sister’s stubbornness. That could be due to her young age. Jane exuded the same gentle sweetness, but she lacked Megan’s spark, the inner fire that drew him unwillingly to her. Ignore it or fight it. If you don’t, you could wind up getting burned.
Beside him at the table, she was unusually quiet. She didn’t have to utter a word, however, for him to be aware of her every movement. Did she resent having him here?
He should’ve felt awkward, outnumbered as he was by unfamiliar females. However, the delicious meal and the younger girls’ eager inquiries about city life put him at ease, as did the realization that Nicole didn’t have her sights set on him. In fact, the thoughtful glances she slid between he and Megan indicated she had ideas about the two of them.
Pity she was bound to be disappointed.
* * *
Tonight Jane’s pot roast didn’t melt on Megan’s tongue. It was difficult to chew and even harder to swallow, and it was all his fault. Every time Lucian shifted in his seat, his shoulder brushed hers and her stomach took a dive. Once, when his knee bumped hers, she nearly toppled her lemonade. His masculine presence filled the room, robbing her lungs of air. All she could think about was that scene in the barn. He’d almost kissed her! The worst part was the acute disappointment she’d experienced when he didn’t. If anything, she should be relieved.
Kissing Lucian would have disastrous consequences. One kiss from him and she’d be planning their wedding. Risking a sideways glance, she tried to imagine him in formal black wedding clothes. His unruly waves slicked back...
Lowering her gaze to her still-full plate, she swirled the potatoes through the gravy with her fork. Have you forgotten the children? He’s made it plain he seeks to circumvent Charles’s will. I guarantee he won’t be quite so attractive if you have to cancel story time and explain to them that their fun is over.
Besides, his home was hundreds of miles away. If she allowed herself to get close to him, to care for him, he’d take a part of her heart with him when he left. Could she endure that? Pining hearts made for great fiction...why else would she have pored through the pages of Pride and Prejudice half a dozen times? She wasn’t so certain she wanted to experience it in reality.
“Megan,” Jane’s voice intruded, “would you like a slice of pie?”
“No, thanks.” She dredged up a smile, laying her fork aside when she noticed everyone had finished. “I’ll help clear the dishes.”
Rising, she began to stack them.
“Jane and I will clean up,” Nicole protested, rising and taking the plates from her hands. “Why don’t you and Mr. Beaumont have a seat on the front porch while we dish up dessert?”
Megan stared. Nicole didn’t volunteer to do anything unless it suited her purposes. What was she up to?
Lucian stood, as well, and placed a hand against his flat stomach. “That was a fine meal, ladies. I enjoyed this evening very much. Thank you for your generous hospitality.”
Jane flushed. They’d all noticed he’d eagerly accepted second portions. “It was our pleasure, Mr. Beaumont.”
After inviting her sisters to call him by his first name, he turned that intense focus on her, waiting for her to lead the way. Where they’d be alone again. Her nerves zinged with equal parts anticipation and dismay. Would he touch her again? She hoped not. Really, she did.
Outside, darkness blanketed the land, obscuring the distant mountain peaks. Moonlight cast the yard and outbuildings in a muted glow, glancing off the treetops while the thick forest below remained cloaked in impenetrable blackness. The nearby stream’s hushed journey over and around moss-covered rocks formed a backdrop to the cicadas’ calls and frogs’ songs. The night air was pleasant against her skin, not too warm and not too cold. Perfect.
Lucian stared into the night, one shoulder propped against a wooden support. She moved to rest her back against the one opposite, arms crossed over her chest. She studied his proud profile, wondered if he ever truly let go and allowed himself to relax. Lost the brooding tension humming along his body.
“What’s the city like at night?”
He didn’t answer immediately. “The air is humid, almost sticky, and sweet with the scent of magnolias and beignets. Buggies and people roam the streets at all hours, the sounds of horses and wheels clattering over bricks, laughter and jazz flooding the night. It’s a vibrant place.”
If it was so wonderful, then why did he sound dissatisfied? Wistful for something else?
“What are beignets?”
“Fried dough dusted with sugar.”
She smiled. “Sounds delicious.”
“They are, indeed, especially when accompanied by café au lait. We use chicory in our coffee, which makes it stronger, more bitter than what I’ve tasted here.” He angled his face to study her. “I think you’d like it there, Megan, especially the waterfront. The nonstop activity. Interesting characters. The boats and the water.”
“I’ve yet to leave these mountains. Not sure I ever will.”
He shifted so that his stance mirrored hers, his back against the support. “You surprise me. I would’ve guessed that a young lady such as yourself yearned for adventure, hungered to see the world you read about in all those books.”
“I’ll admit I’ve often wondered what other places are like. I’m realistic enough to know, however, the opportunity will probably never arise.” She shrugged. “That’s all right with me. I’m content right where I am.”
“The mountains are all right,” he agreed offhandedly.
“Just all right?” She dropped her arms, indignation pushing upward. “How can you say that—”
“There’s no need to get huffy, mon chou,” he responded, amusement deepening his accent. “I was merely teasing. While I prefer the lowlands, I can’t deny East Tennessee is lovely. In fact, it sort of reminds me of my property outside New Orleans. The landscape is vastly different, of course, but the feeling I get is the same. A feeling of freedom. Free of constraints, of expectations. I can let down my guard there.”
During supper, she’d found his descriptions of his life in the Crescent City fascinating, if somewhat confining. The thought of all those strict social rules and expectations, not to mention the head-spinning whirl of parties and engagements, made her break out in a cold sweat. Made her grateful she wasn’t part of a prominent, wealthy family like the Beaumonts.
No wonder he was coiled tighter than a copperhead about to strike. How much time would it take for him to let his guard down here?
“Do you go there often?”
He paused. “Not nearly as often as I’d like.”
“Have you ever considered leaving the city behind?”
“I have.” He heaved a sigh. “This last year, especially.”
Because his mother was gone.
Lying in bed last evening, she’d prayed for him, asked God to comfort him as he sorted through the truth. His
