supports. Flowers spilled from crates on either side of the door, spots of color in the porch’s shadow. Two rocking chairs waited, still and silent, for someone to relax and enjoy the view.
Nearing the barn, Megan’s voice drifted out through the open doors, and he stopped to listen.
“Mr. Knightley,” she all but crooned, “we can’t go for another jaunt in the woods today. It’s almost time for supper.”
Lucian frowned. Who was Mr. Knightley? Another suitor? Treading silently, he edged closer to the shaded opening, craning his neck for a glimpse of her and her companion.
“How about tomorrow afternoon? If the weather cooperates, that is.”
There was no response. Seeing a flash of her blond hair, he moved into the barn itself and saw that her Mr. Knightley was in fact a beautiful bay dun.
“Bonjour.”
With a gasp of surprise, she pivoted his direction. Her eyes were huge and dark. “Lucian! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That’s a fine horse you have there.” He advanced farther inside, noting the neatness and order, gardening tools and pails stacked in one corner. A dairy cow shifted in her stall as he passed. Fresh hay littered the earth floor.
When he reached her side, he placed a hand on the horse’s powerful neck, inches from where hers rested. She didn’t speak at first, simply stared at him as if trying to absorb the fact that he was actually here, on her property. The air around them shimmered suddenly with energy, sharpening his senses. She was so very close. Adrift in blue eyes that reminded him of the mysterious ocean deep, Lucian found his ability to speak failed him. As did his common sense.
He covered her hand with his own. Edged closer. Inhaled the faint rose scent that clung to her. Captured a wayward curl and wrapped it around his finger.
“Lucian?” Her whisper caressed his neck.
His heart thundered inside his chest. “Has anyone ever told you that your hair is like moonlight?” he murmured, his gaze freely roaming the silken mass. “So pale it practically glows luminescent?”
Her peach-hued lips curved sweetly. “Actually, you’re the first.”
That smile nearly felled him. His gaze homed in on her lush mouth, and he bent his head a fraction. Her breathing changed. He stilled.
What was he doing?
“I’m sorry. I—” What could he say? That he’d temporarily forgotten all the reasons he mustn’t fall prey to her charms?
Uncoiling his finger, he put distance between them. Focused on the horse. Mr. Knightley. “I take it you’re an admirer of Jane Austen? Emma, in particular?” Averting his face, he grimaced when his voice sounded more riled bear than human.
Megan didn’t move. “Y-yes, I am as a matter of fact. You’re familiar with her works?”
“You sound surprised.” He dared a glance at her, watched her expression change from bemused to contemplative.
“Not surprised, exactly. Pleased would be a more apt term. Some men consider female authors inferior and, as such, unworthy of their attention.”
“And here I thought you’d be surprised that I read at all.”
Lifting a shoulder, she averted her gaze and stroked her horse’s neck. “Charles mentioned he’d passed his love of books on to Lucinda. I surmised she taught you to do the same.”
Lucian didn’t respond. She was right, of course. His earliest memories were of sitting on his mother’s lap, snug and warm, listening to bedtime stories. She’d read to him until he’d learned to do it for himself. Growing up, he’d passed countless afternoons hidden away in their estate’s library, immersed in one adventure or another.
“I have to admit, I never did warm to Emma and her matchmaking. I prefer Mansfield Park.”
“Indeed?”
“Megan—” they turned as one at the feminine intrusion barreling into the barn “—what’s taking you so...long?”
The raven-haired beauty’s momentum faltered when her wide-eyed gaze encountered him. She pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, I didn’t realize we had company.”
Once Megan made the introductions, Lucian nodded in greeting, surprised that, besides their striking eyes, the sisters didn’t share any other physical similarities. He instantly recognized the calculating gleam in Nicole’s, having witnessed it in scores of other young ladies’ gazes. What schemes was this young minx entertaining? He had a feeling she caused her poor parents a fair share of grief.
“Supper’s on the table,” Nicole announced brightly, smoothing her lace-and-ribbon-embellished purple skirts. “Please say you’ll join us, Mr. Beaumont.”
He glanced at Megan, uncertain of her feelings on the matter. He wanted to accept, not because he was particularly hungry, but because his curiosity had only increased in the time he’d been here.
Her hesitation lasted a fraction of a second before good manners kicked in, and she smiled her agreement. “Yes, please do. You can meet our younger sister, Jane, and taste her fine cooking. It’s simple fare,” she hastened to add, “nothing like you’re used to, I’m sure.”
“Not all of my meals are seven-course fanfares,” he said leaning towards her, a slight smile playing about his lips. “In fact, when I’m out hunting, I sometimes make do with a can of cold beans and hard biscuits.”
“I can scarcely believe it,” she responded with mock horror. “Lucian Beaumont, lord of the manor, eating out of a can? What would people say if they knew? I hope you at least had a fork and weren’t forced to use your fingers.”
Lord of the manor? Was that how she saw him? As some stuffy stick-in-the-mud?
“Well, beans aren’t on the menu tonight, thank goodness!” Nicole said with relief. “Jane’s fixed pot roast and all the trimmings. Let’s go eat before it gets cold.”
With a shrug and a smile, Megan fell into step beside him, explaining the whereabouts of her mother, Alice, and sisters Juliana and Jessica. There was no mention of a father, which meant the man had either abandoned his family or passed on. The question would have to wait until later.
Preceding Megan into the cabin, he stepped into a rectangular, low-ceilinged room crammed with furniture. Oval-backed chairs surrounded one long, chocolate-brown settee and a yellow-gold fainting couch. Two oversize hutches monopolized the wall space opposite him, while sewing baskets, fabrics and supplies occupied a low table in the far corner. To his left, impossibly steep stairs disappeared into an opening in the second floor. Beyond the living area, he glimpsed a narrow passageway that contained the dining table laden with dishes and, past that, the kitchen.
The rich aroma of succulent meat and fresh-baked bread hit him. His mouth watered. Perhaps he was hungrier than he’d thought.
As he understood it, until recently, six females had shared this cabin. That number was now at five. Despite the crowded nature of the space, they did a remarkable job of keeping it clean and clutter-free.
Auburn-haired
