Karen Kirst - His Mountain Miss

“By all means.” He motioned for her to precede him into the parlor on their left. Megan stopped just inside the room.

“I took the liberty of arranging the chairs for you.”

“Oh.”

“This is the way it was set up last week.” He stood close beside her, his exotic scent stirring the air. “Did you prefer it done another way?”

“This is fine. I—”

“Well, hello there, Miss Megan.” Mrs. Calhoun entered the parlor bearing a tray of delicate-looking pastries and fresh strawberries. “Doesn’t this look delectable? I was all prepared to make a batch of sugar cookies when Mr. Lucian suggested I do something special. I’m so glad he did. The children will enjoy these.”

Mouth hanging open, Megan’s gaze followed the older woman’s movements. Lucian suggested? But—

Mrs. Calhoun spotted her basket and pointed. “Oh, what do you have there? More goodies?”

“Y-yes.” She avoided looking at Lucian. “My sister and I baked tea cakes.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said, bustling over to take it from Megan, “they’ll go fast.” To Lucian, she said, “That Jane O’Malley has a way with food. Her twin, too. Whenever there’s a church social, folks flock to the table to try and snag a sampling of their desserts. There’s never enough to go around, though.”

When they were alone once more, Megan finally looked at him. Spread her hands wide. “I don’t understand. Why are you being so...agreeable?”

Folding his arms across his wide chest, the corners of his mouth turned down. “Just because I don’t happen to like the situation I find myself in doesn’t mean I should make things difficult for you. What did you expect I would do? Blockade the door?”

“No, not that.” She shook her head. “But neither did I think you would help me.”

His dark brows winged up. “My grandfather didn’t?”

“He was too feeble to do any heavy lifting,” she said defensively. “As to the other preparations, he left everything to me and Mrs. Calhoun. Which was fine by me,” she rushed to add.

Dropping his arms to his sides, Lucian’s expression turned pensive. “I must inform you that I’ve written my lawyer asking him to find a way around the stipulation.”

She wasn’t surprised. Still, disappointment spiraled through her, as did a prick of anxiety. “I doubt he’ll be successful.”

But what if he somehow found a way? A loophole of some sort?

“We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?” His gaze flicked to the window behind her. “For now, it appears you have an early arrival.”

Turning, she spotted Ollie Stevenson trudging up the lane, gesturing and talking to himself. She suppressed a mischievous smile. “Would you care to greet him? I have to retrieve my book from the library.”

“Me?” He followed on her heels. “How about I go and get Mrs. Calhoun?” A slight undercurrent of anxiety wove through his words.

With a dismissive gesture, she shot over her shoulder, “She’s busy getting the drinks. Don’t worry, Ollie doesn’t bite. Not often, anyway.”

Leaving him behind, she heard him mutter something about her enjoying this. A thrill lightened her step. Upsetting Lucian’s reserve could become addictive. Good thing he couldn’t see the wide grin splitting her face.

* * *

Lucian had initially intended to secrete himself in Charles’s study for the duration of the evening. Those plans changed. Megan knew children made him uncomfortable and yet she’d purposefully left him to face the unpredictable creatures alone. Well, two could play at that game.

One arm propped against the mantel, he couldn’t stop a satisfied smile as he recalled her dumbfounded reaction to his announcement that he’d be sticking around to observe story time. If her frequent, darting glances his direction were any indication, his presence made her nervous. Good. Served her right.

Ollie, the precocious, persistent seven-year-old whose earlier stream of chatter had given Lucian a headache, kept raising his hand despite Megan’s calm assurances that there’d be time to ask questions later. He had to hand it to her, the woman had a seemingly endless supply of patience. And she was an adept storyteller. Her lilting, musical voice pulled one into the adventure, her enthusiasm transferring itself to the audience.

Watching her, Lucian’s gaze was naturally drawn to her white-blond hair. Rays of waning sunlight slanted through the window to glisten in the loose curls, and his fingers itched to bury themselves in the silken mass. Careful, Beaumont. She’s as pretty as a picture, for sure, but you’ve no idea what lies beneath the surface. Remember Dominique.

How could he ever forget? She’d convinced him of her sincere affection, had even claimed to love him, while all along she’d been biding her time. Holding out for the true prize—his father. Why settle for the son of a shipping magnate when she could have the man with all the power?

His chest seized up, and he absentmindedly rubbed a flat palm over his heart in an effort to soothe away the discomfort. The smothering sensation had started not long after his mother’s death a year ago. Had worsened a few months later with Dominique’s trickery. Being in this house didn’t help. There was no escaping his grandfather’s indifference and worse, the constant reminders of his mother and the fact she was lost to him forever.

When he glanced up and caught Megan looking at him with concern creasing her brow, he dropped his hand. There was nothing to worry about. At least, that was the family physician’s conclusion, who’d declared Lucian fit as a fiddle. Mentioned something about anxiety and getting more rest. Right. Lucian wasn’t one to sit around. When he wasn’t working in the shipping offices or attending social functions, he was at the country estate, hunting and fishing and assisting his staff with repairs and the like. Lately he’d entertained passing thoughts of leaving the city behind to take up permanent residence there. But the prospect of rattling around in that big manor all alone stopped him from seriously considering it.

Just then, a small hand slipped into his, startling him out of his reverie.

Straightening, he stared down into the pixie face of a little girl he’d noticed simply because she reminded him of Megan with her long blond hair and big blue eyes.

“I’m Sarah.” She didn’t smile, only studied him with a seriousness that unnerved him.

Lucian glanced around the parlor, belatedly realizing Megan had finished the book. She and the parents were assisting the children swarming the dessert table.

“Uh, hello.”

What did one say to a child? Her warm fingers clutched his, and he marveled at their fragility. If he had to guess, he’d say she was about five or six.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Lucian.”

She scrunched up her nose, which only made her look more adorable. “Huh?”

Squatting to her level, he repeated, “My name is Lucian.”

Reaching out, she touched the tip of her finger to his sapphire tiepin. “That’s sparkly. I like pretty things. Can I have it?”

He cleared his throat to cover a chuckle. There was no guile in this little one’s eyes, merely simple curiosity. “Well, I doubt you would have use of it. It’s for gentlemen, and you are a lady.”

She seemed to ponder that for a minute. He held his breath, wondering what he’d say if she insisted. He had no experience with this sort of thing.

“Are you Mr. Charles’s son?”

He jerked his head back at the unexpected question. “No. I’m his grandson.”

Tilting her head, a tiny line appeared between her fine eyebrows. “Mr. Charles was a nice man. Are you nice, too?”

Lucian sucked in a breath.