Her heavy skirts impeded her progress. His annoyance evaporated at once, and he was glad he’d followed her.
“Megan, wait!”
She ignored him. Still angry, obviously. The woman certainly had spunk. She didn’t fawn all over him like the young socialites in his circle, which he found refreshing. It was growing tougher to stomach their batting eyelashes, coquettish smiles and honeyed words. Their thinly veiled attempts to garner his favor.
Megan, at least, gave the appearance of being straightforward with him.
Opening the umbrella, he caught her upper arm and moved to bring them both beneath its cover.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, eyes still smoldering and chin lifted in defiance.
She was strikingly beautiful, even more so when angry. With his finger, he outlined her chin, dislodging the water droplets. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a stubborn chin?”
Her lips parted. “Actually, you’re the first.”
Lucian dropped his hand. He really needed to stop touching her. He wasn’t what one would consider an affectionate man. In fact, Dominique had complained at his lack of attention. Accused him of being an ice sculpture. He’d shrugged off her comments.
So why would he be any different with Megan? Why did he feel compelled to connect with her every time she was near?
Releasing her arm, he offered her the umbrella handle. “Take this. It doesn’t look like the rain will let up anytime soon.”
Her pale brows rose. “You followed me in order to give me this?”
His smile was grim. “Despite popular opinion, I’m not completely unfeeling.”
“I—” She paused, her brow furrowed. “Thank you.”
When she shivered, he pressed the handle into her hand. “You should go. Too much longer in this weather, and you’ll become ill. Good day, mon chou.”
He pivoted on his heel before he touched her again or made another inane remark about her person. Not smart, Beaumont. As the cool rain slid over his skin, he reminded himself of his purpose. He couldn’t allow Megan to distract him, or worse, trick him into giving her control of the house.
As soon as he got out of these wet clothes, he was going to sit down and draft a letter to his lawyer. One way or another, he would find a way to rid himself of Charles’s house and all the emotional baggage that went with it.
* * *
Friday afternoon, Jane handed Megan the basket of tea cakes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? What if he’s hateful?”
Megan touched the red silk jacquard scarf tied about her head. It was a bit too snug, but she didn’t want to take it off. The kids would enjoy her pirate costume. She could only imagine what Lucian’s reaction might be. “Lucian can be difficult, that’s for sure, but he isn’t hateful.”
Infuriating, yes. And bewildering. The man made it practically impossible to stay mad at him! Scooping up the umbrella he’d loaned her, she recalled their exchange and how his nearness, the intensity of his black eyes, made rational thought impossible.
“Would you mind opening the door for me?”
Clearly not convinced, Jane complied. “When will we get to meet him? Do you think he’ll come to church on Sunday?”
“Oh, I hope he does.” Nicole looked up from her latest sewing project, violet eyes shining. “From the way you described him, Megan, he sounds like a dream. Just think, a wealthy aristocrat in our midst. All the way from Louisiana!”
Megan couldn’t help but smile at her younger sister’s enthusiasm. Nicole was enamored with the idea of big-city life. As soon as she had enough money saved, she planned to open up a clothing boutique in the city of her choice.
Not Megan. She loved East Tennessee, the mountains and streams and forests. The peace and quiet, the fresh air and space to roam. To daydream. She couldn’t imagine being content anywhere else.
She hesitated in the open doorway. “How about I ask him outright whether he plans to or not? That way your minds will be at ease.” And hers, as well.
“Yes, do!” Nicole urged.
“Only if he’s in an agreeable mood,” Jane cautioned.
Lucian, agreeable? She didn’t expect him to be, not with her and the children invading his territory. I can handle whatever he dishes out. I have to. For the kids and the town.
“I’ll see you both later.” She turned and headed out into the late-afternoon sunshine, soaking in the hum of life all about her. Birds chirping. Squirrels darting up and down the trees on either side of the lane. The breeze swelling through the tree canopy far above her head. Ah, spring. Her favorite time of year. If only it could last forever.
If only Charles was still here. Waiting for her and the children with eager anticipation, his weathered face smoothing into a welcoming smile, the loneliness in his eyes fading for the short time they were there. It was highly unlikely that Lucian would welcome them. If anything, he would take himself off to another part of the house in order to avoid their presence. That was fine by her. Why wouldn’t it be? She didn’t care one way or another.
However, standing on his front porch a quarter of an hour later face-to-face with the man, she realized that was a lie. Lucian Beaumont was not the sort of man who inspired indifference. Quite the opposite, in fact. The strong emotions he invoked within her were foreign to her experience. Sure, her sisters and cousins sometimes irritated her, but they’d never made her furious enough to want to punch something. And yes, she was naturally curious, but she’d never been driven to discover the inner workings of a person’s mind. And never, ever had she felt this crazy, inexplicable, overwhelming attraction to a man.
Well, you’re just going to have to control yourself, because he is not hero material. Far from it.
“Here’s your umbrella.” She thrust it at him, uncharacteristically flustered.
He, on the other hand, appeared coolly poised in a deep blue cutaway coat and vest, a brilliant sapphire tiepin nestled in the folds of his snowy white cravat. Black pants and his Hessians completed the ensemble. Way too formal for the occasion and even for the town, but she supposed that was the way he was accustomed to dressing in New Orleans. And he pulled it off beautifully, she had to admit. Masculine and formal. In control.
Except for the hair. There was no taming those luxurious, dark brown waves that insisted on falling forward to rest on his forehead.
“Merci.” He stepped back to allow her entrance, his intense gaze sweeping her scooped-neck white blouse, full black skirts and wide black belt that accentuated her waist. “Where’s your eye patch and wooden leg?”
“Isn’t this enough?” She pivoted in the entryway and indicated her scarf.
After looping the umbrella on the coat stand behind him, he settled his hands on his hips and appraised her appearance. “You need an eye patch. The wooden leg, not so much, but definitely some gold jewelry—loot from the legion of ships you’ve besieged.” Amusement shone in the depths
