by Diana Quincy
The banging grew louder, confusing her, since she’d stopped slamming her fists against the walls. Cam seemed to hear the noise. Still surrounded by the children, he stopped and looked toward Charlotte, his eyes glistening with recognition. Smiling, he extended his hand and called her name. Charlotte. Charlotte.
She opened her eyes, struggling to answer as the fog between deep sleep and misty wakefulness began to ebb. It took her a moment to realize she was abed in her chamber with the form of a large man standing at the foot of her bed. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, bringing Cam into full view.
Concern lit his eyes. “Charlotte, what the devil! You gave me such a fright.” He exhaled, shoving both hands through his unruly hair. “Why did you not answer when I knocked on your door?”
“I was sleeping.” Still groggy, she pulled herself into a sitting position with a yawn. “I hadn’t planned on entertaining visitors.”
Cam’s glance dropped to the jiggle of her unfettered breasts loose beneath her thin cotton gown. Flushing, he immediately lowered his gaze and turned away, but not before the hot flash of desire in his eyes curled Charlotte’s toes.
Now fully awake, she reached for the dressing gown from near the foot of her bed. “What are you doing here?”
Molly appeared in the doorway wearing her nightclothes. “Miss, are you all right?” Out of breath, she darted a look at Cam. “Oh, my lord, you have found her.”
“Found me? What is going on, Camryn?” Pulling on her dressing gown, she glanced out of the dark window. “What time is it? Why are you in my bedchamber?”
Cam nodded to Molly, his back still to Charlotte. “Please inform His Grace that Miss Livingston is unharmed and undisturbed.” Molly nodded and hurried away in the direction of the stairs.
“What is going on?” Alarm rolled in her stomach. “You’re frightening me.”
When he turned to face her, she registered his state of undress for the first time. His white linen shirt hung loosely over breeches as though he’d pulled it on in a hurry. Tawny-colored hairs dusted the strong expanse of chest left bare by his open collar. He wore the snug white breeches that seemed to outline every lean, hard curve. And his feet and lower legs were bare.
Her mouth watered. Aside from her father and brother, she’d never seen a man’s bare calves. His were rounded with muscle and sprinkled with the same coarse hairs that licked his throat. His high-arched feet were smooth, with long, elegant toes topped by trim, clean nails.
“There was an intruder,” he said. “He made it above stairs before one of the night footmen saw him.”
She clutched her dressing gown around her. “Someone got in?” She shivered at the thought of a strange man lurking outside her unlocked bedchamber door.
“He made his escape, unfortunately.” Clearly agitated, Cam stalked around her room, stepping into her separate dressing room to give it a sweeping glance. “Hartwell has the staff conducting a search of the house and the grounds. We must make certain it was just one intruder and that he is indeed gone.”
“Was anyone hurt? Willa?”
“No, no. She is fine. So far it appears the staff is also unhurt and accounted for.” He strode across the room, checking the windows, eyeing the door to the small balcony she’d left slightly ajar. “Charlotte, it is not safe to leave this door open and unlocked.”
“I like a bit of fresh air,” she answered, her thoughts elsewhere. “Who could it be do you think, Cam? What do they want?”
He paced across the room. Coming to a stop with his hands on his hips, he faced her with a somber gaze. “It could be the Luddites. We cannot exclude the possibility.”
Putting her hand over her mouth, she sank down to sit on her bed. “Oh, no. I hope it has not come to that.” She looked up at him, considering the ominous implications. “To trespass upon a duke’s domain, to threaten his family.”
A low clatter sounded on her balcony. She jumped up as Nathan let himself into her room through the balcony door. His blue gaze swept from her to Cam, narrowing at the sight of another man in her room.
“What the?” Rage colored Cam’s face. With a furious roar, he leapt at Nathan, landing noisily atop the man, pummeling him in a violent fury.
Nathan went after Cam, too, unleashing the pent-up anger Charlotte knew had built for years. The two men hacked at each other with brutal ferocity, throwing blind, untutored punches fueled as much by anger as surprise.
“Stop it!” Panicked, Charlotte dodged the haphazard blows while trying to pull them apart. “Stop it before you kill each other!” The men fell to the floor, rolling across it together in a violent embrace, thumping into furniture, toppling a small table that clattered to the floor. “Stop it, Cam! Nathan! Stop right now.” She blanched when she saw blood, uncertain of whom it belonged to.
“Good Lord, Cam! Don’t be an idiot. Stop all of this before you kill each other. Nathan Fuller is not my lover. He is my brother.”
Chapter Ten
It took a moment for the words to penetrate Cam’s fog of fury. He’d waited a long time to pummel the man who’d kept Charlotte from him.
Not her lover. Her brother.
Elation ballooned in his chest. Giving Fuller one final shove, he rolled into a sitting position, his bent legs splayed out in front of him, his feet planted on the floor. “What the devil do you mean?”
“My brother.” She sank down on the bed, her tone one of weary resignation.
He stared at her. “How is that possible?”
“Are you daft?” Gripping a nearby chair, Fuller hauled himself to his feet, his hand coming up to gingerly assess his bloodied nose. “There is only one way it usually occurs. I am her father’s by-blow.” He inhaled a harsh breath. “Is that clear enough for even you to understand?”
Cam studied Fuller, for the first time really taking in the light blue eyes and long, trim frame, which now struck him as familiar. So like the man’s sister. He felt like a fool. Had he ever bothered to look, really look, he would have hit upon the truth, which had been right there in front of him all along. Physically, Fuller resembled his sister far more than the shorter, rounder Shellborne did. Now Fuller’s cultivated manner began to make perfect sense. He’d been born a baron’s son.
“That explains why you don’t have a servant’s bearing.” He gingerly touched his tender lip. “If you were acknowledged and your father saw fit to educate you, why the devil are you in service?”
“My sire did not acknowledge me.” His lip curled. “He allowed my education with a governess but no further. Everyone at Shellborne Manor accepted that I was his issue. Regardless, he died without making any kind of provision for his bastard son.” Fuller narrowed his eyes. “Now that we have settled that, perhaps you would care to explain what you are doing in a state of undress in my sister’s bedchamber?”
Cam heaved himself off the floor, not missing the ominous look on Fuller’s face. “There was an intruder in the manor. I came to assure Char…uh…your sister’s safety and wellbeing.”
Fuller’s brows knit. “An intruder?”
“You also have some explaining to do,” Charlotte said to her brother. “Why are you stealing into my room in the dead of night?”
Cam swung around to look at her, surprised by the sound of her voice. He had almost forgotten her presence. The excitement of the evening shone in her radiant eyes, contrasting with the heightened color of her cheeks. Her flimsy wrapper clung to the soft contours of her sweet breasts and the subtle flare of her hips, leaving little to the imagination.
Praise heaven she didn’t wear a nightcap. Her silky, straight tresses tumbled loosely about the shoulders, streaming down the small of her back like a satin curtain. The cinnamon-colored locks were much longer than he’d anticipated. The glistening strands draped over her exquisitely rounded bottom. Heat pooled between his legs.
Thankfully, Fuller and his sister were focused on each other. A sheepish expression replaced Fuller’s usual dark countenance. “I came to
apologize for my base behavior earlier today in the stable.”
She crossed her arms, a movement that hoisted and jiggled her breasts and made Cam’s mouth go dry. “It was unworthy of you.”
A slight smile tugged at Fuller’s surly lips. “Yes. And knowing how obstinate you are, I surmised if I did not come to you, you wouldn’t come to the stable, perhaps for weeks, to punish me for my boorish behavior.” He quieted, looking toward the open door at the sound of strong, purposeful footsteps approaching in the hallway. Fuller spun around and leapt through the balcony doors just as Hart appeared in the doorway. Cam stepped toward the duke, attempting to shield Fuller’s exit from the duke’s view.
Hartwell’s forehead rose at the sight of Cam’s disheveled appearance and bloodied lip. “Are you well, Miss Livingston?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Bright red spots painting each of her cheeks, Charlotte tightened her wrapper around those lovely curves. “Quite well. Thank you.”
The duke’s dark gaze surveyed the chamber, his inspection pausing at the overturned table, before landing squarely on Cam. “What happened to you?” He spoke over the bridge of his nose, his haughty, authoritarian manner reminding all present of his ducal status. “If I may ask.” Only, of course, it was more of a command than a question.
“I’m afraid I tripped when I came to check on Miss Livingston. In the dark and all, you understand.” Cam shrugged one shoulder. “Frightfully clumsy of me.”
Biting her lip, Charlotte looked to the floor, clearly embarrassed by the flimsy excuse. Granted, it wasn’t the most graceful lie, but he’d had to come up with it on rather short notice.
Hart’s eyes narrowed, his glance skipped between the two of them. “I see,” he finally said in a tone that suggested he didn’t believe one word of the ham-fisted tale. “Are you certain you are unharmed, Miss Livingston?”
“Yes, of course, quite,” she said, tugging on her left earlobe.
She really was the worst of liars. Cam knew how the scene looked. His unkempt appearance and swelling lip suggested she’d had to fight off his unwelcome advances. The thought caused a wide grin to spread across his face.
The duke’s brows seemed permanently arched. “I fail to see what you find so amusing, Camryn.”
Cam merely shrugged and brushed off his clothes.
Charlotte winced. “I assure you, Your Grace, all is well.”
Hart’s midnight-blue eyes looked thoughtfully at her for a long, silent moment. “I am pleased to hear it.” His gaze drilled into Cam, who responded with a careless smile. “I would be most displeased if Miss Livingston experienced any distress while under my roof.”
Returning his full attention to Charlotte, the duke said, “Footmen will be stationed along the corridor for the remainder of the evening. Rest assured no one will be able to enter your bedchamber unchallenged.”
“Thank you,” she squeaked.
“I bid you good night, Miss Livingston.” Hartwell turned to go. “Camryn, do join me for a brandy in my study.” It was a ducal command rather than a friendly invitation, but Cam had no fear of his old friend, even at his most imperious.
With an exaggerated stretch and a forced yawn, he said, “Actually, I think I shall turn in. This evening has been most exhausting.” He bowed toward Charlotte, making no effort to temper the wide grin on his face. “Good night, Miss Livingston. I hope you sleep well. I know I shall.”
…
Rain greeted the morning, casting Fairview Manor in a soft mist, which Cam hardly noticed when he sauntered into the breakfast room. Hartwell sat alone at the head of the long mahogany table brooding over a cup of coffee.
“Good morning.” Surveying the offerings laid out on the sideboard, he piled baked eggs, ham cakes, kidney pie, sweet buns, and warm rolls onto his plate before settling down at the table. Peering into his old friend’s dark face, he asked, “Why so glum, Hart?”
“Perhaps because an unknown intruder broke into my home last night.” The duke leaned into the table, propping his chin in his hand while focusing his blue-black eyes on Cam. “You are extremely cheery today.”
“And why not?” He took a large bite of baked eggs and reached for his coffee. “It’s a beautiful day.”
“If one prefers damp and rainy weather.”
He glanced toward the window, his brows shooting up when he spied rivulets of water clinging to the glass. “Funny, I hadn’t noticed.”
Hart eyed the generous helping of food on Cam’s plate. “May I ask what inspires your lust for food this morning?”
“I feel awfully close to being leg shackled, my friend.” Grinning, he leaned forward, pointing with his fork. “Look at it as a condemned man’s last meal.” He guffawed at his own joke.
With a motion of his hand, Hartwell dismissed the two footmen in the room. The door closed behind them, leaving Cam alone with the duke. “You and Miss Livingston, I presume?”
“You presume correctly.”
“Am I to understand the two of you came to an understanding last evening?”
“Not precisely.” Cam took another bite. “However, I will bring her around.”
One side of Hart’s mouth twitched upward. “How exactly do you propose to do that?” He eyed Cam’s swollen lip. “If last night is any indication, you might not survive another effort to persuade her.”
“She’ll come around. I will see to it without delay.”
Hartwell’s face darkened. “Heed me. I will not allow Miss Livingston to be subjected to unwelcome advances. She is a guest in my home. If you dare to compromise her—”
“Then I will be forced to marry her. Exactly!” Cam sat back in his chair, relishing a surge of triumph. “And, of course, we will have to be quick about it.”
Crossing his arms, Hartwell leaned back against the carved wooden back of his chair. “Your idea of a courtship is to compromise Miss Livingston into marrying you?”
“Brilliant, isn’t it? Although, I much prefer the term seduction. After you caught me in her chambers, it occurred to me that I’ve been missing the most obvious way to make Charlotte my wife.” Publicly compromising her would achieve his goals as handily as a private seduction, perhaps even more so. “By the way, nothing improper happened last night. But if I have my way, it will soon.”
“You plan to purposely compromise Miss Livingston in order to get her into your marriage bed.” Hart shook his head. “You are aware that you are a marquess, are you not? You hardly have to stoop to trickery to catch a woman.”
“Why not?” Cam scraped the last bit of eggs onto his fork. “It worked for you and you’re a duke.”
Hartwell scowled. “That is different.”
“How so?” Cam swallowed his food. “You compromised my cousin. I caught you. You were forced to marry her. I am simply suggesting a similar scenario to hasten my courtship as well.”
The duke stiffened. “Unlike what you are suggesting, the circumstances surrounding my unexpected betrothal were indeed accidental. And I was not forced to marry Willa. I did the honorable thing and offered her marriage.”
“Yes. As I recall, it was either that or face me on the dueling field, and we both know I am a better shot. So really what choice did you have?”
“Yes, thank goodness,” Hartwell said, smiling softly. “There was no choice.”
“Anyhow, it might not come to that.” Cam stretched, straining his arms high into the air. “I believe last evening has altered the situation between myself and Miss Livingston.”
“How so?”
“It is complicated. Let us just say the circumstances between Miss Livingston and myself have changed. I have reason to be hopeful.” He looked toward the door impatiently. “The ladies are certainly getting a late start this morning.”
Hartwell rose, tossing his napkin aside. “My wife remains abed. She is fatigued after the events of last evening. I have a meeting with my steward to discuss security matters after last night’s breach.” He headed through the breakfast room
doors. “Miss Livingston has already taken her morning meal.”
“What?” Cam shot to his feet. “Why did you not say so?”
“I just did.”
He followed Hartwell out into the hallway. “I wonder where she is.”
“I believe she mentioned taking a turn in the galleries above stairs,” Hartwell answered as he disappeared in the direction of his study. Anxious to see Charlotte, Cam bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time.
Fairview was opulent by any standards and the manor’s generous wood-paneled gallery, with its stucco ceilings, false domes, and high-arched windows, was no exception. The longest room in the manor, it ran the entire width of the house. Its walls were lined with Belgian tapestries intermixed with ancestral portraits of the past Dukes of Hartwell. Willa often strolled in the gallery when inclement weather kept her from her daily walk through the gardens. Charlotte, it seemed, had adopted the same habit.
A burst of warmth shot through Cam’s body when he found her striding through the galleries at a determined gait. Her simple moss morning gown brought out the blue of her incandescent eyes, the soft folds clinging to the enticing turn of her breasts before falling straight down, skimming the rest of her quiet curves. The hair he now knew to be long and silky, truly her crowning glory, was pulled up, leaving just a few soft tendrils to fall about her slim elegant neck and delicate shoulders.
His pulse drummed at the sight of her. He was continually surprised by his reaction to her. There were far more beautiful women, but none who fired his blood the way Charlotte did.
He fell in step beside her. “Miss Livingston, may I join you?”
She favored him with a cautious smile. “Of course.”
“And how are you this morning?”
She slowed her steps. “I owe you an apology.”
“Whatever for?”
“For not being truthful about the nature of my relationship with Nathan.” She stopped to face him. “I have been dissembling with you. Of course, you were already aware since I am a terrible liar.”
