Gatlinburg, Megan blinked away tears. Nursed the grudge she’d harbored towards his estranged family. Knowing what she did, she shouldn’t be surprised by Lucian’s selfish disregard of everyone else’s needs but his own.
The door swung inward, and there stood the object of her turmoil, looking coolly refined in a chocolate frock coat, tan vest and pants, and the ever-shiny black Hessians. Her gaze was drawn once again to his hair, the dark, unruly waves at odds with his neat clothing and stiff manner.
His black gaze bored into her, making her want to squirm. “Miss O’Malley, I see you received my message.”
Walking past him into the entrance hall, she was glad she’d chosen to wear one of her best outfits, a deep blue fitted jacket with layered skirts that skimmed the tips of her boots. Her mass of curls, too heavy to be piled on top of her head, was restrained at her nape with a matching ribbon.
“No princess attire today?”
“No, that was strictly for the children’s benefit.”
Glancing up, she caught him gazing at her hair with a look akin to disappointment. She blinked and it was gone. Must’ve been a trick of the light.
“I see.”
There was that phrase again. She gritted her teeth, fairly certain Lucian Beaumont did not see the true picture at all, his outlook tainted by cynicism.
“You wished to see me?”
“Actually, Charles’s lawyer is the one who asked for you. He arrived this morning from Sevierville and wishes to speak with us about the will.” He motioned for her to precede him. “He’s waiting for us in the office.”
“But Charles never indicated that I’d be included. I can’t imagine why he would’ve done such a thing.”
Lucian’s steady gaze assessed her. Perhaps gauging her sincerity? “You indicated the two of you were close. Most likely he wanted to leave you some things to remember him by. Your favorite books, for instance.”
Megan’s thoughts were a jumble as they passed through the hallway to the rear corner of the house where the office was located. She hadn’t spent much time there, as she and Charles had preferred to use the library or, weather permitting, the back porch or gardens. Like the rest of the house, this room was richly appointed with dark wood furniture and plush throw rugs. However, there were personal touches here. Artifacts from his travels littered his desk. Photographs lined the bookshelves. Even his scent lingered in the air, a blend of sandalwood and lemon. For the second time that afternoon, Megan blinked away moisture gathering in her eyes.
“Mr. McDermott,” Lucian addressed the man standing at the window, “may I introduce Miss Megan O’Malley?”
The distinguished older man smiled a greeting as he moved behind the desk. “How do you do, Miss O’Malley? I’m pleased you could join us. Won’t you have a seat so we can begin?”
She looked to Lucian, who indicated she take one of the two chairs facing the desk. On the low table between them rested a silver tea service.
“I had Mrs. Calhoun prepare a pot of Earl Grey,” he commented as he lowered his tall frame into the chair beside her. “Would you care for some?”
“Yes, please.” Hopefully the warm liquid would ease the sudden dryness in her throat. But when she attempted to pour herself a cup, her trembling hands managed to spill the brew, splashing it onto the tray and table. “Oh,” she gasped, embarrassment flooding her cheeks.
Half expecting Lucian to react with irritation, she caught her breath when he stilled her attempts to mop it up with his large hand covering hers, slipping the napkin from her suddenly nerveless fingers to do the job himself. Then he poured her a second cup, adding sugar and cream when she indicated her preferences.
“Here you are.” His enigmatic gaze met hers briefly as he settled the cup and saucer into her hands. “I believe we’re ready now, Mr. McDermott.”
“Charles summoned me here approximately six months before his death to add a stipulation to his will.”
Beside her, Lucian went as still as a statue. Tension bracketed his mouth. “What sort of stipulation? I was under the impression from your letter that the house is mine.”
Mr. McDermott nodded. “Indeed, it is, Mr. Beaumont. However, there’s a condition attached.” His thoughtful gaze settled on Megan. “As you are aware, he and Miss O’Malley were involved in various community projects. Charles felt strongly that these should continue under her guidance after his death.”
Megan quickly swallowed her mouthful of tea and set it aside before she dropped it on her lap. The storm brewing on Lucian’s face was on the verge of being unleashed, tempering her anticipation. This was not going to be pretty.
“Get to the point, McDermott,” he practically growled.
“If you do not allow her to continue use of the house as stated in the will, you will forfeit and ownership will transfer to Miss O’Malley.”
Megan’s mouth fell open.
Lucian clutched the chair’s armrests, knuckles white with strain. Megan sensed his control on his temper was slipping. “That’s ludicrous!” he pushed through clenched teeth. “How am I supposed to sell it, then? What potential buyer would agree to have their house available to the whole town?”
“Not many, I agree—” the lawyer began gathering his papers into a neat pile “—but then, Charles didn’t intend for you to sell it. He wanted to keep it in the family.”
“She’s not family,” he gritted out.
“True, but it was plain to see he cared a great deal about her. If you refused to honor his wishes, at least it would go to someone close to him. Mr. Beaumont, I got the feeling that your grandfather wanted you to stick around for a little while. Maybe he thought the town would grow on you and that you’d decide to stay.”
His grip on the armrests tightened. It was a wonder the wood didn’t snap in two. “That will never happen.”
Standing and rounding the desk, the lawyer shook her hand and nodded at Lucian. “Yes, well, it would seem the two of you have much to discuss. I’ll let myself out. Good day.”
Battling outrage and disbelief, Lucian shoved to his feet, paced to the fireplace and leaned his weight against the marble mantel, his back to the room. He’d known the old man was controlling and manipulative, but this... Closing his eyes, he forced himself to take deep, calming breaths. The tightness was returning to his chest.
He didn’t have to hear Megan’s approach to sense her nearness. The faint scent of roses wafted over. “Lucian—”
He stiffened at the soft, irrationally pleasing sound of his name on her lips.
“Mr. Beaumont,” she began again, “I had no idea what Charles was planning. I realize this will make things difficult—”
“You mean impossible,” he interrupted, turning to face her. “He’s made it impossible for me to sell this house.” He fisted his hands. “I don’t know exactly what he expected me to do. I have a life waiting for me back in New Orleans. I can’t stay here indefinitely.”
