Ruth Morren - A Man Most Worthy

Was her memory playing tricks on her? Surely the distinguished gentleman looking at her was not the same man she’d given her heart to so long ago.

Nicholas Tennent. The name evoked pain and longing. For a second she thought she would faint. But she clamped down on her emotions. She had come a long way from the innocent girl she’d once been.

What was he doing here in London after all these years? Had he always been in town? Wouldn’t they have run into each other?

She began walking toward him. Did he remember her at all? He must, the way he was looking at her. His dark eyes hadn’t moved from her face.

They reached each other and she held out her hands, hesitating only an instant before she spoke. “Mr. Tennent, is it truly you?”

“Miss Shepard.” He bowed, taking both her hands in his. “Would you care to dance?”

wrote her first story when she was twelve—a spy thriller—and knew she wanted to be a writer. There were many detours along the way. She studied comparative literature at Smith College, taught English in the Canary Islands and worked in international development in Miami, Florida, where she met her future husband.

She gained her first recognition as a writer when her second manuscript finaled in the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Contest in 1994. Ruth has been writing for Steeple Hill Books since 2002, and her second novel, Wild Rose (2004) was selected as a Booklist Top 10 Christian Novel in 2005.

After living several years on the down-east coast of Maine, Ruth and her family moved back to the Netherlands to the polderland of Flevoland, where she still lives by the sea. Ruth loves hearing from readers. You can contact her through her Web site, www.ruthaxtellmorren.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

He shall receive the blessing from the Lord,

and righteousness from the God of his salvation.

—Psalms 24:5

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Questions For Discussion

Richmond, England, June 1875

The numbers wouldn’t add up. Nick ran his ink-smudged finger up the neat column of figures and back down again.

A smothered giggle disrupted his concentration. With a frown, he glanced up from his desk, irritated that he’d have to begin adding for a third time.

He stared.

The most exquisite creature stood in the doorway to his small office, a finger to her lips. In her navy blue pleated skirt and sailor blouse, she appeared no more than sixteen.

Before he could do or say anything, she moved into his space, bringing with her a vitality the dusty nook had probably not seen in a decade.

Her eyes were wide, pleading, yet with a touch of mischief. “Shh!” she whispered. “Don’t tell them I’m here.”

He almost jumped out of his seat as she came around his desk and crouched behind it at his feet.

He drew his legs in, his eyes drawn to her slim, pale hands clasped over her knees. She lifted her head. “You won’t give me away, will you?” Her sparkling deep blue eyes looked up at his in a conspiratorial smile. They must be what the poets called violet. Another part of his mind noticed the coppery shade of her hair. It was worn down, as befitted a schoolgirl, with a deep fringe across her wide forehead, and drawn away from her face with a wide blue bow in the back. Her hair was very straight but its toffee-colored tones glistened in the bit of light from his small lamp.

A noise at the door caused him to look up again. A youth and another young lady stood at the doorjamb, their faces peering doubtfully in.

The young gentleman ran a disdainful eye across the room. “You don’t think she came in here, do you?”

The young lady, also pretty, but nothing compared to the one crouched at Nick’s feet, put her hands on the hips of her similar schoolgirl outfit and took a slow turn about the cramped space, her slim nose wrinkled. “I daresay not. There’s not space in here to hide a pin in!”

Nick couldn’t help glancing down at the girl at his feet, and experienced once again a moment of shock at her loveliness as she glanced up at him, her finger to her lips.

“I say, you haven’t seen a young lady run by here, have you, my good fellow?”

Nick immediately took umbrage to the young man’s tone. Instead of replying, he picked up his pencil and pretended to go over his figures again.

The young man cleared his throat. “See here, I’m addressing you.”

Without straightening from his work, Nick’s gaze flickered up. “I beg your pardon?”

A look of annoyance crossed the young man’s fine features. “Never mind. I shall look for myself. Come on, Lucy.” He beckoned to the young lady standing at his side.

“Alice wouldn’t hide in here,” she said with a toss of her head. “Why are we wasting our time in this stuffy hole? There’s nothing but dust and paper in here.” As if to prove her point, she sneezed.

“You’re right.” With a sniff, the young gentleman backed out the door. The girl followed after him. Their voices faded down the corridor. “We shall find you, Alice. You can’t hide from us!”

Silence descended once more in the office. Before Nick had a chance to move, the girl stood in one quick motion, smoothing down her skirt. “Thank you ever so much, Mr.—”

“Tennent,” he said without thinking, pushing his chair back and standing.

She bobbed a quick curtsy then studied him a moment. He wondered what those stunning eyes saw. More than the other girl, no doubt, who had looked right past him as if he’d been no more than the blotter on his desk.

“You’re Father’s secretary?”

He nodded. So, this lovely creature was the offspring of Mr. Shepard.

She put a finger to her chin and tilted her head. “This is the first time he’s brought his secretary out to Richmond, at least as far as I can recall.” Her cheeks dimpled. “But then, I’m rarely home myself, so I wouldn’t know.”

He fingered the pencil he still held in his hand, trying to maintain a poise he was far from feeling. “I imagine your father wanted to have this project finished as quickly as possible. It demands much time and attention right now.”

She cast a glance over the papers on his desk. “All Father’s projects seem to require much time and attention.” Was that irony in one so young? Her lashes, the same deep coppery tone as her hair, formed deep curves against the delicate, pale skin.

He frowned at her statement. “One doesn’t rise to the importance of Mr. Shepard without a lot of time and effort.”

Her eyes came up to study him. “You admire him.”

“There is much to be admired.” He lifted his chin a trifle defensively.

She ran a slim forefinger along the edge of the beat-up desk as she walked around it. He found he could breathe slightly easier when she’d moved a few feet away from him. “Most people do, don’t they?” She glanced back at him, her finger still on the desk. “Admire him, I mean?”

“I imagine they do.”

She nodded. “Is he a nice employer to you?”

He raised his eyebrows at her direct question, unaccustomed to someone asking him about his situation. “I have only been in his employ a fortnight, and it is not my place to comment on your father’s treatment of his employees.”