Capturing the Heart of a Cameron (Farthingale Series Novellas)

by Meara Platt

  “How glorious,” Lord Ingram said, his eyes brightening. “What a delightful coincidence. Not that your time spent in my aunt’s care was that at all. I’m sure it was quite miserable. But it’s delightful that you should have been so close to us all this time. Well, we’ve met you now and look forward to seeing you again. I assure you, the pleasure is ours.”

  His mother agreed.

  Adelaide breathed a sigh of relief. They weren’t going to look down their noses at her or walk off in disgust. “I wish I’d met you sooner.” She’d sorely missed the joviality and good company of her mother and had felt very much alone ever since.

  Lady Ingram patted her hand. “What’s done is done. Mustn’t linger on the past. Let’s enjoy the afternoon and our newly formed friendship.”

  They spent the next hour wandering about the church and then through the Shambles and nearby shopping district. Adelaide had only a couple of coins in her reticule, not nearly enough to purchase any of the pretty fashions on display. Barely enough to purchase a meat pasty if she grew hungry, although the Clifford House was nearby and Desmond had left instructions to provide whatever she requested.

  Lord Ingram was equally solicitous of her, but she had all that she needed and was more content than she’d been in years. She didn’t mind walking along the busy streets and chatting with her companions. The Ingrams were a genuine delight, and although there was a bite to the cold breeze, she was warmed by their good cheer.

  There was no snow or rain to spoil the day either. The sky remained a beautiful azure blue and the sun shone as brightly as it possibly could in winter. “Ah, look at the time,” Lord Ingram said as the sun began to sink below the horizon. He’d pulled out his fob and was staring at the watch face. “We’ve missed tea.”

  “Mr. Clifford will cobble something together for us,” his mother assured. “Surely, it can’t be that late.”

  “I’m afraid it is. Four o’clock, Mother.”

  She shook her head and smiled at Adelaide. “My dear, we’ve had such a lovely afternoon with you and lost all track of time. But we must return now.”

  Adelaide was sorry for their outing to end, but knew that Lady Ingram had to be tired from all the walking they’d done. Although she seemed a hardy soul, they’d been out for hours and the winter air had to be cutting through the old woman’s bones. In truth, Adelaide was ready for their excursion to end. She needed to look in on her uncle, make certain he was comfortable and still soundly asleep.

  She was also eager to see Desmond and tell him about her adventures. What if he’d returned and was waiting for her?

  Lord Ingram apologized to the inn’s owner as soon as they walked in. “May we have our tea and cakes brought into the parlor now, Mr. Clifford?”

  “Yes, Lord Ingram. I’ll see to it at once.” The innkeeper bowed to all of them, and with a smile of assurance, ran off to do their bidding.

  Adelaide shrugged out of her cloak, removed her hat and gloves, and then took a moment to check on her uncle. As expected, he was sound asleep.

  She encountered Martha in the hall. “Did you enjoy your visit to York Minster, Miss Farthingale?”

  Adelaide nodded. “Very much. Thank you for arranging it for me, Martha. Has Lord Blackfell returned?”

  “No, not yet. Perhaps the Lord Mayor invited him to supper.”

  “Oh.” She shrugged, doing her best to appear unaffected. In truth, she was disappointed that Desmond was still occupied. She missed him and wanted to tell him all about her day. She also wanted to ask him about his meeting and listen to his husky, resonant voice as he responded. The possibility that he would be absent for supper had never crossed her mind.

  Chiding herself over her disappointment, she hurried downstairs to join her new friends, taking a deep breath and forcing a cheerful smile as she entered the parlor. Apparently, she was terrible at hiding her feelings, for no sooner had they noticed her, than Lady Ingram began to cluck with concern. “Something wrong, Miss Farthingale? Is your uncle not well?”

  “He’s sleeping and appears to be on the mend.” She smiled politely and took a seat beside her on the elegant, dark blue silk settee.

  Lord Ingram, who was seated in a chair across from them, cast her a speculative glance. “Ah, then that downcast look is for Lord Blackfell.”

  Heat shot into Adelaide’s cheeks. “No, not at all! The marquis and my uncle are acquainted and he offered us a lift when our carriage broke down. That’s all. He and I… no…” She let out a little eep because despite her protestations, his absence was precisely the reason for her dismay. “Ah, our tea has arrived. Thank you Mr. Clifford. I’m suddenly quite thirsty.”

  She averted her gaze and pretended to study the teapot as she poured tea for all of them. Then she concentrated her attention on the slices of cake on display on an ornate plate. “May I serve you, Lady Ingram?”

  “Thank you, my dear,” she said and suddenly craned her head to peer out the window. “Ah, I see Lord Blackfell has returned.”

  Adelaide’s heart began to beat faster, but she refused to follow the older woman’s gaze or turn around when she heard the front door open. Lord Ingram arched an eyebrow and grinned. “You can’t hide it, Miss Farthingale. But you needn’t fret. Your secret is safe with us.”

  “There’s nothing to hide,” she insisted. “He’s been kind to my uncle and we’re most grateful to him.” She had no chance to say anything more, for Desmond strode into the parlor just then and immediately dominated the room with his size and presence.

  He didn’t appear pleased as he sank into another of the chairs opposite the settee after proper introductions had been made. After a few moments of polite conversation, he leaned toward her. “I know you wished to see York Minster today. The sun will be setting in a few minutes. There won’t be much to see in the dark. I’m sorry I couldn’t accommodate you.”

  “Oh, but I did have the chance to see it.” She nodded toward Lady Ingram and her son. “We had a lovely afternoon touring the church and then we strolled around the city. We stopped in several shops and,” she wrinkled her nose, “walked through the Shambles hurriedly because the scent of butchered animals and blood has built up through the centuries. The place had a decided odor to it. A not very pleasant one.”

  He shifted in his chair, his expression unreadable and yet she sensed he was angry. Was he concerned that she’d walked out with strangers? She sought to mollify him. “Mr. and Mrs. Clifford vouched for Lord Ingram and his mother. They’re regular patrons here and quite respectable.” But instead of relief, she noted his deepening frown. “And as it turns out, we have a mutual acquaintance. Lord Ingram’s estate is in Aycliff, not far from St. Brigid’s, and the abbess is Lady Ingram’s sister.” He was still frowning. “Isn’t it remarkable? They must have visited while I was there and yet we never met until today.”

  “Indeed,” Lord Ingram said. “We would not have forgotten anyone as charming as Miss Farthingale.”

  “Who could?” Desmond said, his voice more of a growl. His words were no compliment. He was angry and she wasn’t certain whether he wanted to rip out Lord Ingram’s throat or hers. Why? What harm was there in a visit to a church? “Well,” he continued, his voice deep and commanding, “I see that I needn’t have been concerned about you, Miss Farthingale.”

  Adelaide looked up in surprise. “You were worried about me?”

  “You and your uncle,” he clarified. “My meeting with the Lord Mayor took longer than expected. I wanted to be sure your uncle was healing. How is he? Still asleep?”

  She nodded. “Quite peacefully. The posset Mrs. Clifford gave him did the trick. However, he’s snoring like a saw cutting through wood. Too bad there’s no remedy for that.” She cast him an impish grin, but got nothing in response. He was still angry. She couldn’t understand why.

  Though he asked more questions about her day, she saw that he was stiff and not particularly interested in their conversation. Finally he excused himself, muttering somethin
g about more work to be done and strode upstairs to his quarters.

  Adelaide had little appetite after that, but she remained with the Ingrams a little while longer until they all went their separate ways, she and Lady Ingram retiring to their rooms while Lord Ingram settled in the library and ordered a brandy for himself. She’d helped Lady Ingram to her room and was about to enter hers when she heard Desmond’s door open.

  She turned to find him resting one broad shoulder against the door jamb, his arms crossed over his chest. He still looked angry. She couldn’t bear it, and though she tried not to show her distress, it shone through anyway. Drat, she really had to learn to hide her feelings. “I’m sorry if I upset you in any way, Des. Will you please tell me what I did wrong? I assure you, it wasn’t intentional.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m angry?”

  His arms remained crossed over his chest as she approached, the posture making him look big and quite daunting. In truth, he was both. She wished he’d wrap his arms around her. It wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t like her very much at the moment. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps it was in your expression. You seemed ready to tear Lord Ingram limb from limb and do the same to me.”

  He eased his stance and ran a finger lightly along her throat, the sensation of his touch setting off bursts of heat in every part of her body. “No, that isn’t what I’d do to you,” he said with a husky intensity that set off more bursts of heat. Her blood felt like lava flowing down the side of a volcano. Not that she’d ever seen a volcano erupt. Lily had explained it to her in one of her letters. That hot, slow ooze and intense heat was an apt description for what she was feeling now. “You’re blushing.”

  Hot buttered crumpets! I’m doing a lot more than that. “You’re touching me.”

  He didn’t move his hand away.

  “I’m confused. Are you angry with me? Because it doesn’t feel as though you are. But you were before. Will you tell me why?” She licked her lips, for they were suddenly dry. No doubt because she was hot. Fiery and hot. What was it about him that elicited all sorts of inappropriate responses from her?

  He stared at her lips. “Negotiations took longer than I’d hoped.”

  She licked her lips again and wondered how his mouth would feel upon hers. She ached to find out, but not like this. Not in a hallway while he was still frowning at her. In any event, Mr. Postings ought to be the first man to kiss her since he was likely to be her husband. It wouldn’t be right to allow another man that intimacy. “Um, did they turn out well in the end? The negotiations, I mean. Did you get what you hoped for?”

  “I always do.” He trailed a finger along her throat again and then drew it away. “I’m sorry I didn’t get back in time to take you to York Minster today. I wanted to and you just caught me off my stride when I found out you’d gone with someone else and I wasn’t needed after all. Of course, you should have gone with the Ingrams. I’m glad you did. They were better company than I would have been.”

  “Why? Because you’re a curmudgeon?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Yes.”

  His touch had set her body on fire, but his smile and laughter were just as dangerous to her heart. “I had a lovely time this afternoon, but it wasn’t quite the same without you. I wish you had been there. I like curmudgeons.”

  He arched an eyebrow and grinned at her. “Good thing for me.”

  Perhaps, but very bad for me.

  CHAPTER 5

  DESMOND WATCHED AS Adelaide crossed the short distance to her room and hurried inside without looking back at him. He sighed and ran a hand roughly through his hair. What was he to do about the girl? Or for his unwanted feelings for her?

  He wished he’d been the one to guide her around York’s famous church, not that he gave a fig about the destination. What he yearned to see was the sparkle in her eyes when she came upon it. The world was new and exciting to Adelaide and he stupidly wanted to be the one to show it to her. He didn’t want that ass, Ingram, to experience the pleasure. He wanted it for himself.

  He ran his hand through his hair once again. Ingram wasn’t the ass. He was. Why had he touched Adelaide? He was safer playing with fire. She’d responded with a passion she was too innocent to understand.

  He left his room and strode downstairs, deciding to grab a book and a drink and relax in the library until suppertime. But Ingram, the ass, was already there and glanced up as he entered, so there was no avoiding him. “Ah, Lord Blackfell. Would you care for a brandy?” He raised his glass and motioned to the chair beside him as he rose. “I was hoping we’d have a moment to chat.”

  “About what?” He’d slam his fist into the man’s face if he mentioned Adelaide. Ingram had no right to her. Not that he had, either. But she was his guest, riding in his carriage, which meant she was his until they reached London and she sealed her betrothal with that other ass, Postings.

  Hell’s bells, he was out of sorts.

  Did the girl have this effect on all men? She was beautiful without question and had a vulnerability about her that brought out his protective urges. His possessive urges, too. He wasn’t about to share her with anyone, even if she wasn’t his to share in the first place.

  Ingram interrupted his musing with a groaning laugh. “Is there a doubt in your mind about the topic I wish to discuss? Miss Farthingale, of course. Please here me out,” he said in a rush when Desmond cursed under his breath and turned to walk out. “It isn’t about me and her. It’s about the two of you.”

  Desmond unclenched the fists curled at his sides. “What about us? If you’re implying anything untoward, I’ll–”

  “Nothing of the sort.” He crossed to the desk and poured a brandy for Desmond. “She’s a lovely, decent girl. I know, for I was married to one of the loveliest for almost ten years before I lost her to illness last year.”

  “Sorry, old chap.” Desmond took the offered drink but remained standing beside the desk. He motioned for Ingram to resume his seat. “Go on. What’s your point?”

  “I’ve been a widower this past year, just coming out of mourning, although I don’t think anyone can set a fixed date on when you’re supposed to let go of someone important in your life and move on. My mother decided that I should return to Bath with her to seek a wife. I have a daughter, you see. She needs a mother, or at least a woman in her life who understands what a little girl needs.”

  Desmond thought of Adelaide and the disastrous decision her father had made. “It isn’t always wise to rush into such things.”

  “I agree. I had no intention of looking for a replacement for my Lizzie. I loved her and you can’t simply summon up that feeling at will. It comes along rarely and must be seized upon when it does.”

  Desmond took a sip of his brandy, lazily swirling the glass so that the dark liquid spun within it. “I’m waiting for your point.”

  “She glows when she speaks of you, when she sees you… when she thinks of you.” Ingram leaned forward. “I hadn’t intended to seek a wife, but Miss Farthingale swayed my opinion. If it weren’t for the damn glow that lights her eyes and puts a pink blush on her cheeks every time your name is mentioned, I’d be proposing to her right now.”

  Desmond set his glass down hard on the desk. “You’d offer for her after knowing her a mere afternoon?”

  Ingram nodded. “I know what I want. And a bull’s pizzle like Postings would be no impediment if I were determined to have my way.”

  Desmond poured himself another brandy and took a hearty swallow. Damn it, he liked Ingram. He didn’t want to like the man or talk to him about Adelaide. “I’m not in the market for a wife.”

  “Nor was I. Don’t be a fool, Blackfell.” He stared at Desmond as though waiting for some sort of a confession from him. Ingram would have a long wait. He wasn’t about to confide in a stranger. Ingram shook his head and sighed. “Does it really matter to you that she’s a commoner? Or that her family has little wealth?”

  Desmond stifled a gr
in. The Farthingales were not of his elevated bloodlines, but they had wealth enough to tempt any impoverished duke or earl. He had no need for their fortune. The Camerons had plenty of their own. Nor would he vouch for the character of his ancestors, for there was little noble about his ducal bloodline.

  Not that any of it mattered. He wasn’t going to be the next Cameron to fall for a Farthingale. He enjoyed his privacy, something he’d never see again if he were tied to that family. They traveled in herds, like migratory beasts, moving hundreds at a time and kicking up great swells of dust and sand as they foraged.

  Perhaps he was exaggerating a little.

  But only a little, for marrying a Farthingale meant taking in the entire, meddlesome clan. His quiet home would be invaded, his sanctuary overrun. Everyone would know his business, for Farthingales were not only meddlesome and intrusive, they could not for the life of them keep secrets.

  “When I marry,” he finally responded in the hope it would end this conversation, “it will be to a woman of intelligence and good character. Fortune is a consideration only to the extent that I need to be sure the girl doesn’t care for it more than she cares for me. If you wish to take on Postings, be my guest. I’m not in the game.” The hell I’m not. “I’ve known Miss Farthingale only a day longer than you have.”

  Ingram appeared surprised. “You seemed so natural together, as though you’ve known each other for ages.”

  “We haven’t. And unlike you, I don’t take fanciful leaps.” He took another sip of his brandy. “I’m a cautious man.” That he wanted to haul Adelaide over his shoulder and carry her off to his bed as any self-respecting barbarian would do, was of no moment.

  He was a civilized man.

  He’d keep his hands off Adelaide.

  “Cautious? So am I, usually,” Ingram said with a shrug of his shoulders. “But I know a rare opportunity when I see one.” He shrugged again. “Well, I’ve meddled quite enough for the day. Forgive me, Blackfell, but I truly like Miss Farthingale and believe she deserves better than this Postings fellow. As for me, I’ll hold out for a girl who looks at me with the same glow in her eyes that Miss Farthingale reserves for you.” He drained the contents of his glass, muttered something about escorting his mother to supper, and left Desmond alone in the library with his tangled thoughts.