Judith Stacy Read online

  “Lovemaking is something entirely different.”

  Jana looked up at him then. He lowered his head, but didn’t kiss her. Instead, he touched his cheek to hers, nuzzling her, brushing his lips against her.

  His mouth played along the curve of her jaw. “If you’ve forgotten the difference between the two,” Brandon murmured against her ear, “I’ll be happy to demonstrate.”

  His lips claimed her neck once more, sending a rush through her. Jana closed her eyes for a moment, then drew in a breath and pushed away.

  “No,” she said, wanting to sound forceful but failing miserably.

  Brandon didn’t protest, but she saw the wanting in his darkened eyes, his heavy breaths, his flushed cheeks. For an instant Jana wanted to throw herself into his arms once more, have him carry her into her bedroom as he used to do.

  But that would only complicate things…!

  Praise for Judith Stacy’s recent titles

  “Wild West Wager” in A Hero’s Kiss

  “A starchy heroine and disreputable hero strike a ‘Wild West Wager’ that sets tongues a-wagging in Stacy’s romantic, funny tale.”

  —Romantic Times

  The Nanny

  “One of the most entertaining and sweetly satisfying tales I’ve had the pleasure to encounter.”

  —The Romance Reader

  The Blushing Bride

  “…lovable characters that grab your heartstrings…a fun read all the way.”

  —Rendezvous

  The Dreammaker

  “…a delightful story of the triumph of love.”

  —Rendezvous

  DON’T MISS THESE OTHER

  TITLES AVAILABLE NOW:

  #723 ONE STARRY CHRISTMAS

  Carolyn Davidson, Carol Finch and Lynna Banning

  #724 HIGHLAND ROGUE

  Deborah Hale

  #725 THE PENNILESS BRIDE

  Nicola Cornick

  JUDITH STACY

  The One Month Marriage

  Available from Harlequin Historicals and JUDITH STACY

  Outlaw Love #360

  The Marriage Mishap #382

  The Heart of a Hero #444

  The Dreammaker #486

  Written in the Heart #500

  The Blushing Bride #521

  One Christmas Wish #531

  “Christmas Wishes”

  The Last Bride in Texas #541

  The Nanny #561

  The Widow’s Little Secret #571

  Married by Midnight #622

  Cheyenne Wife #687

  Maggie and the Law #698

  The One Month Marriage #726

  Thanks to David, Judy and Stacy

  for always doing more than you have to.

  And thanks to Jolene,

  for being that once-in-a-lifetime friend.

  Acknowledgment:

  The author wishes to thank Martha Cooper

  for her assistance with this book.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter One

  Los Angeles, 1897

  So she was coming home.

  Brandon Sayer stared down at the telegram lying atop the papers and ledgers on his desk. Jana was coming home. His bride—if one could be called such after so long a time—was returning.

  Brandon rose from his chair and crossed to the window, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet. He gazed down at the corner of Broadway and Third, the most prestigious business address in the city of Los Angeles. The trolley, delivery wagons, private coaches and eight-team oil wagons choked the intersection. Pedestrians scurried across the street, rightly fearing for their lives. Brandon pressed his palm against the warm glass of the windowpane.

  Jana was coming home.

  After all this time.

  “Brandon?”

  He turned from the window, saw Noah Carmichael standing just inside the doorway, and suspected that Noah had called his name several times. Beyond, the sound of clicking typewriter keys and muted voices drifted in through the open door as Brandon’s office staff went about their work.

  “Another brilliant idea cooking in that brain of yours?” Noah asked with the easy smile their years of friendship and many successful business ventures had brought.

  Brandon didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. An odd feeling for the man who, in the last five years, had built a business empire that rivaled the greatest industrialists on either coast.

  Noah’s eyebrows pulled together and he tossed aside the stack of papers he’d brought into the office with him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Brandon just stared at him for a moment, then gestured lamely at his desk. Noah picked up the telegram, read it once, twice, then let it drop.

  “She’s coming back?” Noah shook his head. “My God, how long has it been?”

  “I’m not sure,” Brandon said. But he knew. He knew exactly.

  “What are you going to do?” Noah asked.

  Brandon shrugged. “Do? Why would I do anything?”

  “She’s been gone all this time without a word—not a single word—and suddenly she’s returning? You have to do something.”

  “She’s my wife.”

  “Barely.”

  Brandon turned toward the window again. He couldn’t argue with Noah. Everything he said was true.

  After three months of marriage, Jana had left. Simply packed her belongings and disappeared. No warning, no notice, no explanation. He heard from her only once in a telegram a few days after her abrupt departure. She’d gone home to her aunt in San Francisco. They were leaving for Europe to visit a cousin.

  And now she was coming home.

  Brandon’s stomach tightened with anticipation.

  His wife was coming home. After one year, two months and six days, she was coming home.

  Thank God.

  “I think we’re all settled now,” Jana Sayer reported as she entered the parlor of the hotel suite and gestured behind her at the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

  Her aunt, Maureen Armstrong, reclined on the chaise. Tall, her dark hair showing only a hint of gray, Maureen possessed a gentle, artistic soul. She preferred her own company to that of most everyone else.

  “Everything’s unpacked,” Jana said. She’d taken care of the important matters herself, then supervised the staff of servants who’d accompanied them on their transatlantic and transcontinental journeys.

  “Should we order supper?” Maureen asked, looking up from the newspaper on her lap.

  Jana tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear and sank into the wingback chair by the window. A heavy sigh slipped from her lips. The trip had been arduous, the day was late and she was tired.

  “Nothing for me,” Jana said.

  Outside, the Los Angeles rooftops darkened in the fading light. The Morgan Hotel was among the best in the city. This suite, with its lavish maroon-and-ivory decor, marble, etched glass and silk linens was its finest.

  �
��Perhaps I’ll order a little something for myself,” Maureen mused. A moment passed before she spoke again, changing the subject. “Is it tomorrow, then?”

  Jana’s heart fluttered, charging her with an unexpected surge of emotion, or energy—or something. She forced it down and drew in a calming breath.

  “Yes, tomorrow,” she said. “I’m going tomorrow.”

  “So soon? You’re sure you’ll be up to it?” Maureen asked in the kindly fashion of hers that always reminded Jana of brief childhood sicknesses or rainy days when her aunt stayed at her side, seemingly reading her thoughts and always making her feel better.

  Maureen Armstrong had been doing just that for the past sixteen years since Jana’s parents had been killed when she was five. Never married, Maureen had raised Jana in her San Francisco mansion as her own, long-awaited child. Both had flourished in the arrangement.

  “I want to handle it right away.” Jana rose from the chair and walked closer to the window. “I want to get it over with.”

  Maureen folded her hands in her lap. “He’ll be angry,” she said softly.

  The first three hellish months of her marriage flashed in Jana’s mind. Whatever Brandon’s feelings might be tomorrow weren’t her primary concern.

  Really, she didn’t know what to expect from him—because he’d never expressed any emotion whatsoever about her departure. She’d received only one telegram from him, and that had been sent to Aunt Maureen shortly after Jana’s departure, asking if Jana had gone home. She’d gotten nothing else from her husband. Nothing. Until three months ago. Then a letter arrived at their London town house telling—not asking—her to come home.

  So here she was.

  “I know it will be difficult for you to break the news,” Maureen said.

  Jana turned, a knot of determination tightening around her heart. “What news? I have no news for Brandon.”

  “No news?” Maureen frowned. “But surely you’re going to tell him—”

  “No.”

  “Jana, you can’t allow him to believe—” Maureen paused. “When we were in Europe all these months, I understood why you didn’t…tell him. But now that we’re here?”

  “He doesn’t need to know.”

  “Then why did you agree to come here?” Maureen asked.

  Jana drew in a breath. “To tell Brandon that I want a divorce.”

  Chapter Two

  Home.

  Or so she’d believed.

  Jana gazed out the window of the hansom cab as it turned onto West Adams Boulevard, the place that had been her home for three months. The first time she’d laid eyes on this neighborhood of wide streets, swaying palms, wrought-iron and stone fences that fronted extravagant mansions, she’d been married but two days, and her husband had been at her side.

  Fourteen months ago.

  A lifetime ago.

  He had built the house for her. Without really wanting to, Jana smiled as she recalled the day Brandon had told her that his wedding gift to her would be a new home in the prestigious West Adams District of Los Angeles. She’d been absolutely thrilled. But everything about Brandon was thrilling…back then.

  Handsome, wealthy, successful, Brandon Sayer had instantly become the talk of the San Francisco social scene when he’d come to the city on business and been introduced into polite society. All the young women had vied for his attention. Mothers had sized him up as husband material for their daughters. Fathers had known of his business successes and wanted a part of it.

  But Brandon had had eyes for only one young woman.

  Jana shifted on the carriage seat, the leather creaking beneath her, as she recalled Aunt Maureen’s pleasure that Brandon had asked if he could call on her. Never leaving anything to chance—especially where Jana was concerned—her aunt had paid a private investigator to delve into the past of the man who seemed too good to be true.

  But Maureen’s concern had been for naught. Brandon Sayer, the grandson of one of the East’s wealthiest, most highly regarded industrialists, had come West to expand the family fortune in California. His parents long dead, no siblings, Brandon had forged a name in his own right and built an enviable empire for himself in Los Angeles. When he had asked for Jana’s hand in marriage after a whirlwind courtship, Maureen had readily agreed.

  Even now, Jana could hardly remember the details, it had all happened so quickly. Brandon had returned to Los Angeles to run his business, but had visited San Francisco as often as possible. Their long-distance courtship had continued as wedding preparations were underway. Aunt Maureen had staged the grand wedding she always dreamed of for Jana. Jana had felt as if she were a princess as she’d walked down the aisle and become Brandon’s wife.

  From fairy-tale bride to crying alone in her bed at night.

  The hansom cab swung into the driveway and pulled to a stop, yet Jana made no move to exit. She leaned closer to the window and eyed the magnificent house that had once been her home.

  Three stories tall, built entirely of redwood with brownstone trim, the mansion featured a steep roof, a grand entryway and a tower room on the front corner, all snuggled comfortably amid two lavish acres of palms, shrubs, manicured lawns and refreshing fountains. Swedish wood sculptors had hand-carved the home’s woodwork, both inside and out. Italian marble and French stained glass graced the floors and windows, along with bronze hardware in all the fixtures. Brandon had spared no expense.

  A lump of emotion rose in Jana’s throat. How could a life that had begun with such promise have turned into…this?

  For an instant, she considered shouting to the driver to take her back to the Morgan Hotel. Perhaps Aunt Maureen would come back with her when she faced Brandon? Maybe she could simply send him a letter advising him of her intentions? Or leave the whole ugly mess in the hands of her aunt’s attorneys to sort through and resolve?

  Jana reined in her runaway thoughts. No, she’d do none of those things. She’d face Brandon. After all, she was hardly the same woman she’d been when she married him. Many things had changed these past fourteen months—none more than Jana herself.

  With a quick, determined breath, she allowed the driver to assist her from the cab.

  “Please wait,” she said, passing him the fare and a generous tip. “I won’t be long.”

  After all, how long could it take to advise one’s husband of an impending divorce?

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the driver said, tipping his hat and stepping out of her way.

  Jana squared her shoulders and climbed the steps to the double front doors. She stopped, unsure of what to do. Knock, or simply walk inside? Neither seemed quite right.

  But she was saved from the dilemma when the door opened in front of her.

  Brandon?

  Jana’s heart slammed against her chest and rose into her throat. Did she look all right? She’d chosen to wear for the occasion a dark blue skirt, drawn across her front and gathered high in a bustle, a matching jacket with leg-o-mutton sleeves, an ivory blouse closed at the throat with a large bow. Her wide-brimmed hat dipped fashionably over one eye.

  Had the ride over crushed her skirt? Was her hat on straight? Would Brandon like the dress she’d selected, notice the darker color or the—?

  “Ah, Mrs. Sayer.” Charles, the white-haired butler stood in the open doorway, giving Jana the closest thing to a smile she’d ever seen on the man’s face.

  “Hello, Charles,” she replied, chastising herself for her runaway thoughts a moment ago.

  “Welcome home,” he said, stepping back and gesturing her into the house.

  For a moment she hesitated. Home? This wasn’t her home. It had never been her home. Her home was in San Francisco with her aunt, not here—

  Jana pushed the thought aside, gathered her skirt and stepped into the vestibule.

  The red marble foyer, the sweeping staircase, the woodwork, the stained glass, the sights, the smells…the memories. The assault on her senses stopped Jana still in her tracks.

 
Over the past fourteen months, she’d occasionally wondered if the three months of her marriage had really happened. Had it instead been just a dream—a bad dream?

  No. It had been real. Every moment of it. The memories twisted Jana’s stomach, as painful and strong as the actual experiences had been all those months ago.

  She steeled herself, pushing away the hurtful thoughts. She had to be strong. She would be strong. After all, she wasn’t in this alone.

  A warm shudder swept over her, prickling her skin and standing the hair at her nape on end.

  Brandon.

  She turned and saw him striding toward her. Her knees weakened and her heart thumped wildly beneath her breast.

  Good gracious, he was handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, brown hair highlighted with the gold of the California sun, piercing blue eyes.

  He’d grown even more good-looking these past fourteen months. How could that be possible?

  And how could she still sense his presence after all this time?

  For an instant, the need to run to him overwhelmed Jana. She wanted to snuggle against his hard chest, feel his arms pull her close.

  But Brandon stopped at the edge of the foyer, as if some unseen line had been drawn between them and he wouldn’t step over it. His face was set in hard, cautious lines, a look Jana had seen far too many times already.

  Her surge of emotion—or whatever it was—ebbed. Jana reminded herself why she was here…and why she’d left in the first place.

  A long, tense moment dragged by with them eyeing each other from opposite ends of the foyer. What do a husband and wife say after so much time apart? Jana decided to leave that up to Brandon. It was he, after all, who’d asked her to come home.

  “You’re looking well,” Brandon said.

  His voice sent a tremor down her spine, bringing with it the memory of the first time she’d heard his voice. Standing in a friend’s parlor she’d been swathed in pale pink. Brandon, tall and sturdy among the delicate furnishings, had looked so handsome she hadn’t thought she could manage to speak a single word, and then—