Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(75)
“Good morning,” Ruark murmured, and his voice was like a gentle caress.
“Good day, sir.” Her own tone was bright and cheerful, almost laughing. “Will you stay for breakfast?”
“Will you be coming down?” His brow arched questioningly, but it seemed more a plea than inquiry he made.
Shanna glanced down at her attire and indicated it as she replied. “Papa wouldn’t approve, not with you here.”
“Then change,” Ruark urged. “But come. Will you?”
Shanna gave silent assent, and a smile slowly spread across Ruark’s face, showing his even, white teeth. He looked rakishly toward the dressing gown, and her breath held while his eyes boldly appraised her.
“Heedless of your father’s opinion, madam, I do approve most heartily. I’ll be waiting.”
Abruptly, without giving her time to reply, he turned and went back to where he had stood before. A moment later her father’s voice rang from somewhere in the bowels of the mansion, and Shanna hastily ascended the stairs again.
Once more in her bedchamber, Shanna hurriedly searched through the armoire for a suitable gown. Happily she snatched a garment out, frowned in displeasure at its wilted folds, and tossed it carelessly on the carpet, completely forgetting her usual neatness. A short time later Hergus entered to find her beneath a billowing skirt as it floated down around her, heaps of discarded gowns at her feet. Shanna thrust her arms through the fluffy sleeves, settled the endless yards of delicate yellow lawn over the hooped panniers, and then urged Hergus to lace her tightly and quickly. The long, gold-veined hair was pulled from her face and left to fall down her back beneath trails of yellow ribbon.
Shanna entered the dinning room like a fresh spring breeze sweeping in through the open door. Ruark quickly came to his feet in appreciation of her dazzling beauty and smiled into her radiantly glowing face. Trahern’s greeting was more abrupt. He had spent his lifetime toiling for substance and wealth, missing the lightheartedness of youth. He had not known a frivolous moment, and he saw a purpose or an advantage in everything. This caused him some difficulty in understanding his daughter. In his mind, she had no apparent goals for her life, appearing content to be without a husband and, therefore, childless. Indeed, she seemed to find more pleasure riding like the wind upon Attila’s back or bobbing effortlessly on a swelling wave.
“I’m about business, daughter. Give me none of your airs. Sit yourself down.”
Ruark hastened to assist her with her chair, pulling it out and holding it while she slipped into it. Shanna smiled her gratitude, and when Ruark resumed his place, Trahern muttered grumpily, “Bah! Young men! Heads turned at a moment’s notice! Any pretty filly!”
Ruark arched a brow at him and remarked, “Sir, if she were any but your own daughter, I do not doubt your head would also be turned.”
Shanna replied sweetly. “You flatter me overmuch, Mister Ruark.” She cast her eyes toward her father and raised her lovely nose in the air as if sorely injured. “ ‘Tis rare indeed I hear words of praise spoken of me here.”
“Hah!” Trahern barked. “Should I add coals to that fire, the whole island would be ablaze. Now, with your permission, daughter, may we progress with business?”
“Why, of course, papa.” The comers of Shanna’s lips lifted upward deliciously as the blue-green eyes twinkled with mischief. “Heaven forbid that I should interfere with business.”
“Damn, if you haven’t done just that!” Trahern scolded.
Ruark hid a smile behind his cup of tea and after a moment managed to present a serious face to the man. “Your question again, sir? I fear I have lost the thought.”
“Huh!” the older man snorted and turned his shoulder in such a way as to shut out his daughter. “I shall repeat it one more time. Now, about the mill. Will it be large enough to take produce from the other islands?”
Ruark nodded, and the talk drifted into minutiae. Accepting a plate from Milan, Shanna dined quietly from a bowl of creamed fruit as she watched Ruark covertly from the corner of her eye. The manner with which he conversed on matters completely foreign to her fascinated Shanna, and she saw the intelligence that so intrigued her father.
It was in the drawing room late that evening when Trahern expressed his hopes for the man, John Ruark.
“As I have been more the merchant than planter in my years, Shanna, ‘tis not necessary to tell you I welcome a more knowledgeable mind to advise me upon crops and mills. Since Mister Ruark has been here, he has done much to increase our wealth. When I am gone, you will need someone trustworthy to guide you in such matters. You have been away much of the time, and as an old man I may not live long enough to teach you all you should know. Mister Ruark is capable of advising you, and I am hopeful you will allow him to.”