His Mountain Miss (Smoky Mountain Matches) (13 page)

She hadn’t expected an assault. “Why do you do that?” she demanded, chin lifting. “Why do you suspect everyone around you of ulterior motives? Couldn’t I have come simply because I wanted to see you? To find out how you’re feeling?”

“You didn’t come yesterday.” The slip in his customary confidence dispelled her ire.

“I wanted to, believe me, I—”

He held up a hand. “That was out of line. Forgive me. There’s no need for you to explain.” Lowering it, he appeared both stern and thoughtful, saying, “I suppose it stems from a lifetime of people befriending me on account of my last name, the wealth and power associated with my family.”

Leaning forward, she studied the shadows of past pain in his eyes. “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

Frowning, his gaze drifted to the floor. “There was a woman, Dominique. We traveled in the same circles, she and I, and crossed each other’s paths quite regularly. Shortly before my mother’s death, we were seated together at a friend’s musical and, throughout the course of the evening, found we had similar interests. We...became close.”

Megan sat stock-still, hands locked together in her lap, insides withering. To hear Lucian speak of another woman in this manner was like walking barefoot across burning coals.
Dominique.
With a name like that, she must be lovely and soft-spoken and well dressed, not a single hair out of place.

He had courted Dominique. Yet, he’d made it clear he wouldn’t court Megan. She wasn’t quite good enough, was she? Didn’t fulfill the lofty standards required of the wife of Lucian Beaumont.

“I thought she was different from the rest. I believed the extras didn’t matter, that she was interested in
me.
After all, she came from old money and was in possession of a pedigree even more stellar than mine.” His scowl was directed more at himself than anyone else, as if
he
was to blame for the betrayal. “I misjudged her. About a month after my mother’s death, Dominique came to the conclusion that she would be better served if she aligned herself with my father. He’s the one who wields the reins, so to speak. The head of the family and the shipping empire.”

Megan’s stomach dropped to her toes. This woman, this Dominique, had betrayed him in the worst possible way. And at the worst possible time. What kind of woman would do such an underhanded thing, especially when he was mourning the loss of his mother?

“I had to wonder if she’d been using me the entire time to get to him.”

Suddenly the pieces fit together like a well-written horror story. His accusations and suspicions, his inability at first to believe her motives were pure. Why discovering that Lucinda, the mother he’d adored, might possibly have hidden the truth from him was so hard to accept.

“I’m so sorry, Lucian.” Her jealousy and self-pity seemed very pathetic in this moment. She ached for this lonely, stoic man. “Did your father— What I mean is, did he—”

“Did he court Dominique?” he snorted. “No. And not due to any loyalty to me. No, he’d only recently rid himself of my mother. He wasn’t about to tie himself to another desperate female.”

“Is she the reason you don’t want to marry for love?”

“The truth is, I’d rather not marry at all. Dominique made me forget, for a little while, a decision I made many years ago—that if I must marry, it would be a marriage based on social compatibility and companionship.
Not
emotions as changeable as the sea, as unstable as shifting sand beneath your feet. Dominique’s betrayal turned out to be a blessing, really. Brought my goals back into focus.”

He passed fingers over his injured arm beneath the sling and winced. “My parents’ marriage was a disaster. Enamored of my mother’s beauty and innocence, my father rushed them both into it without taking into account their differences. They had vastly different upbringings, as you know, which resulted in wholly different mind-sets. The physical attraction that had brought them together didn’t last, at least not for my father. When he realized my mother wouldn’t fit in his world, he made no attempts to hide his disdain. But no matter how ruthless he was, she never stopped loving him. Never stopped hoping they could recapture what they’d lost. She did everything in her power to change, to fit his idea of the ideal wife.... In the end, she only ended up losing herself.” His expression grew fierce and his eyes blazed molten fire. “I refuse to live that way, to hurt a woman like my father hurt my mother. That’s why when I marry, I’ll make certain there are no attachments on either side. No feelings of any sort beyond common respect. That way, neither one of us will suffer.”

Neither will he experience the joy of true love, she thought morosely, the satisfaction of shared dreams. The beauty of hearts in tune, woven together by God’s sure hand. She wanted to argue with him. To plead with him to give love a chance. Just because Gerard and Lucinda’s marriage was a failure didn’t mean Lucian’s would be. But he was a stubborn man, and she could tell by looking at him that he wouldn’t be swayed on this. He was convinced that to marry for anything other than duty would be a grave mistake.

They made quite a pair, didn’t they? The cynic and the dreamer. Lucian would not allow himself to love, and she...well, she would never stop yearning for it.

“I can see how a romantic-minded young lady such as yourself would have a tough time digesting all of this,” he said with quiet intensity. “However, if you’d lived my childhood perhaps you would have an easier time understanding my point of view.”

“I was blessed with two parents who loved each other.” Her broken voice mirrored the state of her heart. Lucian’s determination to live without love deeply saddened her. “So much so that my mother refuses to marry again.”

Steps heralded the arrival of Mrs. Calhoun. “Breakfast is served.” Sliding the tray onto the coffee table, she eyed Lucian. “I’ve prepared another dose of laudanum for you.”

“Thank you.” His gaze remained on Megan, and she knew without asking that he wasn’t planning on taking it.

“Oh, it was no trouble. If you don’t need anything else, I’ll leave you two to your conversation.” At his nod, she left them.

“How bad is the pain?”

He shifted beneath her scrutiny, unable to hide a sudden grimace. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Why won’t you take the medicine?”

“I did take it that first night, as promised. However, I don’t particularly enjoy the way my head feels as if it’s going to topple from my body and as if I’ve swallowed a ball of yarn. I’d much rather deal with the discomfort.”

“It would help you rest,” she persisted.

“I’m not a man who needs a lot of rest,” he muttered with a frown, even as he absently massaged the spot above his heart.

She was reminded of his doctor’s recommendation to slow down. Lucian may not wish to take it easy, but this forced inactivity could turn out to be the best thing for him. He couldn’t run from grief indefinitely. At some point, he was going to have to deal with his loss. And come to terms with Dominique’s deception.

“I’m afraid my cousins weren’t able to locate D’Artagnan.”

He nodded. “I wasn’t hopeful. Still, I’m grateful they were willing to try.”

“There’s still a chance he’ll find his way back.”

“I suppose. If he doesn’t, I’m okay with that. I just hope he finds himself a new owner soon. There’re dangers out there.”

Scooting to the edge of the cushions, he awkwardly lifted the coffee cup to his lips.

She pointed to the stack of johnnycakes drizzled with molasses. “Would you like my help with that?”

One black brow arched. He lowered the cup a fraction. “Are you offering to feed me?”

“It can’t be easy feeding yourself with your left hand,” she retorted, cheeks heating at the lights dancing in his eyes.

“I
have
nearly stabbed myself half a dozen times. And Mrs. Calhoun has had to sweep beneath my chair after every meal because the food doesn’t seem to want to stick on my fork.”

“Poor Lucian,” she teased.

“As much as I’d like to take you up on your offer, I think I’d better get used to doing things a bit differently. I can’t expect to have you with me for every meal, now can I?”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Standing, she slipped her reticule over her wrist. “I have to go.”

“So soon?”

“My sisters and I are picking strawberries this morning to make into jam. Without Ma and Jessica here to help, canning it all will take longer than usual. Nicole and I aren’t as handy in the kitchen as the rest of our family. We’ll slow Jane down, I’m sure. Depending on how much we get done today, I may come back this evening and bring Jane. Would that be all right?”

“Only if you aren’t too tired,” he cautioned. “And bring both your sisters. We’ll play chess or charades or something.”

“How are you supposed to play charades?”

One side of his mouth lifted. “I’ll be the guesser.”

Tucking an errant curl behind her ear, she gave him a small wave. “Enjoy your breakfast, Lucian.”

Leaving him there, she wished she didn’t have to go, wished she could indeed share every meal with him. They were the foolish wishes of a careless heart. A heart that was falling for a man who wanted nothing to do with love.

Chapter Fourteen

F
riday evening, Lucian found himself in a precarious position. Apparently he hadn’t given adequate consideration to which chair he occupied for story time, for the moment he lowered himself into this one—set apart from the rest near the fireplace—the children had descended.

Sarah, the sweetheart, had climbed into his lap without a single word and snuggled against his uninjured side, her head a barely perceptible weight against his shoulder. Ollie had plopped down on the rug at Lucian’s feet and was now pressed against his leg. Others whose names he couldn’t recall had joined Ollie, crowding in so that Lucian was afraid to move for fear of crushing their little hands beneath his boots.

Megan, the little minx, was thoroughly enjoying his plight. Her attempts to curb her smile had failed, and of course, there was no masking the delicious glee in her beautiful blue eyes.

Sarah shifted, her fine hair tickling his chin. Small and warm, she smelled like sunshine and lemonade. His protective instincts kicked in, and he found himself wishing he could take away her pain. He knew the anguish of losing a mother. How much worse must it be for a young child?

Would he feel this way about his own child? He’d only ever considered having a son. Sweet Sarah spawned thoughts of a girl. One who looked an awful lot like Megan. It was a dangerous path to wander down...imagining what it might be like if he and Megan were to marry and have children of their own. She was a natural with kids. Nurturing and kind. Patient. Wise. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that she would make an exceptional mother.

For some other man’s children, not yours. A local man. Someone like Tom Leighton.

Why did that prospect hit him with the force of a direct blow to the gut?

If he shifted his head slightly to the left, he could see the man in question leaning against the wall, watching Megan with undisguised admiration and longing. Tom made no effort to hide his feelings. Did he comprehend what a treasure he had in her? If he succeeded in winning her, would he truly appreciate her?

Megan deserved to have her happy-ever-after. Lucian wanted that for her. Even if he couldn’t be the one to give it to her, even if it wounded him to imagine her setting up house with another man.

Lucian couldn’t afford to make the same mistakes his father had. He would not rip an innocent girl from the only home she’d ever known, separate her from family and friends and then subject her to a world that was oftentimes cruel and cold. Megan was a small-town girl through and through. She belonged here in East Tennessee with her mountains and the people she’d known her whole life and the children who adored her.

Besides, he wasn’t exactly levelheaded when it came to her. With her around, his determination to remain detached, to hold his heart apart, disintegrated like parchment in flames into a pile of smoldering ashes. If he married her, duty would have nothing to do with it. And that would prove disastrous for them both.

“The end.” Closing the book, Megan’s warm gaze connected with his and her slow smile made him wish for the impossible.

The kids at his feet surged as one and descended on the dessert table. Sarah scooted off his lap and joined them at a more sedate pace.

Muscles stiff, he pushed himself upright. He’d learned to live with the persistent throbbing in his forearm, and, as much as he wanted rid of the sling, he knew it kept him from further discomfort. The one night he’d attempted to sleep without it, he’d flipped on to his side, pinning his arm beneath him. He’d awoken in agony. Worried he might have done further damage, he’d summoned the doctor the following morning, who’d examined him and declared him a fortunate man. He’d also urged him to take the laudanum before bed. Lucian had agreed to think about it.

Megan appeared before him, familiar concern lurking at the back of her eyes as her gaze touched on his sling. Nothing he said to try to ease her guilt seemed to make a difference.

“No costume tonight?” he asked, appreciating how her peach blouse enhanced her peaches-and-cream complexion. Her flawless skin glowed, her mass of moonlight curls skimming her shoulders and caressing her nape with every movement of her head.

Surely noting his approval, she blushed becomingly and locked her gaze on his cravat. “There wasn’t time. We finished our last jars of strawberry jam about an hour before I was to leave to come here.”

She’d brought him a jar, bless her. Chewing on her lip, she’d been a bit unsure of his reaction. As she’d pointed out, he could purchase the finest-quality jam from anywhere in the world. Touched by her humble offering, he’d assured her he would take it home and enjoy it on Cook’s delicate croissants when he breakfasted in the estate gardens. It would remind him of her and her sisters, of the good times they’d shared. The trio had gifted him with their presence nearly every evening this past week, chasing away his boredom with laughter and good-natured teasing.

At that last bit, her smile had been tinged with sadness, a sadness that echoed in his own soul every time he thought of never seeing her again.

“If you don’t have any objections, I’d like to stay for a little while after everyone leaves.” She appeared pleased about something. Eager. “I have news to share.”

He placed a hand on his chest. “
Moi?
Objections to your company? Never.”

Her blue eyes shone with pleasure. “Good.”

Tom approached with a glass of tea in each hand, expression pensive as he observed their interaction. “Evening, Lucian. How’s the arm?”

“Not bad.”

He passed a glass to Megan, who murmured her thanks. She didn’t appear entirely comfortable in his presence. Why was that?

“I hope it heals quickly so you can return to New Orleans.” Sipping his drink, he smirked.

“Honestly, Tom.” Megan’s brows lowered in rebuke.

“What? I’m sure the man has commitments to tend to. People eager to welcome him home. Don’t you, Lucian?”

Lucian stiffened. How dare he disregard Megan’s feelings on this issue? Didn’t he know she blamed herself? Assuming his most imperious expression, he inserted frost into his response. “You’re right, I do. However, I can’t complain. I find I’m rather enjoying my prolonged visit. Megan and her sisters have proven to be delightful company, a most pleasant diversion from my plight.”

Lowering the glass to his side, he scowled. “Is that so?”

His eyes narrowed in silent challenge. “Indeed.”

“Well, that’s...swell.” He curled an arm about her shoulders, retaliating with a challenging gaze of his own. “Mind if I steal my girl away for a few minutes?”

“That’s entirely up to her.”

With an apologetic glance at Lucian, she said, “We’ll talk later.” Then she allowed him to lead her out of the parlor.

Lucian stalked in the opposite direction, seeking sanctuary in Charles’s office before he gave in to impulse and punched something.

* * *

“I’ve never known you to be rude.” Arms crossed, Megan waited impatiently for an explanation.

Tom walked to the porch railing and turned to face her without a trace of apology. He whacked his hat against his thigh. “What’s going on between you and Lucian Beaumont?”

“We’re friends.”

He scoffed at that. “If you could see the way he looks at you...”

“And just how does he look at me?” she retorted.

“
Not
like a friend,” he stated flatly. Pushing away from the railing, he shoved his hat on his head and stopped in front of her, settled his hands on her shoulders. “He’s not the man for you, Megan. He’s going home as soon as his arm mends. Do you really want to hang your hopes on a man who would willingly leave you behind?”

Megan didn’t speak. He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. Still, to hear it spoken aloud gave it more weight. Made it more real.

He dipped his head to meet her gaze directly. “I would never leave you. You know that, right?”

“Tom, I—”

The door swung open, and Ollie and his parents appeared in the doorway. Tom dropped his hands. When they’d exchanged farewells and the trio had descended the steps and were making their way across the grass, he turned to her, more somber than she ever recalled seeing him.

“Will you allow me to walk you home?”

“Not tonight. I’d like to stay and help clean up.”

Nodding, he attempted a smile. “All right. Good night, then.”

“Good night, Tom.”

More people streamed through the door, bidding her good-night. With one last glance at Tom’s retreating figure, Megan slipped inside and went in search of Lucian. She found him in the office, staring out the window at the gardens awash in fading pink-tinted light.

“I’m sorry about that.” She stopped beside the desk and stared at his broad back, defined muscles stretching the soft cotton shirt. Because of the sling, he couldn’t manage a vest or coat. Without them, he was less formidable. More approachable and yet, still elegant.

When he turned, there was speculation in his black eyes but he didn’t mention Tom. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” It was an automatic response, not necessarily an apt description of her mental state. How could she
possibly
be fine? Her life was a mess. Her friend was hurting on account of her, and she’d yet to find a way to tell him how she truly felt. Even worse, she wasn’t listening to her voice of reason where Lucian was concerned. She should steer clear of him. Instead, she seized every chance to be near him.

As was his habit now, he rested a protective hand over his injured arm. “Has everyone left? My curiosity about your news has reached tortuous heights.”

The ever-so-slight curve of his generous lips lifted her spirits. His smiles were rare gifts, their effect on her unmistakable. Perhaps, it wasn’t such a bad thing to focus on the here and now. To disregard the future. For now, Lucian was here with her. She should savor this time, for memories were all she’d soon have.

“You must be patient awhile longer. There were still a few people lingering about the dessert table.”

He looked regretful. “It’s the cream puffs. They’re hard to resist.”

She laughed. “You’re right about that. If we start straightening up, they may get the hint and leave.”

His expression brightened. “Let’s go.”

Placing his hand at the small of her back, he guided her through the house. The heat of his fingers burned through her dress, his touch protective and possessive at the same time. She liked it very much.
Too
much.

In the parlor, she moved away with a warning. “Your job is purely supervisory. I can handle the chairs on my own.” Like she had before he came. And would after he was gone.

He didn’t like that. “I’m not accustomed to standing by while a lady does all the work.”

“Too bad.”

Mrs. Calhoun and another man pitched in to help her rearrange the furniture. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Lucian piling dirty dishes on top of each other. He was determined to help one way or another, it seemed. By the time they’d righted the parlor, the last guest had left.

Lucian appeared at her side, his good arm aloft and eyes alight with anticipation. “Care to take a stroll about the gardens with me, my lady?”

Alone at last. A thrill pulsed through her as she curved her fingers around his biceps. “I’d like nothing better.”

They exited through the rear door that led out to the porch. The humidity from earlier in the day had eased somewhat and the air, heavy with the scent of earth and grass and blossoms, was pleasant against her skin. Cicadas hummed. In the distance, a dog barked. Another splendid spring day was coming to a close.

Lucian led her along the stone path at a sedate pace, content to soak in the colors and textures of the plants and trees on either side. In this moment, he appeared completely at ease, his customary tension conspicuously absent. He seemed almost...happy.

“Have you ever considered leaving the city? Settling somewhere else?” she blurted. Like here?

He halted, looking down at her in question. “Not seriously. I’ve toyed with the notion of relocating to the estate, but there’s no one out there but a handful of staff. It’s a rambling old mansion, too large for a single person.”

Slipping her hand free, she went to sit on a wooden bench beneath the rose arbor, arranging her skirts about her. He came and sat close beside her, his leg brushing hers.

His face was inches away, his dark gaze a caress. “Tell me your news.”

“We finally received a letter today.” Her joy overflowed into a huge smile. “Juliana had her baby—a healthy boy with a shock of black hair like his pa’s. They named him James, after his late uncle. They’re both doing great. Evan is over-the-moon excited. Ma wrote he hasn’t stopped smiling.”

Lucian’s smile was curiously wistful. “Congratulations—you’re an aunt now. Auntie Megan.”

“I like the sound of that. I hope to go and meet him later on this summer, perhaps in August. Jane is anxious to go, as well.”

“Not Nicole?”

“Nicole isn’t what you’d call sentimental. And she doesn’t get excited about babies.”

“That may change. She’s young yet.”

“The twins are younger than her, yet they’re more mature. I’m not sure if she’ll ever grow out of her selfishness.”

“Everyone matures at a different rate. Give her time.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Thank you for sharing your news with me.” His low drawl wrapped her in cozy warmth.

He was close enough to kiss. Memories of that other kiss by the stream, of how it felt to be held in his arms, rushed in. Her fingers gripped his sleeve. She leaned closer, tilted her face up a fraction. Lost herself in his molten gaze. Waited for him to lower his mouth to hers in tender possession. Waited in vain.

His expression darkened. Frowning, he disengaged her arm and, surging to his feet, strode purposefully away from her.

Megan ducked her head. Hot color infused her face. How could she have been so bold? He’d made it clear he thought kissing her was a mistake. That other kiss on the horse had been an impulse, an attempt to comfort her and assuage her guilty conscience.