To Heal a Heart

by Anthea Lawson

  The wild walk, despite its appellation, only pretended to wilderness. For a disorienting moment Caroline saw the flower-streaked hillsides of Crete superimposed over the lush plantings. She shook her head. Of a certainty there were some of the same flowers, but the tulips and irises here were contained, not lavishly blooming wherever they happened to take root. This was England, after all. The center of London.

  She sighed.

  “Are you well, Miss Huntington?” Viscount Keefe stopped and put one hand over hers where it rested on his arm. “You seem a little distracted of late. Do you find my company tiring? Here, let us sit.” He guided her to a nearby bench decorated with artichoke finials.

  “Forgive me, my lord. There is so very much to do right now, and the invitations for the adoption ball my uncle and I are hosting must go out this week.”

  “Ah, yes. It is a wonderful thing to celebrate, your formal adoption by a peer of the realm. I fear you will have little time for me after the formal announcement.” He gave her a soulful look from those green, green eyes. “You will have too many admirers from which to choose.”

  “I hardly think so.” She smiled at him. “You underestimate yourself. Besides, it’s not ladylike to care too deeply for the children of the poor. I think few would desire the company of someone as single-minded as I—earl’s daughter or no.”

  He turned to face her, his look so earnest it made her breath catch. “Now it is you who underestimates yourself. Charity is not named one of the virtues for naught. Your generous nature is worth more than any status your adoption may bestow.”

  Warmth blossomed inside her at his words and she felt her smile soften. “Would you be my official escort for the ball that evening?”

  It was forward of her, but she had given the matter some thought. In spite of their time together he had not seemed assiduous in his wooing. Perhaps he was waiting for her to indicate a willingness to be courted. She had wrestled with the question for days now—was she willing to be courted by Viscount Keefe?

  Yes, she was. If she waited, there might not be another prospect like this handsome man. He shared her interests and was good company. He came from a fine family, was not at all objectionable in his person or habits, and seemed to like her regardless of her flaws. It was certainly better to spend time with him than alone with her memories.

  His eyes gleamed with emotion. “My dear Miss Huntington, nothing would please me better. I know you consider me a gentleman, but in this instance I must give way to less gentle and more manly urges.”

  He reached and tilted her chin up, leaned in until his lips brushed hers, then pressed more ardently against her own. A pleasant awareness spread through her, and the viscount seemed to be enjoying the kiss, but Caroline found herself waiting for the rush of desire to ignite her body. The viscount’s kiss was an altogether different sensation than…well, than what she had expected. But not unpleasant. Just less…She searched for the word. Tempestuous. And she was relieved at the fact—truly she was.

  At length he lifted his head and gave her a lazy smile. “You are a fresh English flower, Miss Huntington. Forgive me if I have bruised your sensibilities.”

  “Ah, well…” She realized she was supposed to be—what? Shocked? Titillated? “That was very nice. Thank you.”

  A look of disbelief flashed across his face, so quickly replaced by his smile that she thought perhaps she had imagined it. “I look forward to escorting you at the upcoming ball. And I have not forgotten our infirmary project.”

  Our project. Those words, more than any kiss, melted through her. She could come to love this man, she was certain of it.

  “Well, I’m afraid I must be off.” He rose. “Time seems to speed all too rapidly when we are together and all too slowly when we are apart. Shall I take you back to the house?”

  “No, my lord, thank you. I’ll sit a bit longer.” She felt fondness touch her smile.

  “Then adieu, my dear.” He broke off a nearby sprig of roses and presented it to her with an elaborate bow. “I shall call again soon.” His step was jaunty as he left the gardens.

  That had gone well—at least she thought it had. He had kissed her, yet had not pressed his advantage. A true gentleman. It was wrong of her to hope a single kiss could make her forget…everything.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  London, June 1848

  Alex descended from the cab and thrust his hands into the folds of his coat. He had forgotten how the chill of England settled to the bone. It even seeped past the impatience firing through him.

  Caroline. She was so close.

  The carriage ahead of him lingered at the curb, the passengers taking a glacially long time to disembark. He waited, a darker shadow against the night, while footmen with umbrellas hurried forward from the gaily lit mansion that was their shared destination. Light streamed from the Palladian windows on the ground floor, and through them he caught glimpses of brightly hued gowns and cascading tiers of flowers.

  He had hastened to London—the sea voyage interminable—wishing he had wings. Only to find, on the day of his arrival, that both Caroline and Pen were away from home and it was the eve of some tremendous ball at Twickenham House. The butler had grudgingly provided pen and paper so Alex could leave a note.

  After five minutes of holding the pen above the blank page, he had found he could not write to Caroline what he so desperately needed to ask. In fact, he could not write anything to her at all. Instead he had scribbled a few hasty lines to Pen and left it at that. He would see Caroline soon—though not soon enough to quell his urgency.

  The guests had finally entered the grand double doors of Twickenham House. Alex firmed his lips. Caroline had rather downplayed her circumstances, but it did not matter. He had grown up in this world, or one like enough to it, to navigate its waters with ease.

  He strode up to the doors, the footmen swinging them open at his approach, and handed over his dripping coat.

  “Your invitation, sir?” the butler asked, seeming impervious to the fact that Alex had been there just that afternoon.

  “Alex Trentham, of Ravensbridge. I am a late addition to the guest list.”

  The man nodded stiffly and ran one finger down the list, pausing at the end. “Very good, sir.” He bowed and waved Alex toward the ballroom.

  Bless Pen. Alex felt his shoulders ease. Although if his name had not been on that list, he would have scaled the back wall, or climbed through a window. He would see Caroline. Tonight. For the last two weeks every breath had held the echo of her name, every thought focused on coming here. On speaking with her.

  On making her his wife.

  He felt one corner of his mouth curl in an ironic smile. Rushing back to England—he never would have thought it. But some things were even stronger than the past.

  He had much to thank Pen for. When he had received her letter, standing outside his cottage on Crete, he had felt the oddest shock. As though the sky were a huge, curved bell arching over him that had just been struck. The reverberations of those words echoed through him even now.

  Caroline is in trouble. She needs you. Come as soon as you can.

  He had.

  Alex paused at the edge of the ballroom. It seemed the occasion was going along quite merrily. Huge pots of blue flowers edged the room, and the gas chandeliers threw a brighter light than he was accustomed to over the throng. His gaze skipped across the crowded room, searching for one face, one form…ah.

  Fire rushed from his soles, leaving a twist of flame burning in his chest. Caroline.

  Her garnet satin dress skimmed her shoulders and she was turned half away from him, her brown hair piled artfully atop her head, revealing the sweet length of her neck. It seemed a hundred years since he had seen her, and only a heartbeat. He knew her so intimately—the smell of her, the feel of her smooth skin beneath his hand, the spark of intelligent humor in her amber-flecked eyes.

  His gaze traced her slim silhouette. There was no sign of her belly rounding. Of c
ourse, the babe would not be showing yet; it had been slightly less than two months.

  She was here, in the same room with him, she was carrying his child, and that was all that mattered. He pushed his way into the bright assemblage, gaze never leaving her.

  ~*~

  “Are you enjoying your party?” Viscount Keefe asked as he escorted Caroline from one cluster of well-wishers to the next. “Your uncle seems well pleased. I could tell he was proud to make the announcement.”

  “Yes.” A flush of happiness filled her. She had not thought it would matter so much standing at her uncle’s side while he announced his plans to adopt her. She belonged.

  Even though some of the ton might gossip about it behind her back, most of her guests had seemed pleased for her. Cousin Reggie was incensed, of course. He had spent the evening stalking the edges of the room like a wet cat; it was a wonder he was even in attendance. Except for him scowling from the corners, it was a very convivial gathering.

  Viscount Keefe gave her his winning smile and set his hand over hers. He had surprised her when he arrived by presenting her with a small box containing the pearl earrings now gracing her ears. It was the kind of gift a suitor would give, and though he had made light of it, the message was clear. Her donning the gift had been a message in return.

  It seemed an understanding between them could not be far away.

  From the narrow-eyed glances of some of the young ladies, Caroline surmised there was a fair bit of envy. She tilted her head and glanced at her escort. His green eyes and tumbled mane of golden hair, his easy manner and charm were enough to set any number of hearts sighing. Even her own was not immune—what small part of it was left.

  Handsome, flattering, attentive—she was certain that in time the viscount would help her forget.

  It was unfortunate Pen had come to dislike him, though the girl could not quite explain why. Something about how he had brushed off the incident in the street, about how he was always rushing off at the end of their outings to other “appointments.” Caroline could not understand her friend’s antipathy, but the girl was young. In time Pen would see that Viscount Keefe was a fine man.

  Sound drifted through the room as the musicians on the far dais prepared—the trill of a flute, the answering call of a violin.

  “May I count on the pleasure of a dance with you?” he asked. “I want to boast of having such a lovely woman on my arm—the Earl of Twickenham’s new daughter.”

  “Almost new daughter. The Crown is rather slow about these matters, but my uncle did not want to wait any longer to make the announcement. It will be soon.”

  His gaze sharpened. “I would hope so. Ah, but it seems the orchestra is ready. Shall we?” His arm came about her waist and he turned them toward the dancing floor.

  Caroline took two steps, then halted, her legs refusing to carry her a step farther.

  All the warmth drained from her. Ice stilled her blood, closed her lungs. Dear heavens. Dear heavens.

  A dark figure was cutting across the room, directly toward her. She swayed and felt the viscount steady her, but all her attention was fixed on this shockingly unexpected guest. Her heart battered her chest as she met his deep indigo eyes.

  Alex.

  Here. In England. In Twickenham House. In her uncle’s very ballroom.

  It took no more time for him to cross the room than it did to cock a pistol.

  “Miss Huntington.” He bowed. His face, that face she could not erase from her dreams, was set, and his eyes blazed into hers. What was he doing here?

  Automatically, like a doll on a music box, she held out her hand. He took it, raised it to his lips.

  Thank heavens for the formality of her gloves. She would not be able to bear touching him. Not now, not here, in the middle of the ballroom. His presence sparked against her skin, tiny embers flung from some conflagration. Contact like that, skin against skin, would ignite something perilous within her, and she could not—could not—acknowledge what it meant. He was here.

  Memories pressed against the back of her throat. She pushed words past them.

  “Mr. Trentham. What…” She swallowed. “What a surprise to see you.”

  “Is it?” He raised one brow and released her hand. “How could I stay away once I knew?”

  Knew what? She was drowning, here in a sea of laughter and gay chatter, going soundlessly under. She clutched her escort’s arm.

  “Excuse me,” Viscount Keefe said. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Sir?” His voice was wary, as though facing a creature that might be dangerous.

  Alex’s eyes flicked to the viscount, then back to her.

  “Viscount Keefe,” she forced the air to move through her lungs, “this is Mr. Alex Trentham. Recently of Crete.”

  The words splashed like stones into a pool, sending ripples in every direction. Her escort leaned back, as if absorbing their meaning. After a too-long moment he spoke.

  “Crete? I take it you know Miss Huntington?”

  “I tended her when she was injured during her travels.” Although the words were for the viscount, Alex did not release Caroline from his gaze. His eyes carried the memory of just how well he knew her.

  He had to leave—she must make him leave.

  “Did you?” Viscount Keefe’s arm dropped from her waist.

  “My lord.” Caroline turned to him. “Please—I need a moment to speak with Mr. Trentham.” She silently urged him to agree, sure the entreaty was clear on her face.

  The viscount’s brows drew together as he studied her, his perfect countenance marred by his frown. “Very well. If you insist.” Was that a tinge of relief in his voice? “I shall just…fetch some refreshment.”

  As soon as he faded into the crowd, Alex stepped forward. Close, too close. The air around him was going to singe her.

  “Alex.” She lowered her voice. “Please. You must go. This is not the place to discuss… whatever it is you are here to discuss. I will see you soon—tomorrow—whenever you like. But not now.”

  Not while she was trying to understand that he was truly in England. Not while her ball flurried about her. Not while Viscount Keefe’s pearls dangled from her ears and her body burned to feel Alex’s touch, in spite of everything.

  “No.” He stood unmoving, his feet planted as though he had grown up from the floor.

  They were, both of them, frozen, but Caroline felt it, the inevitable pull forward. Two steps and she would be in his arms. She dragged in a breath, past the yearning that seemed to coalesce in the air around them.

  “Well, well.” Her cousin Reggie’s smooth voice cut through. “What have we here? A damsel in distress? An uninvited guest? Shall I summon the footmen?”

  Caroline half turned and her cousin immediately insinuated himself between herself and Alex, his lips set in their usual half smirk. He raised one thin brow at her, clearly waiting.

  “Ah. Reggie—Lord Rowland,” she amended, “allow me to introduce Mr. Alex Trentham.” She continued; better to have it all in the open now than wait for Reggie to pull the information out with his barbed hooks. “Mr. Trentham was my doctor when I was injured on Crete. If not for him, I doubt I would have made such an excellent recovery.”

  Her body was mended, at any rate. Her heart felt more fragile than ever.

  “Was he?” Her cousin drawled the words. “Your doctor. Imagine.” He turned to Alex. “And now you are in England. What brings you all this way, I wonder. Is this still part of the treatment?”

  “Of course not.” She felt heat color her cheeks. “He was just leaving.”

  Reggie fingered his diamond stickpin and studied her with eyes dark as coal smoke. “And where is your escort for the evening? The oh-so-attentive Viscount Keefe, who is seen at nearly every Society gathering, paying you diligent court.”

  “He is?” Alex turned to her. “That viscount fellow?”

  “Do you find that surprising, Mr. Trentham?” she asked.

  A shadow passed over his features. Re
gret? She could not name it, and it was instantly replaced with something else—a look that burned straight through her. He took a step forward, but Reggie gave no ground.

  “The viscount is considered quite a catch.” Reggie’s voice was like oil. “Although, so is my cousin, now that she’s going to be adopted.” He curled his lip and glanced at Caroline. “No wonder his lordship looks at you so admiringly.”

  “Viscount Keefe is not a fortune hunter,” she said, voice tight. “I’ve told you before, he and I met quite before this whole adoption idea of Uncle’s came to light.”

  Alex stepped closer. “You did? When?” There was a dangerous light in his eyes.

  “Right after I returned to England.” She held his stare without flinching, despite the storm gathering in his expression. He had squandered his chance. He had no claim on her.

  “Yes, fortuitous for both of them.” Reggie’s voice was silkily amused. “Otherwise I’m sure Caroline would be beset by ineligible suitors at every turn. The strangest people seem to turn up out of the woodwork when there’s a whiff of money in the air.” He brushed a miniscule bit of lint off his sleeve. “But you were just leaving? Don’t let me detain you.”

  She felt lightning gather about them and gave Alex an imploring look. Go. Just go. Their gazes held for a heartbeat too long.

  “Miss Huntington. I’ll call on you tomorrow.” His eyes darkened and moved to Reggie. “Lord Rowland. It was most… instructive to make your acquaintance. Good evening.”

  Caroline did not release her breath until Alex had turned and strode away. The air in the room seemed to lighten as he parted the crowds by the door and was gone.

  Dear heavens—she did not know how she would endure a private meeting with him. Why had he come to England? And why insist on seeing her? The questions throbbed against her temples.

  “Hmm.” Reggie’s black gaze scanned the room. “No sign of your erstwhile suitor. He’s doing a damnable job of things if he left you in the company of that Trentham person. Well, enjoy the rest of your ball, cousin dear.” He gave her a mocking bow and left.