Excerpt of The Brides of Owl's Head by Allison Knight

I rapped on the door, and a deep, resonant voice rumbled through the wood, "Come in."

I gathered my flagging courage and boldly opened the door. I took two steps into the room, and the masculine voice donned a grim face, the visage of a dark, handsome man.

I was struck with his height. He was taller than any other man of my acquaintance and dark, as if he spent all of his waking hours in the sun. His curling hair was black, and in the brilliant light of the library, it looked blue, the blue-black of midnight. Beneath very thick black brows that arched with arrogance were piercing blue eyes, and I wondered if the man could see into my soul.

His square face registered his displeasure, and I felt a chill travel through me. He did not want me here. I was certain. I glared at him, trying to feel less intimidated.

"Miss Isabel Morrison? Bella?" he brought the silence to an end.

"Yes, I’m Miss Morrison. Only my friends called me Bella." I took a step toward one of the chairs positioned before a mahogany desk. "And you are?"

"Duncan Ross." He bowed low before me. "I’m sorry I was not at the ship yesterday to meet you. To be honest, I expected you several weeks ago. When you didn’t arrive by the end of the month, I was certain you’d decided to decline my offer."

I cleared my throat, "I’m sorry sir, but I never received an offer from you. I was told to quit my home, come to Thomaston, and marry Jonathan Besserman. Your man informed me last night the trip was made in vain. That Mr. Besserman has passed on. And, sir, why would I decline an offer from you? I don’t even know you!" I frowned, wondering just what kind of an offer this Duncan Ross had made.

A small smile flirted with his sensual mouth, "I must apologize to you. I did write to you, right after Jonathan was killed and in that letter I told you Jonathan had lost his life in a shipping accident. Since you did not receive the letter, you know nothing of the reason I asked you to continue with your plans. Unfortunately…" His voice trailed off, and he lifted his hands as if to plead my forgiveness.

I looked up into those dark blue eyes, and for a second I thought I would lose myself in their depths. I gave my head a tiny shake and swore for the rest of this interview I would look anywhere but into Mr. Ross’s hypnotic blue eyes. Against the probing of his stare, his words registered.

"Jonathan wanted you to have a home. I know he told your father about his plans to restore this dwelling. For some years now, it had been his dream to bring this house back to its past beauty. In fact, he’d established an account and had already contracted to have some of the minor work begun. Some sixth sense must have warned him he was not long for this world for the week before his accident, he came to see me. I am…was Jonathan Besserman’s solicitor. As his lawyer, I was aware he had agreed to marry you. In fact, I looked over the betrothal agreement and advised him that it was satisfactory."

I blushed at his words, remembering some of the information detailed in the betrothal contract: about my life, about what I was bringing to the marriage, about what Jonathan wanted. My face felt hot and I just knew it flamed a bright crimson. I took a deep breath and faced Jonathan’s legal adviser.

He seemed to be waiting for me to overcome my embarrassment because he finally shrugged his shoulders and continued, "I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted he wanted to change his will. I judged it to be a bit premature and told him so, but it had no impact. What I’m trying to say, Miss Morrison, is that Jonathan left this old house and the mills to you on the condition you take the funds he left and restore this property. It is yours if you are willing to make it into a home."

I stared at the man before me. How could this be? I asked myself for I’d never even met Jonathan Besserman. No, this must be a mistake.

"Surely, Jonathan had other relatives," I whispered, "someone related by blood." I stiffened as another thought raced through my head. Could this be someone’s idea of a prank?

"There is a younger brother, but Theodore was never considered as heir to the property. Suffice it to say that Theo has already received his inheritance from his father. This house and the mills were Jonathan’s, and for some reason, he thought you could do an adequate job of restoring the property. He insisted you should have the chance. The mills nearly run themselves. Frank Van Dormer is a good overseer, and you will undoubtedly meet him tomorrow. If you listen to his advice..."

Duncan walked toward the window, and for a full minute I watched his back. "I suppose I can advise if you want. Well, no matter, it is what Jonathan wanted. If you choose to accept the challenge of this house, I am prepared to declare you the owner of Hopemore, Isabel."

"Miss Morrison," I said quietly.

"I must warn you," he continued, ignoring my comment, "there is a time limit on the restoration. Jonathan insisted the house be finished in eighteen months."

"Eighteen months?" I groped for the nearest chair.

When I was seated, he stated, "As I said, Jonathan wanted the house redone for some time now. The original house was built before the turn of the century and added to over the years. He wanted a more cohesive appearance. He also wanted the facade restored. Unfortunately," his dark blue eyes grew cloudy, "the building was allowed to deteriorate." He paused as if debating whether to tell me more.

He must have decided I knew enough for he stepped forward, "There are other time constraints. You have until August twenty-first to decide if you want this legacy."