Capturing the Heart of a Cameron (Farthingale Series Novellas)

by Meara Platt

  Although his carriage was of the finest quality, the winter roads were damaged by snow, ice, and freezing rain that pelted down furiously. Adelaide didn’t have the heft to anchor herself, and as his driver made up lost time by racing his team along the smoother stretches of roadway leading to Coventry, she bounced from side to side, constantly falling against him and hastily scrambling off with a muttered apology.

  “Here,” he said, drawing her up against him as they neared their destination for the evening and his driver picked up speed. “Lean on me. I won’t have you stepping down looking battered and bruised. They’ll think I beat you.”

  “Who is ‘they’? How could anyone think such a thing? Ack!” She hit the carriage door and then bounced across the bench to land against his chest, her vibrant curls splaying across his dark cloak and her breasts striking his shoulder.

  He wrapped his arms around her and shifted slightly so that her head could comfortably rest against his shoulder. Rupert made not a sound, for he’d taken more medicine when they’d stopped to rest the horses and was now soundly snoring across from them.

  At first, Adelaide resisted, but after several minutes she began to relax against him. “This is nice, Des. I feel quite cozy.” She burrowed against him and drew the blanket over herself and partly over him, but he quietly nudged it off him. He didn’t need to warm up. He was too hot as it was.

  They stopped for the evening at one of the better roadside inns and Rupert immediately retired to his quarters with apologies, leaving Adelaide in Desmond’s care once more. Adelaide was quiet this evening as they sat in the common room sharing a late supper. “You seem troubled, Sparkles. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, truly.” She smiled at him, but it was a hesitant smile. “Perhaps I’m a little tired, that’s all.”

  He chuckled lightly. “You did get tossed around the carriage quite a bit more than we did. I suppose that must have been exhausting.”

  “I wasn’t bothered by that so much as…”

  “What?” he prodded when she blushed and tried to turned away. To his surprise, she began to sniffle and her lips began to quiver.

  “It isn’t important,” she said with such ache in her voice that he knew it was of deep importance to her.

  He reached across the table and took her hands in his, not caring what anyone else in the room might think. The place was almost empty and most present were locals anyway. There was little chance his actions would be reported to the scandal sheets. “You may tell me to mind my own business, but you may not lie to me… or more precisely, lie to yourself. What’s the matter?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You.”

  He arched an eyebrow and drew back slightly, but didn’t let go of her hands. “Me? How did I offend you? It was unintentional, I assure you.”

  “You didn’t offend me. That’s the problem. You held me in your arms for much of the journey and…” Her eyes filled with tears and her fingers wrapped within his, the sensation so right and natural, it felt as though their hands were designed to fit together. “Please, I can’t talk about it.”

  He shook his head and sighed. “I know what you’re feeling. My sister and I went through it, too. Only we had each other to turn to when things were bad, when we were feeling quite alone and discarded. But you had no one. No one to take you into their arms and comfort you.”

  She nodded. “That’s all I could think of while you held me, how snug and protected I felt with you, and at the same time, how empty these last ten years have been for me. I don’t ever want to feel that way again.”

  “You won’t. I’ll speak to Evie and George when we reach London. They’ll invite you to stay with them for as long as you wish. Same for all your Farthingale relations. They won’t allow your father to send you back to the abbey no matter what happens between you and Mr. Postings.”

  She glanced up, startled. “Why are we speaking of Mr. Postings again? This isn’t about him. He’ll propose to me and I’ll become his wife.”

  “Seriously?” A muscle in his jaw twitched as he fought to suppress his irritation. That bull’s pizzle was not getting his hands on Adelaide. “You’ll accept someone who only desires you for your father’s business?” Desmond was getting angry just thinking of the man, but he ought to have kept his mouth shut, for he was merely adding salt to her open and festering wound.

  Despite her obvious anguish, she tipped her chin up in defiance. “It’ll make my father happy. And if it makes him happy, then it shall make me happy, too.”

  He released her hands and muttered an oath under his breath. “In a pig’s eye. If you truly felt that way, you wouldn’t be crying.”

  She stiffened her shoulders and frowned at him. “I’m not crying.” She swiped at a tear. “And why must everything be about Mr. Postings anyway? There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s a decent man. And I’m sure he’d take me in his arms if I asked him to.”

  “As I said, if you believed it, you wouldn’t be in tears.” Why did he care anyway? He had no business getting involved. Why was the girl’s happiness so important to him? She hadn’t asked for his opinion. In truth, he was behaving like a Farthingale and meddling.

  Her frown was now a scowl. “I liked you better when you were simply holding me in your arms and not passing judgement. I mean… that isn’t what I meant to say. I appreciate your securing me to the seat while the carriage was in rocky motion, that’s all. I’m not suggesting that I wanted to be in your arms. Only that it felt… perfect… as in perfectly comfortable and helpful.” She sighed. “And nice, too. I liked not having to struggle on my own for once. Although I’m quite capable of standing up for myself if I had to, which I’ve had to do for most of my life.”

  She lowered her gaze to her plate and groaned. “Stop me whenever you wish. I’m obviously jabbering nonsensically.”

  “It isn’t nonsensical.”

  She eyed him quizzically. “You understood most of that blather?”

  He nodded. She was angry and hurt by her father’s actions, yet still determined to gain his approval. She stubbornly believed sacrificing herself to Postings was the magical key that would open the door to her father’s love. It wouldn’t. In truth, her father probably did love her, but he wasn’t enough of a man to stand up to Adelaide’s stepmother. Perhaps there were other family burdens placed on her father. “Get some rest, Sparkles. We’ll be in Coventry tomorrow and I intend to show you as much of the town as your delicate feet can manage.”

  Desmond breathed a sigh of relief when they turned onto a main road and the church spires of Coventry came into view. Adelaide had tied her hair back with a worn and slightly frayed ribbon that blended with the reds and golds of her hair.

  It was a simple, unfashionable style, and yet she looked spectacular. Would there ever come a time when he thought her plain? He hoped it would happen soon.

  It certainly wasn’t happening now.

  Within the hour they were in the center of town and settled at Greer House, one of the most fashionable inns in England and certainly the most exclusive in this fair city. Since today was Wednesday, Desmond had Adelaide all to himself. Rupert expected to be engaged in important meetings that would consume his entire day and possibly into tomorrow as well.

  Adelaide. All to himself.

  He refused to admit just how much he was looking forward to it. That it might possibly be one of the most enjoyable days of his life was of no moment. He was merely accepting to escort her about town as a favor to Rupert.

  Only, it felt as though Rupert was doing him the favor.

  They visited a local church first, then walked toward the square where Lady Godiva had taken her memorable ride. Adelaide’s eyes were wide as she took in all the sights. “Do you think Lady Godiva was beautiful?”

  Desmond paused to gaze at Adelaide, pretending to give it serious thought when all he really cared to do was look upon her. She had a lovely, expressive face that fascinated him to no end.

 
; Their time together would soon end and he meant to make the most of it. He wanted it to end before his heart was drawn in too deeply, but another day or two in her company wouldn’t make that much difference, would it? “It’s reputed she was. I believe she had ginger hair, similar to yours, and big blue eyes. Farthingale blue–”

  She cuffed him playfully. “She did not. Her hair was blonde.”

  “How do you know? It could have been a mix of blonde and copper. She might have been an ancestor of yours. Independent, spirited, and quick to leap to the defense of the weak. Sounds like a Farthingale to me. We ought to trace your family lineage and find out.”

  “How are we to do that? I know very little about my family. In truth, you probably know more about the Farthingales than I do. Will you tell me more about them?”

  “If you wish. We’ll have plenty of time to talk at supper.” He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow as they resumed their stroll around the square. “We’ll be alone again tonight. Since your uncle’s back is still sore, he’s already bowed out of joining us. Once he’s finished with his pressing business, he intends to retire to his room and have his supper brought up there.”

  “Oh, dear. I do worry about him.” She cast Desmond an anxious gaze. “I hope his injury isn’t more serious than he lets on.”

  “It isn’t,” he assured. “He managed the stairs with little difficulty and that’s a sure sign he’s on the mend. George will have a look at him when we reach London. There’s no better physician in England.”

  “Ah, Uncle George. He’s wonderful, isn’t he? At least we can boast of one honorable Farthingale in the bloodline. I shudder to think what we’d find if we dug deeper into my ancestry. A pirate or two? A horse thief?” Adelaide shook her head and laughed with gentle glee.

  The sun’s rays caught the reds and golds of her hair and reflected off her vivid blue eyes. Lord, he was going to miss her. She was sunshine and starlight and fairy dust, all things curmudgeons weren’t supposed to like. “If my cousin Lily is to be believed,” she continued with an impish grin, “we’d probably find a mountain ape or three-toed sloth in our ancestry, too.”

  Desmond chuckled. “I’m sure I have some of those in my background as well. Indeed, I can point to some living today.” His mouth ached from the smiles she brought out in him. He wasn’t used to smiling ever and was not quite comfortable with the way she made him feel.

  In truth, because she made him feel.

  She made him ache physically to have her. She made him yearn for something more permanent than his usual dalliances. The ladies he chose were never a danger to his heart and his enjoyment was purely physical, convenient tumbles in the sack and no expectations afterward.

  He didn’t like losing control of his heart, nor did he intend to give it over so easily. But every moment spent with Adelaide caused his control to slip a little more.

  They left the square where Lady Godiva had made her famous ride and strolled to the shopping district. Desmond had yet to buy the girl anything and meant to amend the oversight today. Supper at the Greer House was an elegant affair and Adelaide’s clothes were simply not up to society’s standards. He wasn’t about to take her shopping for new gowns, for that would really set tongues wagging if word ever leaked out. But he could purchase a scarf or silk shawl that she could drape over her slender shoulders.

  He found the perfect haberdashers a short walk from the square and suggested they go inside and browse. Adelaide nibbled her fleshy lower lip again in that absently seductive way that sent his heart leaping into his throat. “I couldn’t.”

  “You certainly can.”

  “No, you don’t understand–”

  He put a finger to her lips. “My gift to you.”

  Her eyes brightened for a moment, but their gleam quickly faded and she took a small step back. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

  He sighed and dropped his hand to his side. “Very well, your uncle and I will settle up accounts afterward. Were he not so preoccupied with business affairs and his aching back, he would have taken you shopping himself.”

  Desmond was never one to discuss finances with a lady, but he knew Adelaide hadn’t the funds to purchase the goods on her own nor would she accept the gift from him. He had no intention of asking for reimbursement from Rupert, but she didn’t have to know that. “You’ll require a new wardrobe when you’re in London. Your family intends to supply it, so consider this an early start.”

  “But–”

  He raised a finger in teasing caution again. “I’m a marquis. I can have you clapped in irons for defying me.” He arched an eyebrow and cast her a wicked grin that caused her to giggle. “And to refuse my offer would be an outrage and an insult.”

  She shook her head as she once again took his offered arm, and although she tried to appear stern, her expression was radiant. “You know what you just said is all stuff and nonsense.”

  He led her inside. “Choose something and don’t you dare ask prices.”

  He hung back and allowed her to wander about the shop, finally joining her when she’d selected a colorful wool shawl that was more practical than elegant. “I think this will do nicely,” she said, obviously excited about her find.

  Desmond nodded and then turned to the haberdasher and asked to see a selection of silks. Adelaide opened her mouth to protest but an arch of his eyebrow stopped her. “Des,” she said in an urgent whisper, “what are you doing? I’ve made my selection.”

  “And now I’ll make mine.” The shop’s manager scampered out from the back room where the merchandise was stored carrying an armload of exquisite scarves and shawls. Adelaide’s eyes widened and she gasped.

  Desmond paid no attention, instead instructing the manager to pull out several that might suit. “Of course, my lord. Your wife deserves the very best.”

  “She does indeed.” He grinned at Adelaide who was too appalled to respond, but she subtly kicked his foot as they stood beside the counter. The merchant had an excellent eye for fashion and suggested three exquisite designs. The first was in shades of ginger and copper that picked up the shades of Adelaide’s hair. The second was an azure blue that matched the color of her eyes. The third was a floral print on a background of forest green chosen by Desmond simply because Adelaide’s eyes took on that incandescent gleam when she saw it.

  He paid for the wares and then tucked the wrapped packages under his arm. “Which one will you wear this evening, Sparkles?”

  “You’re obviously the fashion expert. Which one do you suggest?” She shook her head and tucked her hand back in the crook of his elbow as they slowly made their way to the inn. However Adelaide’s happiness was palpable and it heightened his enjoyment of their day together.

  “They’re all beautiful,” he replied, knowing she could wear the coarsest linen and still look spectacular. He wondered at the effect she had on him, for he’d never spent hours shopping with any female before. Indeed, it was one of his least favorite activities and he usually found it as appealing as a dyspeptic stomach. His time with Adelaide was anything but that.

  “I’ll wear the green,” she decided and lightly squeezed his arm to convey her pleasure. “It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

  He grinned to signal his approval, wondering how he was going to survive another evening keeping his hands off her. Fortunately, their rooms were once again across the hall from each other and several doors down. He preferred the arrangement, for he’d barely survived that first night when they were in side by side rooms with an adjoining door between them and a woefully inadequate lock that he could have broken with the tap of his hand.

  A servant came forward to take their cloaks and packages as soon as they entered Greer House. “Tea will be served in the library shortly, my lord.”

  “Miss Farthingale,” he said with a nod, referring to her formally, “would you care to join me?”

  “I’d love to.” She smiled at the servant as she handed over her cloak, and when they were once
more alone, she casually glanced around the entry hall and let out a sigh. “I feel as though I’ve been asleep these past ten years and am only now waking up. Yet, when I look around and take in all this grandeur, I know I must still be dreaming.”

  He nodded. “Greer House is quite impressive.”

  Suddenly, her eyes grew wide as saucers. “Des! Look!” She hurried into the elegant parlor and spun around with glee, pausing only to take deep breaths that attracted his eye to her nicely shaped breasts. He didn’t understand what she was doing, only that he was in no hurry to divert his gaze.

  She spun around again, this time more slowly. “Come in here, Des. They’ve decorated for the holidays. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

  He took a step closer, but stopped at the threshold and casually rested his shoulder against the doorway. The festive scent of pine and cinnamon filled his nostrils. “Quiet beautiful.” He folded his arms across his chest and watched her as she marveled at the transformed parlor, his comment referring to her and not the pine boughs, red velvet bows, and other decorations adorning the room.

  She smiled at him and then glanced above his head. “You’re standing under mistletoe,” she said with a mirthful twinkle in her eyes. “Do you know the lore?”

  He arched an eyebrow as she approached to stand in the doorway with him, her head only reaching to his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you believe in all that stuff and nonsense?”

  “Of course, I do. Who doesn’t love a tale about kisses stolen under the mistletoe?” She gazed at him with a look of such hopeful innocence that he knew it was about to spell disaster for him. Of course, he’d heard of the mistletoe lore and understood what she wanted.

  No, he wasn’t going to kiss her, that would be too dangerous for both of them, especially since he knew it would be her first kiss.

  Her first ever.

  “Everyone knows it,” she insisted with a slight tremor to her voice that revealed her confidence was slipping. She began to nibble her lip, her dismay growing as she realized he wasn’t about to take the hint. “It’s said that a young woman who refuses a kiss will not be married in the following year. But I suppose if said young woman is never asked for a kiss, there’s nothing to refuse.”