Capturing the Heart of a Cameron (Farthingale Series Novellas)

by Meara Platt

  The marquis sighed. “I’m not purchasing the place, just stopping for the night.”

  “I know. I… I…” She wiped away another tear and inhaled deeply, the scent of ale, rabbit stew, and freshly baked bread going a long way toward calming her down.

  She was hungry and looking forward to the meal, but not to sharing it with the daunting marquis. “May I speak plainly, Lord Blackfell?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned lightly. “Always. What’s the matter?”

  “It may seem like nothing to you, but all this is new to me.” She made a circling motion with her hand to encompass all within their sight. “In truth, you make me uncomfortable. I’m sorry. It isn’t you. It’s me. I’m not used to being around people.”

  He emitted a soft grunt, but remained frowning. “You’re fine around people. I’m sure the problem lies with me. I’m a cynical oaf who has little patience for anyone.”

  “But you’ve been most indulgent with me. I’ll try not to irritate you. I completely understand.”

  “No, I don’t expect that you do.” He smirked again, well not quite a smirk for his expression had softened into something more resembling a smile. A gentle smile. She wished she knew what he was thinking. “You needn’t be concerned, Adelaide. You’re quite safe with me. I like your honesty, it’s something I rarely encounter.”

  “I see.” She didn’t really, but it seemed the right thing to say.

  “I’d secure a private dining room for us, but it won’t do for you to be alone with me behind closed doors. It would damage your reputation. We’ll grab a table in the far corner of the common room and then we can talk.”

  She stiffened. “About what?” Was he going to reprimand her for the way she’d responded to his body in the carriage? In truth, he didn’t seem angry or irritated by the incident.

  He unfurled his arms so that they were no longer crossed over his chest. “About anything you like,” he said with apparent sincerity. “You choose the topic. Whatever you’re comfortable discussing.”

  She laughed. “Goodness, talking is something I do best. I do too much of it.”

  His expression remained gentle as he arched an eyebrow, the effect making him look dashingly handsome. “I have time. I’m willing to listen.”

  There was something exquisitely appealing in his manner, a husky warmth to his voice that made her feel comfortable. More than that, she felt protected. When was the last time she’d felt this way? She couldn’t recall. It had been so long ago. Her happiest memories were from a time before her mother had died.

  None since.

  The sisters had taken her in but never accepted her, not once in all the years she’d spent living at the abbey had they ever complimented her or made her feel as though she belonged. However, life there was not all bad. Summers at the abbey were most enjoyable. The days were long and often warm allowing her to spend hours walking barefoot along the shore, digging her toes into the soft, wet sand as water lapped at her heels. Sometimes she’d meet a passing villager or a few of the local boys who were always eager to chat and collect sea shells.

  “How does that sound to you, Adelaide?”

  She shook out of her thoughts and smiled at him. “Wonderful.”

  She didn’t know this man. He readily admitted to being grumpy and unfriendly, but she had yet to see that side of him. So far, she liked him. She couldn’t deny it. He wasn’t oafish either. He wasn’t condescending or mocking as she’d expected him to be, although he had an aura of power and authority. He also had a dangerously appealing smile. The corners of his mouth would turn up slightly, as though it was as far as his lips could stretch.

  No. Don’t think of his lips.

  His manner was gentle and he appeared willing to spend time with her. Of course, he was merely being polite. All elegant ladies and gentlemen knew how to feign politeness. Isn’t that why they called it Polite Society?

  They settled in a corner of the common room just close enough to feel the warmth of the fire blazing in the hearth but not too close to be overwhelmed by it. Lord Blackfell helped her to remove her cloak. She closed her eyes and held her breath as his big hands grazed her shoulders. She tingled at his touch anyway. Lesson learned, holding one’s breath doesn’t prevent you from feeling the heat of a man’s touch – especially Lord Blackfell’s touch – or responding to it.

  Fortunately, he didn’t appear to notice.

  He removed his cloak and handed both to a passing maid before settling on the bench across from her.

  He rested his forearms on the table and quickly surveyed the other occupants drinking at their tables which was a good thing because her body was still tingling and didn’t seem inclined to stop. The less attention he paid to her, the better.

  “So what are we to talk about, Adelaide?” He shook his head and ran a hand roughly through the waves of his blond hair. “May I call you that? We’re practically family, after all.”

  She nodded. Family. Of course. He didn’t think of her as a tempting morsel, but as an irritating little sister. “Yes, Adelaide is fine. No one has called me Miss Farthingale in years. Usually it’s ‘Adelaide, stop talking’ or ‘Adelaide, you’re late to supper’ and often it’s nothing but silence because the sisters periodically take vows of silence to atone for sins they haven’t committed because they’ve never been out in the world to do anything wrong.” She slumped her shoulders, knowing she was rambling and probably making no sense. “Now you understand why I’d make a terrible–”

  He reached out and caught her hand. “Why do you always do that?”

  She slipped it out of his grasp since she understood that he wasn’t interested in holding her hand but merely intent on stopping this particular conversation. “Do what?”

  “Dismiss your worth. There’s nothing wrong with you. Don’t let others define who you are or impose limitations on your dreams. And my name is Desmond. You may call me that whenever we’re alone or among family. Hell, you may call me that whenever you wish.”

  She shook her head. “Very kind of you, but even I know that calling you Desmond in public will cause scandal.”

  He refrained from responding when a serving maid came to the table with a teapot and a cup and saucer for her, and a cup of mulled wine for him. Then another servant came behind her with plates of rabbit stew and warm, crusty bread.

  Adelaide inhaled deeply and said grace as soon as the servants left their side. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.”

  “Nor did I. I’m famished.” He nodded for her to start eating and he did the same. They ate in silence, Lord Blackfell resuming their conversation when they were almost done. “As I was saying, call me Desmond. Or simply Des. That’s what my sister calls me. As for those gossip rags catching wind of this supposed intimate use of our names, they won’t mind. Scandal sells their papers.”

  “Every once in a while our local laundress would manage to smuggle one of those gossip sheets to me. Unfortunately, there was no good place to hide it in the abbey, so I hid it in the barn until I was through reading that particular issue. Then I’d give it to the goats to eat.”

  He laughed. “An interesting way to destroy the evidence, so to speak.”

  “I had to dispose of it, unfortunately. I couldn’t be found with pagan literature or else I’d…” Her voice trailed off, for she was horrified about what she’d been about to reveal.

  His eyes darkened, glowing like fiery emeralds. “Adelaide,” he said softly, but there was no mistaking his anger, “did they beat you?”

  She blushed. “Not often. Only when I was exceptionally disobedient. Mostly I was sent to bed without any supper.”

  “And that happened often?”

  “I… may we speak of something else?” She didn’t want to meet his gaze, but there was something compellingly protective in his manner and she’d crumble if she looked his way. “Please tell me about London. Is it very big? Of course, it must be.”

  He took a sip of
his wine. “It’s big and bustling. Quite festive, but at the same time there are many parts of it that are dark and dangerous. Don’t go anywhere on your own.”

  “Uncle Rupert has already warned me. I have no intention of exploring on my own. I’m sure there will be a Farthingale or two available to show me around.” She spared a glance at him.

  He was still staring at her in that deliciously fiery and protective way. “Send word if no one is available and I’ll take up the slack. No, I said that poorly. It would be my pleasure to show you the sights of London.”

  Goodness, she’d love to spend time in his company. Would it be permitted? She stared at her food, nudging it around the plate with her fork while she considered an appropriate response. “You’re obviously a busy man. I couldn’t take you away from important work.”

  “Does that mean you don’t wish to spend time in my company? The truth now, Adelaide.”

  She hadn’t considered lying to him. She was a terrible liar, which is why she was often punished for her insolence and sent to bed without her supper. “I’d enjoy spending time with you. Very much. But I don’t think Mr. Postings would approve.”

  She noticed the flex and strain of his muscles as he shifted in his seat. “Ah, that name again. Who is he?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I think he’s courting me. He visited me twice at the abbey at the suggestion of my father. Mr. Postings is a business acquaintance of his. They’re thinking of merging their interests.”

  “And using you as the dividend to seal their bargain?” The question came out as more of a growl, his disapproval obvious. She returned his frown. It wasn’t any of his bee’s wax, and if it would please her father and get her out of that abbey, who would it hurt?

  She tipped her chin up and scowled. “England was built on royal alliances. What is wrong with that? And how many members of the ton ever marry for love? Very few. Most marry to acquire wealth and stature. What about you? Will you marry for love? You strike me as too cautious.”

  He reached over and tucked a finger under her chin. “I may not care about following my heart, but you’re a Farthingale. Everyone knows that Farthingales marry only for love.”

  Her scowl deepened. “I’ll marry whomever I choose and for whatever reason suits me.”

  “Adelaide, that’s a load of hog swill. You’ll be miserable unless you marry for love.”

  “Why do you care? Isn’t it my concern? You don’t even know me, so how can you understand my hopes or desires better than I do? I may be innocent, but I’m no sparkly princess who sleeps under rainbows and believes life is a spring meadow filled with wildflowers and soft, cuddly rabbits hopping about.”

  She’d made her point and ought to have stopped, but she was tired and overset and hated that he was probably right. “If encouraging Mr. Postings’ courtship will gain my father’s approval and keep me from being sent back to the abbey, then I’ve gained as much as anyone else in this transaction, haven’t I?”

  He slapped his hands on the solid wooden table and rose to his imposing height. Goodness, he was big. Handsome and big. “Move over, Princess Sparkles,” he said, coming around to her side of the table and nudging her down the bench to give him room to sit beside her. He edged her back until her shoulders met the corner of the wall and then he placed his hands on either side of her shoulders to neatly trap her. “You’d gain nothing but sorrow. It doesn’t take a brilliant mind to understand the sort of girl you are. You are precisely that sparkly princess who sleeps under rainbows.”

  “I do not sleep under rainbows.” But she felt the ache to do just that, to have a perfect and happy life with someone she loved. She felt it to the depths of her being.

  “You may understand how the world works,” he said more gently, “but you’re not cynical or mercenary. You’ll hold out for love because you want those butterflies and chirping birds flitting outside your door. You want to find the man who will melt your heart and put a gleam in your eyes. So find him. Don’t settle for a cold bastard like Postings.”

  “He’s a gentleman! You don’t even know him.”

  “Nor do I wish to. He’ll never make you happy or help you get over the pain and loneliness you think you’re hiding. You’re not fooling me. Your every glance and gesture screams it.”

  “How dare you! You’re worse than a curmudgeon, you’re an ogre. A mean, overbearing,” handsome as sin “ogre.”

  He drew back, lowering his arms so that she was no longer trapped. Not that he felt any remorse for her distress. No, he simply wanted to avoid the notice of the few remaining guests in the common room who were no doubt staring at them. “I won’t deny it,” he said quietly. “I don’t enjoy ton gatherings or spending time with idle debutantes who find me irresistible because I’m now heir to a dukedom.”

  “Then why don’t you hold out for love?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not like you, Adelaide. I don’t need a sparkle in my eyes. Never going to happen.”

  “Never? Oh, Des! I’m so sorry.” She put her hand on his broad shoulder and boldly kept it there even though she felt him stiffen. “I should have realized! I’m not the only who’s had a rough upbringing. That’s why you recognized my pain so easily.”

  The muscle along his finely shaped jaw tensed. “You’re mistaken.”

  She ignored him and continued. “I must have sounded so thoughtless and cruel just now. You’re not an ogre at all.” Heat rose in her cheeks, for she couldn’t imagine herself being so open with anyone, certainly not Mr. Postings. “In truth, I’m enjoying your company even though we’re having a difficult conversation. I wish we could simply chat about something less controversial. The weather is always a safe topic. Safe but dull. I’m very good at dull conversations. I have them with myself all the time.”

  She noticed his shoulders shaking and then he laughed out loud. He drained his cup of mulled wine and at the same time stood up, holding out a hand to assist her to her feet. “Our rooms must be ready by now. I’ll see you settled and then return down here to wait for your uncle. I’ll be leaving early, so I doubt I’ll see you in the morning. Perhaps we’ll meet again at one of the Farthingale parties.”

  She nodded. “I fervently hope so.”

  Oh, drat. Did she have to be so obvious in her desire to see him again? Fervently? He must think she craved more time in his company. Well, she did. But she didn’t want him to know it.

  He smirked, a dangerously appealing half smile that revealed he knew exactly what she was thinking and had no intention of encouraging her. He muttered an insincere reply about running into each other a time or two. “London’s big. Lots of balls, soirees, and musicales to keep you busy.”

  “I’ll see you at those, I hope.” She sounded hopelessly unsophisticated and he was no doubt cringing at the thought of her following him about like a lovesick kitten.

  “Perhaps.”

  He escorted her upstairs and waited while she entered her quarters. She took a moment to glance around the cozy room and let out a soft gasp when she noticed steam rising from the hot water in a tub positioned beside the fireplace. She turned back to him and smiled. “You ordered this?”

  He was standing in the doorway, looking impossibly big and handsome. “I thought you could use it after the long day. Your trunk will soon be brought up and I’ll send a maid to assist you. Lock your door once the maid leaves.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “Safe journey to London… Princess Sparkles.”

  “You too… Des.” She shook her head and smiled to hide her chagrin. She had never been pampered like this before and it felt good. She couldn’t wait to luxuriate in the heavenly scented water, take a long soak in it. It wasn’t just a bath, but one scented with lavender oils.

  She watched him saunter downstairs. He carried himself with a casual air of confidence that she found appealing. Too bad they couldn’t have spent more time together, for there was something about him that intrigued her. “I wish you were my Mr. Posti
ngs,” she whispered.

  Now why did that thought slip out?

  CHAPTER 3

  DESMOND KNEW THERE was trouble the moment Rupert returned to the inn and slumped tiredly in the chair across from him. “What happened? Can the farrier not fix the wheel?”

  Rupert shook his head. “Wheel isn’t the problem. Apparently the undercarriage was damaged and that will take at least a week to repair.”

  “Too bad.” He called over the innkeeper and ordered a whiskey for each of them. “And a hot meal for Mr. Farthingale.” He waited for the innkeeper to hasten off, then turned to Rupert for the request he knew was to come, irritated by his own eagerness to accommodate.

  “Blackfell, I don’t have a week to spare. I must reach Coventry by Wednesday. You’re bound for York on the morrow. Let us ride with you. We’ll hire a private coach from there. What do you say?”

  He made no protest, for the chance to spend another day with Adelaide appealed to him more than he cared to admit. More important, her willingness to give up her happiness simply to please an undeserving father rankled him. It was one thing if she cared for Postings or might grow to care for him, but he didn’t think that she ever would, and he intended to use this additional time to talk sense into her. “Very well, but we must leave early.”

  Rupert flashed him his typical toothy grin. “I’m in your debt, Blackfell. Happy to return the favor.”

  “Not necessary. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off to bed.” He finished his whiskey and headed upstairs. He’d been given the room at the top of the stairs, the one next door to Adelaide’s. He’d ordered a bath for himself and intended to shave this evening to save a little time in the morning.

  While others of his station often traveled with a valet, he’d never bothered to engage one. He’d managed on his own for most of his life and was used to privacy, a word that did not exist in the Farthingale vocabulary. No, indeed. He’d never have another peaceful moment to himself if he got tangled up with a Farthingale.