The Princess Wore Plaid by Karen Hawkins

Author:Karen Hawkins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Star

Chapter 6

Three weeks later, Buchan realized three truths. First, Tatiana was too polite to borrow more than one book at a time. Second, she was a fast reader. Which meant she visited Auchmacoy frequently.

And thus he discovered the third and perhaps hardest truth of all: he was weak. He’d tried his damnedest to stay away from her, but, like the first time, he found himself making excuses—a certain book he’d forgotten to lay out that he thought she might enjoy, or a belated decision to offer tea and deciding that expecting her to partake of it alone would be rude (as if such a consideration would have bothered him with any other guest), or just pure curiosity about which book she would select next, or—the list was endless. As was his fascination for this fey, strong, and bewitching woman. And with every visit, their talks lengthened, the topics became more personal, and he began to know her more and more.

Excuses kept him in her company, so he allowed them. But what he really wanted was her. To see her. To spend time with her. To be with her. And every day it seemed he found something else about her to admire.

He’d found ways to increase the frequency of her visits, too. The first week, he’d made the mistake of suggesting a longer tome, and it had been three days before she returned. After that, he found himself setting out thinner and thinner books, until this last time, he’d suggested a very slender tome of poetry, one barely forty pages in length. He’d been surprised when she’d accepted it and hadn’t requested another to go with it.

Now, only one day later, he found himself standing in the study, staring out the window, his heart racing at every movement on the path from the inn. I’m a fool. A desperately lonely fool.

But there was nothing to be done about it. He’d met her and, in some ways, he now knew her. Every moment he spent with her lightened his dark, drab life like the entrance of a thousand sparkling lamps.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the casement, his gaze glued on the path. Dr. Fraser had just left, and Buchan’s leg ached from the treatment. But he had to admit his mobility was better. Not good, but better. And yet still not good enough. Dr. Fraser had admitted just today that it was highly possible that though Buchan might regain mobility in his leg, traveling would always cause him great pain. The jolting of a coach was desperately hard on old wounds.

Buchan refused to think about it. A flicker of color caught his eye, and he leaned forward, his heart lifting. Tatiana appeared, walking through the fields that edged the garden, her chestnut hair flying wildly, her skirts and cloak whipped by the chilled wind. She is magnificent.

Buchan’s hands grew damp and he wiped them on his breeches. His reaction was not wild anticipation, he told himself firmly. It was nothing but the normal excitement of having a guest break the dullness of a day.

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