My Heart Stood Still by Lynn Kurland (best book club books of all time .TXT) 📕

Iolanthe was regarding the woman with openmouthed astonishment. Thomas looked at their waitress. All right, so it was the middle of November and definitely too cold outside for a sleeveless shirt and short skirt. Maybe it was hot in the kitchen.

"What would you like, Io?" he asked.

"Whatever they have," she said, not taking her eyes from the girl waiting for their order.

Thomas ordered tea and scones, then watched Iolanthe watch the girl walk away. She shut her mouth, then looked at him.

"Do they all dress thusly?" she demanded.

"Some do. Some don't. I think it's a little cold for that outfit, but maybe she's been cooking."

Iolanthe nodded uncertainly, then stared back out the window. Thomas sat back in his chair and took the opportunity to look at her. She was dressed in a gown she'd been given at Artane, her hair was hanging down around her face, and she'd thrown her cloak back over her shoulders. She looked as if she'd just stepped out of the pages of history, but that wasn't what made him smile. She was just so beautiful and so real. He couldn't get over the fact that if she'd allowed it, he could have reached over and held her hand. He could have kissed her.

He could have married her.

"Should I cut my hair, do you think?" she asked, twirling the end of it around her finger.

He blinked. "What?"

She looked over the other patrons. "Many women seem to have short hair. Should I cut mine?"

"No," he said immediately.

"I see you have an opinion on it." How could he tell her that the first time he'd ever seen her, she'd been standing in the middle of her great hall and the sun had been shining down on that riot of hair and it had been all he could do not to go over and gather great handfuls of it? That he had spent hours staring at the way it fell over her shoulders? That she never would have had to bribe him to brush it?

"Please don't cut it," was all he said.

"It is fashionable as it is?"

"Do you care?"

She blinked in surprise. "I thought... I mean, I assumed that—"

"I think you would look stunning in a horse blanket." He watched her digest that, then found himself wishing he hadn't said anything. Damn. She was furious.

"Then why did you bring me here," she exclaimed, "if not for me to look like these other women?"

"Ah," he said, searching for the perfect answer, "that certainly wasn't my intention."

"Wasn't it?"

"No," he said with feeling. "My mom and sisters love to shop. I thought you might like it, too."

She looked at him narrowly. "And that is all?"

"That's all. Definitely."

She drummed her fingers on the table as she looked around the cafe. "And do you like how these women look?"

"I hadn't really noticed."

"Then look."

He sighed and looked around. There was a collection of different women there for his perusal. He had a look, then shrugged. Nothing out of the ordinary. He turned back to Iolanthe to find her studying him closely.

"I looked," he said.

"And?"

"I'd rather look at you."

"That isn't my question."

He blew out his breath and wondered how he was going to get himself out of this one. Just when a guy thought he was doing the right thing ...

"It's what I'm accustomed to seeing," he said. "The way they dress. To be honest, I think many wear their trousers too tight, their shoes too weird, and their hair too short."

"I see."

"Dress how you like. Like I said, I'd rather look at you than anyone else, and I don't care what you wear. I just wanted to buy you what you liked and hope that you had a good time while we were at it."

She merely looked at him.

"You'll need warmer things," he said. "And boots probably. It snows at your keep, doesn't it?"

That caught her attention. "My keep?"

He could hardly believe he was going to say what he was going to say, but it was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"I thought you might want to go home soon."

"Oh," she said softly. Then she smiled at him, a smile of such radiance that he almost flinched. "Aye, I would like that."

He felt like he'd just signed his own death warrant.

"Boots," he said, finding that was just about all he could get out. "You'll need them for winter."

He suspected he would have felt better if she hadn't looked so damned relieved. In reality, he supposed he couldn't blame her. Maybe she just needed to go somewhere where she wasn't walking over her own grave. He could understand that. He didn't like it, but he could understand it.

He drank tea that tasted like poison and ate a scone that tasted like dust. He would have to let her go and hope she would remember him when she got used to her life. Maybe Ian wouldn't mind a boarder for the winter.

He could only assume it wouldn't bother Iolanthe to have him stay so close.

He'd obviously have to come up with a damned good excuse for mooching off her uncle several times removed. Maybe he could concoct some story about always having wanted to climb the mountains in her backyard. Maybe swordplay had been his burning desire, and now was the time to really hone his skill. Maybe he was going to start a new company with Ian as president. He was just certain that, given enough time, he could come up with a convincing story.

He spent the greater part of the afternoon working on that while at the same time convincing Iolanthe to buy more than just a pair of boots, which she so earnestly promised to repay him for that it broke his heart. She tried on the other things he asked her to, but he could see her mentally totaling up how much she would owe him.

"Iolanthe," he said with a sigh as he watched her reject half a dozen things she was definitely going to need up north, "will