LITMIR.BIZ

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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

       H ome.

      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

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