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."