His Convenient Royal Bride. Cara Colter

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       CHAPTER THREE

      “BEAUTIFUL,” WARD SAID SOFTLY. He withdrew his hand, his amazing sapphire eyes intent on her face.

      The pronouncement could mean the pendant. But it could also mean—

      “A gold nugget?” he asked her.

      Obviously, he meant the pendant! Maddie had to pull herself together! Good grief. She felt as though she was trembling.

      “Y-y-yes, my father found it and had it made into this piece.”

      “Lovely,” he said, and again, it felt as if he might be commenting on more than the pendant. “My name’s a diminutive, too. Short for Edward.”

      Did Lancaster shake his head, ever so slightly?

      Ward changed tack so effortlessly that Maddie wondered if she had imagined that slight shake of head.

      “Do you live up to it?” Ward asked in that sexy brogue. He took a sip of the freshly poured coffee and his laughing eyes met hers over the rim of the cup.

      “Excuse me?”

      “Your name? Are you mad?”

      She wondered if, in her attempts to remain professional, she had ended up looking cranky! That was the thing to remember about men like this. Even simple things were complicated around them. She tried to relax her features as she realized he was deliberately trying to tease some of the stiffness from her.

      She remembered Kettle’s confidence that she would be sensible. But not stiff and uninviting, even if it was self-protective. And suddenly she didn’t feel like living up to Kettle’s stodgy expectation of her.

      “Mad, angry or mad, crazy?” Maddie asked him, returning his smile tentatively. It was an indicator of how serious everything in her life had become that she considered engaging in this banter and returning his smile living dangerously.

      “Obviously, neither,” he said, saluting her with his coffee cup.

      Was he flirting? With her? That certainly upped the chances of the mad, crazy. Especially if she engaged with him. Of course, she wouldn’t engage!

      Or any other romantic nonsense. Though she suddenly felt a need not just to defy Kettle’s impressions of her, but to have a moment of lightness.

      “And do you live up to your name?” she asked him.

      He raised an eyebrow at her.

      “Do you ward?”

      “Ward, protect?” he asked her. “Or ward, admit to the hospital?”

      They shared a small ripple of laughter, that appreciation that comes when you come across someone who thinks somewhat the same way you do. Their eyes met, and a spark, like an ember escaped from a bonfire, leaped between them.

      Maddie reminded herself that one spark, even that small, could burn down a whole forest. She’d had her moment, Maddie told herself, clinging to the sensibility Kettle was relying on her for.

      “Ward off pesky waitresses, I hope,” Lancaster said darkly, and then before she could take it personally, “Where’s your friend?”

      “Her uncle needed her in the kitchen.”

      “Locked her up,” Lancaster muttered with approval. He took a scone off the plate and scowled at it. “Is this a flavor?”

      “Yes, it has a hint of orange in it.”

      “There’s no flavors in scones,” Lancaster said firmly. “Do you have cream?”

      “Cream? For the coffee? Of course. I’ll go get it.”

      “No, for the scones. Cornish cream?”

      “Sorry, I—”

      “Too much to hope for.” He took a gigantic bite. And then, to Maddie’s satisfaction, he sighed and closed his eyes. “That’s good. Even without cream. Try it,” he insisted to Ward.

      Ward picked up the other scone and took a bite. Even that small gesture spoke of refinement. There was that ultrasexy smile again. “You owe somebody an apology,” he told Lancaster. “Not only edible, but possibly the best scone this side of the Atlantic.”

      “Any side of the Atlantic.” Lancaster finished the scone in two bites and eyed Ward’s hungrily.

      “Who made these?” Ward asked, polishing it off.

      “I did.”

      “You did not. You’ve got to have a Celt hiding in that kitchen.” Again, Ward was teasing her, as if he sensed she took life altogether too seriously.

      Maybe it was weakness to engage, and to want to engage, but what the heck? The men would eat their breakfast and be gone. They might come back, or she might see them in the street and wave, but it was hardly posting banns at the local church. After the concert tomorrow night, they would disappear, never to be seen again.

      Unless they bought one of the old miner’s cottages. Unless they fell in love with Mountain Bend.

      She did not want to be thinking of falling in love, in any of its many guises, anywhere in the vicinity of the very appealing Ward!

      “It’s an old family recipe,” Maddie supplied. “My grandmother was English. And she pronounced it scone, as in cone.”

      “Two strikes,” Lancaster muttered.

      “Both entirely forgivable,” Ward said. “Do you think I could bother you for another for my hungry friend?”

      Maddie brought back a plate of scones and Ward asked, “So it was you who was going to have a shop in New York City?”

      “If I was, it was a long way in the future. Anyway, New York City is in my past now.” She needed to move on. She had just lectured Sophie about professionalism. There was no fraternizing with the customers!

      She stood there, paralyzed.

      “We visited briefly, before we went СКАЧАТЬ