Moon Dreams

by Patricia Rice

  “I shall never forget your kindness, Lord Maclean.”

  Stunned almost to a state of shock by the full brunt of her devastating smile, Rory shook his head and asked, “Will you tell me how you knew I am laird?”

  Alyson removed her hand from his grip and righted her cloak. “You told me, of course.”

  Rory suffered a pang of regret at parting from the only angel heaven would ever send to him. In thirty-six hours of her company he had become as daft as she, to let a lovely heiress escape his arms. Perhaps he was building up credit in heaven.

  Rory tried one last time. “I gave you my name, lassie, not my title. It is not a thing I throw about, under the circumstances.”

  Alyson frowned and touched a gentle finger to his jaw. “’Tis time now that you begin. The Maclean is a proud name and title. You wear it well.”

  Then, as if she had said nothing any more astonishing than farewell, she swept up the polished marble steps to the solicitor’s office and out of his life.

  ***

  Farnley was startled to discover that the shabby maidservant drifting into his chambers was actually the lovely Cornish heiress he’d left behind just days ago. He kept removing his spectacles and rubbing his eyes, but the vision didn’t change.

  When he fully grasped her tale of the new earl’s actions, he surmised she must be suffering maidenly hysterics. A gentleman wouldn’t behave in such a manner. But she was a wealthy client, and he wouldn’t dispute her version. He polished his spectacles again.

  “Well, you certainly have every right to set up your own household, Miss Hampton, every right indeed. Of course, a young unmarried lady will need a suitable companion. I am certain you must have other cousins we can consult . . .”

  Alyson drew out the card the Maclean had scribbled on and handed it to the solicitor. “This lady was recommended to me. Do you know her?”

  Farnley studied the card. “Lady Campbell? Yes, of course, but . . .”

  All the objections that came to mind would have no impact on this young woman. Lady Campbell had been a suspected Jacobite in her youth and had escaped the full process of law only because of her Tory husband. Since her widowhood, she had lived on the thin edges of poverty. There was no questioning the lady’s good breeding, however, and in a day when morality was something to be discussed philosophically but seldom practiced, Lady Campbell had a faultless reputation. Farnley gave up the battle without a fight.

  Standing, he picked up his hat and offered his arm. “Come, we will visit the lady and see what she recommends.”

  ***

  In one of the older residential districts, the Campbell house’s narrow facade was squeezed in between a palatial limestone mansion and a small church. The window frames lacked paint, Alyson observed, but the front step was well-scrubbed. The maid answering the door appeared equally scrubbed and cheerful. She bobbed a curtsy, led the visitors into a small parlor, and carried Mr. Farnley’s card away on a silver salver.

  Garbed in a simple lutestring sacque of dove gray adorned with a handful of pink silk roses, the lady who joined them appeared almost doll-like, but possessed the presence of a royal duchess.

  Mr. Farnley made a leg and bowed. After the first courtesies, he brought Alyson forward. The lady’s gaze swept from Alyson’s face to her indescribable clothes without comment.

  “Lady Campbell, I would like to present to you Miss Alyson Hampton, granddaughter of the late Earl of Cranville. She has come up from Cornwall after her grandfather’s death. She has few acquaintances here, and it has been recommended that she be put under the protection of a suitable companion. Your name being mentioned, Miss Hampton asked that we discuss the issue with you first.”

  Lady Campbell’s blue eyes lit with fascination, but she revealed no surprise as she offered seats to her guests and perched on the edge of a striped brocade settee. “Might I inquire as to who recommended me?”

  Alyson met her gaze with ease. “Your nephew, my lady. He was most courteous in my behalf, and I respect his opinion. I trust I have not been too forward in responding to his suggestion.”

  Lady Campbell laughed delightedly. Her dancing gaze swept from the staid solicitor and back to Alyson. “Of course, he mentioned some such to me, but I paid no mind to it. He is quite right, though, child. We shall suit. Mr. Farnley, I am certain you and my solicitor can work out whatever arrangements are necessary, but I should think Miss Hampton ought to come to me, immediately. The poor child needs a tub and a maid and a good sleep.”

  In a flurry of maternal fluttering, she pried Alyson from her solicitor and charmed him into saving any messy material details to another date. In a matter of minutes Alyson became a fixture in the shabby but genteel Campbell household.

  ***

  Within a fortnight both the Campbell residence and Alyson had taken on a new polish. With amazement and a judicious dollop of amusement, Alyson stared at her London reflection in her full-size gilt-framed mirror. While the house had acquired new carpets and draperies and a discreet servant or two, she had acquired a powdered coiffure with lovely fat sausage curls and any number of gowns. This one tonight was the most extravagant.

  Alyson admired the yards of white satin brocade embroidered in gold threads that made up her coming-out gown. The Maclean had known what he was doing by sending her to his aunt. Whatever recompense Farnley had offered Lady Campbell for introducing Alyson to society had decidedly improved the lady’s financial standing. Alyson had no objection to the lady profiting from the arrangement, since she herself had done so well by it. She would never have dared to order a gown like this on her own.

  The elbow-length sleeves dripped with fine lace. Gold bows accented the shoulders and were repeated again in the long train of the robe à la française, which was held up by wire side hoops at her waist. Her gold stomacher narrowed her waistline, and the corset pushed her breasts to a fullness that matched that of the grandest of ladies she had seen in the park. Staring at the image in the mirror, Alyson decided this was a more effective disguise than any she could have created. No one would recognize the elegant young lady in the mirror as the earl’s bastard granddaughter.

  She wrinkled her nose at the powdered hair. It was the height of French fashion, the hairdresser had assured her. None of the other ladies had tried it yet, but it was perfect for mademoiselle, whose own hair was so full and luxuriant. Why hide behind the tight curls of old ladies? Alyson lifted a fat curl and decided it added to the disguise. Besides, it made her feel very sophisticated.

  She needed the courage of sophistication to survive the evening ahead. Lady Campbell had decided Alyson was ready to meet society and had devised a small party just for her introduction. Of course, over these last few weeks Alyson had met many new people, but she still wasn’t ready. What could Lady Campbell say that would coerce all society into accepting a female marked with the bar sinister?

  Alyson lifted her skirts and followed the maid who summoned her. The ballroom was on the third floor, but Lady Campbell—Deirdre as she’d been told to call her—waited for her in the newly refurbished salon in the family quarters. What the house lacked in width it made up for in depth and height, and Alyson had time to feel excitement build before she reached the designated salon.

  She heard voices behind the panel, but the maid rapped on the door, leaving her no time to hesitate. At a call from within, the maid opened the door and left Alyson on her own.

  The man dominating the room’s center clenched his glass and stared as she entered.

  Alyson’s smile of delight at seeing the Maclean again faltered when he said nothing, but continued to study her. She threw an uncertain glance at Lady Campbell, who merely shook her head. Alyson returned his rude stare.

  His clothes had certainly improved since she’d seen him last. He was wearing one of the new elegant coats with the narrower skirt, and the fashionably short vest emphasized his narrow hips and flat belly. The dark blue velvet of the coat contrasted nicely with the paler blue of the
vest and breeches, and the freshly starched lawn jabot and lace at his cuffs accented the dark coloring of his face and hands. He looked every inch the Maclean tonight, and that included the silver hilt of the sword at his side.

  The smile forming on the lips of his tousled angel as she returned his rude stare nearly turned Rory’s tongue to mush. Deirdre had warned him of the change, but nothing could prepare him for this. The innocent cherub who had slept in his arms had become a much more worldly angel in satin and bows, but to Rory she still appeared to have wings and a halo. Where before she had been all heather and mist, now she was the sparkling, crystalline drifts of Ben Nevis in winter. My God, he was taking leave of his senses, and she had not yet said a word!

  Grateful for the first time in his life for the polite rituals of etiquette learned at his mother’s knee so long ago, Rory took her hand in his own and bowed over it. Small fingers curled trustingly around his rough ones, and when he straightened, he could see the misty moors in her eyes again. Homesickness welled up in him, but he had learned to deal with that emotion long ago. Bracing himself, he smiled coolly.

  “Miss Hampton, I can scarcely credit it. Are you certain you are the same person who shared bannocks and spelding with me in a public coach?”

  Alyson lifted her fan to her chin. “No, sir, that was some other man, I do believe. Should I know you?”

  Lady Campbell laughed. “Lady Alyson Hampton, may I make known to you my roguish nephew, Lord Rory Douglas Maclean, who has consented to come out of hiding to escort you tonight.”

  Knowing of the heiress’s questionable ancestry, he raised a skeptical eyebrow at her title, but he wasn’t so indiscreet as to question it. Instead, Alyson did it for him, amazingly reading his mind when she could seldom answer an openly phrased question.

  “Mr. Farnley said I was legally adopted, and Lady Campbell insists on the formality. I think the theory is that if I wear a cloak of respectability, then I must be respectable. Would you agree?”

  So she was not simpleminded at all. That was a relief. He had difficulty making light conversation as it was. To do it with a simpleton was beyond his capabilities.

  “My lady, if it is respectability you strive for, you have found the wrong escort. Shall I make my bows now and leave you to more suitable admirers?”

  She made a wry face. “I fear we are in every way suited, my lord, both of us hiding behind false fronts. Bow out only if Deirdre has coerced you into this against your better judgment.”

  Rory took her hand and slid it through the crook of his elbow. “If you think I’ll let you out of my sight, you must think me a lunatic. Shall we go, ladies?”

  He offered his other arm to his aunt, who accepted it. The wide hoops of the women’s skirts swayed like thistledown, making it nearly impossible for him to stay at their side, but Rory managed the maneuver without disgracing himself.

  ***

  Rory noted that his notoriety ensured that Alyson was engaged all evening with whispered questions that stopped as soon as he approached. Her rumored wealth certainly kept him occupied with the gentlemen after dinner. London society was fully engaged in sorting and placing them in appropriate niches.

  Finally disengaging from a trio of gallants who had gone beyond asking Alyson’s antecedents, to impertinent questions concerning her present situation, Rory shoved his way through his aunt’s overcrowded ballroom with irritation. Spying Alyson waiting for her dance partner to return, he placed himself at her elbow and whispered, “Have you chosen your husband yet?”

  Far from being surprised either at his sudden appearance or at the tone of his question, Alyson merely flipped open her fan and inquired, “Who asks?”

  “That trio over there. They wish to know why you have never been introduced to society before, if we are by any chance engaged, and if your wealth is as fabulous as they have heard.”

  She leaned closer to his shoulder so no other could hear their words. “And what did you tell them?”

  She was laughing, and that served only to annoy him more, along with the heady fragrance of her perfume. “I told them your grandfather thought you too ugly to be presented, that I have compromised you quite beyond repair, and that your wealth consists of a derelict tin mine on an island covered with water half the day.”

  Alyson’s laughter rang out loud, causing heads to turn. “Since I am now so thoroughly ruined, would you mind leading me someplace where I might breathe? I have only lately come from the country, and I fear there is something in this mixture of perfumes that does not quite agree with me as well as fresh air.”

  Rory offered his arm with alacrity and escorted her toward the hallway. “I suspect it is not the perfumes so much as the stench of a hundred unwashed and overheated bodies melting in the brilliance of a thousand candles. I’d rather smell sweating sailors any day.”

  “Ugh.” Alyson turned up her pert nose as he steered her into the semidarkness of the library. A small fire burned in the grate, and candles on the table illuminated the brandy decanter. “I cannot think the salt air would quite eradicate that smell.”

  Rory opened the casement windows and seated her on the settee below it. The ballroom might be packed with malodorous bodies, but hers wasn’t one of them. She still smelled fresh and sweet. The urge to touch her was almost uncontrollable, but he was a strong man, and he had already made up his mind that he would not be the one to corrupt her innocence. He had every intention of leaving the country as soon as his ship returned.

  “That is no topic for conversation in any case.” Rory propped his elbow against the mantel a polite distance from her. “Tell me, do you have any preferences among all the eligible suitors my aunt has presented to you tonight?”

  Perched on the settee, Alyson shrugged off his inquiry to look out at the steeple of the church next door. “Will I disappoint Deirdre greatly if I do not make a grand marriage?”

  “What? Would the heiress settle for less than a marquess?” Fascinated despite himself, Rory pulled up a chair and straddled it, crossing his arms over the back as he stared at the winsome wench in the window. Firelight flickered across the soft flesh rising above her bodice, and he fought back a stirring in his groin. He’d found a willing whore as soon as he reached London, but obviously she wasn’t enough. He wriggled into a more comfortable position.

  “I see no purpose in marrying. Why would any woman voluntarily hand over her freedom to some man to do with as he wishes? Why should I take a husband so he might make himself free with what is mine, while giving me only what pittance he chooses out of the charity of his heart? I can see no reason to do such a mad thing.”

  Rory smiled at this innocence. “That is spoken like a woman who knows nothing of love.”

  To his surprise, Alyson snapped her fan vehemently. “Don’t be patronizing. I know of love. That’s why I know women are fools to believe in it. We love with our hearts, while men love with their heads. Well, I’ve learned my lesson, and I won’t forget it. I can see no advantage in marriage.”

  He had apparently hit a chord that roused the drowsy miss to battle. Rory raised his eyebrows and replied menacingly. “Tell me who the cad was and I’ll slit his throat.”

  Alyson ran her fan down the bridge of his nose and tapped it warningly. “You look like a protective gargoyle, but there is no need. The cad is quite willing to marry me now that I am an heiress, but I will not have him. So you see, love does not matter either. I shall choose to be single.”

  Rory’s gut refused to let him quit the subject. How far had the other man gone with her innocence? What kind of bloody parasite would hurt a priceless angel? If he had his hands around the cad’s neck right now, he’d strangle him. “What of passion?” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Did your lover teach you that too? If so, you must be a coldhearted wench to abjure it for all time.”

  Alyson stared at him in astonishment. Apparently displeased with his tone, she gathered her skirts and tried to escape around the obstacle of his chair. Rory’s
grabbed her wrist. Rising, he towered over her and waited for a reply.

  “Let go of me, Maclean.”

  “Tell me his name, Alyson.”

  “It is no business of yours.” She tugged at his hold, but he was relentless.

  “Tell me it is only your heart he has touched.”

  “What difference does it make?” she demanded. “Do I ask you how many women you have kissed? It is naught to me.”

  She had him there. He was making a complete fool of himself. Taking a deep breath, Rory released her arm, but caressed her shoulder to keep her from running away. “I am that sorry, lass. Forgive me. But I feel responsible for you somehow, and before I sail, I would like to know that you are happy. It is not so very easy to stop loving as you try to pretend.”

  She shrugged again. “I put his name on the guest list, but he did not accept the invitation. I will survive. Are you sailing soon?”

  Rory wanted to crush her shoulders in frustration. “Diversionary tactics work only once, lass. You will answer my question before I answer yours. If the man has taken you in lust, he must be made to accept the responsibility. I think old Farnley would be clever enough to tie up your wealth so he cannot squander it.”

  “I do not understand you, my lord. What responsibility is involved in exchanging a few kisses and vows of love? Alan promised to love me. He said nothing of marriage. That was only my foolish daydreaming.”

  Rory wanted to hug her in relief. He wanted to pick her up by that tiny waist and smother her in kisses. He wanted to find this Alan and tell him what a bloody fool he was. He did none of those things.

  Alyson looked sophisticated in the costume Deirdre had disguised her in, but she was still the untouched country lass beneath, and he would not be the one to sully perfection.

  He grazed her cheek with his knuckle and gave her room to pass. “Perhaps I better have Deirdre explain these things to you. Just do not let another gentleman touch those ruby lips of yours without a promise of marriage. Agreed?”