Chapter Two

Ten Years before…

Lillian Lake dismissed her 10th grade boys to a din of whoops and hollers as they elbowed their way out a door far too small for their energetic bodies. “How about one at a time!” her voice tried to rise above the noise with little success. Though eventually the young men from her English Literature section, ties flying and blazers askew, burst into a corridor full of more youths on their way to the lunchroom and the soccer fields.

Once the classroom had cleared, a gentle quiet settled around the frazzled teacher, and Lillian took a deep breath as she looked toward the windows and the trees that rustled outside. The room felt silent and empty—almost empty—although a tickle at the back of her head in response to the sound of footsteps caused her to turn around.

And therehe was. First time Lillian Lake had ever laid eyes on Patrick Thornton-Wynn and she was momentarily frozen in her sturdy black day shoes, gazing into the man’s face. Brown eyes, neatly trimmed hair, a plain oval face – nothing particularly distinguishable about that, except for the impeccability of his manner. All starched and formal in his immaculate suit, he looked stern and bold, distinguished by his heritage and his position, if not his physical features.

A thin smile passed over his lips. “A little like hoodlums, don’t you think?” he tried to smile as he made reference to the hoard of young men who’d just passed through her classroom door.

Lillian was dazed. “Yes, they certainly can be,” her voice just short of breathless. The sudden flutter in her belly was most disturbing. To react so sexually to a man, a stranger, would be cause for concern, especially since it had been such a long time since she’d allowed herselfthose kinds of feelings. The serious, studious world of Foxwood-Forest Academy was not the place for attractive young teachers to appear sexual in any way. In one year, the twenty-four-year-old had managed to go from a gutsy, vivacious and very sensuous grad student to a perfectly robotic English teacher with the task of turning young men’s minds toward the pursuit of fine literature.

“Patrick Thornton-Wynn,” the man of thirty-five years strode forward and held out his hand.

“Lillian Lake.” She politely took his hand.

“I’m so pleased to meet you,” he said, trying another smile. They seemed hard to come by for Patrick Thornton-Wynn. He perfected stodgy as an art form far too early in his life, although he had his reasons. Still, seeing the lovely young teacher made him want to smile. Her thick hair, once neatly clipped back at the nape of her neck, was a little disheveled almost sexy now. What’s the common term? Dishwater blonde. Not brown, not blonde, somewhere in-between. She used only a little make-up, but didn’t need to use more; her beauty emanated from her naturally, giving her complexion an earthy glow. At the moment, her appearance was a little careworn and her face was flushed slightly, no doubt because he’d surprised her. Although she tried to look the part of the prim school teacher indicative of the Foxwood-Forest image, there was something a little rough, a little edgy about her, that shone through the artifice. He was glad. That edginess only enhanced her natural features. If he were good at all at guessing, he would suspect that her curvaceous and amply proportioned body fit into a size six. He particularly appreciated the gentle swell of her breasts, and could just barely make out the faintest little jiggle under her prim white blouse. On coming into the room, before she’d turned around, his eyes had lighted on her behind, which fit quite nicely into her navy knee-length skirt. He could have stared at it for hours.

But then she’d turn