His Mountain Miss. Karen Kirst

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      Chapter Three

      Rounding the curve in the tree-lined lane leading to Charles’s house, Megan was presented with an unobstructed view of the gardens spreading out behind it. Against the backdrop of gray skies, the lush grasses seemed greener than usual, the vibrant flower patches more vivid. Tree branches swayed in the rain-scented breeze.

      And there, in the midst of everything, sat the lord of the manor. Eating his breakfast and perusing a newspaper as if he hadn’t a care in the world. And looking entirely too at home, she thought peevishly. He was a worldly-wise gentleman, wealthy beyond belief and accustomed to the conveniences of city life. He didn’t belong in her quaint mountain town.

      Determination spurred her across the lawn.

      When he noticed her approach, he set aside the paper and stood up, his expression carefully neutral. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Miss O’Malley?”

      His voice, like sweet tea and molasses rolled into one, shouldn’t please her, but it did. His accent was deeper than hers, almost like a song with its French undertones. She wondered what it would sound like if he was actually happy.

      She stopped a distance away, the round, white metal table between them. “We don’t stand on formality here. Why don’t you call me Megan?”

      “As you wish, Megan. Please, call me Lucian.” His eyes seemed to impossibly darken. He gestured at the food spread out on the table. “Have you eaten? You’re welcome to join me.”

      His invitation was born out of politeness, no doubt ingrained from birth. It was clear he didn’t really wish to dine with her.

      “No, thank you. I’ve already had breakfast.” If you could call a cup of coffee breakfast. She couldn’t eat when she was nervous.

      “Some tea, then?”

      “Yes, thank you.”

      Coming around to her side, he scooted out the chair for her and poured her tea, stirring in cream and two spoons of sugar.

      “You remembered,” she blurted.

      “Yes” was all he said as he placed it in front of her.

      When he was seated, he rested one arm on the table, the other fisted on his hip in a relaxed position, waiting for her to explain the reason for her visit. His black gaze was too direct, sharp, for her to be at ease. His masculine appeal didn’t help matters.

      Smoothing her skirts, she took a calming breath. “I came this morning because I’d like to know what you’ve decided about the house.”

      “I haven’t yet.”

      “Until you do, are you going to allow the story times to continue?”

      “Do I have a choice?” he responded evenly, one dark brow arched.

      Megan truly didn’t want to goad him, to argue, so she said nothing. Sipped her tea.

      “Tell me, mon chou, why is this so important to you? Reading to other people’s children?” His gaze swept her curls, which she’d again restrained with a single ribbon. “Dressing like a princess?”

      “What did you call me?”

      Lucian looked startled, as if he’d made a slip. He waved it aside. “Later. For now, I’d like to hear your answer.”

      Perhaps Kate knew French and could tell her what he’d said. An heiress from New York City, she must’ve learned other languages.

      “Living off the land is hard work. As early as four or five years of age, children begin helping with chores. Depending on each family’s situation, there can be little time for a child to relax and just be a child. In addition to this, many families can’t afford books. Since Charles has a vast collection and ample space, he and I decided the children would benefit from a weekly story time. Not only would it be fun for them, but also educational.” She leaned forward, warming to her topic. “Books expand horizons. They entertain, inspire and enrich lives. I enjoy reading to them. Dressing the part merely adds to the experience.”

      “And the strawberry tarts and lemonade? What purpose do they serve?”

      She smiled then. “Incentive for them to sit still and listen. Treats are reserved for those children who behave.”

      “I see.”

      That phrase again. She wanted to shake him.

      He was studying her, obviously trying to decide if he believed her. No one had ever doubted her sincerity before. It was not a pleasant feeling.

      A raindrop splashed on her arm. Then another. She glanced up at the rain-swollen clouds overhead. “I think we’re in for a shower.”

      The drops began to fall harder and faster.

      Lucian surged to his feet and, circling the table, took hold of her hand. “Let’s make a run for it!”

      “The dishes—”

      “Forget them,” he ordered as the clouds opened up, releasing a torrent.

      Tugging on her hand, they made a dash for the back porch, surging up the slippery steps to stand, breathless and soaked to the skin, beneath the sheltering roof. The rain pounded the earth in an unrelenting assault. Lucian dropped her hand. His unfathomable gaze met hers. His hair was plastered to his head, his face slick with rainwater. Megan shivered. Her white eyelet blouse clung to her body, as did her robin-egg-blue skirts. Before she could guess at his intentions, he’d shrugged out of his coat and stepped close, settling it across her shoulders and pulling it closed. His heat and exotic cologne enveloped her.

      “Th-thank you.”

      “Are you warm enough?”

      She СКАЧАТЬ