Heartbreak and Honor

by Collette Cameron

  Was she never to be given a reprieve? Not even within her home? She couldn’t make it to her chamber without others witnessing her devastation and giving rise to more speculation?

  She’d been a tattlemongers’ delight; one abysmal episode of succulent scandal after another. Skirts at her knees and gasping for breath, she bolted up the risers.

  Let Shona have the blasted title. Alexa didn’t want it or the troubles invariably accompanying positions of that nature. She wanted to go home, to the security and obscurity of Scotland and the tinker’s camp.

  But she couldn’t. Not anymore.

  She hadn’t a place to escape to, and that frightened her more than this ill-fated trek into High Society or the ongoing gossip dogging her. She was done over, good and stuck, until this inheritance and title business sorted itself out.

  How long did those proceedings take?

  Weeks? Months? Years?

  Impossible. She couldn’t endure the chaos for so long. She must be away from here, the sooner the better.

  Hot tears spilled onto her cheeks. Swiping at them, she darted the wide corridor’s length as Mr. Ponsby’s words echoed over and over in her mind.

  Your father arranged . . . paid . . . hide you.

  Reaching her bedchamber, Alexa fumbled with the handle, tears blurring her vision. The latch finally gave way, and she rushed inside. She kicked the door shut behind her and sucked in a shuddery breath. More tears blinded her as she crawled onto the window seat. She angrily brushed her cheeks. Infants and weaklings cried.

  It shouldn’t matter. She’d been well-cared for. Had been loved. She’d known nothing different and lived contentedly as a humble traveller.

  Who else knew of Steafan’s arrangement?

  Someone took her to the travellers after he died. Someone Steafan trusted and who kept silent, though whether from fear or loyalty, Alexa couldn’t determine. Or maybe, whomever Steafan chose to aid him, had betrayed him too.

  Except Mr. Ponsby hadn’t said travellers. Maybe . . . Was her presence with the tinkers a colossal mistake?

  Hugging her knees, she buried her face against them and at last gave way to the sorrow hounding her from the moment she’d discovered she wasn’t Tasara Faas. As much as she abhorred waterworks, her reserves, her self-control, the fortitude she prided herself in, was depleted to a nutshell’s worth, scarcely enough to keep her from shrieking and railing like a common fishwife.

  The door whisked open.

  Aunt Bridget or Katrina? God above. If He had the slightest morsel of mercy, He would spare her Minerva or Shona. Those two she couldn’t face at present.

  “Please go away. Let me be.” Between sobs, Alexa sucked in a ragged breath, her face pressed to her knees. “I do not wish to talk to anyone right now.”

  “Then don’t talk, Kitten. Just cry. You can tell me what’s wrong afterward.” An instant later, strong arms scooped her against a solid chest before settling her atop a very manly lap.

  “Lucan?” She tilted her head against his shoulder. “You oughtn’t to be here. It’s most unseemly. Think of the gossip.”

  More spiteful natter—a handcart load if he is caught.

  “You’ve been the object of more than your share of tattle, haven’t you?” He kissed her forehead and adjusted her more securely against him. “I’ve left the door ajar, but I couldn’t ignore you when you fled upstairs that distressed.”

  Alexa let her eyelashes flutter shut and snuggled closer. He smelled divine. Spicy cologne, coffee, and—she sniffed—yes, a touch of heather.

  She’d not been comforted in a tender embrace for a long time. Right now, she didn’t know who else to trust, and his sturdy arms encircling her soothed her wounded soul, although it wasn’t her soul that an intense burst of heat surged through.

  “Lucan, do you realize this is the fourth time you’ve come to my rescue or defense? The Blackhalls, the ball, the bookstore, and now?”

  “Actually, it’s the sixth, but it is the fourth time today.”

  She loved how his chest rumbled when he spoke, his voice a rich, melodious baritone. She slipped her arms about his waist and his muscles bunched. “Good heavens, truly? I am becoming a nuisance for you, aren’t I?”

  “Never.” He hugged her, whispering fiercely against her hair. “I would sacrifice my body, give my life to protect you.”

  His words, ringing sincerely, brought about another round of tears. Alexa blinked them back. “How can you say that? You barely know me.”

  “I’m of a mind that the length of acquaintance doesn’t necessarily equate how well you know someone. I believe similar spirits recognize one another.” He rested his chin atop her head, his breath warming her scalp.

  True. In mere weeks, Katrina and Seonaid had become sisterly to Alexa.

  “I’ve known some coves decades, and couldn’t tell you a single personal detail about them. Turns out, I didn’t know my own father that well either.” A depth of melancholy she hadn’t heard before etched his voice.

  Alexa acknowledged a similar truth. She grazed her fingers along the curve of Lucan’s ribs. Lean, rippled firmness. Not given to stoutness at all. A foreign, although not unpleasant, twinge vibrated her woman’s center.

  “What happened while we were apart? Only a couple of hours passed.” The folds of his neckcloth muffled her question.

  “I broke Renishaw’s nose and informed Lord Craven in the most succinct terms, what he ought to do with his flapping tongue.” Lucan’s torso shook when he laughed while rubbing her shoulders in a slow, soothing motion. “Physically impossible for the chap to do as I proposed he should, but made me feel somewhat better for having suggested it.”

  “Oh?” She opened her eyes, her gaze fixed upon the slope of his lips. Why did he have to have such a lovely mouth, not thin, wet lips like the rat? “Do I want to know why you felt the need to protect me?”

  “No, but Renishaw is not to be trusted.” A serious glint entered Lucan’s pewter eyes. “He’s placed a bet to see you disgraced. And since they arrived in Town, White’s book is peppered with his and Peterson’s name.”

  “I’ll bet Harrison is behind Renishaw’s wager. He revealed his true nature today.” She wanted to arch into Lucan’s palm skimming her spine.

  His breath warmed her scalp as he tucked her nearer. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Those two castoffs taint the earth with their presence.”

  She feared them and what they were capable of.

  The arc of Lucan’s mouth grew before he dropped a kiss upon her nose, though his gaze caressed her lips. “It’s imperative we marry, and hastily.”

  “Still bent on that, are you? The answer remains no. I’d make you miserable, Lucan.” As unyielding as an oak, and if their circumstances permitted, she might have been charmed.

  “I disagree. I think we’d get on very well.”

  She toyed with the buttons of his coat. Besides, she’d lose her inheritance and with it, any hope of independence or helping the Highland travellers. “Hasn’t what’s occurred these past twenty-four hours been proof enough for you? I am not duchess material. I’d bring you disgrace, and in time you’d come to resent me.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.” He dropped another kiss atop her nose. “What do you take me for? Some kind of ogre who expects perfection?”

  She slumped in his arms. “Think of your family. I doubt they’d welcome a black tinker with a scandalous trail a league long into their midst.”

  “You’d be sorely wrong, and you’ve no dishonor attached to you, except that which snobs have taken upon themselves to judge and thus found you wanting.”

  If only she could believe him, that he didn’t care what his peers thought, wouldn’t care as time whispered onward. Nevertheless, often with the noblest and most honorable of intentions, people frequent
ly found themselves regretting impetuous decisions.

  “I’ll not quit until you agree.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I’d be far more miserable without you and cannot imagine ever resenting you. I’ve become most attached to you, my little gypsy.”

  She shook her head. “Do not, I beg you.”

  “We can talk of this later.” His arms tightened the merest bit. “What has you distraught? How can I help?”

  Ominous clouds blanketed the sun, and the rays warming her through the beveled glass disappeared into bleak grayness.

  Alexa sighed and shifted from Lucan’s lap. Pure foolishness to continue sitting atop his marbled thighs. Indulging in fantasies of him kissing her, and what life as Lucan’s duchess might be like, had her almost forgetting the travesty in the salon minutes ago.

  Her core pulsed again.

  Yes, indeed, gossip was the least of her worries.

  He released her, but stayed close, his thigh touching hers. Tilting her chin until her gaze met his, he smiled. “What happened?”

  She explained what had occurred from the moment he left her at the curb to her bolting into the entry.

  “I’m glad for Shona’s sake, but truthfully have no idea where this leaves me. My father’s will names me his heir, but if I understand correctly, Shona’s petition for the title is valid. She’s welcome to it too.” She wrinkled her nose and stared into space for a moment. “I may have that portion wrong. In truth, I don’t understand most of this title business. I know Harrison would see me gone in a flash. Shona would have inherited my portion if I hadn’t returned in another two years. I’m sure that chaps their bums red and raw as the Highland winds in January.”

  “You honestly don’t care about the title?” The penetrating look Lucan gave her set her heart aflutter. “Most women in your position would.”

  Alexa plucked at the delicate lace covering her gown until Lucan wrapped his palm around her hand. She didn’t care about the title, but she’d be a colossal liar if she denied caring about the money. She’d spent eighteen years surviving on next to nothing, and didn’t relish returning to a pauper’s state.

  “No, I don’t, Lucan. In fact, it’s almost a relief to think Shona may be awarded it. If I have my own funds, I would prefer she does.”

  What Alexa would do if that proved true, she hadn’t determined. She hovered in limbo between worlds, not wanted by, or fitting into either. At least she would have the means to support herself.

  She offered an apologetic glance. “I know that may be hard for you to understand. I wanted the power and monetary benefits to help the tinkers, but I’m not even sure they’d accept my aid now.”

  He drew little circles in her palm with his forefinger, sending more of those tantalizing sensations along her nerves. “I have a foundling hospital along with other charities I support. Perhaps you might start there with your benevolent work. I believe those of us born into wealth and power have an obligation to ease the misery of those who weren’t as fortunate.”

  “Hmm, perhaps. If I stay for any length of time, which I don’t foresee.”

  Underneath her window, a charcoal-brown bird hopped about in the garden in search of insects.

  Alexa lifted a shoulder then slouched against the casement.

  “I . . . Lucan, I don’t belong here. I can never relax and be myself. I feel as if I’m acting, playing a role I’m expected to perform, but this,” she swept her hand over herself, “isn’t the real me. Yes, these are lovely trappings, and I’ve enjoyed having nice clothes and pin money, I cannot deny that. But it feels like a holiday which must eventually end.”

  “Who is the real you?” Lucan tucked a tendril behind her ear then traced his finger along her jaw. “I see an extraordinarily beautiful, intelligent woman, who’s brave beyond belief, one I would be honored to spend the rest of my life with.”

  He bent near and brushed his lips across hers.

  A heady sensation enveloped her, similar to the time she’d imbibed too much wine during Hogmanay.

  The urge to press her lips against his molded mouth, to feel the warmth of his lips on hers overwhelmed, and before she considered the rashness of her actions, she cupped his nape, drew him to her, and kissed him.

  Most unduchess-like.

  The tender sweetness exceeded anything she’d imagined, and for the briefest of moments, she yearned to be his wife, to know him as a woman knows a man, to carry his children in her womb, to risk everything to be his.

  To say yes to his proposal.

  She didn’t have the courage. Or the stupidity.

  Turning her head away, she covered his lips with two fingers. “We cannot.”

  He caressed her nape, his forehead pressed to hers. “I wish you would trust me. I want to marry you and no other.”

  Alexa remained silent. It wasn’t him she didn’t trust.

  She might fall in love with Lucan, perhaps halfway had already. Handsome, rich, educated, funny, kind . . . The sort of man a woman dreamt of loving. Yet, her love might destroy her. She’d have to turn her back on her identity and become something she never wanted to be.

  Something she disdained and the thing he—his elevated position in society—required in a wife. She couldn’t risk that, and couldn’t jeopardize her inheritance for what might become a wretchedly unhappy existence.

  “Marry me. I would strive every day, for as long as I lived, to make you happy.” Cupping her face, he placed a reverent kiss on her forehead.

  This must stop before Alexa lost what little reserve she still possessed. She blurted the first thing springing to mind. “The solicitor said my father feared for his life as well as mine, and that’s why he sent me into hiding.”

  Lucan stiffened and angled away, the planes of his face growing tense. “Then, you might still be in danger?”

  “I honestly do not know. None of this makes sense to me. Why would my father suspect someone wanted him dead? What happened to make him think such a vile thing and take the extreme of hiding me with strangers rather than with my family?”

  A dog barked, and she cast a disinterested glance to the garden. Sir Pugsley snuffled around the grass. The others must have found their way to the drawing room. How many callers had arrived since she’d dashed to her room? What excuse did Aunt Bridget give for her absence? Pray God Minerva and Harrison had left for Dorthea Hinton’s.

  “Lucan?” She searched his dear face. “I cannot believe my aunt and uncle knew of this. They’ve been nothing but the epitome of kindness since they arrived at Craiglocky.”

  “What did your uncle say when you asked him if he knew your father sent you to the gypsies?”

  “I left before he answered.” Puffing her cheeks, she blew out a breath, and looked beyond the window again. “You know, Mr. Ponsby didn’t say gypsies. He said my father made arrangements, and in my distress, I assumed he meant the travellers.”

  Sitting at the awkward angle caused the toes of one foot to fall asleep, and she kicked off her slipper to wiggle them.

  Did duchesses go about in their stockings? Likely not.

  If she trotted around barefoot, the ladies of le beau monde would collapse into a swooning frenzy. Sure as rain fell in Scotland, none of them had ever stepped in goat or horse dung while shoeless. The mental image brought a budding smile to her mouth.

  “I wish I knew the truth, but to know for certain I must speak to Balcomb.” She pressed her palm against the warm glass. “You met him at Dounnich House.”

  Lucan glanced to the door, as if he’d heard something. “Well, then, that’s what we shall do, find Balcomb and ask him. Do you know where the tinkers are this time of year?”

  Alexa turned to Lucan. To know precisely what Dat knew would bring her great peace of mind and might answer the other questions this afternoon had spark
ed. “They generally venture near Inverness from October to January or February, depending upon the weather.”

  He made a contemplative sound in the back of his throat.

  She folded her arms against a chill. “Will we travel there? Not the best time of year for a journey to Scotland.” She frowned and worried her lower lip. “But, I don’t think he would come to London. Scottish Highland travellers are quite different from the Roma frequenting Gypsy Hill.”

  “Hmm, let me think on it. Unless we’re married, we cannot travel together. Right now, Kitten, we need to present ourselves below—”

  A soft rap preceded the entrance of the grand dame from the entry, leaning on her walking cane. “Forgive me for intruding, but we must make sure the young lady’s reputation remains untarnished.” She delivered a friendly smile and glided farther into the chamber, her deep scarlet gown rustling with the elderly woman’s stiff movements.

  “Harcourt, dear boy, introduce us.”

  Lucan rose and extended his hand to Alexa. Once she stood as well, he grinned. “My lady—”

  “Speak up.” The elderly woman thrust her cane at him. “My hearing isn’t what it used to be.”

  Lucan dutifully raised his voice a notch. “May I present Miss Alexandra Atterberry? Alexa, please meet my grandaunt Kathryn, the Dowager Marchioness of Middleton.”

  The dowager angled her white head, her dove gray eyes twinkling and a smile hovering on her mouth. “Did I hear something about marriage? Are felicitations in order at last, Nephew?”

  Chapter 22

  Elbow on the settee’s arm, Lucan took a sip of the fine cognac Needham had poured while they waited in the drawing room for the women to join them for their jaunt to the theater.

  Yesterday afternoon, when Lucan had extended the invitation to the Needhams to join him in his box, they’d decided to share a carriage as well. Mrs. Needham swiftly agreed. In fact, he couldn’t help but think she’d deciphered Lucan’s interest in Alexa and welcomed it. Good to know. He might enlist her aid in winning her niece over.