and it feels like we fit together.
I've never felt so much of an instant connection with someone
before. Chris takes my hand in his like he's been doing it forever and
leads me back to the private room.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I ask him.
He squeezes my hand. “You mean getting to play the role of
boyfriend to the most beautiful woman in here? Yeah, I think I’m
okay with it.”
His words shock me into silence as we walk into the private
room.
 Everyone else in the group is already there, sitting around the
long table with drinks and plates of appetizers in front of them. They
all cheer when we walk in, and I realize what a mistake it would
have been not to come tonight, even if it meant seeing Baker.
I introduce Chris to Jamie and Maggie, Budgie, Eddie, and Lisa.
“You’ve already met Baker and Nadine. And you, of course, you
know Marnie," I say as though he's met her many times since she is
my roommate.
He waves to the group. "Nice to meet you all. It's nice to put
faces to the names finally."
Everyone chuckles but Baker.
We all sit down and start catching up. Jamie and Maggie pass
around pictures of their three kids. Budgie tells some stories about
his adventures as a photojournalist for a travel magazine. Eddie talks
about teaching and his elementary students. And Lisa tells us about
her time living abroad in Europe before settling recently in Toronto.
The nerves I felt earlier in the evening hit again when Marnie
starts talking about her work in the lab and the breakthrough they
just had with a medicine she’s been working on for Parkinson's
patients. Everyone here has done something with their lives, and all
I do is work in an office job that I only took to pay the bills. And yet,
at this moment, I suddenly realize that it's no longer just a job, but
somewhere along the way, it turned into a career.
I don’t have an exciting job that gives me satisfaction. And I
don’t have a family that makes me feel like I’ve done something.
"What about you, Annie?" Eddie asks. "Did you ever make it to
Broadway as you planned?"
I smile, but I'm not sure that it reaches my eyes. "No, sadly, I
had to give up the starving artist lifestyle to take a job in Human
Resources.”
All the smiles in the room falter.
“But you still volunteer and work behind the scenes at the Milson
Theater," Marnie adds, but it sounds more condescending to me
than supportive. But I know that's not how she means it.
“Chris, you should have seen Annie play Helena from A
Midsummer Night’s Dream, our college's Shakespeare in the Park
production," Lisa says, trying to find a way to push past the
awkwardness in the room.
“Oh yeah,” Eddie joins in. “She would spend hours reciting her
lines over and over again until we had to beg her to stop.”
“But all that hard work paid off in the end. She stole the show
with her beauty.” Baker says before he clears his throat. “I mean,
talent.”
I glance nervously at Baker and then to Nadine. She’s looking
down at her empty cocktail glass and staring at it like if she
concentrates hard enough, another gin and tonic will fill the glass.
 4

C HRIS
I enjoyed listening to Annie’s friends talk about her
passion for acting until her ex-boyfriend had to throw a wet
blanket on the room by talking about how beautiful she was in her
performance. He tried to cover up his slip, but it didn’t go unnoticed
by anyone.
I do not doubt that it would have been impossible to take my
eyes off her if I was sitting in the audience. But I really don't like the
idea of Baker doing the same thing, even if at the time she was his
girlfriend. He had his chance with her, and he let her go. I'm not
sure how this night will end, but I'll be damned if I let Annie go.
My arm is draped over the back of her chair, and I’m not sure if
she realizes it, but she’s leaning into my side. I’d like to think that
she feels so comfortable with me, but as her friends just explained
to me, she's also a good actress, and this is a show for an audience
of one.
The conversation moves onto Baker and the new search engine
his company is building and some of the wedding plans added by
Nadine. I don't miss how she speaks to the rest of the table, but her
eyes always seem to find Annie, like she's looking for some reaction
from her.
I half expect to feel Annie tense up next to me when the
conversation moves to the wedding plans, but Annie still feels at
ease leaning against me. Marnie catches my eye a few times, too,
her gaze somehow mixed with an expression of curiosity and
protectiveness. It's clear that she cares a lot about Annie, and I wish
there were some way to tell her that my intentions are good,
whatever happens at the end of this night.
I glance down at my watch and sit up with a start. Annie turns to
me, startled.
“Are you okay?” she whispers.
“I have to get to the club. I’m already late.” I whisper back and
start to stand.
Budgie is in the middle of a story about jumping off the cliffs in
Greece but stops when he sees me stand up.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I’m going to have to head out
early.” I point to my guitar case leaning against the wall behind me.
“I have a performance I need to get to tonight.”
“Open mic night?” Baker asks, a hint of hostility in his tone.
I smile as kindly as I can back to him because if I didn't want to
embarrass Annie, I'd have a few choice words for him instead.
“No, I perform there three nights a week and every other
weekend.”
“Covers?”
Okay, now this guy is starting to piss me off.
"All originals." I smile back. "You all are welcome to come if you'd
like. I can get you in."
Excitement spreads around the table as everyone is eager to
prolong this evening. Everyone but Annie. She looks up at me, and I
realize my mistake. She was going to use me as an excuse to end
this evening early.
A part of me wants to blame Baker for getting a rise out of me
and forcing my hand to invite everyone out tonight, but I’d be lying
if that was the only reason I did what I did. I’m enjoying spending
some time with Annie. I like her and would like to see if there is
something beyond this fake date that could lead to a real one.
ANNIE
Well, I didn’t see that coming. How did my fake date turn into
the group of us moving to the second location for the evening? I
should be on my way home now. Instead, I'm walking arm and arm
with Marnie down the street to the club where Chris is performing.
He had to leave pretty quickly after he invited everyone to his
show. We couldn’t really discuss what just happened because we
weren't alone. When he leaned down, I thought he would whisper
something to me, but instead, his lips pressed against mine. I
melted at his touch, and the confident way he kissed me like this
was the thousandth time and not the first time.
I couldn't form words when he finally pulled back and whispered
that he'd reserve us a table. All I could do was nod back to him, and
he left.
It wasn't until he was gone that I suddenly felt the anxiety I felt
leading up to tonight. It was like his presence alone was enough to
calm me and make me feel like my nerves weren't going to get the
better of me. I wanted to feel that feeling again. Somehow a
gorgeous man with a jaw that wouldn't quit and lips that made my
toes curl in the best way was pretending to be my boyfriend. If I'm
not careful, I could get lost in this make-believe world I've stumbled
into.
“How are you doing?” Marnie whispers to me.
I glance ahead at Baker walking with Nadine on his arm. He
glances back over his shoulder at me like he somehow knows that
we are talking about him. Our eyes meet, and I wait for the feelings
I once felt for him to return, but they don’t. Instead, I pick up the
speed so that I can get to the club. I'm already missing Chris. I want
another chance to kiss him.
“I’m fine.”
“Normally, I’d think you were lying,” Marnie says. “But you seem
different.”
“It’s Chris.”
“Did you know him before tonight?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
 “Then how is it possible that you two are already so connected? I
saw the way you two sat together so comfortably at the restaurant
and that kiss.”
I stop abruptly, and Eddie, whose talking on his phone behind us,
narrowly sidesteps us and keeps walking.
"That kiss was," I pause, unable to put into words what I felt. It
was like an instant soul-searing connection that I've never felt
before. “That kiss was everything.”
The smile slips from Marnie’s face. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t
want you to get caught up in all this and get hurt.”
Deep down, I know she's right, but at this moment, I can't help
but feel hope for the potential of this night. I can't be the only one
feeling this weirdly magical instant connection. Is it even possible for
two people to fall so quickly for someone they don’t know? The only
way to find out is to take a chance. I have to hope that this will end
with a happily ever after and not another heartbreak.
The bouncer at the door waves us in when I give him my name
and point to the group of us. The people waiting in line groan in
irritation, and I feel bad until I walk in and see Chris on stage.
He’s tuning his guitar and talking to another guy working on the
speaker near his feet. As we head towards the stage, he looks out
and sees me. He flashes me a panty-melting grin and winks at me.
He points to the empty table near the stage.
There a rose sitting on the table in front of the chair with the
best view of the stage. I pick up the flower and bite my lip, suddenly
feeling nervous. How did he find a flower between the restaurant
and here?
“I’m not one to admit when I’m wrong,” Marnie whispers to me
as we sit down. “But I think that someone might not just be playing
along as I thought."
Chris sits down on the stool in front of his microphone and makes
his introductions. He gives me a not-so-secret smile when he says
that he's going to sing a song called, "When We Met."
 5

C HRIS
"You were amazing," Annie gushes as we walk down the
street together.
She said goodbye to her friends at the end of the show and
asked if I wanted to take a walk with her. There was no other
answer than hell yes when she asked me, but I played it cooler than
that.
I asked to leave my guitar at the club in the office overnight, so I
wouldn't have to walk with it. Phil, the club manager, isn't someone
that is accommodating about stuff like that, but he took one look at
me and then over at Annie, and I think even he couldn't say no.
We head out of the club with no specific destination in mind. We
talk about anything and everything. I tell her about what inspired me
to get into music.
"I broke my leg on the second to last day of school in seventh
grade, making it impossible to do anything but sit inside," I tell her.
"After about a week, I was getting a bit stir crazy watching my
brothers get to play outside, and I was stuck with nothing to do. My
dad came home one day with a guitar case and an instructional book
on learning the guitar. He told me not to come out of my room until
I could play the first song in the book."
“Were you driving him crazy?” she asks.
 "No, my mom. Being stuck inside with me was driving her just as
crazy, so my dad stepped in."
“How long did it take you?”
“One afternoon.”
She stares at me in surprise. “That’s it?”
“That’s all it took, and I was hooked.” I shrug. “By the end of the
summer, I filled a notebook with poorly written songs about random
stuff in my room.”
“I’m glad that you’ve moved onto more relatable topics other
than—” She gestures for me to give her a title.
“The Power of Power Rangers.”
“Wow.” She laughs. “I bet that one had all the girls swooning.”
“I didn’t realize the power of writing a love song until later, but
when I did—“ I smile mischievously.
“I want to say a guy with a guitar is unappealing, but it’s
kryptonite to most women and their lady bits.”
I chuckle. “Does it work for you?”
“I can't tell you that. I'm a lady." She smiles and bites her lip.
That’s a yes!
We talk some more, and she tells me about how she misses
doing theater.
“It was never about wanting fame or money,” she says. “It was
the adrenaline of stepping out onto that stage for the first time each
night, the bright lights, the reactions from the audience, and the feel
of pretending to be someone else if just for a couple of hours."
“I get that,” I smile at her. “I love that feeling playing that first
cord and see the faces in the crowd responding to the music.”
"There's nothing like it." She loops her arm in mine and holds her
body close to me. The feel of her soft breast pushed against me
makes my dick twitch, and I have to keep the conversation to
distract myself.
“Why did you quit?" I ask. "I mean, I know you still work
backstage, but—"
“I don’t work backstage,” she interrupts.
“But Marnie said you did.”
 “She lied. She was trying to help me save face in front of
everyone.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
She shrugs. "It all just got away from me. I took a job to pay the
bills so that I could do community theater in my spare time. But the
workload started to increase with each promotion, and soon I found
myself with a career in HR and no spare time to do what I love."
“Would you ever go back?”
“Before tonight, I would have probably said no.” She looks up at
me. “But after seeing you perform, I remembered why I loved doing
what I did.”
“Well, I want to see you perform on the stage one day.”
She smiles and runs off towards the large fountain just ahead of
us. I jog to catch up with her. She digs in her small clutch and pulls
out two coins. I watch as she closes her eyes and smiles as she
tosses one of the coins into the fountain.
“What did you wish for?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I can’t tell you that.”
I hold out my hand and take the other coin. I follow her lead and
close my eyes too. I have a feeling she thinks she knows what I’m
about to wish for, but it’s so much more.

ANNIE
I don’t bother asking him what he wished for, but part of my wish
comes in the form of a text response from Marnie.

ME: Are you home?

MARNIE: Nope. I’m staying at Joshua’s house tonight.
MARNIE: You’re welcome.
ME: Thank you! XOXO
We stop on the stoop outside my building. There is suddenly an air
of uncertainty that surrounds us. Chris is too much of a gentleman
to ask to come up, even though I’m pretty sure we both want him
to.
“Do you want to come up for a drink?” I ask.
Chris looks up at the apartment windows and then back at me.
“Is Marnie home?”
I shake my head and grab the lapels of his pea coat and pull him
against me. I can feel his hard cock pressed against me, and heat
pools in my lower belly. Our lips are so close that I can feel each puff
of his breath.
He swallows hard. “Are you sure? We can take it slow if you
want.”
I shake my head again, my words catching in my throat. It's
been a while since I've slept with anyone, and never on the first
date, if you can even call tonight an actual date.
“Lead the way,” he says, his voice gruff with emotion.
We head up the steps, and I fumble with the key in the lock
when Chris pulls my hair off my neck and starts just below my
earlobe.
I force myself to concentrate until I can finally get the door
unlocked. We head inside, moving quickly up the steps to my
apartment. This lock is much easier because Chris has realized that
letting me get the door open quicker means naked time sooner.
We are barely in the door when Chris closes the door and presses
me against it. His hard body pushing against mine as his bruising
kiss devours me. His hands expertly remove my jacket and my
cardigan. He kneels in front of me and unties the laces of my boots.
I feel him roll my tights down my legs and the cool air in the
apartment mixed with his hot breath on my legs sends goosebumps
shivering up my body.
“I imagined undressing you all night,” he breathes out, as his
large hands move up my outer thighs and gripping the lace fabric of
my panties.
I can barely catch my breath as his tongue licks up the wet folds
of my pussy. My arms flail about, needing something, anything to
hold on to as I cry out in pleasure.
Chris lifts one of my legs over his shoulder for better access and
grips my ass to help steady me. I run my fingers into his soft hair
and hold on as the orgasm inside me grows to heights I've never
experienced with only someone's mouth.
“Oh my god!” I yell, and this only urges him on.
I close my eyes and let myself go, losing myself to this gorgeous
man I only just met, but he's already so much more to me. I scream
out my release, my legs feeling like they’ve turned to mush, and I
can barely stand on my own.
Chris stands and kisses me. I can taste me on his lips, and this
drives me wild. I'm ready for more. I want to feel him inside me.
I kick the tights off my left foot and grab him by the hand. I lead
him down the hall to my room and close the door.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” I tell him, and he scrambles
to remove them quickly.
I wait until he’s down to his boxers and push him back onto the
bed. He shifts backward, and I climb on top of him, straddling his
muscular thighs. I raise my arms, and he lifts my dress off me. I
reach behind and unhook my bra, letting the straps slip off my
shoulders and freeing myself. Chris groans and sits up, cupping each
breast in one hand and licking the pebbled nipples.
I reach down between us and grip his hard cock, stroking it up
and down. He groans again and falls back onto the bed. I continue
the motion, getting him ready before guiding him to my ready
entrance and pushing down on top of him.
His strong hands find my hips and guides the speed of my hips
as I shift them around and around. It doesn’t take long for the
pleasure to build again with the friction of our bodies moving
together.
Chris sits up again, and I wrap my arms around his neck. I hold
on to him as we move as one, his teeth nipping at the skin on my
collarbone and neck. I can feel the pleasure build to its peak again
inside me. I can't hold back. I've never felt so good in my life.
“I’m coming,” I cry out.
 Chris wraps his hand on the back of my neck and lifts my head
so we are face to face.
“I want to see you,” he breathes.
I let go, holding onto his gaze as long as I can until I lose myself.
I feel him tense beneath me, jerking as he comes too.
It’s never been that way with anyone before. I’m lost in a blissful,
dreamless sleep the moment my head hits the pillow.
 6

A NNIE
The sound of my phone ringing in my bag wakes me up.
It takes me a moment to realize I’m home in my room. I
glance over and see Chris, asleep on his stomach, with his arm
draped over me. The sound of my phone ringing does nothing to
wake him.
I try to slip out from beneath him but lose my footing and land
with a thump on the floor. I grab the spare blanket off the bench at
the end of my bed and wrap it around me. I scramble over to my
phone and pick it up.
“Hello?” I whisper.
“Annie?” Baker’s voice asks.
“How did you get this number?”
“Not quite the response I was hoping to get when I called.” He
chuckles humorously.
"What do you want, Baker?" I ask, looking back over my
shoulder, but Chris hasn't moved, and his eyes are still closed.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
“In person.”
“No.”
"Please, this isn't something I can say over the phone, and I
think after our history together, you owe me at least a face-to-face."
 “I don’t owe you anything. You dumped me, remember?” I hiss.
“Please, just five minutes,” he pleads. “If you hear what I have to
say, and you still tell me to fuck off, I will never bother you again.”
“Alright.” I look back at Chris again. “Five minutes.”
“Thank you. I’m at the twenty-four-hour diner at the end of your
block,” he says and hangs up.
I turn around and nearly jump out of my skin when I see Chris
sitting up.
“I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“Was that Baker?”
“Yeah, he called because he said he needed to talk to me.”
Chris glances over at the clock on the nightstand. “At three in the
morning?”
"He said it would only take five minutes." I start to pick up my
dress and slip it on over my head, letting the blanket drop out
beneath it.
“And you’re going?”
“It's not what you think," I try to assure him. "Five minutes tops,
and I will be right back."
Chris opens his mouth but decides to think better of whatever he
was going to say.
“It will be fine.” I lean down and give him a quick peck on the
lips. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”
Chris follows me out into the living room, where I grab my
panties off the floor and slip them on. He's wrapped in the sheet
from my bed. His chest muscles the moonlight shining in the
windows are almost enough to make me forget about leaving. But I
need this closure with Baker. He and I are done.
“Are you sure you want to go?”
“I think I owe it to myself to see what he has to say.”
“What can he say that will change how he treated you?”
“Nothing, but I have to do this.”
Chris grabs my hand and pulls me back against him, cupping my
face in his hand. He brushes his lips against mine, softly at first, but
the tenderness turns to a more passionate want when his tongue
licks my lips to urge them to open and deepen the kiss.
 The feel of his lips against mine nearly makes me forget my
name. But my phone rings again in my hand, popping the bubble
that surrounded us.
“Five minutes.” I pull back. “I promise.”

The bell above the diner door rings as I walk in. Baker is the only
person sitting in one of the vinyl booths that lines the front windows.
He waves me over as if I wouldn't be able to see it was him.
“I didn’t think you were going to come,” he says, standing up.
“I nearly didn’t.”
“I’m glad you did.” He steps forward and holds out his arms to
me, but I step back.
“What did you need to say to me that is so important that you
woke me up in the middle of the night to meet you?”
Baker sighs like he's annoyed that whatever he thought would
happen isn't going according to his plan. He sits down on one side of
the booth, and I sit down on the other.
“I made a huge mistake.”
I don’t respond. I only stare at him, forcing him to continue.
“I didn’t know what I lost until I saw you tonight.”
"Well, I don't think that really matters anymore. You have a
fiancée,” I remind him.
He shakes his head. “I don’t love her the way I love you.”
In all the years since that night when Baker broke my heart into
a million tiny pieces, I've dreamed of hearing him say this to me. But
as I sit here, out in the cold, I realize that Baker isn't the one I
should be with right now. I should never have left the bed. I should
never have walked out on Chris, thinking only of myself.
“Is that all?” I ask, pushing to my feet.
“What do you mean? I just poured my heart out to you.”
"Calm down. Telling me that you are in love with someone who
isn't your fiancée isn't the declaration of love that you think it might
be. Besides, I'm in love with someone else."
 “I know that you aren’t really dating him,” Baker sneers. “Budgie,
let it slip."
"Well, Budgie needs to check his sources better because I just
left my apartment with him in my bed. So if you have nothing else to
say to me. I’m going to go get back into bed with the man that I
love.”
I don’t bother waiting for a response. I turn ahead for the door. I
resist the urge to hold up my hands in triumph. It took some time
and one amazing stranger to help rid me of any residual feelings I
may have had for Baker.
 7

A NNIE
“Did he leave any kind of note or anything for you?"
Marnie asks the following day when she finds me curled up
on the couch in tears.
I shake my head. “I’m so stupid.”
“Well, I can’t argue with you on that one,” she mumbles under
her breath.
“Hey!”
“What?” She throws her arms up in frustration. “You had
arguably the hottest guy in the city, naked in your bed and asking
you to stay, but instead, you chose to leave and confront your ex.
Um, yeah, you're a fucking idiot."
I drop my head into my hands, a new wave of tears flowing from
me. “What am I going to do?”
“Well,” she sighs. “Can you track him down at the club he plays
at?”
I look up at her. A flicker of hope filling my chest for the first time
since I got home and found the apartment empty.
“Of course! He said that he plays there a few times a week.”
“Great, then there you go.”
I stand up and take a step towards the door.
"I'd take a shower first. You look like shit, and I doubt that will
help you win him back."
 “Good point.”
I quickly take a shower and get ready. Marnie is right; I need to
look my best if I'm going to convince Chris to give me a second
chance. I skip the cab ride even though it will be faster. I have too
much nervous energy that I need to burn off. I practically speed
walk the twenty blocks back to the club but stop when I see the
closed sign hanging indoor.
“Shit!” I yell.
“Language,” A male voice scolds from behind me.
I turn and see the bartender from last night walking around the
corner from an alley next door. He walks over to the truck parked in
front and grabs another case of beer.
“Excuse me,” I say.
“You’re excused,” he grumbles.
“Do you remember me?” I ask.
He stops and looks me over. “No.”
“I was here last night with a musician that plays here.”
“Oh right.” Recognition flashes in his eyes. “You’re Chris’s girl.”
“Yes, well maybe, I don’t know.” I sputter, unsure how to answer
it. “I really need to speak to him. Do you happen to have his phone
number?”
“You don’t have his number?”
I shake my head. “No, but I’d really appreciate it if you gave it to
me.”
“Sorry, I don’t give out people’s personal information to
strangers.”
"I'm not a stranger. You said it yourself. I'm Chris's girl."
"Any girl that Chris is seeing would have his number, and seeing
as you don't, well, there you go.”
He leaves me standing there. The wind blows, and a flyer from
some deli blows right into me. I grab it, and I'm about to toss it
when I get an idea. I search my pockets and find an old pen with a
bank logo printed on the side.
I need to get out what I want to say. So I sit down on one of the
steps and pour my heart out on the back of the flyer.
 When the bartender appears again around the corner, I hold up
the folded flyer and ask him if he’d be willing to give it to Chris the
next time he came in to play. He’s reluctant at first until I tell him
that the fate of my love life is in his hands. He’s a softy romantic at
heart, or he was just trying to get rid of me. Either way, it doesn’t
matter. He took the letter and now I have to wait.

CHRIS
I stop by the club later that day to pick up my guitar. Phil will
likely start charging me a storage fee if I waited until my next show.
I head inside, and the place is packed. I push my way to the bar and
give Phil a nod hello before heading to the office. I grab my guitar
case and turn around, but Phil is standing behind me with his arms
crossed.
“I have something for you,” he says and pulls out a folded neon
pick flyer for Joe’s Deli down the street.
"Thanks, but I'm not in the market for a two for one coupon from
Joe's," I tell him and try to sidestep him.
“Your girl stopped by this morning.”
I freeze, my heart clenching in my chest at just the thought of
Annie. I did everything I could to keep her out of my mind all day.
“Yeah?” I ask, not turning around.
“She wrote you this note.”
I turn around and pluck it from his fingers. “Did you read it?”
“Do you think I really care about the sad state of your love life?”
He asks but doesn’t wait for a response but stops just at the door.
“Give her another chance. Whatever happened, she looked pretty
wrecked about it. Almost as bad as you do.”
I wait until I hear the door shut behind him and open the folded
note.

Dear Chris,
 I’m not sure if you want to hear from me. I understand if you
don’t want to speak to me again, but I hope that isn’t the case. I
don’t have a perfect explanation for walking out on you as I did,
other than the truth. I needed to close that part of my life to fully
open myself up to you. You are the one I want. The only one I want.
I should have been honest and told you how I felt. I still don’t know
if you feel for me even a fraction of what I feel for you, but I missed
my chance to tell you this face to face, so I’m saying it here. I’m
falling in love with you. If you think that you may feel the same way
about me, or you might want to see where this connection between
us leads, meet me at the fountain. I’ll wait for you as long as it
takes. I hope to see you soon.
Sincerely Yours,
Annie
P.S. I know I said I wished for the chance to get on stage again
at the fountain, but since I’m being totally honest here—I wished for
a chance between us.

All at once, the dark cloud that had been hovering over my head
dissipates. I thought that our time together last night made her
realize how much she wanted her ex back, but she wants me—she
loves me.
I drop the case and run out of the office. Phil doesn't even
bother calling after me about leaving my guitar again because he
knows that I wouldn't listen. I don't bother with trying to find a cab.
I run in the direction of the fountain and hope that she is still there
waiting for me.
I get to the edge of the park and look around. It's still early
enough in the night for people to be still standing around. I look
frantically for Annie, but I don't see her.
“Chris?” A familiar voice asks behind me.
I turn and see the woman of my dreams standing in front of me.
Her cheeks damp from tears. I close the distance between us and
cut her face in my hands. I use my thumbs to wipe away the
sadness in her expression.
“I didn’t think you’d come.”
“I only just got the letter,” I say. “Your falling in love with me?”
She smiles but shakes her head. “No, I’m already hopelessly in
love with you.”
I feel the vise clamped around my heart loosen, and for the first
time since I left her apartment early this morning, I feel like I can
breathe.
“I’m so in love with you.”
“I’m so sorry about—”
I cut her off with a kiss. I understand why she did what she did.
If this painful time apart is what I have to pay to know that she is
mine forever, it’s a price I’d happily pay.
“Forget about it,” I tell her. “Today is a new day. And I have two
coins in my pocket ready to make our dreams come true.”
She chuckles. “We don’t need them. We have each other.”
 EPILOGUE

C HRIS
The curtain closes on stage, and the lights dim. I'm the
first one out of my seat, clapping for Annie. The curtains
open again, and the cast is lined up and holding hands. They step
forward as one and take a bow. Annie’s eyes find me when she
straightens, and the bright smile that spreads across her face takes
my breath away.
I lean over to the guy next to me and point to Annie. “That’s my
wife.”
He nods but shows no interest in this fact. It’s only been a few
weeks since we got married and I’m still not used to saying that. We
had to push our plans for a honeymoon out because Annie is lead in
the Milson Theater’s rendition of Barefoot in the Park. But tonight is
the last night of its run. Finally, I can take my bride off on our
honeymoon in Bora Bora.
The audience claps until the curtain closes for the last time, and I
follow the crowd out the doors. But instead of heading towards the
exit, I make a turn around the corner and wait for Annie to come
out. The bouquet I picked out for her is hidden behind my back
when she comes out.
“There’s my star!” I call to her.
She smiles and runs over to me. I catch her as she jumps into
my arms. I feel something wet splash against the back of my neck.
 “Oops! I’m sorry,” Annie says, trying to wipe my neck with her
sleeve. “I got sparkling cider on you.”
"Wow." I shake my head. "Dozens of performances, and they
can't spring for a bottle of champagne on the last night?"
“They did, but I can’t drink that—” she stops, her eyes widening
like she’s said too much.
“Since when can’t you drink champagne?” I ask.
Annie sighs and smacks her hand against her forehead. “I was
going to wait until the perfect moment in Bora Bora, but I guess the
cat’s out of the bag now.”
I stare at her in confusion until I playback the conversation in my
head, trying to catch what I missed the first time around. I stiffen
and grab her shoulders gently.
“Wait, you aren’t saying what I think you are saying, are you?”
“I don’t know. What do you think I’m saying?”
“That we’re pregnant,” I whisper, as if saying the words out loud
will somehow jinx this moment.
She nods. “The doctor called this morning to confirm.”
I scoop Annie up in my arms and swing her around but realize
that what I’m doing could hurt her or the baby, so I put her down
quickly.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m pregnant.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m not breakable."
"Does this mean we can't—" I make a whistling sound between
my teeth and thrust my hips against her.
"Charming," she says, trying to hold back her laughter. “Yes, not
even pregnancy is going to stop me from having all the sex with my
husband on our honeymoon.”
I sigh dramatically, and I mouth thank you like I’m talking to
God. Annie laughs and loops her arms around my neck to pull me
close.
“You’re going to be a dad.”
I can’t stop the smile spreading on my face, not that I want to.
“And you’re going to be a mom.”
“Could you have imagined that we would get here after the crazy
way we met?” she asks.
 “I could, but this was the wish I made in the fountain that first
night so now I’m convinced anything is possible.”
I lean down and kiss my pregnant wife, eager for the honeymoon
we are about to go on and the incredible adventure we are about to
share.

If you enjoyed DEAR ONE NIGHT STAND, check out the rest of
the Sincerely Yours series!

Check out more new stories in the Sincerely Yours Series are
coming your way!
DEAR BROODING BODYGUARD
DEAR HANDY SILVER FOX
DEAR KILTED SCOTSMAN

And don’t miss the original four books that started this
series!
DEAR BILLIONAIRE BOSS
DEAR BRITISH PROFESSOR
DEAR BAD BOY NEXT DOOR
DEAR BROTHER’S BEST FRIEND

Do you want to read the SINCERELY YOURS BONUS EPILOGUE

to find out more about what’s happening with Maren, Willa, Lucy,
and Cassidy?
Check it out today!
 ALSO BY LANA DASH

EVERY LITTLE THING

Steamy Blue Collar Alpha Single Mom Instalove

WILD KNIGHT’S RIDGE MOUNTAIN MEN

A Curvy Woman & Mountain Man Small Town Romance
BRIDGER
BEAUDEN
BRYANT
BRODIE
LINCOLN
WILD KNIGHT’S RIDGE MOUNTAIN MEN:
The Complete Five-Book Collection
A KNIGHT’S RIDGE MOUNTAIN CHRISTMAS

ALASKAN MOUNTAIN BUSH PILOTS

A Curvy Woman & Mountain Man Small Town Romance
THAYER
MERCER
LENNOX
EMMETT
SPENCE

MOUNTAIN MEN MATCHMAKER

 A Curvy Woman & Mountain Man Romance
HOLDEN
XANDER
CALDER
BOOKER
GIDEON

MOUNTAIN CREEK RANCH

A Curvy Woman & Cowboy Romance
SINGLE DAD AT MOUNTAIN CREEK RANCH
SECOND CHANCE AT MOUNTAIN CREEK RANCH
BOY NEXT DOOR AT MOUNTAIN CREEK RANCH
ALL GROWN UP AT MOUNTAIN CREEK RANCH
SECRET BABY AT MOUNTAIN CREEK RANCH

KNIGHT’S RIDGE FIRE DEPARTMENT

A Curvy Woman & Firefighter Mountain Man Romance
MERRICK
RHODES
TANNER

SINCERELY YOURS
DEAR BILLIONAIRE BOSS
DEAR BRITISH PROFESSOR
DEAR BAD BOY NEXT DOOR
DEAR BROTHER’S BEST FRIEND
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LANA DASH is the author of short, sexy, and funny romances. When she isn’t
dreaming up her latest sexy couple’s adventure, you can find her watching true
crime documentaries, drinking Bloody Marys, and eating movie theater popcorn.
Not necessarily at the same time. She loves to hear from readers!
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 She had a large parcel in her arms, and she was followed by a
small boy of the fisher class, who was staggering under half a dozen
packages of goodly size.
On she came along the pier, picking her way with easy grace of
movement among litter of ship’s lumber and cordage. It was the
grace of over-brimming vitality, of youth and the joy of life. Against
his will Bayre, too, found her fair.
“Didn’t I tell you?” said Southerley, enthusiastically, below his
breath.
“She’s good-looking, of course,” admitted Bayre, grudgingly, “but
it’s not my type.”
However this might be, he watched her as she came along,
though with no such adoration as appeared in his companion’s eyes.
With the ingratitude of her sex, however, it was at Bayre and not at
Southerley that the girl glanced twice as she passed. And even when
she had stopped near the landing-stage and taken her parcels from
the boy she threw a third sidelong look at Bayre, a look which
showed that for some reason he inspired her with at least a passing
interest. Taking out her handkerchief, she waved it to the man in the
boat, who took up his oars instead of hoisting a sail, and began
slowly to return to the pier.
Once again the girl turned, glanced at Bayre, looked down at her
parcels, and seemed to hesitate. Southerley made a step forward,
only too anxious for an excuse to offer his assistance to the young
beauty. But it was to Bayre she turned, as, apparently taking the
offer of the one as the offer of them both, she said, in a bright girl’s
voice, speaking in excellent English but with a slight French accent
that was piquant and pretty,—
“Oh, thank you so much! If you would say, when the boat comes to
the side, that I’ve forgotten something and shall be back directly?”
Bayre murmured his readiness, while Southerley expressed his
vociferously. And with a smile and a pretty word of thanks she fled
back over the ropes and the spars, the barrels and the fishing-nets,
in the direction of the shops.
Southerley was put out that it should have been his companion
who received the beauty’s commission. Bayre laughed at him and
went to the side of the pier to watch the approaching boat.
 It was now near enough for him to discern the face of the hard-
featured, elderly man who pulled the oars; and as he looked, as he
marked the long, straight chin, the straight upper lip, and the rather
long grey hair which showed under the man’s peaked cap, he
recognised a certain likeness to his own family, and more especially
to his late father, which convinced him that he was in the presence of
his uncle, Bartlett Bayre.
With a face full of interest he hung over the side of the pier,
watching the boat and its rugged-looking occupant in his oilskins
until the old man was only a few feet from the stone wall of the pier.
Then, leaning over, he hailed him with a smile.
“Ho! Do you know me, Uncle Bartlett?”
The man stopped on his oars, looked up quickly, and stared at the
young man with the watery blue eyes of age.
Bartlett Bayre was still smiling, still holding his hand out in sign of
amity and goodwill. To his surprise, almost to his consternation, there
came over the older man’s face, as he looked upwards, an
expression of horror and alarm impossible to mistake. His weather-
beaten face grew livid, and the pipe, a common clay, suddenly fell
from his lips as if it had been bitten in two.
For the space of a few seconds he sat rigid, as if petrified with
dismay. The next moment he had turned the boat round with one
rapid movement of his right oar, and was rowing out to sea with all
his might.
 CHAPTER III.
SOMEBODY’S IDEAL

“Uncanny sort of man your uncle!”

Bayre started and looked round. It was Repton who was speaking;
he had come up and joined his friends while Bayre was busy with the
man in the boat.
“Who says it’s my uncle at all?” said Bayre, sharply.
“Why, you do. You addressed him by that affectionate appellation,
though I admit he was not responsive to the appeal.”
Bayre stood up, angry and mortified.
“I made a mistake, of course,” said he. “Being full of this unknown
uncle, I was quite ready to take for him the first man who seemed to
answer to the description given of him.”
“Then why, if he wasn’t your uncle,” persisted Repton, inquisitively,
“did he seem so much put out by your speaking to him? In fact, he
seemed more than put out, he looked horror-struck.”
“He took me for a lunatic, I suppose,” said Bayre, uneasily.
“I don’t see why he should. After all, even if you had been a lunatic
he could scarcely be afraid of you while he was in the boat and you
on the pier!”
“Of course not,” put in Southerley, who had been watching and
listening very attentively. “The old man’s Bayre’s uncle sure enough.
Why, there’s no mistaking the likeness between them, for one thing.
He’s got your long, straight, sharp chin, Bayre, and there’s
something indefinable besides, which I take for a family likeness. No,
the fact’s plain; he’s your uncle, but he’s in no hurry to acknowledge
the relationship.”
“Then,” retorted Bayre, recovering his temper as he perceived a
weapon for retaliation to his hand, “if he’s my uncle, the lady who
was with him is, of course, the young wife we’ve heard about.”
Both he and Repton burst out laughing on seeing how
Southerley’s face fell at the suggestion.
 “Rubbish!” he said angrily. “She’s a girl, not a married woman. I’ll
take my oath she’s not more than eighteen or nineteen. Besides—
besides,” he began to stammer in his agitation, “she—she wore no
wedding-ring!”
“Are you sure?”
“Q-q-quite sure. I—I should have noticed it. I noticed everything
about her.”
“Then you wasted your time,” said Repton, mischievously, “for
what attention she gave to either of you was distinctly given to
Bayre. That points again to the man in the boat being his uncle; the
lady recognised the type.”
“I don’t know what you can have seen to be so jolly cock-sure as
to what she noticed,” remarked Southerley, in a tone of displeasure,
“for you were not in sight when she was on the pier.”
“Not in your sight, because your eyes were so precious full of
somebody else,” retorted Repton, cheerfully. “But you were in sight
of me, anyhow. I was behind that boat.”
And he nodded in the direction of one of the small fishing-boats
which had been hauled up on the shore close to the pier, so that the
bows, protruding over the stone-work, had afforded a very good
hiding-place.
“You must have had very good eyes to discern this intense
admiration for Bayre in the lady!” said Southerley, growing loud in his
scorn.
“Keep your hair on, Southerley,” said Bayre. “He’s only chaffing
you. You can’t suppose the lady felt any more spontaneous
admiration for my charms than I did for hers. So you needn’t waste
good jealousy upon me which might be useful some other time. She
looked at me, if she looked at all, because I looked at her. And I only
looked because I wondered what on earth you could find to rave
about in a restless, fidgety, excitable-looking girl, who looked as if
she couldn’t stand still for two minutes. Depend upon it she’s
hysterical, and that she’s the sort of girl to talk your head off: the kind
of woman who would get on your nerves after the first ten minutes.”
“Hysterical! She’s no more hysterical than you are!” cried
Southerley, in tones less subdued than ever. “You call her hysterical
just because she isn’t stodgy, and you prefer stodgy women, like the
ass you are!”
Excited by their argument, neither of the three young men had
observed that the fair subject of their discussion had come back
while it was in progress, and was now standing only a few feet away,
where every word they uttered reached her ears with perfect
distinctness. It was, of course, Repton, the non-talker, who caught
sight of her first; and as, with a glance of horror, he seized
Southerley by the arm, she tripped demurely forward, saying, as she
came,—
“Stodgy or hysterical, gentlemen, she will be glad if you will let her
pass.”
The consternation of the three culprits, especially of the two
disputants, was terrible to witness. Southerley’s reddish, open-air
complexion became a beautiful beet-root colour, while Bayre’s
darker skin assumed a sallow tint which was most unbecoming. At
the same time they muttered confused and incoherent apologies,
most pitiful to listen to; and Repton, who felt the comparative security
of his own position, was the only one in a fit state to offer some
intelligible words. Perhaps, however, they were not very well chosen.
“I assure you—believe me, we—that is to say they—were not
talking of you, madam,” he said earnestly, stimulated in his zeal for
his friends by the delight of knowing that he was the only one of the
three sufficiently innocent to address her. For though Southerley had
indeed defended her charms, he felt that he had not done it in quite
the right way, or in the subdued and refined accents befitting such a
theme.
Luckily for them all, the attention of the lady, who received all
these apologies with an airy and gracious good-humour but little
soothing to their vanity, was speedily distracted by her discovery that
the boat with the old man in it was not waiting for her, as she had
expected, at the landing-place.
She looked about her with consternation. Southerley sprang to the
rescue.
“The er—er—boat— The er—er—er gentleman has gone away—
is over there,” said he, pointing to the speck which the two weather-
beaten sails of the little boat had now become in the distance.
 The young lady looked from the boat to the young men in surprise.
“Why, what have you done? Is it you who have frightened him
away?” she asked.
“Not I. If it’s anybody, it’s—it’s Bayre,” said Southerley, bringing out
the name with some emphasis, as he indicated his dark-faced
companion.
He was prepared for the look which instantly appeared on her face
as she repeated to herself the one word, “Bayre!”
And into her eyes there came a strange expression, not the horror
which they had seen in the face of the old man in the boat, but a look
of interest, of wonder.
Southerley, who knew how to manage a boat—on the Thames, at
least—went on eagerly,—
“Will you let me take you out to him? I can hire a boat here, and I
know how to manage one. Ask my friends here.”
But the girl smiled and shook her head. Even Bayre acknowledged
to himself that she looked very handsome when she smiled, for her
teeth were white and even, and the curve of her lips over them was
pretty.
“I won’t trouble you to do that, thank you. For that matter, I can
manage a boat myself. We all learn to do that when we live on the
small islands here.”
All the young men noted this speech, and poor Southerley’s
countenance fell again. For it did look as if this beautiful creature
must be old Mr Bayre’s young wife: Southerley’s soul revolted at the
thought. He persisted in pressing his services. If she would not trust
herself with him, at least it would be something if he could show off
his prowess before her admiring eyes.
“Then let me go after him,” said he, “and tell him that you’re
waiting, tell him to come back.”
She shook her head with a little hesitation.
“I can’t think why he’s gone,” she murmured uneasily.
And then, as if involuntarily, she threw a sidelong look at Bayre.
Southerley seized the occasion of her hesitation, and hailing a
boatman, who was busy with a line in a small craft on the water
below, he hastily made his bargain; and dispensing, after some
argument, with the services of the owner, hoisted the lug sail and
started in pursuit of the man with the pipe and the peaked cap. The
pretty girl in the fisher cap looked the least little bit disconcerted on
perceiving that the broad-shouldered young stranger with the red
face and the deep voice was as good as his word. Instead of the
admiration with which poor Southerley flattered himself that she was
regarding his efforts, she watched him hoist the sail, and, with a
slight frown of distress, said, in a low voice,—
“Why did he do it? He’ll be drowned to a certainty! It’s very
dangerous to go out here without knowing something of the
currents.”
“Oh, he can swim,” said Bayre, with indifference.
And Southerley’s other friend added gallantly,—
“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind being drowned while he was doing you
a service, mademoiselle.”
“But he isn’t!” said she, slowly, turning upon Repton a pair of wide-
open brown eyes. “If you knew old Mr Bayre”—and again she
glanced at the young man of that name—“you’d know that it is no
service to anybody to try to persuade him to do anything he doesn’t
want to do.”
His wife, to a certainty! thought Repton, cynically.
But Bayre took a different view.
“Surely your father will come back for you?” he suggested.
The girl answered promptly,—
“Oh, he’s not my father—he’s no relation—at least—”
And there, tantalisingly, she stopped.
For no reason in particular, certainly no reason they could have
given in words, both the young men felt relieved.
“I—I beg your pardon,” said Repton. “I might have known you
wouldn’t have a father like that.”
Again the girl glanced, rather apprehensively, if rather
mischievously, at the other man.
“If I’m not mistaken,” said she, slowly, “he is a relation of yours.”
Then she paused a moment, and seeing a sort of
acknowledgment on the young man’s face, she added abruptly,—
“Are you his nephew?”
“I—I believe so.”
 She looked at him with a little inclination of the head at this
confirmation of the idea she had had about him.
“I thought so,” said she. “You are the son of Mr Richard Bayre, old
Mr Bartlett Bayre’s brother, and your portrait, taken when you were a
little boy, standing beside your father, is at the château in one of the
salons.”
Bayre was at once keenly on the alert.
“Does he—do you happen to know—if my uncle ever speaks of
me, madam?” he asked with vivid interest.
“Never,” said she.
And she answered with a look which gave both Bayre and Repton
the impression that the old man had a decidedly hostile feeling
towards his almost unknown young kinsman.
The uncomfortable feeling created by this impression was strongly
increased when, after a short silence, the young girl said abruptly,—
“Are you going back to England soon?”
“Y-y-yes. We have to be back in London in a fortnight,” said Bayre,
with a blank look.
“You live in London?” A look of reflection came into her eyes.
“Everybody in England seems to live in London!”
“Yes.”
Then Repton, rather troubled that the beautiful girl addressed
herself solely to his companion, put in,—
“You know London, of course, mademoiselle?”
There came a sudden flash of something, of eagerness, of
longing, of some feeling, vivid but indescribable, into her face as she
said simply,—
“I wish I did!”
“It’s an awfully jolly place,” went on Repton, insinuating himself
jubilantly into the conversation which Bayre appeared glad to drop
out of. “Lots of life, and movement, and bustle, and social enjoyment.
And then there’s art—divine art!” and Repton made enthusiastic
circles in the air with his right hand, “and the theatres!”
“Ah!—yes!”
It was a sort of sigh that the girl uttered, not looking at him, but
vaguely out at the sea with the steady yearning of eyes that see
more than the physical objects before them.
 Then Bayre put in,—
“London’s a beastly hole, full of fog and smoke and mud, and
hurrying people, and jostling ambitions that are never satisfied. As
for social enjoyment, it’s a fallacy. People know you there, not as
yourself, but as only a tiny part of London and its life. Real
friendship, real social enjoyment, real art you get only outside.”
She looked at him with interest.
“I wonder!” she said softly. Then she added, in even a lower tone,
“Still, one would like to try!”
Both the young men were silent, interested, too, in the bubbling
vitality that wanted some outlet, in the vague, girlish unrest that
“wanted to know.”
“In short, if you’re to believe Bayre, London’s a humbug,” said
Repton. “But to us artists life and art are everywhere.”
“Are you an artist?” she asked with frank interest. “With a studio, a
real studio, where you work?”
Repton smiled at the manner of the question.
“I don’t know about being a real artist,” he said, with a sudden
affectation of modesty, “but I have a real studio in Horton Street,
Tottenham Court Road, where I paint pictures.”
“That must be nice.” And then, with that persistent interest in
Bayre which seemed to his companion so offensive and
unnecessary, she turned to him and said, “And are you an artist
too?”
“I don’t know,” said he, rather blankly. “If I am, I’m an unsuccessful
one. And my medium is not paint and brushes, but pen and ink.”
“Oh, a writer? That’s nice too!”
“It would be nicer,” said he, drily, “if the medium could be print.”
“That will come! That will come! You are not very old.” Then, after
an instant’s pause, during which she seemed to be gathering up
some lost impressions, she said suddenly, “But I must be thinking of
getting back!”
“Won’t you wait for—for the boat?” stammered Repton.
She had already moved a few paces away, but she paused, and
said, smiling,—
“Oh, no, I can’t. You will thank your friend for me. I’m sorry he
should have taken that trouble.” She turned away, bowing as she did
so, but suddenly changed her mind and came back to them. There
was a strange thoughtfulness and gravity in her face and manner as
she repeated a former question,—
“And you are going back to England—London—soon? In a
fortnight?”
Wondering and disconcerted, they both assented. She looked
down for a moment, and then raised her head abruptly.
“Would you take a parcel to England—not for me, but to oblige
one of my friends?”
“Certainly, of course we would.”
“Only too delighted—”
She cut them short with a smile.
“Thank you, thank you very much. You are very kind. I shall see
you again before you go away, then.”
With more smiles, with more bows, she had fled away over the
ropes and among the old barrels, and the two young men were left
staring at each other, with the excitement of the unusual adventure
still upon them.
“By Jove, what a lovely girl!” said Repton, enthusiastically.
“H’m! Lovely girl at asking questions; but we didn’t get much out of
her in return,” said his companion, grumpily.
“Well, we couldn’t sit down and put her through her catechism. It
was enough for me just to be in the presence of such a handsome
creature.”
“Ah!” grumbled Bayre.
“But not for you, you Grimmgriffenhoof?”
“No. I don’t like her.”
But to judge from the way in which he looked at the boat which
presently came gliding along under the pier, with two boatmen
managing the sails and the pretty girl herself holding the tiller,
Bayre’s dislike of her was at least as absorbing an emotion as the
frank adoration of his two friends.
 CHAPTER IV.
AND SOMEBODY’S AVERSION

There were “ructions” when Southerley got back to the pier, having
failed to catch up the boat containing the old man, and having failed
also to get a sight of the boat in which the pretty girl had set sail in
her turn.
Southerley was inclined to think the conduct of his two friends
unneighbourly in the extreme. He felt that it was their business to
have detained the lady until his return, though he could not explain
how they should have set about it. He felt that he had been
shamefully tricked, and he did not get over his mortification and
resentment until chance threw in their way, on the following morning,
a person able and willing to communicate to them those details
concerning old Mr Bayre of Creux which Aurélie had been prevented
from imparting to them.
It was a tradesman’s wife in the town, from whom they had bought
some small nick-nacks as souvenirs of their holiday, who told them
the strange story. Mr Bayre, she said, had lived for many years a
bachelor on his little island, with only his starched and penurious old
housekeeper, his cousin, Mees Ford, as companion. The château
Madame described as a magnificent and even famous mansion,
more like a museum than an ordinary house, by reason of the
splendid collection of pictures, tapestries, statues and curiosities of
all kinds, of which old Mr Bayre was a well-known collector.
Even this was new to Bartlett Bayre the younger, whose
knowledge of his uncle’s habits was of the slightest, and whose
acquaintance with him had ceased very many years before.
The good woman went on to tell how, on one of the expeditions
which old Mr Bayre periodically made in search of more treasures,
he had found an unexpected one in the shape of a beautiful young
wife, whom he had brought back to Creux and shut up in the dreary
château and the still drearier society of himself and Mees Ford.
 “Poor thing!” cried Madame, raising her eyes and her hands with a
shrug of sympathy, “no wonder that she was dull! This beautiful
young creature buried like that in what was little better than a
magnificent tomb!”
“And how long ago was this?” asked Bayre.
“A little more than two years, monsieur, since he brought her to
Creux, and it is six months since she ran away.”
“Ran away!”
All the young men echoed the words in different keys. It was
satisfactory, at any rate, to know that the unknown beauty who had
excited so much attention among them was not the ogre’s wife.
“Then who is the young girl—”
The good woman put up her hand and bowed her head, as an
intimation that she wished to proceed with her tale her own way. And
she again addressed Bayre,—
“She ran away, as well she might; and the only pity is that she was
not allowed to take her baby with her!”
“Baby!”
“Yes, messieurs, a charming baby. She ran away with him, and
reached the port here with him safely. But Marie Vazon, who had
charge of the child, played her false at the last, and left the poor
young mother to go alone to England without him. Oh, those Vazons!
They are the spies of old M. Bayre; father and daughter they have
command of everything for him. And they do say that old M. Bayre
and Mees Ford knew what young Madame was going to do, and
that, like the selfish old people they were, they rejoiced to get rid of
her. As for the baby, it is left to Marie Vazon at the farm. A pretty
nurse, ma foi!”
And Madame raised her eyebrows with a significant look.
Again Southerley’s voice broke in. All this information about wives
and babies might be very exciting for Bayre, whose chances of being
his uncle’s heir were thus destroyed, but compared with the great
subject, that of the glorious girl in the fisher cap, it was positively
tedious.
“But who is the handsome girl with the long brown hair—” he
began again persistently.
Madame turned to him with a smile.
 “Ah! She will not be buried in the tomb-like château any longer,”
she said archly. “Mees Eden is a ward of old M. Bayre’s, and she is
going to be married to a gentleman of the island—of this island, I
mean.”
Southerley gave a groan. But Repton drew himself up.
“Tell me his name that I may go and shoot him,” he said valiantly.
“The islands are all very well, but if you’ll forgive my saying so,
Madame, the lady is too handsome for so confined a sphere: we
have already decided that she must come to England—in fact, that
she must marry one of us.”
Madame burst out laughing.
“Ah, you are not the only young gentleman to feel like that about
Mees Eden,” she said. “But M. Bayre he has French ideas about his
ward, and he chooses to marry her to a staid, middle-aged man like
himself rather than to a hot-headed young fellow about whom he
could not feel so sure.”
“But that bright-eyed girl would never let herself be handed over
like a parcel of currants to a man she didn’t care about—a middle-
aged man too!” cried Repton.
“Ah! I cannot say, but I think it is so,” said Madame. “Although
Mees Eden is the daughter of an Englishman, a very old friend of M.
Bayre’s, her mother was a French lady, and she has been brought
up at a school in France. I think she will do as French girls do: they
have spirit, but they are obedient; and why should she not do as her
mother did before her?”
“She must be so dull at Creux,” said Southerley, thoughtfully, “that
I suppose she would do anything for a change.”
“How long has she been here?” asked Bayre, breaking in rather
suddenly and rather imperiously upon the lighter tones of the rest.
“Only a few months. It was after his wife had run away that M.
Bayre sent for her from her school. And then, while she could not get
to Creux by reason of the gales and the stormy weather, his old
cousin died. It was a dreadful business, for the weather was too
rough for her body to be brought over for burial here, and—”
“I know,” interrupted Repton. “They told us. It was washed away.”
Madame nodded.
 “Yes. It was a dreadful business. Old M. Bayre has never been
quite the same man since. You see the one shock came close upon
the other. Even if he did not care much for his wife, we must suppose
her running away to have had some effect upon him. And though he
and Mees Ford used to quarrel, still he had been used to her for long
years, and doubtless he felt her death deeply. Now he shuts himself
up more than ever, and he never goes away to London or to Paris as
he used to do. And when strangers come to see his collection they
never see him.”
“Oh, we can see his collection, then?” said Repton, with interest.
“Oh, yes. It is his great pride to let strangers see it. Formerly he or
his housekeeper would show them through the rooms, but now it is a
servant who leads visitors through them.”
The young men looked at each other.
“We’ll go over to-morrow,” said Southerley.
Bayre assented, but with a grave and pre-occupied air. The whole
tale was a weird one, and concerning his own family as it did, it gave
him food for reflection.
When, therefore, on the following day, they engaged a couple of
boatmen to take them over to Creux—for Southerley did not offer to
repeat his experience of navigating the channel himself—Bayre
remained moody and thoughtful in the bows while his companions
were chatty and cheerful in the stern.
It was one of those bright and sunny days of which January
generally gives us a few as a set-off against the asperities of the
February and March which must inevitably follow; the first view of the
steep and rocky coast of Creux, with its fringe of jagged rocks,
picturesque to see but dangerous to negotiate, was striking and
impressive. The cliffs, of black and white granite, rose sheer out of
the water, broken and eaten away in many places into deep ravines,
where a softening growth of brown ferns made beautiful the entrance
to shadowy caverns in the rock.
Outside the cliffs many a jagged pinnacle of the granite shot up its
points from a little base of foam into the air, with seabirds circling
round its summit and a soft plash-plash beating against its sides.
Nothing could be seen at first approach beyond the rocks and the
steep cliff; but presently the travellers, struck dumb with appreciation
of the picturesque, found themselves approaching a poor sort of little
pier, close by which a small house, with a man in fisherman’s jersey
lolling in front of it, gave the first sign of human presence on the
island.
With some difficulty the boat was made fast and the three young
men scrambled ashore. A climb of a few minutes brought them to the
top of the cliff, and thence it was but a short quarter of a mile to the
famous château, which, half hidden by almost the only clump of
trees on the island, proved to be a long and very unimposing stone
dwelling, large, straggling, and evidently built with an eye rather to
use than to beauty.
On their way the travellers passed a small farmhouse, where a
man of age difficult to fix, with greyish hair and clad in a blouse,
saluted them and watched them with furtive eyes as they made their
way towards the house. He was a very unprepossessing person,
with small eyes set close together, and with the wrinkles of cunning
and of avarice on his weatherbeaten face.
The unimposing entrance to the château was by a small courtyard,
on the other side of which was a pleasant garden in which, in the
summer, fruit and flowers, vegetables and sweet herbs, grew side by
side.
A ring at the bell, the clang of which they heard echoing through
the old house, brought to the door a woman of the peasant type,
quite young, probably, and not ill-looking of feature, but with sly blue
eyes and thick lips, and a furtive expression. She was dressed rather
in the simple farmhouse costume than in that of the usual servants of
a country house, and wore the round, close cap which is so
generally becoming.
On making known their wish to see the treasures of M. Bayre’s
collection, they were at once admitted by her into a plain-looking hall,
where they inscribed their names in a large book which lay, with
pens and ink, upon a table at one end.
While they were doing this they heard certain sounds in a little
gallery above them, which informed them that they were observed
from that quarter; and suddenly the girl looked up, and, as if obeying
a signal, begged the gentlemen to excuse her one moment, ran up
the staircase and for a moment disappeared.
 When she came hurriedly down again, after an absence of a few
seconds only, she was red and shy. Stammering out her excuses,
she said that only two persons could be shown through the mansion
at one time, and singling out Repton and Southerley, she opened a
door on her left hand and showed them in, while she beckoned to
the mortified Bayre to follow her to the door by which he had
entered.
“Oh, come, I say! We don’t want to go in unless we can all go,”
cried Repton, in astonishment.
But Bayre, who understood that his uncle meant to forbid him, and
him alone, the house, waved his hand in token that they were to go
without him, and hurried, without a word, out of the house.
He was in a tumult of irritated feeling. As he threw one glance up
at the windows of the mansion which was so undeservedly closed to
him, he caught sight of the face of Miss Eden, pale and constrained,
looking out. Most unreasonably he at once decided that this girl had
somehow had a hand in his discomfiture, and it was with a feeling of
fierce dislike—or at least he thought it was—and of defiance that he
raised his hat to her and at once dashed into the avenue and
disappeared from her sight.
He could not understand the effect the sight of this girl had upon
him. If he had felt irritated before at his uncle’s refusal to allow him to
enter his house, that feeling was as nothing to the burning
indignation he experienced at the thought that this bit of a girl, this
restless, hysterical, fidgety girl, as he had, in his utter ignorance,
called her, should have been a witness of the gross outrage which
had just been put upon him.
It was in vain he told himself that he did not care what she saw or
what she thought, that she was a capricious, malicious creature who
had herself urged his uncle not to have anything to do with him.
He could not forget her face; he could not get over his annoyance.
As he walked out from under the avenue trees into the winter
sunshine he felt as if unseen eyes were upon him, as if
undiscoverable throats were muttering hoarse laughter from the
shelter of the brambles and the dead ferns that he passed.
But these fancies presently grew into the knowledge that he was
indeed being watched, not by an unseen elfish being, but by the
morose-looking man in blouse and peaked cap whom they had
passed at the farmhouse. And, discovering suddenly a likeness
between this individual and the girl who had opened the door of the
mansion, Bayre had no difficulty in deciding that they were father
and daughter, and guessed that these were the two people of whom
he had heard—the rulers of the island under his uncle, the spies,
Vazon and his daughter Marie.
Bayre had an uncomfortable feeling that this man knew of the
slight which had been put upon him, and that he had been told off to
watch him until he should have left the island. Full of fury as this
suspicion crossed his mind, the young man resolved not to linger
about for his friends but to return at once to the boat and to wait for
them there.
He was, however, drawn aside by the beauty of a singular natural
curiosity which came in his way when he drew near the coast, one of
those strange, funnel-like openings down through the cliffs to the sea
which are such a feature of these islands. Peering down the wide
opening through the green growth and dead bracken which formed a
graceful fringe around the opening, Bayre was fascinated by the long
dark vista, and by the sight and the sound of the incoming tide
dashing little waves of feathery foam against the funnel’s sides.
As he looked, holding his pipe in one hand and his pouch in the
other, more with a wish to seem to be light-hearted than because he
felt a longing to smoke, he was startled by a girl’s voice behind him.
It was a soft voice, a sweet voice; there was no getting away from
that fact. Nevertheless it was the voice of the “hysterical, restless,
fidgety” girl.
“Oh, Mr Bayre, I’m so very, very sorry!”
And turning round so quickly that he narrowly missed precipitating
himself through the funnel into the water below, Bayre saw Miss
Eden, her fisher cap on her head, her jacket, hastily put on, open,
and her eyes brighter, more beautiful than ever.
He tried to feel that he loathed her, but it was a hard task.
 CHAPTER V.
WAS IT AVERSION?

Bayre tried to look as if he did not understand what it was that the
pretty girl was sorry for. But Miss Eden made short work of his
pretended ignorance by saying gently,—
“I have an idea about your uncle; it is an idea formed upon his
treatment of me and it seems to be consistent with his treatment of
you. Although he sent for me himself from the school where I was,
and wrote me a nice letter implying that he and his cousin were
lonely and that they would be glad to have me, yet now I’m here he
seems to avoid me as much as he can. And now, you see, when he
knows that his nephew is here—for that he recognised you as his
nephew I am pretty sure from something he said—why, he avoids
you too.”
Bayre made an attempt at a haughty smile.
“Oh, if he thinks I mind that he won’t let me see over his collection
he’s mistaken. And if he thinks I feel a greater interest in it than any
outsider would do he is mistaken again. I’ve never wished to obtrude
upon my uncle’s seclusion; I never have obtruded upon it. And if my
curiosity as a visiting tourist is at all disappointed, I am more than
compensated by the satisfaction I feel that I have always been
independent of relations who seem to be devoid of the ordinary
instincts of humanity.”
Over Miss Eden’s pretty face there came a slightly puzzled look.
“I don’t say it’s unnatural in the circumstances, but I think you’re
too hard,” she said. “I’ll tell you what I’ve always said to myself about
Mr Bayre, when he has been more than usually brusque in his
manner to me. It is this: Is it fair to judge a man directly after he has
experienced two great shocks? I dare say you know all about them,
what happened in the case of his wife, and then in that of his cousin.
Just think of it,” went on the girl, warmly, her face lighting up with
generous emotion, her voice deep, and low, and thrilling; “to lose
them both, one after the other, within a few weeks!”
 “Was he quite without blame?” asked Bayre, quickly. “To judge by
what I have seen of him it’s not likely.”
“What have you seen?” retorted Miss Eden. “Nothing. Less than
nothing. He hasn’t even spoken to you!”
Bayre laughed rather grimly.
“Exactly. A gentleman who shows such marked amiability to a
kinsman would be the sort of person to treat others in the same
way.”
She shook her head slowly.
“From what I’ve heard,” she said with conviction, “he must have
been very different before those two things happened. To begin with,
he was very generous. If the poor in the islands wanted help he was
always the first to give it. Now he is soured, changed, I admit; he
seems stunned by his misfortunes, and he shuts himself up to brood
upon them. But I believe that this mood will pass; give him another
six months and I believe he will be his old self again. At least, I hope
so. At present he is suffering from two blows to his affections, and he
seems afraid, positively afraid to trust himself to love anybody else.”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t want him to love me,” said Bayre in an off-
hand tone.
“No, it doesn’t matter to you, of course, because your life is spent
away from him,” said the girl, rather ruefully. “But it does to others, to
me, and to—to others besides me.”
And a still graver look passed over her face.
Bayre looked at her and softened in spite of himself.
“Of course it does,” said he, almost humbly. “It must make a very
great difference to you. In fact, I can’t understand how you manage
to exist in such utter loneliness as you describe.”
The girl gave a sort of sigh, which she immediately turned into a
laugh.
“Well, I don’t suppose I shall have to endure it for long. In the
meantime it’s such a pleasant change, after the strict school-hours
I’ve been accustomed to, to get up when I like, to read as much as I
like, to walk, row, sail, bathe just when I like, that I haven’t found life
pall upon me one bit. Whether I should get tired of it if I had nothing
else to look forward to I don’t know; I suppose I should grow restless
and discontented. But at present I can’t say that I’m suffering tortures
on account of the touch of Robinson Crusoeism that there is in my
existence.”
Of course she was not. Bayre glanced at her and understood
perfectly the feeling of freedom after restraint which this live, this
brilliant creature, quivering with vitality, must enjoy in the easy, open-
air life she described: even her reading, he thought to himself, would
be done for the most part out of doors, with the fresh breeze from the
sea blowing upon her young face, the salt spray helping to curl into
graceful little tendrils the loose strands of brown hair which escaped
from the confinement of the black ribbon at the nape of her neck.
“What do you read? Novels, I suppose?” he asked, after a
moment’s pause.
And the moment he had uttered the words he felt that they were
an impertinence. What right had he to question her upon her habits
and tastes? She blushed a little, and he had begun to stammer a
kind of apology when she waved away his words and said frankly,—
“Novels! Yes. I’m afraid it is chiefly novels. But I’ve read Carlyle’s
French Revolution, and liked it too!” she added, with a certain rather
comical pride.
“That was indeed most meritorious on your part,” said Bayre, with
mock gravity, feeling the oddest conflict within him between his
avowed tastes and the strong and strange attraction this girl had for
him.
Strange, because it was more than the ordinary admiration which
a young man feels for a beautiful girl. Now that he saw more of her
he felt drawn by a sort of magnetic attraction in her sparkling eyes,
something which made him inquisitive to read into the depths of that
bright young soul, something that told him, much more plainly than
did her words, that she was no ordinary pretty girl, but that she had a
nature which could feel and a head which could think.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that!” she replied, laughing again. “But when a
man talks of novels there is always a suggestion in his words that
they are beneath him, at all events.”
“I am not in a position to say that they’re beneath me,” said Bayre.
“I want to write them. Indeed, if the truth were told—”
“You’ve written one already? Well, so have I!”
“Ah!”