Chapter 9: Terms

The Throckmorton penthouse took up the top two floors of the tower.

Lucinda had slept in it three nights and still hadn't opened half the doors.

At seven in the morning the front desk called up.

"Mr. Ferrars is here, Miss Throckmorton. He doesn't have an appointment. He says he'll wait."

"How long has he been waiting?"

"Since five, ma'am."

She stood in the kitchen with a cup of coffee going cold.

She could have sent him away.

She could have kept him there until noon.

"Send him up," she said.

He came in without the cane.

He wore yesterday's suit, and the skin under his eyes was dark.

He stopped in the middle of the great room and looked at the white sofa, the view of the river and the unlit fireplace.

"It's not what I expected," he said.

"What did you expect?"

"Something with more gold."

"That's the lobby. This is my father's floor."

"I read the logs," Alden said.

She set down the coffee.

"All of them?"

"Two, all the way through. I opened the third at four this morning and had to stop."

"You read my handwriting."

"I read what you wrote down when you thought no one would see."

"Nobody was supposed to."

"I know." He held his hands at his sides. "Lucinda, I'm not here to defend myself."

"Good."

"I'm here to ask what I have to do."

She looked at him.

Last week, she would have given anything to hear him say that.

She found she wanted to hear it, and she also wanted to see whether he would say it again when nobody was watching.

"Sit down," she said.

He sat on the edge of the sofa with his hands on his knees.

She stayed standing.

"I have three rules," she said. "If you break one, you leave and you don't come back."

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