From the Heart

turned to humor. “You’d have to know the lady, Slade. She’s a died-in-the-wool Yankee who can stretch a dollar like a piece of elastic. Michael sells to her. On a rare occasion I do,but David . . .” Trailing off, she smiled. “How did he manage it?”
    “By being very reluctant to part with it. When I came in he was nudging her toward the pecan hope chest, telling her he’d all but promised the other to another customer.”
    She gave a quick spurt of laughter. “Well, it looks like our boy’s learning. I’m going to have to give in and let him go to Europe with you next time.”
    Briefly, Michael frowned down at his plate, then very deliberately stabbed a shrimp. “If that’s what you want.”
    Her distress was immediate. Before Jessica could fumble for a new line of conversation, Slade intervened by asking what a Connecticut chest was. She threw him a swift glance of appreciation and let Michael take over.
    Why did I say that? she demanded of herself. How could I be insensitive enough to forget that he’d asked me to go to Europe with him the next time? On an inward sigh, Jessica toyed with her dinner. I’m not going to handle this well, she thought. I’m simply not going to handle it well at all.
    How different they are. It occurred to her all at once as she watched the two men talk casually. Michael, with his smooth gestures, was well groomed in voice and manner, sleekly dressed. Jessica reflected that she’d never seen him in anything more casual than a polo shirt and golf pants. He was all civilized charm and sophisticated sexuality.
    Slade rarely gestured at all. It was as if he knew that body language could give his thoughts away. No, he had a strange capacity for stillness. And she wouldn’t term him rugged though he favored jeans and sweaters. Not charming but disarming, she decided. And his sexuality was anything but sophisticated. Animal.
    Slade asked questions on antiques when he couldn’t have cared less. This would give Jessica a few moments to regain the composure she had so nearly lost. It might also give him the opportunity to form a more concrete opinion of Michael. He seemed harmless enough, Slade reflected. A pretty boy with enough brains to make it his profession. Or enough brains to be one of the rungs on the smuggling ladder. Not the top one, Slade thought instinctively. Not enough guts.
    He was the type of man Slade might have matched Jessicawith. Polished, intelligent. And he was good looking enough, if you liked that type. Apparently Jessica didn’t. They hadn’t been lovers. Slade pondered this as he listened to Michael. What sort of man, he wondered, could be around that woman day after day and not make love to her—or go mad? Michael had managed to keep himself in check for nearly three years. Slade calculated that he hadn’t been able to do so for as many days. Michael Adams was either madly in love with her or more clever than he looked. Catching the way Michael’s eyes would drift to her occasionally, Slade felt a stir of sympathy. Madly in love or not, he wasn’t indifferent.
    Michael took another sip of wine and tried to continue a conversation he was beginning to detest. He knew Jessica. Oh yes, he thought fatalistically, he knew Jessica. He’d seen her answer in her eyes. The one woman who mattered to him was never going to be his.
    All three of them were relieved when Betsy brought in the coffee tray. “Miss Jessica, if you don’t start eating more than that, Cook’s going to quit again.”
    “If she didn’t quit once a month, she’d throw the entire household off schedule,” Jessica said lightly. Food was something she could do without until after she had settled things with Michael.
    “I’ll just take a cup to the library.” Slade was up and pouring his own before Betsy could object. “I’ve got some things to finish up tonight.”
    “Fine.” Jessica took care not to look at him. “Let’s have ours in the parlor, Michael. No, no, Betsy, I’ll carry it,” she continued as the housekeeper started to mutter. Slade disappeared before she could lift the tray. “Help yourself to the brandy,” she told Michael as they entered the parlor. “I’ll just have the coffee.”
    He poured a generous amount, placing the crystal stopper back in the decanter before turning. Betsy had lit the fire while they were eating. It crackled with a cheer neither Jessica nor Michael were feeling. Remaining across the room, he watched her pour coffee from