His Mountain Miss
“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.”
Her brow furrowed. “I can’t claim to know his reasons, but I’m certain it wasn’t his goal to make things difficult for you. That wasn’t his way.”
“Oh, wasn’t it? He certainly made things difficult for my mother when he cut her out of his life.”
He’d witnessed her tears, the brokenness caused by Charles’s need to control those around him. Even now, he was attempting to control Lucian from beyond the grave. Unbelievable.
“Is that why you never came?” she demanded, eyes brimming with accusation. “Because you couldn’t forgive him for what he did to your mother?”
“How could I forgive someone who wasn’t sorry?” He didn’t tell her Charles hadn’t wanted him here. It was too painful to put into words.
“But he was sorry.” She took a step forward, intent on convincing him. “He regretted pushing her away, I know it.”
For a second, Lucian got lost in her impossibly blue eyes. She seemed to sincerely believe what she was saying. He, on the other hand, wasn’t that naive.
“It hardly matters now,” he pushed out. “They’re both gone. And I’m left here to deal with the whims of a manipulative old man.”
She bristled. “Since you’re obviously so eager to leave, why don’t you?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me out of the way so you can be free to come and go as you like? That was probably your goal all along. Why else would a young lady like yourself willingly spend time with a man three times her age?”
The color waned and surged in her cheeks, and when she spoke, he had to strain to hear her. “Your accusations are not those of a gentleman, sir. Charles was a fine man. Good and wise and generous. He was like a grandfather to me, something you couldn’t come close to understanding.”
Whirling away, she strode from the room with her head held high. Lucian sagged against the wall. What was supposed to have been a relatively short and simple visit to East Tennessee was proving to be anything but.
* * *
At the conclusion of the church service, Megan and her sisters, Nicole and Jane, joined their good friends, Cole and Rachel Prescott, in the shade of a sugar maple’s sprawling branches. The Prescotts’ one-year-old daughter, Abby, grinned at Megan and extended her arms, wanting to be held. The sweet little girl had captured her heart the moment she was born. Megan supervised her from time to time, and she liked to think of herself as a favorite auntie. Taking her from Cole, she hugged her close. It wasn’t Abby’s fault that her dark hair and eyes reminded her of a certain haughty gentleman.
Her heart squeezed, remembering Lucian’s hurtful words and the blazing suspicion in his eyes. She’d spent a restless night, reliving their conversation again and again. He was a hard man. Arrogant and close-minded.
“So what do you think Mr. Beaumont will do?” Concern marked Rachel’s expression.
Megan shrugged. “I don’t know. He doesn’t want to stay, yet he won’t agree to leave me in charge.” She gave a dry laugh. “And the last thing he’d want is for the house to go to me. He doesn’t trust my motives.”
Cole’s hazel eyes turned quizzical. “What motives would those be?”
“He thinks the only reason I spent time with Charles was to ultimately gain control of the house, like I’m some kind of opportunist.”
Fifteen-year-old Jane placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We all know that’s not true. Despite his advanced years, I found Charles a delight to be around. He always had interesting things to say.” Sometimes Jane and Kate, their cousin Josh’s wife, had accompanied Megan on her visits.
Rachel nodded, pushing her heavy sable waves behind her shoulders. “The man is obviously hurting, and he’s lashing out at you.”
“But he doesn’t even know me,” Megan exclaimed, inexplicably bothered by this stranger’s poor opinion of her. “He just assumes the worst.”
Cole placed an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “His attitude has nothing to do with you, Megan. Something in his life has skewed his thinking. If he spent a little time with you, he’d quickly come to see his error.”
Megan wasn’t so sure. Lucian seemed to want to believe her capable of such underhanded behavior. And anyway, it wasn’t as if he was going to stick around long enough for it to matter. The only time the two of them would be spending together would be to figure out this mess.
Seventeen-year-old Nicole, who’d been leaning against the tree trunk with a bored expression, straightened and brushed off her bottle-green dress. “I’m starving. Can we leave now?”
Megan was used to her younger sister’s sour attitude, but it had gotten steadily worse since their mother, Alice, and Jane’s twin, Jessica, had departed last week for Cades Cove. Their oldest sister, Juliana, was due to deliver her first baby any day now. Of course, they’d all wanted to go, but there simply wasn’t enough room in her sister’s cabin. Too many people milling about would overwhelm the new parents, anyway.
She aimed a reproving frown her way. “If you’d rather not wait for us, you’re welcome to go on ahead.”
Jane, ever the diplomat, offered to go with her.
Megan watched the two girls, so different in both appearance and temperament, head arm in arm down Main Street. Then her gaze encountered her friend, Tom Leighton, striding in her direction wearing a determined look.
With a smile at Rachel and Cole, she returned Abby to their arms. “I guess I should go, as well. I’m keeping you from your lunch.”
“No, you’re not—” Rachel smiled as she spoke “—but I can see a certain gentleman is intent on snagging your attention. Whenever you need to talk, our door is always open. Come over anytime.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
Megan watched the couple stroll to their wagon, Cole holding Rachel close to his side, his smile bright enough to rival the sun. She was thrilled to see her friends happy at long last. Cole and Rachel had very nearly lost each other, but God had brought them back together in their darkest hour.
“Megan, I’m glad I caught you.”
“Hello, Tom.” She smiled at the tall and lean barbershop owner, genuinely happy to see him. His easygoing personality made it easy to relax in his presence. “How are you, today?”
“Better now that I’m talking to you.” He grinned, dimples flashing. “Josh invited me to join you for lunch at his parents’ house. Care to walk with me?” He held out his arm.
She felt a flash of momentary irritation. Her cousin Josh insisted on pushing his best friend and her together, and she didn’t like it one bit. While Tom was an extremely nice man, she wasn’t interested in more than friendship. There was no spark, only casual affection.
Growing up, she’d envisioned a dashing hero, her own personal knight in shining armor sweeping into her life and fulfilling all her childhood dreams. Older and, she hoped, wiser at twenty years of age, she realized the impossibility of those expectations. No man could be everything she needed and desired. God alone could be her all in all. Still, the romantic, idealistic side of her hoped for a man who would challenge her, thrill her, cherish her.
So far, that man had yet to materialize. She was beginning to fear he never would.
Suppressing a shudder, she met Tom’s hopeful gaze. “I’d love to, but I’m going home for lunch.”
“Are you sure I can’t change your mind?” His smile held a tinge of disappointment.
“Not this time.” She wasn’t in the mood for a crowd today, even if it was family. Her mind was too full of Lucian Beaumont.
“All right, but at least let me walk with you part of the way.” He lifted his hat and fluffed his brown hair, a habit that left him looking like a ruffled little boy. An adorable one, at that. How could she refuse him?
Placing her hand in the crook of his arm, she smiled her thanks. His conversation managed to distract her, at least until they passed the turnoff for Charles’s house. What was Lucian doing right this minute? Had he decided how he was going to handle the stipulation?
Friday would be upon them before they knew it. If he was not planning on honoring Charles’s wishes, she needed to know sooner rather than later. The children deserved to be told ahead of time, as did the people preparing for the poetry recital coming up. She would visit him first thing in the morning, she decided. No reason to delay what would surely be an unpleasant confrontation.
If Lucian Beaumont thought he could run roughshod over her and this town, she would soon prove him wrong.
Chapter Three
Rounding the curve in the tree-lined lane leading to Charles’s house, Megan was presented with an unobstructed view of the gardens spreading out behind it. Against the backdrop of gray skies, the lush grasses seemed greener than usual, the vibrant flower patches more vivid. Tree branches swayed in the rain-scented breeze.
And there, in the midst of everything, sat the lord of the manor. Eating his breakfast and perusing a newspaper as if he hadn’t a care in the world. And looking entirely too at home, she thought peevishly. He was a worldly-wise gentleman, wealthy beyond belief and accustomed to the conveniences of city life. He didn’t belong in her quaint mountain town.
Determination spurred her across the lawn.
When he noticed her approach, he set aside the paper and stood up, his expression carefully neutral. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Miss O’Malley?”
His voice, like sweet tea and molasses rolled into one, shouldn’t please her, but it did. His accent was deeper than hers, almost like a song with its French undertones. She wondered what it would sound like if he was actually happy.
She stopped a distance away, the round, white metal table between them. “We don’t stand on formality here. Why don’t you call me Megan?”
“As you wish, Megan. Please, call me Lucian.” His eyes seemed to impossibly darken. He gestured at the food spread out on the table. “Have you eaten? You’re welcome to join me.”
His invitation was born out of politeness, no doubt ingrained from birth. It was clear he didn’t really wish to dine with her.
“No, thank you. I’ve already had breakfast.” If you could call a cup of coffee breakfast. She couldn’t eat when she was nervous.
“Some tea, then?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Coming around to her side, he scooted out the chair for her and poured her tea, stirring in cream and two spoons of sugar.
“You remembered,” she blurted.
“Yes” was all he said as he placed it in front of her.
When he was seated, he rested one arm on the table, the other fisted on his hip in a relaxed position, waiting for her to explain the reason for her visit. His black gaze was too direct, sharp, for her to be at ease. His masculine appeal didn’t help matters.
Smoothing her skirts, she took a calming breath. “I came this morning because I’d like to know what you’ve decided about the house.”
“I haven’t yet.”
“Until you do, are you going to allow the story times to continue?”
“Do I have a choice?” he responded evenly, one dark brow arched.
Megan truly didn’t want to goad him, to argue, so she said nothing. Sipped her tea.
“Tell me, mon chou, why is this so important to you? Reading to other people’s children?” His gaze swept her curls, which she’d again restrained with a single ribbon. “Dressing like a princess?”
“What did you call me?”
Lucian looked startled, as if he’d made a slip. He waved it aside. “Later. For now, I’d like to hear your answer.”
Perhaps Kate knew French and could tell her what he’d said. An heiress from New York City, she must’ve learned other languages.
“Living off the land is hard work. As early as four or five years of age, children begin helping with chores. Depending on each family’s situation, there can be little time for a child to relax and just be a child. In addition to this, many families can’t afford books. Since Charles has a vast collection and ample space, he and I decided the children would benefit from a weekly story time. Not only would it be fun for them, but also educational.” She leaned forward, warming to her topic. “Books expand horizons. They entertain, inspire and enrich lives. I enjoy reading to them. Dressing the part merely adds to the experience.”
“And the strawberry tarts and lemonade? What purpose do they serve?”
She smiled then. “Incentive for them to sit still and listen. Treats are reserved for those children who behave.”
“I see.”
That phrase again. She wanted to shake him.
He was studying her, obviously trying to decide if he believed her. No one had ever doubted her sincerity before. It was not a pleasant feeling.
A raindrop splashed on her arm. Then another. She glanced up at the rain-swollen clouds overhead. “I think we’re in for a shower.”
The drops began to fall harder and faster.
Lucian surged to his feet and, circling the table, took hold of her hand. “Let’s make a run for it!”
“The dishes—”
“Forget them,” he ordered as the clouds opened up, releasing a torrent.
Tugging on her hand, they made a dash for the back porch, surging up the slippery steps to stand, breathless and soaked to the skin, beneath the sheltering roof. The rain pounded the earth in an unrelenting assault. Lucian dropped her hand. His unfathomable gaze met hers. His hair was plastered to his head, his face slick with rainwater. Megan shivered. Her white eyelet blouse clung to her body, as did her robin-egg-blue skirts. Before she could guess at his intentions, he’d shrugged out of his coat and stepped close, settling it across her shoulders and pulling it closed. His heat and exotic cologne enveloped her.
“Th-thank you.”
“Are you warm enough?”
She nodded, suddenly tongue-tied.
Several wet strands clung to her face, and before she could brush them aside, his fingers were there. Warm and featherlight. His fingertips skimming her cheek set off sparks, shimmers of light through her body. Her breath hitched.
What was happening to her?
She didn’t like this arrogant man, his polished manners and jaded view of life.
Thank goodness he moved away so she could breathe again. Resting one hip against the railing, he stared solemnly out at the rain. Without the formal coat, he looked more approachable. The white shirt molded to his athletic build, his biceps straining the thin material where he’d crossed his arms.
Stop staring, she chided herself. His outward appearance may be attractive, but it hid the darkness he held inside. The turmoil she’d glimpsed on his face the few times his control had slipped. Who was he, really? All she’d ever known was that he hadn’t cared enough about a lonely old man to make the journey to see him before he died. That was hard to forgive.
* * *
Lucian’s instincts were normally right. People in his circle tended to be shallow and self-centered, motivated by greed and the lust for power and increased social standing. He trusted no one. Not even his so-called closest friends, for he knew that if not for his wealth and the Beaumont name, they’d be gone in a second. He’d spent a lot of years wishing things were different. Eventually, he’d come to terms with the state of affairs.
Until Dominique. The seemingly innocent, sweet-natured girl had resurrected his hope, his longing for something real and pure. He’d thought she was different from the conniving, scheming vipers trying to win his favor. He was wrong. In fact, she’d turned out to be worse. Much worse. And he’d fallen for her act—hook, line and sinker.
Shoving the humiliation aside, he focused on the blonde beauty beside him. Megan fairly radiated goodness, the depths of her sea-blue eyes clear and honest. Listening to her impassioned speech a moment ago, he could almost believe she truly cared about helping the children of this town. Was it real? Or a clever act designed to lower his guard?
“How did all this come about?” He circled a finger in the air. “With Charles, I mean.”
“It started with a simple invitation to borrow books,” she said as her features softened into a smile of remembrance. “He was a bit reclusive, your grandfather, coming to town only for church services and an occasional visit to the mercantile to catch up on local news. It was there that he overheard me complaining that I’d read everything I could get my hands on more than once, and that I longed for new reading material. He remarked that he had a houseful of books. I was welcome to borrow as many as I liked.
“My first few visits, he left me to my own devices. Then one day, he seemed particularly down. I joined him in the parlor—uninvited, mind you—and we wound up talking for hours. He wanted to be a writer. Did you know that?” Huddled inside his overlarge coat, her pale hair clinging to her skin, she looked small and vulnerable. Sadness tugged at her mouth.
“No, I didn’t.” He forced himself to look away from her, to watch the continuing storm that mirrored the one inside him.
It sounded as if she and Charles had shared a special bond. Of course he hadn’t been privy to his grandfather’s dreams, his likes and dislikes, or anything else remotely personal. He had never even met the man! The spurt of jealousy took him by surprise.
Why should he care? Charles had written his mother and him off years ago. They had ceased to exist in his grandfather’s mind. This will stipulation only served to prove Charles’s dislike, one final thrust of the dagger. It hadn’t been enough to ignore Lucian during his lifetime. He’d had to go and complicate matters with this house, just to underscore his loathing.
“He tried his hand at poetry,” she continued, “and he even penned a couple of short stories. I think it kept the loneliness at bay, if temporarily.”
He chose to ignore the censure in her voice, the unspoken questions.
“Lucian, your grandfather was a good man. He—”
“Stop. I do not wish to discuss him anymore today.”
“But—”
“Megan, don’t.” He shot her a warning glance.
“Fine.” She jutted her chin. “Then how about we address the poetry recital coming up?”
“Poetry recital?”
“You know, when people stand up and recite poetry by rote?”
“I know what it is,” he told her drily. “How many people are we talking about?”
“We average between twenty-five and thirty.”
He sighed. Thirty strangers parading through his house. He didn’t like it. Resented this present circumstance that was beyond his control. As empty as his life in New Orleans had become, it was his home. Comfortable and familiar. Predictable. He knew what to expect from those around him, and they him.
Frustration surged. If not for this young lady, he would’ve already put the house up for sale and been well on his way out of this backwoods town.
“By all means, proceed with your plans as you’ve always done.”
Surprise flickered.
“But let me make myself clear—I plan to do everything possible to find a way around that stipulation.”
She jerked her head back. Anger flashed in her eyes. “Why am I not surprised? You don’t care about the children or the people of this community.” Yanking off his coat, she thrust it at him, and he fumbled to catch it before it fell to the floor. “You care only about yourself—” she poked him in the chest “—what you want and what you need. Well, let me assure you, Mr. Beaumont, I will do everything I can to fight you on this.”
Then, to his shock, she pivoted and dashed out into the rain. Though it had slacked off, the rain was still steady. Did she plan to run the entire way home?
“Megan!” He rushed to the top step. “Wait!”
He wasn’t sure if she heard him or not. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t slow down, just kept going. Across the grass and down the lane, until she disappeared around the bend.
Shoving his hands through his hair, he blew out an aggravated breath. The woman was a danger to his sanity. And control? Hah! She had him so mixed up, he couldn’t tell up from down.
He was beginning to wish he’d never heard of Gatlinburg, Tennessee.
Chapter Four
Lucian couldn’t in good conscience allow Megan to leave without some sort of protection from the elements. Ignoring the fact he was dripping water all over the floors, he went inside in search of his umbrella. Seizing one propped against the wall, he tossed his coat on the hall table and hurried back out into the rain. There, at the end of the lane, was a flash of white and blue.
As he sprinted across the sprawling lawn, bits of mud splashed up on to his boots. His pristine, clean-as-a-whistle boots. And since, in his haste, he hadn’t bothered opening the umbrella, his vest and shirt were now soaked. He ground his teeth together. If the woman had an ounce of sense...
Drawing closer, he noticed she’d slowed, her head bent and shoulders hunched. 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?”