Highland Awakening

by Jennifer Haymore

  Yes, this was exactly what his father would have done. Had done, more than once.

  God, he hated himself.

  The last thing he wanted was to make Esme miserable. He wanted her to be happy, as content as he’d felt when she’d lain in his arms moments ago. But how? He hadn’t the faintest idea how to make a woman happy. He’d never known a happy woman.

  He stood and lit a lamp and set it upon the bedside table, watching as her eyes flickered, responding to the introduction of the light, then opened in a squint.

  Esme blinked, and her eyes widened in panic as she realized she wasn’t in her own bed. She surged to a seated position, pulling up the covers to cover her naked breasts and saw Cam standing beside the bed, looking down at her, the lighted lamp on the side table casting a flickering golden light over his body, which was clad in his kilt and nothing else. “What…what time is it?” she asked.

  “Still early,” he reassured her. He climbed into bed and drew her back into his arms. “I’ll take you home in a while.”

  He kissed her head, and she sighed and relaxed in his arms.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  She flexed her limbs experimentally. “A bit sore,” she admitted. “But in a good way.”

  “Did it hurt very much?”

  “Not as much as I expected. And it faded quickly, and then all I felt was…”

  “Pleasure?”

  “Yes.” She snuggled deeper into his embrace.

  He took a deep breath. “I didn’t leave your body in time, Esme. I came inside you. You ken what that means, right?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “I do.”

  “I might have got you with child.”

  “Yes. But the chances of that are low, aren’t they?” She didn’t want to think about that possibility right now. She just wanted to be with Cam before it was time to go home.

  “I’m not sure,” Cam said. “But we need to make plans.”

  “Plans?” A heavy lump formed in her gut. She didn’t want to make plans. She was finally free of them. She just wanted to enjoy the moment with Cam.

  “We should marry,” Cam said flatly.

  She froze.

  “I’ll go to your brother tomorrow. We could have the ceremony as early as next week,” he continued, his voice toneless.

  “Wait.” She pulled back from him. “Cam, what are you doing?”

  “Planning,” he said. His eyes were a dark, fathomless blue in the dim light.

  “But we don’t even know if I’m with child. We should at least be sure before taking drastic measures.”

  “I need to ensure you’re taken care of.”

  “Cam…” She shook her head. “I don’t think you want to marry me. You don’t strike me as the marrying kind of man. And I…” Her voice dwindled. In truth, she wasn’t sure if she could marry a man like Cam, a man who’d sabotage her engagement without giving thought to how she’d feel about it. “I’m not sure I want to marry you,” she admitted.

  He stared at her for a moment, then his lips went tight. “I dinna wish to father a bastard.”

  “I don’t want that, either,” she said softly. “But let’s just…let’s wait. There’s no point in planning for something that might never happen.”

  She saw a muscle work in his jaw. “Aye,” he said gruffly. He sat up. “We should go.”

  They dressed in silence. He helped her with her laces and tapes, and she tried to redo her hair into something that looked presentable.

  They went downstairs. There was a light under the door to one of the rooms, and she heard voices from within, but Cam didn’t volunteer any information about who might be in the room. And he didn’t pause there, either—he just walked past. She was grateful for that, because what would she say to another one of the Highland Knights if they were to meet now? She’d be embarrassed and tongue-tied beyond measure.

  Once they were outside, Cam hailed a hackney. He helped her into the carriage then sat beside her silently as they rattled along.

  When they were a few minutes away from Trent House, Esme turned to him. “Will I see you again?”

  “Aye, of course.”

  “Soon?”

  He nodded, then leaned forward to kiss her cheek, but he seemed preoccupied with something. Had she hurt him with her honest words about her hesitance to marry him? Surely not. Perhaps she had just damaged his tender male ego. She hadn’t agreed immediately and thanked him for making such a selfless, noble offer.

  That seemed the more likely scenario.

  The carriage drew up to the gate, and Cam helped her out. Then he paid the driver and sent him on his way, telling Esme that he preferred to walk home. He stood before Esme and bowed, saying, “I’d kiss you right now, if I could. But who kens who might be lurking about, awaiting something gossip-worthy to spread on the House of Trent.”

  She nodded in understanding. “Goodbye, Cam.”

  “Goodbye, bonny Lady Esme.”

  She slipped through the gate and down the drive. At the turn, she glanced back to see him watching her, a tall, dark figure in a kilt, the expression on his face unreadable in the dark.

  She hoped she’d see him soon.

  —

  A week passed. Esme didn’t hear from Cam, but she knew he was busy with his duties for the Highland Knights. And she was busy, too, helping Sarah as she prepared for the new baby, setting up another bed in the nursery and sewing winter clothes for the infant.

  Toward the end of the week, Sam and his wife, Élise, along with their two-year-old daughter, Marie, came to spend the afternoon. As Sarah and Élise played with the children, Esme asked Sam to go for a walk with her.

  Sam was the oldest of the Hawkins children and Esme was the youngest. There was a twelve-year age difference between the two of them, but even so, they’d always shared a special bond. That bond had been strengthened three years ago when they’d discovered that they shared both a mother and a father after having spent their whole lives thinking they were half-siblings.

  Sam was Steven Lowell’s natural son. After the gypsy’s brief affair with their mother, the duchess, already pregnant with Sam, had married the Duke of Trent. Everyone knew that Sam was the bastard son of the House of Trent, and he’d been raised as such by all except his mother, who had treated him as she did all her children—as if he were the most important person in the world.

  Years after her separation from Steven Lowell, the duchess had found her circus-performing gypsy again, and they’d had another tryst. Esme was the result of that encounter. She had been raised to believe she was a true lady, the legitimate daughter of the Duke of Trent, and the reality that she wasn’t had come as no small shock—to her as well as to all her siblings.

  Nevertheless, her brothers had been there for her from the start, their support unwavering, rigid in their conviction that she still belonged to the House of Trent and that she was their full sister. They’d protected the true knowledge of her parentage, none of them wanting her to endure the brutality of the gossip that would ensue if the truth came out, all of them wanting to shelter her from the vultures of the ton.

  As they walked through the small garden, arm in arm, Sam asked after her writing, and she told him about her current book. Then she spoke tentatively. “One of the Highland Knights came to our dinner party last month.”

  Sam nodded. “I know.”

  “Are you acquainted with him?”

  “It was Camden McLeod, right? Son of the Earl of Sutton? I know him.”

  It was so easy to forget that Cam was the son of an earl. He never reminded anyone of his position. He was an arrogant man, for certain, but his arrogance was definitely born of something other than his parentage.

  “Do you like him?” she asked her brother.

  Sam slanted a glance in her direction. “He is competent at what he does. And loyal to the Knights.”

  “But what is he like as a person?”

  Sam’s lips twisted. “He is generally overcon
fident, and a troublemaker.”

  “Is he?”

  “He is. He likes to test, to put others on the defensive.”

  She nodded. Yes, that was exactly how he’d been on that first night in Mrs. Trickelbank’s establishment. Challenging her. Teasing.

  “Why do you ask?” Sam said.

  She shrugged.

  “You have seen him since the party?”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Be careful with him, Esme. The Knights lead dangerous lives. And McLeod brims with insouciance. I don’t think he’ll ever settle down.”

  She wondered what Sam would say if she told him that a few days ago, Cam had been planning their wedding. But though it had been strangely emotionless, it had still been a private moment between her and Cam. She didn’t want to share it with anyone, perhaps ever.

  And what would Sam say if he knew Cam had been the catalyst to end her engagement?

  That would make him angry. She wouldn’t share that, either.

  It felt strange, keeping secrets from her brother. Since he’d found out about her writing three years ago, he’d been her one confidant.

  Lately, it seemed that position had been taken by Cam. How odd that was. She’d only known him for a few weeks, and yet he had become so much to her.

  “I understand,” she told her brother. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

  Chapter 18

  A few nights later, Cam, Stirling, and Ross had Pinfield duty together. Pinfield and his daughter, Lady Emilia, had been invited to Vauxhall Gardens by Lord Merrington and his wife, longtime family friends. Merrington had ten children ranging in age from five to twenty-five, and it seemed all of them were in attendance this evening, swarming about the Knights’ charge and his daughter so they could hardly see Pinfield half the time.

  The Knights had sent three men tonight since Vauxhall was dimly lit and had a variety of paths and niches perfect for trysting—or more nefarious activities—and with three men, one of them could be patrolling the gardens while the others stayed close to Pinfield.

  Cam was growing more and more disillusioned with this job. The men Pinfield believed were after him had seemingly vanished from the face of the earth. No one dangerous had ever approached Pinfield, and the Knights’ attempts to track down the traitors had resulted in nothing but dead ends.

  They were wasting time dealing with this pompous, snobbish waste of air when they could be finding and stopping the real enemies of the Crown. Or they could be using the time to find Fraser’s killer. They’d made no progress on the case, and Cam was growing restless and irritable. He had a feeling that the other Knights were on the verge of giving up, too. The murderer had seemingly disappeared into thin air without a trace.

  Cam could find him, if he was just given the opportunity to investigate more deeply. But no, he had to spend his days and nights watching Pinfield and his gluttony instead.

  Now Pinfield, Lady Emilia, and Merrington and his family had just sat down to eat in one of the dinner boxes, and Ross sighed. “I’ll check the footpaths,” he said as serving lasses began to pass Vauxhall’s famous thinly sliced ham to the diners. “If I stay I might be stealing that ham from Pinfield’s plate.”

  “You should.” Stirling gazed over at Pinfield, seemingly impassive. Only a trained observer could see the dislike he held in his eyes for the man. “He’s getting so fat we’ll soon be rolling him from event to event.”

  “You could use it more than he could, that’s for certain,” Cam told Ross, who must weigh a good five stone less than Pinfield.

  Shaking his head so hard his mass of red curls bounced, Ross left on his patrol of the footpaths while Cam and Stirling kept an eye on the pavilion.

  Cam hated being in the presence of Lady Emilia and Pinfield at the same time. Emilia looked to be in her late teens or early twenties, and she was a bonny lass but so browbeaten by her father, her shoulders seemed to bow from the weight of it.

  When Pinfield glanced at Emilia with a sneer, Cam had to turn away.

  He was done with this. Let the damn traitors have at Pinfield. It would be no loss to Cam, and England would be better off without the bastard, as far as he was concerned.

  Stirling leaned over to speak to him above the din of music and people chattering. “Who was the woman you had in the house last week?”

  Cam cocked a brow at his friend. “You spying on me, man?”

  “Come, now. If I’d no inkling of what was going on under my nose at my own house, I wouldn’t be making a very good Highland Knight, now, would I?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “So who was it?”

  “It wouldn’t be kind to the lady if I blabbed her name about town,” Cam said.

  “True. But we’re brothers, aye? It’s no’ like I’m going to be running the information straight to the Times.”

  “I didna think you’d go that far.”

  “So was it a one-time assignation or will she be returning to the house? If you’ll be bringing her back, perhaps you should be warning the rest of the lads, so we dinna accidentally shoot her on the spot. And you’d best warn Mackenzie’s and the major’s wives. If they saw a lass slipping into your bedchamber they’d probably interrogate you for days on end.”

  Well, that was probably true. “I dinna think she’ll be returning. Unless—” He broke off all of a sudden.

  Now it was Stirling’s turn to cock a brow. “Unless?”

  Cam pushed out a breath. “Well…I’m thinking I’ll be marrying her. Soon.”

  Stirling’s other brow popped up. “What?”

  “Aye.” Cam crossed his arms over his chest, glanced at Pinfield, who was still berating his daughter, then let his gaze scan the perimeter.

  Stirling grasped his shoulder. “You’re marrying this lass?”

  “I think so.”

  He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about marrying Esme since he’d left her at her brother’s house five nights ago. In fact, he’d gone so far as visiting the jeweler’s and procuring a wedding ring of scrolled gold, inset with tiny diamonds. Buying it had brought out all sorts of emotions Cam had not known he’d been capable of feeling. Anxiety and worry. Would she like it? Would she accept it?

  Was she, at this moment, growing his child in her belly?

  He needed to marry her. But as the days progressed, he was starting to realize that not only did he need to marry her, he wanted to marry her.

  Esme was a beautiful, fascinating woman. Being with her brought him a peace he’d never known. The thoughts he had of waking up beside her every morning felt so right.

  He wanted Esme. He’d pushed all thoughts aside of not being good enough for her. Marrying her was the right thing for him to do. It was what he wanted.

  He’d worry about all the rest of it later.

  “McLeod?”

  Jerked from his thoughts, Cam turned to Stirling. “What?”

  “Well, if you’re going to be marrying the lass, shouldn’t we ken who she is?”

  “She hasna agreed to marry me.” Not yet. He was still working out how to change her mind. He didn’t want to wait a month or two to see if she was with child. What if she wasn’t?

  He no longer felt the need to marry her because there might be a child. The worry over a pregnancy was simply the catalyst that had opened the door for him to see what he really wanted.

  “For God’s sake, man. Just tell me if I know her.”

  “I’m not sure. She’s Sam Hawkins’s sister.”

  Stirling’s mouth gaped. “Lady Esme?”

  Oh, hell. Stirling knew her. “Aye,” he said on a sigh.

  “I heard her engagement to Henry Whitworth fell through.” Stirling narrowed his eyes at Cam. “Dinna tell me that was because of you.”

  Cam looked away, shrugging.

  “Holy hell,” Stirling mused. “Are you certain you wish to be involved with the House of Trent? You dinna like being in the public eye, and that family has always been in the center of i
t.”

  “Aye, I ken. But not by their choice.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact, though.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Lady Esme Hawkins, eh?” Stirling mused. “She’s a bonny lass. And she seems pleasant enough, if a little sheltered.”

  Cam smiled. “Sheltered, eh? How do you know her?”

  “I met her at a ball a few years ago. She had just come out in society, but she didna seem at all comfortable to be out. The rumor was that she was rushed into it, but if they’d waited till she was ready, she’d have been in her forties before she came out.”

  “Hmm,” Cam said. “Aye, I suppose she’s sheltered in some ways, and she doesna like crowds.”

  “Not surprising, after what happened at that ball.”

  “What happened?”

  “Poor wee thing caused quite a spectacle.”

  “How?” Cam demanded.

  “Well, ’twas nothing to me. But the English ton is full of harpies and rumormongers.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that.”

  “Aye, well, Lady Esme fell. That’s all it was. She tripped over her hem. Such things happen from time to time. But she was the sister of the Duke of Trent, it was in the middle of the ballroom, in the middle of a dance, and her dress ripped apart at the seams. Two men and three other unfortunate ladies stumbled over her, and they created quite a heap of silk and satin and flailing limbs on the dance floor.”

  Cam winced. “Jesus.”

  “Aye,” Stirling mused. “Exactly who I invoked as I watched it happen. I kent what they’d do to her.”

  “And did they?”

  “Oh, aye. I heard she was rushed back to the duke’s country seat in disgrace, and the scene was the subject of gossip in London for weeks.”

  Cam ground his teeth. If he heard anyone speak of or to Esme in any condescending manner, they wouldn’t have teeth. “She’s more worldly-wise than you’d guess, Stirling, you may trust me on that.”

  Worldly enough to explore the underbelly of London at night. The night he’d snuck into her room, she’d told him about how she’d gone to gaming hells and whorehouses and had even once slipped into a gentlemen’s club. And she wrote romantic fiction. That fact alone probably made her the least sheltered of any society miss in London. Of course, he would tell Stirling none of that.