Flora's Wish (30 page)

The moonlight slanted deep silver across his face, casting his green eyes in shadow. And yet the amusement that touched the tips of his mouth was unmistakable.

“What is so funny?” she asked, her hands on her hips.

“Are you finished?” he asked in that irritatingly calm demeanor he appeared to enjoy.

“You are a most frustrating man, Mr. McMinn. Do you or do you not know that?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. He was standing close, far too close, though the walkway would allow no less. “Yes or no?” he demanded.

“I don't know. I've forgotten the question. Or questions. Or…oh!” The deck shuddered under her feet, and Flora stumbled.

He reached out to grab her just as the railing behind her snapped. Hauling her back from the edge, he pressed her tightly against his chest. Flora looked over at the gaping hole where she might have tumbled into the river or, worse, down to the deck below.

And then she began to shake.

Be it fear or the realization of how close she came to disaster. Or perhaps it was all of the frustration she felt at trying to be a good daughter, sister, granddaughter, and bride-to-be. Or maybe it was just the fact that all of these things had left her clinging to the man whose very presence in her life threatened all the things she held dear.

“Hey, now,” he soothed. “Everything's fine. You're fine.”

She looked up into those impossibly green eyes and felt his strong arms around her. And then her tears began to fall.

“Oh, no. Don't you dare,” he said softly, all pretense of the man-in-charge attitude now gone. “Don't cry. Not here and not now.”

“I…” Flora blinked but her tears still shimmered. “I'm not crying. Not on purpose.”

He held her against his chest, and she nestled against his heartbeat. “Flora,” he said after a few moments, his deep voice rumbling against her ear. “Flora, look at me.”

She did, moving slowly to stare up at him as he reached into his pocket with his free hand and dabbed at her tears with his handkerchief. “It's clean, I promise,” he said.

Flora crushed the white linen square in her fist and once again rested her head against his lapels. For a moment the rumble beneath her feet and the symphony of noises melded together to soothe her. And then, slowly, Lucas McMinn began to move.

To dance.

“What are you doing?” she asked as she fell into step with him.

“I'm dancing in the rain,” he said with a wicked grin.

“It's not raining—”

“Funny, but my shirt is wet,” he said as he spun her around and hauled her back against his chest. Then he kissed her.

H
e kissed her.

Lucas held Flora Brimm close, as much to keep himself upright as to buy time before he had to look her in the eyes. What was he thinking? Personal custody did not include acting like a love struck fool.

At least he told himself that as he swallowed hard and dug up the courage to hold her at arm's length. He should say something. Anything. After all, he was the one in charge here.

But her lips were so soft, and her eyes were so blue. And the tears that still dampened his shirt had also soaked right through his ability to think straight.

She looked up at him with a slow sweep of her gaze, finally colliding with his stare. Lips he'd just kissed now turned up in what could almost be called a smile.

“We should go back in there,” she said softly. “People will be wondering where we are.”

“You're probably right.” He took his handkerchief from her hand and dabbed at her cheeks and then stuffed it into his pocket. Spying a curl that had come unpinned, he grasped her shoulders and turned her around. “Let me repair this so no one thinks you've come undone because of me.”

She glanced over her shoulder, a thick strand of fiery hair still curled in his palm. “And yet I have, it seems.”

So had he, but he would never admit to it. “Miss Brimm,” he said with his most authoritative voice, “you should turn around now so I'm not tempted to do that again.”

With a nod she complied. When he'd repinned that curl and several more that her maid had poorly styled, he turned her back around to face him. “All right, let's go back in.”

Another nod and she did as he asked. Without comment or complaint. That's when Lucas began to worry.

He followed her inside. Just before they reached the dining room, he reached to stop her progress. “Miss Brimm,” he said when he had her attention. “About that kiss.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, and her expression one of complete innocence. “What kiss?”

Lucas paused only a moment. “Yes, right,” he managed as he watched her weave her way through the maze of tables to return to her seat.

If he waited until his heart stopped racing and his thoughts cleared, Lucas was certain he would be standing there like a fool until well past the time the steamboat docked in Natchez. And of all the inventions he and Kyle had created over the years, there wasn't a single one he could call upon to fix what he'd just done.

So he shouldered his pride and straightened his backbone and marched back to the table as if he hadn't just kissed the most beautiful woman in the room. By the time he reached his seat next to Flora, he'd almost convinced himself he could actually pull it off.

“Well, there he is,” Mrs. Lennart exclaimed. “Everything all right?”

“Just dandy,” he said as he braved a sideways look at his companion. “Right, Miss Brimm?”

“Dandy,” she said with what he knew was forced good humor. “Yes, absolutely.”

As the Lennart women dug in to their meal, Lucas tried to do the same. And yet every time he spied Flora out of the corner of his eye, all he could think of was how good she felt in his arms, how helpless he felt as her tears dampened his shirt, and how soft her lips were when they pressed against his.

It was enough to drive a sane man crazy. And yet Lucas somehow managed to plaster on an interested look while the Lennart ladies talked on and on about who knew what. He'd just about managed to get his mind back to where it belonged, and then the dessert course arrived.

The steward presented the silver serving dish and placed it at the center of their table. Then, with a flourish, he removed the domed lid to reveal chocolate cake.

Flora started to giggle, a quiet little sound that unless Lucas had been paying attention, he might have missed. He slid her a sideways glance and caught her looking at him.

That's when he burst into laughter.

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Lennart said. “I wish you would let the three of us in on the joke.”

“Actually, it's not really all that funny, I suppose,” Flora said. “Mr. McMinn and I were recently in Eureka Springs. And during our stay there, we had the most delicious chocolate cake, didn't we?”

Lucas stabbed his fork into the cake on his plate and nodded. He might have attempted words, but at that point they likely would have made no sense.

“You and Mr. McMinn were in Eureka Springs together?” Mrs. Lennart asked.

“At the same time,” Flora said carefully, “but no, not together. I was there with my grandmother. Perhaps you know her? Millicent Brimm?”

“Of course I know her. Lovely woman, your grandmother.”

“Yes, she is,” Flora continued. “She suffers a bit from aches that the waters in Eureka Springs tend to soothe.”

“So, Mr. McMinn, how do you and Miss Brimm know each other?” Eudora Lennart asked, her attention fully focused on Lucas.

He couldn't resist teasing her. “We met while searching for a chessboard. Isn't that right, Miss Brimm?”

“Don't pay any attention to him,” she said. “My fiancé is a mutual acquaintance of ours.”

“And now you're traveling together?” Mrs. Lennart asked.

“No,” Flora said quickly.

“Actually, yes,” Lucas amended. “I'm escorting Miss Brimm to Natchez in her grandmother's absence. Mrs. Brimm had to leave the city early, so I agreed to see to the safe arrival of Miss Brimm and some of the Brimm household staff.”

“So this fiancé. Is he one of the dead ones or is this a new man?” This from the other Lennart daughter. Delphine? Or was it Delphinium? He hadn't paid close enough attention to recall.

Whatever her name, this woman's expression told Lucas she was clearly pleased she'd jabbed Flora. Not a good reflection on the woman and, because the other sister and the mother didn't seem to mind the bad behavior, it wasn't a good reflection on them either.

He thought of several possible retorts but decided to remain silent. None of the things he wanted to say to this Lennart daughter would endear him to her or the rest of her family. Lucas settled instead for taking a bite of cake.

“Ladies, this cake is delicious,” he said in an attempt to steer the conversation away from the current topic.

“He is my current fiancé,” Flora said. “I'm sorry, but would you pass the water pitcher, Mrs. Lennart?”

“Yes, dear,” the older woman said. “And, Delphinia, do have some manners. Can't you see it still troubles Flora to speak of her lost loves?”

Three sets of eyes peered at his companion, leaving Lucas free to try and swallow the bite of chocolate cake that refused to go down. One by one, the Lennart females shifted their attention to him.

Apparently it was his turn to contribute to the conversation. And yet he had absolutely nothing worthwhile to say.

“Good cake,” he finally managed, which once again set Flora to giggling.

When he could keep quiet no longer, Lucas joined her and soon they both dissolved into full-fledged laughter.

“I wonder if they ever found those plates,” she said.

“Plates?” Eudora asked.

Lucas instantly sobered. “Didn't you leave a note with the chef?”

“No, why would you say that?” Flora asked as she reached for her water glass.

He rested his elbows on the table and fixed her with an intense look. “Because that's what you told me. What was that you gave the waiter?”

Again the Lennarts were staring. Again, Lucas felt the pressure to say something to divert their attention. He ignored both.

“Oh. Well, about that.” Flora swung her gaze to meet his for the first time since they reached the table. “I did send a note to the chef. That's true. The thing is…” She took a drink of water and then another. Finally she returned the glass to the table. “The thing is, the paper was blank.”

“Blank?” He shook his head. “Why would you pass off a blank note to the chef? That makes absolutely no sense.”

“No, it doesn't, does it? Now about those elbows,” she said as she leaned toward him. “It's bad manners to eat with your elbows on the table. Best remove them.”

“I'm not eating right now, Miss Brimm, and you are dodging the question.”

“No, what I am doing is merely saving you the embarrassment that bad table manners can offer.”

He was not to be deflected. “Miss Brimm, answer the question.”