His Mountain Miss. Karen Kirst

smile nearly felled him. His gaze homed in on her lush mouth, and he bent his head a fraction. Her breathing changed. He stilled.

      What was he doing?

      “I’m sorry. I—” What could he say? That he’d temporarily forgotten all the reasons he mustn’t fall prey to her charms?

      Uncoiling his finger, he put distance between them. Focused on the horse. Mr. Knightley. “I take it you’re an admirer of Jane Austen? Emma, in particular?” Averting his face, he grimaced when his voice sounded more riled bear than human.

      Megan didn’t move. “Y-yes, I am as a matter of fact. You’re familiar with her works?”

      “You sound surprised.” He dared a glance at her, watched her expression change from bemused to contemplative.

      “Not surprised, exactly. Pleased would be a more apt term. Some men consider female authors inferior and, as such, unworthy of their attention.”

      “And here I thought you’d be surprised that I read at all.”

      Lifting a shoulder, she averted her gaze and stroked her horse’s neck. “Charles mentioned he’d passed his love of books on to Lucinda. I surmised she taught you to do the same.”

      Lucian didn’t respond. She was right, of course. His earliest memories were of sitting on his mother’s lap, snug and warm, listening to bedtime stories. She’d read to him until he’d learned to do it for himself. Growing up, he’d passed countless afternoons hidden away in their estate’s library, immersed in one adventure or another.

      “I have to admit, I never did warm to Emma and her matchmaking. I prefer Mansfield Park.”

      “Indeed?”

      “Megan—” they turned as one at the feminine intrusion barreling into the barn “—what’s taking you so...long?”

      The raven-haired beauty’s momentum faltered when her wide-eyed gaze encountered him. She pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, I didn’t realize we had company.”

      Once Megan made the introductions, Lucian nodded in greeting, surprised that, besides their striking eyes, the sisters didn’t share any other physical similarities. He instantly recognized the calculating gleam in Nicole’s, having witnessed it in scores of other young ladies’ gazes. What schemes was this young minx entertaining? He had a feeling she caused her poor parents a fair share of grief.

      “Supper’s on the table,” Nicole announced brightly, smoothing her lace-and-ribbon-embellished purple skirts. “Please say you’ll join us, Mr. Beaumont.”

      He glanced at Megan, uncertain of her feelings on the matter. He wanted to accept, not because he was particularly hungry, but because his curiosity had only increased in the time he’d been here.

      Her hesitation lasted a fraction of a second before good manners kicked in, and she smiled her agreement. “Yes, please do. You can meet our younger sister, Jane, and taste her fine cooking. It’s simple fare,” she hastened to add, “nothing like you’re used to, I’m sure.”

      “Not all of my meals are seven-course fanfares,” he said leaning towards her, a slight smile playing about his lips. “In fact, when I’m out hunting, I sometimes make do with a can of cold beans and hard biscuits.”

      “I can scarcely believe it,” she responded with mock horror. “Lucian Beaumont, lord of the manor, eating out of a can? What would people say if they knew? I hope you at least had a fork and weren’t forced to use your fingers.”

      Lord of the manor? Was that how she saw him? As some stuffy stick-in-the-mud?

      “Well, beans aren’t on the menu tonight, thank goodness!” Nicole said with relief. “Jane’s fixed pot roast and all the trimmings. Let’s go eat before it gets cold.”

      With a shrug and a smile, Megan fell into step beside him, explaining the whereabouts of her mother, Alice, and sisters Juliana and Jessica. There was no mention of a father, which meant the man had either abandoned his family or passed on. The question would have to wait until later.

      Preceding Megan into the cabin, he stepped into a rectangular, low-ceilinged room crammed with furniture. Oval-backed chairs surrounded one long, chocolate-brown settee and a yellow-gold fainting couch. Two oversize hutches monopolized the wall space opposite him, while sewing baskets, fabrics and supplies occupied a low table in the far corner. To his left, impossibly steep stairs disappeared into an opening in the second floor. Beyond the living area, he glimpsed a narrow passageway that contained the dining table laden with dishes and, past that, the kitchen.

      The rich aroma of succulent meat and fresh-baked bread hit him. His mouth watered. Perhaps he was hungrier than he’d thought.

      As he understood it, until recently, six females had shared this cabin. That number was now at five. Despite the crowded nature of the space, they did a remarkable job of keeping it clean and clutter-free.

      Auburn-haired Jane, he found, did resemble Megan to a degree. While her hair and eyes were different, she had the same cheekbones, nose and chin, though that last part lacked her older 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