A Tradition of Pride Read Online Free PDF

his book with you, so I'm sure you couldn't do that," Lara murmured with cool good manners.
    His brown gaze flicked from her to the staircase, her obvious destination. "Were you retiring for the night?"
    "I was going to my room to read for a while." She stifffened, uncertain why he had asked. A smile played at the edges of his mouth as if he was amused by the No Trespassing sign he saw in her green eyes.
    "Then I'm glad to have this opportunity to thank you for an excellent dinner," Rans offered.
    "We should thank you for the quail." This polite conversation was beginning to grate on Lara's nerves. She wished he would say goodnight and leave.
    "Would it be possible for me to leave through the courtyard?" He glanced over a broad shoulder at the exit door on the opposite end of the hallway. "It's a closer walk to my cottage from there."
    "You walked here?" A delicately arched brow lifted slightly. It was nearly a mile from the main house to the cottage through the pine woods.
    "Yes," the wicked light in his eyes appeared to mock her surprise. "I enjoy the fresh air and exercise."
    Lara chose not to comment further, but it was rare in this era of modern transportation for anyone to walk even a short distance. Instead she turned away.
    "The gate is locked. I'll get the key," Lara stated.
    "I don't mean to inconvenience you."
    "It's no trouble," she assured him coolly.
    The hall closet was concealed beneath the staircase. Pushing the latch hidden in the panel, Lara opened the door and reached for the ring of keys hanging in a far corner.
    After a second's hesitation, she removed a tightly woven, black wool shawl from its hook. The night air would be cool even in February. She turned as she draped the shawl over the shimmering red gold of her hair and around her shoulders, encountering the bemused look on Rans MacQuade's chiseled face.
    The tilt of her head was defiantly regal, the keys jangling in her hand. "Is something wrong, Mr. MacQuade?" Ice chilled her voice.
    "Seeing you like that reminds me of the chatelaine of a castle." He seemed to lazily draw himself up another, inch taller and half-turn toward the opposite end of the hallway. "Shall we go?"
    With an unconscious sweep of her skirt, Lara preceded him down the hallway to the far door leading into the miniature courtyard. The Spanish-styled house was built in the shape of a blunted u, forming a small courtyard enclosed on three sides by the house. The fourth side was a towering brick wall to ensure privacy. The only access, except through the house, was a sturdy wrought-iron gate in an arched opening of the wall. It was kept locked at all times.
    The front lawn of the house was bare of any flowering shrubbery or landscaped foliage. Loblolly and longleaf pine trees shaded the green grass with the aid of two wild magnolias. The courtyard, however, was rampant with leafy foliage that soon would be bursting into bloom. It was a cool and colorful retreat when the summer sun blazed overhead.
    At night, without the benefit of light from the courtyard lanterns, it was a dark, shadowy place. The pale moonlight illuminated only the small, circular fountain in the center. Lara disliked the aura of intimacy the night created by seemingly shutting off the rest of the world. Alone she enjoyed the quiet solitude, but not with Rans MacQuade at her side.
    "You have a very beautiful home, Mrs. Cochran," he observed his step to gaze about him.
    "Thank you." Lara was forced by politeness to check her desire to hurry him on his way and reduce her stride to his idly strolling pace.
    "It isn't often that a girl marries and doesn't have to leave home."
    Warily she glanced at him. Had she detected an undertone of cynical mockery in his comment? The shadows concealed his expression and she couldn't be certain.
    "As large as the house is, neither Trevor nor I thought it was practical to set up another residence," Lara found herself defending their decision. "And daddy didn't look forward to rambling