The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress

by Victoria Alexander

  “Grandmother will be pleased.” Spencer chuckled. “I gather you’re talking about marriage?”

  “I hadn’t really considered that either, but it does appear to be the only way to keep her in my life. And it no longer seems like a lifetime sentence,” he added sheepishly.

  Spencer nodded slowly. “But rather a gift to treasure.”

  Cam smiled. He should have known Spencer of all people would understand. For the first time, Cam understood the depth of sorrow that Spencer had known when the woman he loved had died. Losing Lucy, even due to his own stupidity, would devastate him. Good God, this was indeed love.

  “I’m going to bring this to Cadwallender right now.” Spencer put the manuscript back in the portfolio and got to his feet. “Why don’t I drop you off at the station on the way?”

  Cam nodded at the portfolio. “I thought you were going to read it first.”

  “I don’t need to. I’ve read every installment thus far. I have no doubt the rest of the story is every bit as good.” He put the portfolio under his arm and circled the desk to join his brother.

  Cam stared. “You have that much confidence in me?”

  “I always have,” Spencer said simply. They started toward the door. “Sometimes, I wonder . . .”

  “About?”

  “Father.” Spencer paused. “Before he challenged you to write a book, in spite of your various failed attempts at assorted things to do with your life—”

  “Thank you. I had almost forgotten that.”

  Spencer ignored him. “I would have thought he was your most ardent supporter.”

  “He has an odd way of showing it.”

  “Yes, he does,” Spencer said thoughtfully. “I hope I do as well when my turn comes.” He shook his head as if clearing it. “Although I daresay you’ll be a father and a husband long before I am.”

  “With any luck,” Cam said under his breath.

  “Come on, you can rehearse what you want to say to Miss Merryweather in the carriage.”

  “Thus far I haven’t gone much beyond ‘I’m sorry, can you forgive me?’ ”

  Spencer clapped his hand on his brother’s back in a show of support or perhaps condolence. “Yes, well, one has to start somewhere.”

  It wasn’t until Cam had departed the train after the hourlong trip from London and was in a hired carriage on the last leg of the journey to Millworth that he was struck by a realization he should have had earlier.

  If he still hadn’t found the right words to explain about the installments of The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress in the Messenger, how in the hell was he going to explain away a book?

  One could say it was not in the spirit of the quest.

  Lucy cantered or trotted or flew across the frozen fields, hills and valleys of the Millworth estate with renewed confidence in her own abilities, helped in no small part by the excellent training and fine disposition of the horse she’d been given from the Millworth stables. Albert scampered along on the ground beside the horse or, as often as not, led the way. She wouldn’t have thought such a small dog would have been able to keep up but he was a terrier after all. And he was having as grand a time as she. It had been years since she’d donned men’s trousers and ridden astride beside one or more of her brothers. This was on Lucinda’s list and Lucy could certainly have simply checked it off and considered it a regret long ago made amends for, but where would be the fun in that? This was too good an opportunity to pass up.

  There was an exhilaration in riding astride, a sense of freedom and being one with the horse that was impossible to achieve in a sidesaddle. Pity she had forgotten that, but then it had been a very long time. In their childhood, she and her brothers had spent several summers in the country with two of her mother’s aunts. Both women were widowed and neither had children of their own. For a few magical years, the Merryweather children had joined an assortment of cousins for a summer of questionable discipline, lax rules, and a true holiday from expectations. It had been a splendid time for all concerned, except perhaps the collected nannies and governesses who had been in charge of the herd of rambunctious children. Mother and Father, and the aunts and uncles who were the parents of their summer companions, traditionally joined them at the beginning of the season and then again at the end.

  Mother would have been shocked if she had known her daughter was riding astride like an ill-mannered hellion. Even then, Mother had had plans for Lucy that did not include improper behavior. Lucy grimaced at the thought of what Mother would think of her activities now. Eventually, she would have to confess some of what she had been doing, carefully edited of course. Obviously confession was good for the soul only because it was so awkward to manage. Still, she had time and she certainly wasn’t going to worry about that now. The sun was sinking low and with it the temperature. She would much prefer to be nice and warm at the manor rather than riding on property she wasn’t familiar with in the dark. She turned the horse back toward the stables. There was nothing like a solitary ride to help one think, and she did have a great deal of thinking to do. And what better time to do it than now, when she was gloriously alone.

  Clara had been called back to London this morning. Apparently Mr. Chapman had fallen gravely ill or had been in some sort of accident—Lucy wasn’t sure and neither was Clara. It was the confusion as much as anything that had sent her back to town. Clara said Mr. Chapman was never vague. Lucy suspected Clara’s concern was more than that of one colleague for another. But as much as Lucy liked and trusted her, Clara was an exceptionably private person and Lucy wasn’t sure that she knew her at all.

  On the other hand, she was certain that she knew Cameron well enough to have confidence in the type of man he was. As she’d told Clara, one did have to rely on one’s own instincts, one’s own heart. Or maybe she simply hoped she was right, because in the three days since she’d last seen him she’d realized a few important facts. First of all, she missed him. She hadn’t gone this long without seeing him since they’d first met.

  Secondly, nothing about the man made sense. If he was indeed trying his hand at private investigation, he wasn’t very good at it. On the other hand, he was excellent at storytelling. The tales he told of his misadventures as a private investigator were quite entertaining, even if she didn’t believe a word of them. They were entirely too amusing and far too perfect. While life was often amusing, it was never perfect. No, although she now knew his real name, he was still hiding something. She could be wrong, of course, and she did hope she was.

  And third, even if he was interested in her money, well, she certainly had enough for them both. If he loved her, she might well be able to forgive whatever brought them together in the first place, although the very idea of someone wanting her only for her fortune did make her stomach turn. Perhaps she should simply give all her money to charity? She grinned. And wouldn’t that serve him right if indeed he wanted her for her money?

  But did he love her? It struck her as a rather important question given that she had realized in recent days that she did indeed love him. It did not seem like a particularly good idea, but then there it was and there was nothing she could do about it. The very idea of a life without him tore at her heart. She would have thought she’d be shocked by the revelation—she had never expected love—but it seemed so natural, so right. As if it was meant to be. Fate and all that.

  Odd, that she had started her quest because she was no longer going to marry the man she had been expected to wed and was nearing the end with the one man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Pity that love simply wasn’t enough.

  She had long ago decided she couldn’t love a man she didn’t trust, but it appeared her heart was not as stalwart and sensible as her head. Still, one did have to have a certain amount of faith. And what was love, after all, but faith? She was confident that Cameron was a good and, for the most part, honest man.

  Now all she had to do was get the blasted creature to prove it.

  Cam
paced the floor in the Millworth Manor parlor where he’d been left to wait by the butler. Clement hadn’t so much as twitched an eyebrow when Cam had arrived, bag in hand, and announced he would be staying for a few days. But then the man was exceptionally well trained. And it wasn’t as if Cam and Lucy would be residing in the manor alone. It was not only filled with servants but the lovely and terrifying Lady Dunwell was here as well, and Clement had pointedly mentioned Lord Dunwell was expected later this evening.

  Cam had never thought of Beryl Dunwell as being anything other than fascinating before now. A few years ago, both she and her husband, while publicly discreet, made no great secret of their numerous affairs and escapades either. Cam was fairly certain at least one of his older brothers had had some sort of liaison with her, although it might have been nothing more than a flirtation and could well have been with her twin sister. Cam couldn’t remember the details if indeed he ever knew them, and it wasn’t something he could ask. Especially as, according to gossip, Lord and Lady Dunwell had apparently given up their days of indiscretion for the more respectable, if exceedingly rare, life of connubial bliss. Still, there was nothing more sanctimonious than a drunkard who had sworn off drink and Cam was grateful he had not yet run into her.

  No, he needed all his courage and his wits to finally confess to Lucy. He would make a clean breast of it. Tell her everything. He was a writer, by God. Surely the words were there somewhere, even if he hadn’t been able to quite find them yet.

  Cam could start with his name. That was fairly simple. Then casually mention his love of writing. And his longtime friendship with Phineas. And why he’d been following her originally . . . He rubbed his hand over his forehead and resisted the urge to groan.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Lucy did not sound happy to see him. It was not an auspicious beginning. He braced himself, turned, and tried not to stare.

  “You needn’t look so shocked, Mr. Fairchild.” Lucy pulled off her gloves. “It isn’t the first time you’ve seen me in men’s clothing.”

  “No, but . . . this is . . .” This was a far cry from the loose-fitting attire she’d worn to play server. These trousers clung and caressed her legs, her long and shapely legs, before disappearing into battered men’s boots that reached nearly to her knees. She wore a close-fitting jumper underneath a too large men’s coat, a woolen scarf wrapped around her neck. Her hair was disheveled, her blue eyes sparkled, and her face was flushed from the cold. The overall effect was one of bundled temptation, and longing swept through him. It struck him that he had exactly the same reaction very nearly every time he saw her in something completely inappropriate. Or rather every time he saw her at all. “Suffice it to say that is rather more revealing than your costume at Prichard’s.”

  “Do you really think so?” She pulled off her scarf and glanced down at her clothes. “I thought it was all quite fetching in a lovely bohemian sort of way. My mother would be appalled, which makes it all the better. Lady Dunwell loaned these clothes to me. Apparently, she used to wear them on occasion.”

  “That explains it then,” he murmured.

  She glanced at him sharply. “You haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”

  “Well, I thought you might need me and . . .” This was ridiculous. He drew a deep breath. “I missed you, damn it.”

  “Did you? Isn’t that interesting.” Her tone softened. “I expected you two days ago.”

  “I had matters to attend to.” Perhaps she wasn’t as annoyed with him as he had feared.

  “I see.” She trailed her fingers over the back of the sofa. “Matters involving your . . . work?”

  “One could say that.” He paused. This was Lucy after all. Kind, generous, sensible Lucy. Surely she would understand. Best to get this over with. “And there are matters that we should . . .”

  She moved toward him, a challenge in her eyes. “Matters we should what?”

  “Discuss. Talk about . . .” But what if she didn’t understand? What if she hated him? Perhaps this wasn’t the best time after all. “Um . . . consider.”

  “Oh?” Her brow arched upward. “What kind of matters?”

  “Well, you know, matters . . .” Had his tie suddenly grown tighter?

  “Matters?” Her eyes widened, her voice rose, and she stepped closer. “Matters?”

  “Well, yes.” He swallowed hard. “Matters . . .”

  “Good Lord.” Impatience rang in her voice. She stared up at him. “Why don’t you just say whatever it is you have to say?”

  “It’s nothing, really,” he said weakly, and shook his head. No, if there was any chance at all of a future with her, if he didn’t want to lose her, this had to be handled correctly. The time had to be right and the words had to be right.

  “You drive me mad, Mr. Fairchild.” She glared at him.

  “I—”

  “I was told we had a guest.” Lady Dunwell’s distinctive voice sounded from the door.

  “Apparently.” Lucy cast him a disgusted look, then stepped away. “Beryl, allow me to introduce Mr. Fairchild. Mr. Fairchild, this is Lady Dunwell.”

  “Ah yes, Mr. Fairchild.” Lady Dunwell moved toward him, the pleasant note in her voice belying the wicked look in her eyes. “I’ve heard so much about you.” She held out her hand. “You’re the investigator charged with keeping an eye on our dear little Lucy.”

  Was it possible she didn’t recognize him? Certainly she was closer in age to his brothers, and socially she and Lord Dunwell moved in more political circles, but she and Cam had met on any number of occasions. Admittedly he might well have been beneath her notice, and while there was a chance she didn’t remember him, it did seem unlikely. He doubted he could be that lucky. Still, he would be an idiot to point out that they had met, which would lead directly to the revelation of his name. No, far better to keep his mouth shut.

  Cam took her hand. “Good day, Lady Dunwell.”

  “I assume I’ll be getting an invoice from you at some point.” Her gaze bored into his.

  “An invoice?” he said cautiously.

  “For your services.” She withdrew her hand and her eyes narrowed.

  “I realize discretion is part and parcel of what you do,” Lucy said with an exasperated sigh. “But you could have told me you weren’t hired by Mr. Channing but were working for Lady Dunwell.”

  “I was not at liberty to disclose the name of my employer,” he said without thinking. But it seemed the right thing to say as he had absolutely no idea what they were talking about.

  “I do wish Mr. Chapman had told me he had found someone to accept the job I had offered him.”

  “Oh, yes, well . . .” Cam’s mind raced. Of course. Lady Dunwell had been the unnamed client who had wanted to hire Phineas to keep an eye on Lucy. He adopted a puzzled tone. “My apologies, Lady Dunwell. I thought he had.”

  “Not to my knowledge, but I’ve been a bit scattered of late. I’m certain it’s nothing more than a simple misunderstanding. In my experience Mr. Chapman has never been particularly good with the more practical points of dealing with his clients.” Lady Dunwell’s gaze pinned him firmly and he resisted the ridiculous urge to squirm. “Don’t you agree?”

  Cam nodded. “That has always been something of a problem for him.”

  “Lucy.” Lady Dunwell addressed Lucy but kept her gaze firmly fixed on Cam. “Your maid is drawing a bath for you. I told her I would have a bite sent up as supper won’t be for hours.”

  “That will be lovely.” Lucy blew a relieved breath. “It was a wonderful ride but I am more than ready to bathe and get ready for this evening. And I am famished.”

  This evening? What was happening this evening?

  “You wouldn’t want to keep the gentlemen waiting.” Lady Dunwell chuckled. “They get quite impatient when they’re ready to play.”

  Ready to play what?

  Lady Dunwell turned to Cam. “I assume you’ll be joining us, Mr. Fairchild?”

&nbs
p; “Joining you for what?” he said carefully.

  “Lady Dunwell has invited a neighbor and his friends for cards and a late dinner tonight.” Lucy grinned. “I’m told the stakes can get quite high on occasion.”

  Beat men at their own game. Preferably for very high stakes.

  “Of course.” He nodded.

  “Lord Fairborough and several of his cronies have a rousing evening of cards every month. They’ve done so for years. My father plays with them when he is in residence. I invited them to play their games here tonight and permit Miss Merryweather and I to play as well. Lord Fairborough was quite taken with the idea as he and his friends are fond of poker and they do enjoy playing with Americans. Admittedly, he did balk at the idea of playing with a woman. However, when I pointed out she was a guest in our country, had a great deal of money she was willing to lose, and was young and pretty, his lordship agreed it was his patriotic duty and he was not one to shirk his responsibilities to the Crown.” She chuckled. “Lady Fairborough was pleased as well. I don’t think she’s especially fond of hosting her husband’s monthly venture into gaming. Nonetheless, one thing did lead to another and . . . well . . .” She shrugged.

  “I had no idea Miss Merryweather knew how to play poker,” Cam said.

  “I suspect there are all sorts of things I know that you have no idea about,” Lucy said coolly.

  Lady Dunwell smirked.

  Cam’s gaze shifted from one woman to the other. There was something here that he was missing.

  “Is that all then, Mr. Fairchild?” Lucy’s challenging gaze locked with his.

  “Well yes, I think so.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Nothing more you wish to say?”

  “Not at the moment,” he said weakly. He’d never thought of himself as a coward, but apparently he was. Even so, he was not about to confess everything in the forbidding presence of Lady Dunwell. Apparently there was a thin line between caution and cowardice.

  “Very well then.” Lucy huffed. “I look forward to playing with you, Mr. Fairchild.” She turned and strode from the room.