His Mountain Miss. Karen Kirst
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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.”
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