Capturing the Heart of a Cameron (Farthingale Series Novellas)

by Meara Platt

  He didn’t have long to dwell on them.

  He’d only been sitting a few minutes and trying to read the same page in his book three times to no avail when he sensed Adelaide quietly enter the library. He snapped his book shut and glanced up. She was standing by the doorway looking hesitant and vulnerable and utterly breathtaking. She’d changed her gown for supper and now had on a simple forest green wool lacking in any adornment. No lace, no silk trim, and yet he’d never seen a more beautiful vision. “Adelaide?”

  “Lord Ingram said you wished to speak to me. Is something wrong? I thought we’d straightened out the earlier misunderstanding and–”

  He grunted and shook his head. “I didn’t ask him to summon you.”

  She tipped her head in confusion. “You didn’t? Oh, he must have misunderstood. I’m sorry I disturbed you.” She turned to leave, but he called out to her and got to his feet. “Now that you’re here, join me. The book I chose is very dull. I’ve been reading the same page for the last five minutes and still can’t remember a word of it.”

  “I’m often plagued with that problem, except when reading those deliciously improper scandal sheets.” She cast him that mirthful, sparkly smile he and Ingram had been discussing moments ago. “Gossip is always so fascinating and tawdry. One always remembers the sensational accounts whether or not they’re true.”

  He laughed softly. “No wonder the sisters prayed for your soul.”

  She smiled but he noticed the strain in the soft play of her lips. “They didn’t pray very hard for me. I’m afraid they didn’t like me very much.” She clasped her hands and held them stiffly on her lap.

  He leaned forward, wanting to reach out and touch her, but not trusting himself to hold back because he was rethinking his position on never kissing this adorable Farthingale. “Adelaide, you didn’t belong there. That’s all. They didn’t understand you or appreciate your merits. All will change when you reach London.”

  She nodded.

  “But our next stop is Coventry. Your uncle has a full day’s business to conduct there. While he’s occupied, I’d like to show you around. Is there any place special you’d care to visit?”

  She nodded again. “The churches, of course, and the square that Lady Godiva rode through on her husband’s dare. The sisters spoke of her as though she’d committed a heinous sin, but I couldn’t help admiring her. She sacrificed herself for the sake of her countrymen. It took remarkable strength to strip herself bare and do what she did, especially to maintain her pride and hold her own against a cruel and heartless husband.”

  “She was remarkable.” He nodded in agreement. “Few women would have taken a stand against their husbands eight hundred years ago, but women are not so much better off today. There’s little recourse for those who are trapped in a bad marriage.”

  Adelaide frowned. “Is this another admonition against Mr. Postings? Because he isn’t a ruthless barbarian who’ll leave me no choice but to ride naked through town to save the residents of his district from subjugation. He’s a gentleman and I’d rather not talk about him any more.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of your Mr. Postings. You mentioned him.”

  She pursed her lips. “I’m sure you mentioned him first.”

  “No.” He shook his head, trying to concentrate on the conversation instead of the vision of Adelaide riding naked across his Blackfell estate that was now rattling around his brain and rendering him momentarily senseless. “I only mentioned Lady Godiva’s bad marriage. You’re the one who made the leap to Mr. Postings.”

  The path of their conversation was adding to her distress. Too late, he realized that he’d pushed her too far. She obviously had doubts about this marriage arrangement, but was desperate to please her father. “If you’ll excuse me, Lord Blackfell. I think I’ll check on my uncle.” She fled the library in a dark green blur.

  “Great, you idiot,” he muttered to himself. He would apologize to her later, for she wouldn’t be interested in anything he had to say right now. He didn’t blame her, for he had deliberately turned the topic to Postings, once again forcing her to consider how miserable she’d be if she married him. It was none of his business.

  He hadn’t the right to interfere.

  He hadn’t the right, but the thought of anyone else touching Adelaide’s delectable body, kissing her soft lips or stripping the gown off – hell’s bells.

  He crossed to the desk and poured himself another drink.

  He needed to forget Adelaide, not fall in love with her.

  Adelaide refused to meet Desmond’s gaze or speak to him even though they were seated beside each other at the Clifford House dinner table. She ought to have been assigned to the other end of the table, but Lady Ingram had complained of a non-existent draft and insisted on switching places, no doubt a misguided ploy on the part of the kindly woman to see her reconciled with the marquis. “Sparkles,” Desmond said in a husky murmur that sent a shiver of delight up her spine, “you can’t avoid me forever.”

  She could and fully intended to, even though the honey richness of his voice and the subtle scent of musk on his neck had her trembling and hopelessly yearning to be swept into his arms and held close to his heart for the rest of her days. He’d be horrified to know what she was thinking.

  So would Mr. Postings.

  “We have nothing to say to each other,” she whispered, understanding that Desmond’s concern for her was only out of a sense of duty to the Farthingale family. His sister was a part of the family now and by extension, so was he.

  She could not consider him a part of her family and her thoughts about him were anything but brotherly. If only he wasn’t a marquis and out of her reach. But he was so high above her station and she was so out of her depth in his elegant society that a match between them could never be.

  “Must I resort to a schoolboy’s trick? Tugging on your braid to get your attention?” His amusement was obvious and exasperating. He believed she was merely out of sorts, but her situation was far worse. She was desperately struggling not to fall in love with him.

  He was making it very difficult.

  She tipped her nose into the air to feign indignation. “My hair’s done up in a fashionable chignon. Lady Ingram was kind enough to send her maid to assist me.” She made the mistake of turning toward him and her mouth gaped open. Was there ever a handsomer man created who walked the earth?

  He leaned closer, the lopsided smile and tender gleam in his eyes demolishing her resolve. How did the ladies of the ton keep their wits about them when presented to a gentleman such as Desmond? She would have been tripping over herself and stammering. “That’s better,” he said, sounding surprisingly relieved when she nodded in surrender. “Truce?”

  She nodded again.

  One of her carefully styled curls chose that moment to fall across her brow. She set down her fork and hastily brushed it back, but it refused to behave. “Here, tuck it behind your ear,” Desmond said, attending to the task himself in full view of everyone gathered at the table. She only knew the Ingrams, but there were three other couples seated with them and she saw the arched eyebrows and exchanged glances that silently passed among them.

  To make a fuss would only draw more attention, so she dismissed the idea of rebuking him in front of others. “Thank you, Lord Blackfell.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Farthingale.” His seductive tone as he leaned close and grazed his fingers along her ear to firmly secure the wayward curl left no one in doubt as to his purpose in ‘assisting’ her. She blushed furiously and kicked his foot under the table as a warning to stop doing whatever he was doing before damage was done to her reputation.

  Mr. Postings was a man of sterling character and would require the same in his wife. She’d probably make a misstep at some point, but would rather it be a mistake of her own, not gossip and rumor circulated by others. Were any of these other couples on their way to London? Did they attend the same elegant parties as Desmond and Mr. Postings? All the cou
ples knew of Desmond and were awed by his title.

  Mr. Chase and his spinster sister, Miss Harriet Chase, and Sir Henry Pince and his wife were headed to London it turned out, but not until next month. They were to remain at Clifford House through the Yuletide holidays. The third couple, Vicar Rendell and his wife Louisa, were on their way north to Edinburgh and would depart tomorrow. She liked them best. Louisa Rendell had a pleasant smile for everyone, especially her husband who appeared to adore her.

  The Chases and the Pinces had a sour comment for every part of the meal. Adelaide thought the food was delicious and noted the quiet distress in the eyes of their servers. She wanted to say something encouraging, but the complaints drowned her out. “The soup is the same they served three days ago or was it four?” Miss Chase said, her entire face wrinkling so that she resembled a sour prune.

  “I believe it was freshly made today,” Adelaide remarked. She’d seen the Clifford House cook prepare it when she’d gone to the kitchen to order light fare for her uncle on the chance he’d wake up hungry this evening.

  “Perhaps, but it is the same fare we were given a few days ago. And it is served too hot,” Sir Henry Pince added.

  “I thought it was perfect.” Adelaide immediately regretted stepping into the fray when the Pinces and the Chases set down their spoons and turned to frown at her. She ought to have let it go, but she was now indignant and determined to champion the Clifford House cook. The woman had prepared a wonderful meal. “There was only plain fare served at the abbey where I resided. Fish soup in the summers and onion or leek soup in winter, but these simple meals were warm and sustaining and I was grateful to fall asleep each night without the gnawing ache of hunger in my belly.”

  Sir Henry harrumphed. “What passes for a suitable meal at your abbey would not be considered so in better society. Isn’t that right, Lord Blackfell?”

  Desmond said nothing for a long moment, then he ordered one of their servers to summon Mr. Clifford. Adelaide’s eyes rounded in alarm. She kicked his foot under the table again and stared at him with her eyebrows raised as though to ask what in blazes he was doing?

  He cast her a fiendish grin as Mr. Clifford, his face pale, hurried in. “Is anything the matter, my lord?” The poor man was wringing his hands in worry.

  “Not at all.” Desmond cast him an aristocratic smile, one that conveyed power and nobility and a hint of warning that a marquis was not one to be trifled with. “The meal was delicious, particularly the soup. Please tell your cook I said so. In fact, the soup is so good, you ought to put it on your menu every day.”

  Adelaide had chosen that moment to take a sip of her wine and choked as it went down her windpipe. Every day! And he knew the Pinces and the Chases were to spend at least another month here? He was an utter fiend. She loved him for it.

  She glanced over her napkin as she coughed, struggling not to laugh. Miss Chase was so apoplectic, her face had actually turned purple. The Pinces were shooting daggers at her with their angry gazes. Sir Henry had his hands curled into fists. The Ingrams, bless their generous hearts, raised their wine glasses in a subtle toast to Desmond’s gesture.

  Adelaide turned to Desmond and mouthed a silent thanks.

  He responded with a wink.

  She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him fiercely. Her inability to keep her mouth shut and not toss back a remark in defense of others was what always got her into trouble at the abbey. She’d expected a lecture from Desmond, never thought he’d support her and even one-up her in defending the Clifford House cook.

  She truly and deeply loved him for it.

  No! You don’t love him, Adelaide.

  Mr. Postings is the man you’ll marry. Much simpler. No risk of a broken heart.

  CHAPTER 6

  LATER THAT EVENING Desmond escorted Adelaide to her door, trying to remain casual while every bone in his body ached for her. She wasn’t making it easy for him either, for her smile was broad and captivating, and she was still looking at him in adoration over the set down he’d given the pompous guests. “Sweet dreams, Sparkles.”

  “You too, Des,” she said softly, her hand lingering on the doorknob without turning it. He wasn’t eager to part from her either, but they couldn’t very well stand in the hall much longer nor could he step into her quarters, much as that possibility appealed to him.

  She was still gazing at him in that I’ll-love-you-forever way. He cleared his throat. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She nodded. “Thank you again. You were brilliant.” This time she scurried inside and closed the door behind her.

  Brilliance had nothing to do with it, for he would have kept his mouth shut and not gotten involved had anyone else confronted those sour guests. But his protective hackles were raised. The thought of anyone hurting Adelaide had sent him into a quiet, seething rage.

  She had done it again, made him feel.

  He entered his room and stripped out of his clothes, his gaze darting to the locked door and beyond it, the narrow hall separating their bedchambers. Curious how their nearness brought out the loneliness he’d endured over the years. In truth, he was used to keeping to himself and usually preferred it, but Adelaide, despite her gentle innocence, was a force of nature that he couldn’t seem to avoid. Nor did he wish to, for he liked spending time with her.

  He refused to delve deeper and explore why he found her company so engaging. They had only a few days left together and he meant to enjoy that time since he had no intention of pursuing their acquaintance once they reached London. There was no point, for her time would be occupied with her family and Mr. Postings. How long before that bull’s pizzle offered for Adelaide?

  He shook his head and chided himself. Why should he care? He’d only known the girl a little over a day, and while he liked her innocent charm, he fully expected that she would grow tiresome eventually. Perhaps he’d awaken tomorrow and find himself fed up with her company.

  He sank onto his bed hoping for relief.

  By morning, he was his usual peevish self.

  He wasn’t tired of Adelaide. His dreams had been filled with her, and he awoke hot and hard and yearning for her, which put him out of sorts. Spending the night in lustful agony, seriously considering crossing the hall and breaking down her meager door, did that to him. He would never act upon that desire, of course. He’d never do anything to shame the girl.

  Hell’s bells, I hope not.

  He hastily washed and dressed before his head filled with more stupid ideas. Rupert greeted him as he made his way downstairs. “Morning, Blackfell.”

  “How are you feeling, Rupert?” Desmond was pleased to see him walking on his own. He appeared to be in considerably less pain than yesterday.

  “Back’s still a little sore but much better, thank you.” He withdrew his fob and stared at the clock face to mark the time. “Adelaide hasn’t come down yet.”

  Desmond nodded and started for the stairs. “I’ll knock at her door. I’m sure she’s awake and will be–”

  “Here I am, Uncle Rupert.” Adelaide, sounding a little breathless, hurried down the steps and almost barreled into Desmond, her cheeks pink and her copper-gold curls in glorious disarray. “I tossed and turned all night and couldn’t seem to fall asleep. The next thing I knew, the maid was knocking at my door.” As she shook her head, those riotous curls cascaded over her shoulders. “I’m truly sorry for delaying you.”

  “You haven’t, my dear,” Rupert called up, once more glancing at his watch. “But do come along, we must keep to a tight schedule.”

  When she noticed Desmond studying her, she quickly patted her hair. “It’s a mess, I know. Um, I’ll fix it in the carriage.” Her eyes turned bright and she cast him a soft smile. “Good morning, Des.”

  He managed a grumble in response. “Are your bags packed?”

  “My one bag? The one containing my worldly possessions? Yes, one of the servants took it down the back stairs. It should be loaded onto your carriage b
y now.” She laughed softly and shook her head. “I would have carried it down myself, but the maid was appalled by the suggestion.”

  Desmond silently chided himself for the slip. He ought to have realized how sorely she had been neglected by her father and stepmother. Indeed, she was little more than a turtle, able to carry everything she owned under her own shell.

  Had he been less caught up with his ridiculous desires, he would have noticed that she had on the same gown of forest green wool that she’d worn yesterday. Wrapped over her slender shoulders for added warmth was her faded shawl.

  To make matters worse, she was too innocent to realize that he’d inadvertently insulted her. She didn’t understand that young ladies of better society were expected to have a dozen new gowns for every occasion, any less and they risked being mocked as paupers.

  Desmond assisted her as she donned her cloak, and willed himself to behave while he lifted her silken locks out of the way to properly wrap the cloak over her shoulders. He did misbehave a little, grazing his fingers along her slender neck in the pretense of taking extraordinary care. It was a pleasurable task and he lingered over it.

  Rupert would not have been fooled by his actions, but he’d already made his way to the waiting carriage and wasn’t there to cast reprimand. After making certain that Adelaide was properly bundled, Desmond walked her out, and experienced more feeling as he wrapped his hands around her small waist to boost her up into the carriage. He settled on the bench beside her since Rupert still needed to stretch out in order to ease the pressure on his sore back, and experienced yet more feeling as the horses jerked to a start and the wheels began to roll, for Adelaide’s body slid against his with every bump and rut, evoking raw, hungry sensations that refused to be doused.