Capturing the Heart of a Cameron (Farthingale Series Novellas)

by Meara Platt

  CAPTURING THE HEART

  of a Cameron

  MEARA PLATT

  Published by Meara Platt

  Copyright © 2017 Meara Platt

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Author does not own any rights to music mentioned in this book.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Never Dare a Duke

  If You Kissed Me

  If You Loved Me

  The Farthingale Series by Meara Platt

  Sneak Peek of My Fair Lily

  About the Author

  NEVER DARE

  A

  Duke

  MEARA PLATT

  CHAPTER 1

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  October 1818

  WOMEN ARE MEANT to be seen by moonlight, Robert MacConnell, eighth Duke of Kintyre, decided, standing alone in the shadows outside Edinburgh Castle’s large ballroom. He ignored the cold breeze blowing off the Firth and watched in fascination as a young woman dressed in white silk abandoned the festivities and glided across the balcony near where he stood.

  Apparently unaware of his presence, she drew her shawl about her shoulders and lifted her gaze to the profusion of stars gleaming against the black carpet of night. It was a cold, blustery evening, more chill than usual for early October, which explained why the other two hundred guests had remained indoors, sensibly preferring warmth and bright candlelight to the wintery solitude.

  Robert preferred the solitude.

  He’d always disliked crowds and idle chatter, detested the scheming mothers who paraded their vapid, unwed daughters before him in the hope of acquiring his wealth. He particularly detested this assembled group of ton regulars, many of whom represented the cream of London Society presently in Scotland for grouse-hunting season. He found them to be a bloody nuisance.

  Bollocks, he thought, wishing he had not accepted the royal invitation to attend this evening’s ball, but that invitation had been issued by the Duke of Edinburgh himself and could not be declined. Nor would his cousin ever forgive him for the snub had he not shown up, for this gathering was in honor of the engagement of his cousin, Charles, to a grandniece of the powerful Duke of Lotheil. However, this branch of the Cameron family came with no vaunted titles or particular excellence. Frances Cameron, the middle daughter of Mr. Jeremy Cameron, a prosperous merchant, was reputed to be a rather plain and awkward young woman, but apparently rich enough to merit his cousin’s attention despite her unremarkable aspect.

  Since Robert had agreed to stand by his cousin’s side as best man at the wedding, he supposed it would be unpardonably rude to meet the bride for the first time on her wedding day.

  One more hour and I’ll leave.

  He wished to spend the remaining time standing in the shadows, particularly now that this young lady and her magnificent body, outlined in the moon’s soft glow, had joined him, for he was curious to know whether the glorious dark red of her hair was natural or a trick of the torchlight. He couldn’t make out the color of her eyes, but they had a seductive, cat-like slant to them that suited her heart-shaped face.

  He’d never met the girl before this evening, but had only himself to blame for declining most invitations to soirees, balls, and dinner parties over the past three years. “Lass,” he said and cleared his throat to alert her of his presence, but the wind carried his voice toward the Firth and the sound never reached her ears.

  “Star light, star bright,” she began, her gentle voice carrying straight toward him on the shifting wind.

  He fingered the champagne flute in his hand, debating whether to step out of the shadows and approach the delightful vision. A gentleman might be honor bound to do so in this situation, but few people considered him a gentleman despite his title.

  The lass suddenly decided for him.

  “I thought I was alone,” she said in surprise, turning in an attempt to catch her shawl as a gust blew it off her shoulders and tumbled it along the balcony so that it dropped at his feet.

  He set down his glass on the stone balustrade and knelt to retrieve it. “I didn’t wish to disturb you, not while you were lost in thought.”

  “I was studying the stars and admiring their reflection on the water.” She laughed warmly as he approached and then returned her gaze to the night sky. “Have you ever seen a lovelier display?”

  “I don’t believe so,” he said, referring to her and not the jeweled sky. He shook out her shawl, then stepped closer to place it upon her shoulders, his fingers lingering a moment longer than was necessary against the nape of her slender neck. She didn’t seem to notice, for her attention had already returned to the constellations gleaming overhead.

  “We don’t get many evenings such as this in London,” she said almost wistfully. “The air is usually filled with gray clouds or black smoke pouring from the chimney tops. I understand it’s much the same in Edinburgh, but not this evening. The sky is clear as crystal.”

  “London? You’re a long way from home.” He remained standing close, but leaned his hip against the balustrade, eyeing her and not the stars.

  “No, I’m back where I belong. I was born and raised in the Highlands,” she said with a laugh, her gentle brogue now evident, “but sent to London years ago to… well, the reason any young woman is sent to London when she nears the age to be presented. I’ve remained there three seasons now. I’m told I’m a very slow learner and have yet to acquire the requisite polish of a young lady in Polite Society.”

  He studied the delicate curve of her lips as she smiled and decided he was glad she had found her way here. “I’ve never cared for sophisticated women.”

  “Oh, I’ll never be accused of that.” She let out another gentle laugh. “Are you a MacConnell?”

  “Aye,” he said, his Scottish brogue sounding harsh beside her softer tones.

  She nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t recall meeting you before.”

  He ought to have mentioned that he was The MacConnell, but didn’t wish to reveal it just yet. “I’ve been occupied on business matters.”

  “I’ve only been in Edinburgh a few weeks, myself. I like it here. It’s ruggedly beautiful, although nothing compares to the Highlands for natural beauty. Have you seen much of the city?” She spoke of Edinburgh as though he were a stranger to the area, which he supposed he was, having spent most of his time traveling between his estate in Kintyre and the Royal Hospital in Sterling. However, he was to remain in Edinburgh for a while now that the expansion plans for this city’s largest hospital were in the final stages and construction would soon be under way.

  He’d opened his townhouse in Edinburgh and settled in months ago, but most of his time was spent in back streets this delicate creature would never be permitted to tread.

  She suddenly gasped, her attention caught by a fiery streak across the sky. “Oh, look! A shooting star! And there’s another! I wish I had my telescope, but I never thought to bring it along.”

  He stifled his surprise. “Yo
u own a telescope?”

  “A gift from my father when I was a little girl.” She glanced at him and smiled. “I used to spy on my brother with it, but no longer. I’ve reformed my wicked sisterly ways and now use it only for proper scientific purposes.”

  “Too bad, I’m certain your brother’s antics were much more fun.”

  She nodded. “They were.”

  About to say something more, she suddenly closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  “What are you doing, lass?” he asked, glancing lower as his attention was caught by the light swell of her perfect chest when she inhaled. Bollocks. Was there ever a more perfect set of—

  She opened her eyes and let out her breath while she tipped her chin up to gaze at him. “I’m making a wish,” she said, starlight shimmering in her green eyes. Yes, they were unmistakably green. A deep, jeweled emerald.

  “Is that one of your scientific purposes?” Robert stood by her side, his gaze wandering from her magnificently expressive face to the amazing show of light taking place above them. He couldn’t remember the last time he found a woman this interesting.

  “Not scientific at all, just a silly fancy. A little girl’s dream.”

  He wondered how she would feel against his body.

  He cleared his throat, wondering why it had suddenly gone tight. “What did you wish for, lass?”

  Her eyes fluttered shut, her long lashes resting against her creamy skin. “Oh, I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

  He let out a deep, mirthful laugh, enjoying her earnest innocence. “Don’t tell me you believe in that old wives’ tale?”

  “I do.” She sounded slightly indignant, then her shoulders slumped and she opened her eyes again. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway.”

  He hated the look of disappointment in her eyes. “Why not?”

  She hesitated, obviously debating whether to confide in him and ultimately deciding in his favor. “The best wishes come true when sealed with a kiss.” A light blush crept into her cheeks. “I’m not about to kiss you.”

  “Wouldn’t be proper,” he conceded, having no idea why suddenly nothing seemed more important than kissing this girl. He moved closer, taking her into his arms and drawing her into the shadows. She smelled of lavender and sweet ocean spray, and her body felt soft as a newborn lamb as she yielded to him. “However, I can kiss you.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Why would that make it proper?”

  “Because I’m permitted to make up my own rules.” He let out a soft growl and dipped his head to hers. “Do you want your wish to come true?”

  He waited for the slap, for he truly was behaving badly toward this lovely creature. Her eyes were still wide and taking in as much of him as he was taking in of her. To his surprise, she didn’t draw away as he slowly lowered his lips to hers.

  He intended a simple kiss, merely curious to taste her sweetness, but there was something so charmingly innocent in her soft gasp as her mouth opened to meet his that he couldn’t resist deepening the kiss.

  Damn.

  He was unprepared for the sudden impact to his heart. Indeed, every organ and limb in his body was quietly exploding, and his blood burned as hot as the stars still streaking across the night sky.

  Nice lips, warm and yielding. Curious as well, for she was obviously young and inexperienced despite her three years out in Society. He knew he was in danger and ought to draw away, for innocent girls expected much in return for their affection. He was too busy with important matters to allow himself the distraction of courting—

  He broke off the kiss and took a step back, at a loss to understand why the idea of courtship had crawled into his head. In his experience, although a girl might appear beautiful by moonlight, her features would not live up to the promise by the bright light of day. This girl’s voice, though pleasant and melodic now, would surely turn shrill when angered. No, there would be no courtship. But he’d liked the feel of her body against his and wasn’t quite ready to dismiss her from his thoughts. Nor was he quite ready to take his hands off her now, but he did so anyway.

  Touching this soft, delightful girl was too dangerous.

  Perhaps he would claim her for a dance later, just one to satisfy his curiosity, and then he’d politely escort her back to her family and walk away. There would be gossip, of course. Indeed, her sharing a dance with the Duke of Kintyre would give the old matrons quite something to talk about.

  “Child!” an imposing voice suddenly boomed behind him, shattering his pleasant interlude and startling the lass. “We’ve been looking all over for you!”

  Robert spotted Lady Viola Brazelton barreling toward them. He privately referred to the old warhorse as Battle-Ax Brazelton.

  “Yes, Aunt Vi,” the girl said with a dejected sigh.

  Aunt Vi? Was it possible this angel was related to that egret-feathered harridan? He found the notion horrifying.

  “She isn’t really my aunt,” the girl explained in a whisper, apparently reading his thoughts, “though she is a distant relation. However, one does not contradict Viola without taking one’s life into one’s hands.”

  He grinned in response to her openhearted smile. “I know.”

  “Then you’ve dealt with her?”

  His grin broadened and he arched an eyebrow in amusement. “More often than I care to recall.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “Don’t let her hear you or—”

  “Gracious saints!” Viola intoned, her imposing form outlined against the blaze of candlelight in the ballroom. “What are you saying to that brigand? He isn’t to be trusted.”

  The young woman cast him an intimate glance, the sort that conveyed her appreciation of a shared jest. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll take your caution under advisement. He’s quite well-dressed for a brigand.”

  Viola rolled her eyes. “That’s what makes him so dangerous. Well, hurry up. Come inside at once. Charles is about to announce the engagement.”

  “Goodness, is it time already?” She turned to Robert and cast him a smile that shot straight to his heart, the prettiest smile he’d seen on a young woman in ages. “Goodbye, sir… er… it’s been a pleasure, though we haven’t been properly introduced.”

  He would have remedied the oversight, but was not given the chance. Viola firmly elbowed him out of the way and drew the young lovely back toward the ballroom.

  Robert stepped aside to allow them to pass, his gaze still on the girl and the gentle sway of the silk gown draped against her perfect curves. Soft candlelight enveloped her as she entered the ballroom, illuminating her dark red hair and cream-soft complexion. She cast him one last glance, confirming her exotically slanted, dark emerald eyes were as beautiful as he’d imagined.

  Then and there, Robert MacConnell, eighth Duke of Kintyre, made a decision he didn’t think possible less than an hour ago. Well, his family would be happy. So would his moon-faced cousin, Charles, who was about to announce his own engagement to Frances Cameron. Just why Charlie would choose to wed a girl for financial advancement was beyond him.

  Robert preferred to follow his heart… even if the sweet vision was related to Battle-Ax Brazelton.

  He strained for a last glimpse of the girl he had just decided to marry.

  CHAPTER 2

  “WHY SHOULDN’T I be polite to him, Aunt Viola?” Frances asked as they walked back into the ballroom. She noticed a sudden, curious gleam in Viola’s eyes that quickly faded. “Oh, do you think Charles will be angry that I spoke to a stranger? I wouldn’t have stepped out onto the balcony had I known anyone else was out there. Truly. But the room was hot and overcrowded and I wasn’t inclined to dance.”

  “Fee, you love to dance.”

  Frances gazed at the orchestra playing a rowdy highland reel in honor of the many Scottish clans in attendance tonight. There were Campbells, Sutherlands, MacConnells, and Llewellyns among the many guests, all of whom appeared to be having a grand time twirling and stamping their feet
to the music. “I didn’t feel like it tonight.”

  Her own family, the Camerons, were out in force this evening as well, although her favorite cousin, Ewan, was absent. He’d recently married an English bluestocking by the name of Lily, and Frances couldn’t wait to meet her. She’d write to Ewan soon and arrange a visit. Lily seemed to be a kindred spirit and someone she’d like very much. It was of no moment that the newlyweds weren’t in attendance this evening, for finding them amid the crush of rowdy revelers or spending time in decent conversation would have been impossible.

  A riotous shout diverted her attention.

  Oh, dear. Her father, several uncles, and assorted Llewellyn relatives from her mother’s clan stood beside the orchestra singing loudly and unfortunately off-key. On the other side of the orchestra stood an equal number of MacConnells singing just as loudly and as poorly.

  All of them were drunk. Wobbling on their feet drunk. She groaned lightly. The round of toasts to their betrothal had not even begun.

  “I believe, dear girl, that you are experiencing what is known as cold feet.”

  “Not at all, Vi.” She shook her head with vehemence. “I’m perfectly content. What makes you believe I’m not?”

  Viola let out an imposing harrumph which meant Frances was about to receive a lecture. “I’ve known you since the day you were born, and it is plain as the prominent nose on my face that you are neither perfect—of course, no one is—nor content. I know you, Fee. Something’s troubling you. What is it, child? Why did you feel the need to escape this room tonight?”

  Frances glanced up at the enormous crystal chandeliers that ran the length of the ceiling, hoping to avoid answering the question. Each chandelier held two dozen fat candles. “Oh, dear. Several of the candles have been shaken out of position. We ought to alert someone before they fall.”