The Outcast Prince by Shona Husk Page B

women staring after him, and Lydia was willing to bet he never even noticed. But he was noticing her. Heat seemed to shimmer between them, but neither of them moved to take what they wanted.
    “They were in Gran’s room,” she murmured, not wanting to break the moment. Her toes curled, hoping he’d close those few inches and place his lips on hers. Should she lean forward and taste his lips one more time?
    The kiss was left untaken.
    “Shall I walk backward?”
    Walk backward? Her mind took a moment to catch up; he was talking about moving the trunk and getting on with the job. She had to blink and break the spell he cast to find her voice and form a coherent thought. How could he have that much effect on her? “I know the house better; I’ll walk backward.”
    With that they picked up the handles and hefted the first trunk out of the stable and across the garden and into the kitchen. The second trunk followed. Once they were out the stable looked, well, still full of stuff. Boxes, tea chests, and what looked like a saddle and tack against one wall, along with tools and a rocking horse that looked straight out of one of those decorating magazines—except for the cobweb.
    “There’s a lot in here.” He nodded to himself as if working out how long it was going to take to assess what was valuable and what was household junk.
    Yeah, and she had no idea what she was going to do with it. How much of Gran could she throw out? She didn’t have room for everything in her apartment. And yet she couldn’t imagine living here. She’d rattle around like Gran had, living in only a few rooms while the rest of the house crumbled around her. But it did seem silly to keep her own place while this one was empty. Gran had suggested so many times that she come back home and save her money, and she’d always refused, wanting her independence and distance from the house. A lump formed in her throat and she had to blink in case tears formed and fell. She wished she’d taken Gran up on her offer. Then they would’ve had more time together.
    “Do you ever look at the size of a job and wonder why you agreed to it?” Because if she was him, working after-hours to fit with her schedule, she’d be regretting ever taking the job, no matter how good the money.
    “Not this time. The house is amazing; for its age there have been few renovations and those that have been done don’t look tacked on.” He looked at her. “It would be a shame to lose it.”
    She looked away and studied the rear of the house, trying to see it as he must. As a historical treasure. But she could only regard it as her childhood home. She didn’t see the craftsmanship of the stonework or intricacy of the trellis that led up to her former bedroom. She saw the escape route she’d used to sneak out of the house when she was fifteen. Gran had caught her and explained that if Lydia wanted to go out all she had to do was ask and Gran would drop her off and pick her up and make sure she was safe. After that she’d always walked out the front door. Her poor Gran, yet she’d never complained about raising a teenager in her seventies and had never once said a bad word about her own daughter, Helen, even though it must have hurt.
    Caspian was right. Selling to someone who wanted to profit on the past would be wrong, but she couldn’t sell, then stipulate to the buyer how to use the property. There had to be a way to save the house and not send her into debt for the rest of her life.
    “I can’t make any decisions until everything gets valued and divvied up.” That was her excuse and she was sticking to it. Then she grabbed the door and indicated that stable time was over and it was time to work. They had to get something done tonight and she needed to know what was in the trunks. Especially the more frequently used one.
    He followed her back into the house. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
    She bit her tongue to keep from saying the obvious. “I’ll let