Read Online A Lasting Impression by Tamera Alexander - Free Book Online

stranger to her. At least not completely. Having observed him with the workers at the train station, she’d glimpsed his lack of pretense, his sincerity of character, and she found herself wanting to trust that first impression.
    Very much.
    To her surprise, he walked toward her, the entire length of the pew, and stopped a respectable distance away. At least two feet separated them, but the distance felt much closer. He felt much closer.
    He offered another bow. “I’ve been remiss in my manners. Mr. Sutton Monroe at your service, ma’am.”
    She offered her hand, and he took it in his. His breath was warm against her skin, his lips soft, and his release all too swift. Claire had a difficult time not staring. Sutton Monroe . The name suited him.
    Acting on a whim, she gave a sweeping curtsy worthy of Emperor Napoleon’s court, careful to keep her stocking feet covered. “Miss Claire Elise Laurent . . .” She lifted her head as she rose. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Monroe. And my deepest apologies for endangering your life as I so obviously did with my earlier negligence.”
    His smile turned dangerously disarming.
    It occurred to her that perhaps her casual banter was giving him the wrong impression about what sort of woman she was. She looked into his sea-blue eyes and detected an inviting sparkle—and knew without a doubt that she was in trouble. Not because of any flaw in his moral fiber, but because she couldn’t stop looking at him. . . . At the quiet confidence residing in his features, the resilient strength in his manner. The smooth-shaven jawline and the fullness of his mouth. The way his dark hair fell in carefree fashion across one side of his forehead and curled at his temple.
    Her gaze lifted. And there again were those eyes. . . .
    Warmth spread through her, similar to moments before, only . . . different this time. But a good different. A very good different.
    His playful behavior fully convinced her that the fine lady mentioned in conversation yesterday by one of the workers must have referred to either his mother or a rich elderly aunt. And not a wife. Because she couldn’t imagine that this man—once having made a vow of faithfulness and oneness of heart—would ever do anything to tarnish it. Even a little.
    “Permit me an inquiry, Miss Laurent?”
    She lifted a brow. “ One, Mr. Monroe.”
    “Do I detect a trace of France in your voice?”
    “ Oui, monsieur. I was born in Paris.” She tilted her chin. “ Parlez-vous français, Monsieur Monroe?”
    He gave a hesitant shrug. “ Un peu. And not very well. But—” Pleasure crept into his expression. “I very much enjoyed your country.”
    All playfulness fell away. “You’ve been to France?”
    “ Oui, Mademoiselle Laurent.” His graveled tone and French accent touched places inside her that Claire hadn’t known words could reach. “I was in Paris this past March, in fact.”
    She mentally counted back. Only six months ago. “What was it like? What did you visit while there?”
    His look turned puzzled.
    She rushed to explain. “My family left Paris when I was but nine years old. I haven’t had occasion to return.” Vivid scenes rose in her mind, accompanied as always by the familiar scents. “What I remember best are the smells. The gardens of Les Tuileries, passing the open doors of pâtisseries on nearly every corner.”
    “ Mmmm  . . .” He briefly closed his as eyes as though he too were remembering. “Fresh croissants, steaming café au lait  . . .”
    “ Pain au chocolat, ” she whispered, her mouth watering.
    “And another pastry”—he squinted—“made in layers with vanilla cream and—”
    “ Napoléons, ” Claire supplied, feeling a pang of hunger. She pressed a hand against her stomach to quell the gurgle. “And did you happen to visit the Palace of Versailles?”
    The delight in his eyes answered before he did. “ Oui, mademoiselle. We enjoyed the privilege of breaking our