Miss Frazer's Adventure

by Alexandra Ivy

  Clearly sensing her distraction, he regarded her pale face with a searching gaze.

  “Well, my dear, I have returned you to London, just as I promised.”

  “Yes,” she croaked, her throat constricted as she battled the threatening tears.

  Blast it all.

  Luce had been right when he said that every adventure had a price. She had not known how high the cost would be.

  “You have been very quiet,” he accused with a gathering frown. “Are you not feeling well?”

  “Of course I am.” She forced herself to give a small shrug. “I have always been rather quiet.”

  “Perhaps before you left Kent, but you have been very different since arriving in London.” His gaze narrowed with a dangerous perception. “What is it, Kate?”

  She had to get away. He knew her too well to be fooled for long. She drew in a deep breath and fought for control of her unruly emotions.

  “I suppose I am rather tired. Maybe I should lie down for a bit.”

  His blue eyes darkened in swift concern. “If you have taken a chill, I must call the doctor. It would be foolish to take any risks.”

  A warmth at his ready desire to care for her rushed through her blood before she sternly took command of herself.

  “No, I am merely weary from the travel.”

  “You are certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I will escort you.”

  “Luce.” She paused to swallow the ridiculous lump in her throat. “I would prefer to go to my rooms alone.”

  He stilled, his senses on full alert. “Why? Do you fear I will press myself upon you?”

  “Of course not. There is simply no need to escort me a few steps down the corridor.”

  “And there is nothing troubling you?”

  Nothing beyond a sense of loss that felt as if it were settled in for a good long stay, she wryly acknowledged.

  “Not at all,” she bravely lied.

  A sudden flare of anger tightened his features, assuring her that he was not fooled for a moment.

  “I presumed, Kate, that I had finally convinced you that I am not the enemy. Was I mistaken?”

  She bit her lip at the new edge in his tone. “Please, I do not want to discuss this now, Luce.”

  “Discuss what?” He reached out to cup her chin. “The fact that you are determined to judge me in your father’s shadow?”

  She abruptly pulled away from him. She was not prepared for their inevitable confrontation. Not now. Not when she felt vulnerable and not at all herself.

  She needed time to remind herself of all the sensible reasons for not marrying this glorious gentleman.

  “I just want to go to my chambers,” she pleaded softly.

  “Very well,” he gritted out, clearly angered by her elusive manner. “We will continue this discussion over dinner.”

  “I cannot. I promised Lord Thorpe before I left London that I would attend the theater with him tonight.”

  Pure male fury hardened his expression as he took a threatening step toward her.

  “So that is the reason you were so determined to leave Brighton,” he rasped. “You had already made plans with your devoted rake.”

  “Luce,” she protested, glancing down the hall to ensure they were alone. “Please do not make a scene. There are servants about.”

  “I do not give a damn if every servant in London is about.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “Then we will go into my chambers and discuss this in private.”

  She took a hasty step backward. “No.”

  “The devil take it, Kate. Why are you closing me out?”

  “I have to go.”

  The muscles of his jaw knotted as he struggled to control his rising fury.

  “Oh yes, I would not wish you to be late for your evening with Lord Thorpe. He does, after all, possess the good sense not to desire you as a wife. It seems a certain means of driving a gentleman mad.”

  Kate gave a mute shake of her head as she abruptly turned and fled down the hall.

  Dear lord, what a fool she had been.

  A naive, ridiculous fool.

  * * *

  He had been a damnable fool.

  Watching Kate scurry away, Luce clenched his hands in impotent fury.

  Why the hell had he pressed her?

  He had known from the moment they left Brighton that something was troubling Kate. Her determined distance had been nearly palpable in the air, even when he had teasingly attempted to coax a smile to her pale face.

  He should have been more patient, he chastised himself. She was wary of offering her trust to any gentleman. Her father had trained her to believe that love meant blind obedience and submission to constant judgment. It would take patience to teach her that he would never cage or condemn her.

  But the moment he felt her replacing the barriers between them, he had overreacted.

  Kate filled him with a joy he had never before experienced. Just having her near was enough to brighten his day. What if she decided to force him from her life? What if she decided she could never be his wife?

  What if she decided Lord Thorpe might better fulfill her need for glorious adventures?

  Startled by the ruthless jealousy that pierced his heart, Luce ground his teeth in frustration.

  Bloody hell.

  He could not lose Kate. Not now that he had discovered how deeply she had entrenched herself in his heart. Not when his soul sang when he caught a glimpse of her. Not when she made his body ache with an incessant need. Not when she filled his every thought.

  She belonged to him.

  Not because she could provide the money he so desperately needed. Or because she was of suitable birth and position.

  She belonged to him simply because she was Kate.

  With a growl, he turned on his heel and rapidly left the hotel. Perhaps he should be more patient and understanding, he grimly acknowledged as he caught the nearest hack and demanded to be taken to the docks. But he would be damned if he would stand aside and allow Kate to be seduced away by a charming rascal.

  The journey did not take long. Leaving the hack, Luce crossed directly to the small pub where most of his crew preferred to gather when they were in London. Thrusting open the narrow door, he stepped into the loud, smoky public room and glanced about for Foster.

  He need not have bothered. The door had barely closed behind him when he saw the craggy sailor barreling his way through the throng to stand before him with an accusing expression.

  “Well, it is about bloody time. Where have you been?”

  “Not now, Foster,” Luce sternly halted the hovering lecture. The elderly man had a rather annoying habit of treating him as if he were eight rather than eight and twenty. “What have you learned of Lord Thorpe?”

  There was a sharp pause at his unusual lack of civility. “Has something occurred?”

  Luce grimaced. “The gentleman is a blasted thorn in my side. I should like to throttle the treacherous cur.”

  Foster gave a lift of his shaggy brows. “Are you certain that it is Lord Thorpe who is the thorn, and not Miss Frazer?”

  A rueful sigh was wrenched from his throat. Of course Kate was a thorn. A relentless, prodding thorn. She had been plaguing him from the moment he had stepped into the London garden and viewed her sitting there blithely flirting with another gentleman.

  “She is proving to be somewhat trying,” he admitted as he scrubbed a hand over his face. It was taking every bit of willpower not to charge back to the hotel and toss her over his shoulder. His distant ancestors clearly had the right idea in handling unruly women. “Just give me what you know of this Thorpe fellow.”

  There was a moment’s pause before Foster at last heaved a heavy sigh. “Very well. From what I could discover, he just celebrated his thirtieth birthday and has been the target of every matchmaking mama in England since coming of age. There have been a few earlier scandals, but none that were any more than the us
ual antics of a wealthy nobleman, and all of them forgiven when he returned from the war as a hero.”

  A war hero? Gads, it made his teeth clench.

  “What about his finances? Is he on the dun?”

  “It is rumored that he possesses a bloody fortune.”

  “His family? Are they welcome among society?”

  “You could say that,” Foster retorted in dry tones. “His father is the Duke of Harmond and his mother is the daughter of the Earl of Coventry.”

  Luce abruptly dropped onto a wooden chair. So much for his fortune-hunting theory, he grimly acknowledged. The man could no doubt buy and sell him a dozen times over.

  “You are certain?”

  “ ’Taint easy to mistake the son of a Duke, Luce. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him yourself.”

  He should have, of course. Although he rarely attended society functions, he was a shrewd enough businessman to keep a careful account of those among the ton who possessed wealth or power. It was vital to cultivate such relationships whenever possible.

  Now he could only presume that his wits had been too scrambled by Kate to allow his usual instincts to sense the truth. And, if he were perfectly honest, his judgment had been clouded by a healthy dose of good old-fashioned jealousy.

  He wanted to believe the cad was a worthless scoundrel. It helped to make his own reasons for pursuing Kate more palatable.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  “Is something wrong, sir?”

  He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “What could possibly be wrong, Foster? My family is in near ruin, my fiancée treats me as if I carry the pox, and she is now currently in the company of the most dashing, wealthy bachelor ever to grace England.”

  “Yes, well, a rather nasty bit of ill luck.”

  “You could say that.”

  Foster cleared his throat. “Mayhap it is time to consider a change of plans.”

  “A change of plans?”

  “There is more than one wealthy maiden in London.”

  Luce’s brows abruptly snapped together. “Good God, not again, Foster. I have told you that I do not want another. Kate is the only wife I desire.”

  “And if she will not have you?”

  “I . . .” He swallowed the unwelcome lump that threatened to choke him. “She is merely out of her wits at the moment. Her damnable father has her utterly convinced that every man she encounters will do his best to crush her will. I must somehow prove that I can be trusted.”

  Foster grimaced as he lifted a hand to scratch at his thinning gray hair. “Well, you’d best do so swiftly.”

  Something in his gruff tone made Luce regard him with a growing concern. “What do you mean?”

  With seeming reluctance, Foster reached into the pocket of his battered coat to pull out a crumpled note.

  “This message came for you while you were gone. It is from your mother.”

  Luce’s stomach clenched in chilled dread as he reached to pluck the folded paper from his friend’s hand. His mother would not have written if it were not urgent. At least, not to him.

  Wanting nothing more than to toss the missive into the nearby fire, he instead unfolded the paper and forced himself to read the elegant scrawl.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

  “Is it bad?”

  He sucked in a deep, painful breath. “It appears that the rumors of my aborted wedding have circulated among the moneylenders and the vultures have begun to circle.”

  “What will you do?”

  His gaze shifted to the window. It offered a view of the dark street, barely illuminated by a feeble lantern.

  No doubt Kate was even now preparing for her evening with Lord Thorpe. She would be attired in some shimmering gown that would reveal far too much of her alabaster skin and bring out the flames of her titian curls.

  He closed his eyes in longing.

  “I must return to Kent. The sooner the better.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Luce rose to his feet to leave the stifling atmosphere of the pub.

  He had to speak with Kate. He had to somehow convince her that he could offer her a life far preferable to one of aimless adventures and independence.

  Unfortunately, he had nothing to barter beyond himself. And he very much feared that it wasn’t nearly enough.

  He hailed a passing hack and grimly returned to the hotel.

  * * *

  Kate walked in a daze toward her room.

  It had proved to be a most astonishing evening. Oh, it was not the rather tedious performance of Hamlet that had been a surprise. Nor even the elegant dinner that Lord Thorpe had ordered at one of the most expensive hotels in London.

  Instead, it had been the gentleman’s stern persistence when he sensed that something was troubling her, and her own startling confessions, that had come as such a shock.

  She had not intended to admit her charade, nor her reasons for coming to London. It was far too dangerous to admit to anyone. But unfortunately, she had been too vulnerable to battle his relentless questions and by the end of the evening, she had discovered the truth tumbling from her lips in rapid bursts.

  Thank goodness he had not seemed offended by her deceptions. He had not even attempted to chide her for her foolishness. Instead, he had offered a measure of sincere admiration for her daring and then, most unexpectedly of all, an irresistible solution to her most pressing troubles.

  Kate had reeled at his generous offer that she become a guest of his parents. As he so firmly pointed out, her father could hardly complain at her wish to visit the Duke and Duchess of Harmond. Not when they possessed a spotless reputation, and even more importantly, a most eligible son.

  Sir Frazer would be delighted by the thought of her being in such illustrious company, and she would have ample opportunity to consider her future with no pressure of weddings or being locked in the wine cellar.

  She should have been delighted.

  This was a perfect opportunity to put an end to her farce of an engagement once and for all. Luce would have to choose another bride soon. And her father would certainly halt his bullying efforts if he believed she possessed the potential to lure a future duke up the aisle.

  It was precisely what she desired, and yet she had never been more miserable in her life.

  Chastising herself for her bout of self-pity, Kate firmly squared her shoulders and moved to her door.

  She had made her decision. There would be no regrets. Soon she would forget all about Lord Calfield.

  She shoved open the door and stepped inside.

  “Good evening, Kate.”

  Her key and her reticule dropped to the carpet as she discovered Luce calmly leaning against the mantel.

  “Luce,” she breathed in shock. “How did you get in here?”

  He gave a shrug of his shoulders as he thrust himself upright and strolled to the center of the room.

  “I told the maid that you had escaped from Bedlam and I had come to take you back. She did not seem the least surprised. Indeed, she was quite anxious to be of help.”

  “Very amusing,” she retorted, shivering at the brooding manner in which his eyes lingered upon the generous amount of skin revealed by her bronze evening gown.

  He crossed his arms over his chest as his gaze slowly returned to her wary eyes.

  “How was the play?”

  “Adequate.”

  “What did you see?”

  She blinked at the unexpected question, unnerved by the manner in which his coiled power filled the room.

  What was he doing here?

  “What?”

  “The play?” he repeated in carefully controlled tones. “What did you see?”

  “Oh. Hamlet.”

  “Hardly a daring choice. I thought you wished to be adventurous?”

  “It was adventurous for me. I have never seen Hamlet performed before.”

  His lips gave a reluctant twitch at her unconscious lack of sophistication.

&nb
sp; “Ah yes, I had forgotten your limited social life.”

  Rubbing her hands over the bare arms that still tingled from his gaze, Kate licked her dry lips.

  “What do you want?”

  His stare seared over her countenance. “The truth would be a nice change.”

  “Truth? I . . . I have never lied to you.”

  “No?” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Then tell me, Kate, why did you flee from me today? Were you truly exhausted?”

  “I was tired, yes,” she said, fighting a futile battle against her revealing blush.

  “And there was nothing else?”

  “I needed some time to consider.”

  “Consider what?”

  The moment had come. There was no mistaking the grim determination etched onto the lean face or the pulsing tension that gripped his body.

  He was not leaving until he had forced a confession, she reluctantly acknowledged. And any hope of slipping away without an angry scene was lost.

  She sucked in a steadying breath.

  Courage, Kate, courage, she silently reassured herself.

  “I wished to consider where I would go from here.”

  “And have you made your decision?”

  “Yes. I will leave for Devonshire tomorrow.”

  A taut, dangerous silence descended as he took a deliberate step forward.

  “Devonshire?” he demanded with a lethal softness. “With Lord Thorpe?”

  She shivered, wondering what he would say if she told him that she did not want to travel to Devonshire. Not with Lord Thorpe or anyone else.

  What she wanted was to remain here with him. To pretend that he did not need her wealth and that he had tumbled madly in love with her.

  He would no doubt be shocked, and also a little wary of what she expected of him. A marriage of convenience was one thing. A glorious love match was quite another.

  “He has invited me to visit his parents,” she instead revealed, her breath catching as he gave a deep growl and reached out to grasp her shoulders in a tight grip.

  “The hell he has,” he ground out, a hectic flush upon his cheekbones. “And what of us, Kate? Can you truly tell me that you feel nothing for me? That you have not enjoyed our days together? That you do not desire me?”

  He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body branding her skin. She had only to lean forward to be in his arms. To feel the hard strength . . .