Teacup Novellas 01 - Tea With Emma Read Online Free

backed out the front door, casting another mournful glance at Ian’s injured foot before heading down the bricked sidewalk to his car. Ian used one of his crutches to shove the heavy door closed then wrestled his way back to the living area just off the foyer. He dropped into the soft leather chair, tossing his crutches on the floor beside him, then propped his booted foot on the matching ottoman.
    “It’s a bad sprain, Dr. Grant, but the x-rays show no broken bones. Just stay off your feet as much as possible and keep that foot elevated.” The ER physician had wrapped Ian’s right ankle and heel in a figure eight with miles of Ace Bandage.
    Now, with his eyes resting on the oversized boot covering his throbbing foot, Ian blew out a frustrated sigh and dropped his head back against the chair. “Splendid.”
    With only the ticking of the grandfather clock in the background,he closed his eyes and tried to figure out how he would prepare for his classes, navigate his way to and from the campus, or manage the simple things like showering and dressing. It was kind of Howard to offer to send help, but the last thing he wanted was some overzealous nurse smothering him day and night.
    “Blast those ridiculous girls!” Ian punched the arm of the chair with his fist.
    He’d seen them bothering with their bags as Martin arrived and made his introductions. It was bad enough to endure the flight from London with those two constantly twittering behind him. If he had heard one more word about Jane Austen, he would surely have lost his mind. A few daysin England and they fancy themselves experts on the entire life and works of Miss Austen. Typical Yanks.
    After arriving at the airport, they seemed to appear everywhere he turned in the terminal. Hard to miss the two of them. The dark-haired hippy with her long flowing skirt and stupendous floppy hat. The nerve of the woman, trying to tell me off. Absolutely appalling.
    And how could you miss the tall one with her all those strawberry curls . . . or were they reddish blonde? He remembered the wisps of those curls dancing as she walked, glistening in the bright sky-lit terminal. Even through his tirade on the plane, he’d noticed her fair skin with the faintest of freckles sprinkled across a perfect nose.
    Ian shook the image from his head disturbed by the thoughts. Good heavens, what’s the matter with me? Must be the painkillers they gave me at the hospital. But the imprint of her face continued drifting through his mind . . . her peculiar attempt at a smile after he’d chastised her on the flight. Were those eyes hazel or were they green? Green. Definitely green. I’ve never seen eyes so vibrant and alive. So . . . sincere?
    He felt his facial muscles relax for the first time all day. With a grunt, he rubbed his face. Women are nothing but trouble, be it here or across the pond. It must be in their Yankee DNA.
    Ian grabbed his crutches again and clumsily lifted himself off the chair. He wanted to check out his lodgings. Howard had described Bradford House, the university’s residence for visiting professors, as “comfortable and nicely appointed.” Indeed. He was pleased with his surroundings—the hardwood floors, the expensive leather furniture and works of art. Quite obvious the university took pride in housing guests here. The house, located in prestigious Hyde Park, was built in the late 1800s, according to Howard, but its caregivers had certainly outdone themselves keeping it up to date.
    He continued his slow awkward tour of the downstairs, relieved to find the master suite on the first floor. King-size bed. Whirlpool tub in the master bath. An oversized desk beneath a large window in the study. And at the back of the house, a modern kitchen fit for a king and well stocked at that. He grabbed a chilled bottle of water from the refrigerator, snatched a handful of red grapes, and hobbled back to the bedroom.   
    An hour later, after a long hot bath, Ian fell