With his eye patch and flowing hair, it gave him a rakish swashbuckler appearance. All he needed was a saber belted at his waist, a crimson scarf across his forehead, and a golden loop shining from one ear. Wholly charming and irresistible to imaginative bluestocking misses more accustomed to being snubbed than admired.
He was the stuff of which romantic legends were woven.
She couldn’t resist his offer. “All right. I suppose we might practice in the conservatory.”
“Perfect.”
She enjoyed the sensation of his firm muscles flexing beneath her fingers too much. Even more, she’d reveled in his arm snugly embracing her, holding her tight against his sculpted, muscled shoulder as he towed her to shore. Never had she been as aware of a man in her life. But then again, no man had ever held her so intimately either.
And the captain was a big man.
So large she didn’t feel all that cumbersome and ungraceful with him near. In fact—could it be true?—she felt feminine, and if not petite, at least delicate beside his towering, solidly-muscled form. Muscles which bulged and rippled beneath his damp shirt quite divinely as he walked.
Heavens. Since when did she notice men’s muscles?
You noticed his bum earlier.
It took every iota of self-control Shona possessed not to sneak another look at that particular portion of his anatomy.
Captain Le Draco pressed her hand to his arm, the gesture so natural, she couldn’t ponder the inappropriateness. “When I heard you addressed as Lady Atterberry, I confess, I feared you were married.”
He inclined his sable head, his regard dropping to her mouth before gravitating back to her eyes. Something intense and commanding flashed in his.
She tamped down the most insane desire to lick her lips.
Wait—
He feared she was married?
He feared I was married?
Feared?
In her mind, she chanted the lovely phrase, trying to decipher his precise meaning.
Was it too much to hope he was glad she wasn’t?
Of course, a fortune-hunter would be relieved, her skeptical conscience jeered.
Captain Le Draco pushed a hank of hair behind his ear that had fallen forward, and as if he were nervous, cleared his throat.
She found the boyish act endearing and a startling contrast to the battle-hardened soldier who’d earned the moniker Dragon. Even she, as sheltered as she’d been, had heard whispers about the young cavalryman who’d single-handedly slain ten—a dozen or more if one listened to the exaggerated tales—French soldiers at Waterloo.
“Lady Atterberry, I suppose I ought to properly introduce myself since neither of the Olsons thought to do so. I know it’s not quite de rigueur, but I’m sure you’re as curious as I. And I won’t tell anyone we breached decorum if you won’t.”
He inclined his head in that sleek mannish way she’d already come to associate with him.
“Captain Morgan Reed Kincaid Le Draco, formerly of the 1st Royal Regiment of Dragoons.”
She dipped into a fairly graceful curtsy—wobbling only a little, she proudly noted. “Shona Beatrice Imelda Atterberry. Or, I suppose, if properly done, Shona, Lady Atterberry. I inherited a Scottish Lord of Parliament title.”
“I’m deeply honored, my lady.” One hand at his waist—a purplish, convoluted scar zig-zagging from his wrist to his middle finger, he bowed. “That’s the equivalent of an English barony, isn’t it?” he said as he straightened, then took her elbow once more.
The captain’s touch sent another of those wondrous tremors skidding over her flesh. She seemed all tingly nerves and prickly sensations around him. Attuned to the largeness of his presence in a feminine way she’d never experienced with any man.
She gave him a delighted smile, inordinately pleased he knew that trivial detail. “Yes. It causes a bit of confusion at times.”
“That explains your almost indiscernible brogue. It’s just barely apparent when you’re distressed or excited.”
Despite Mother’s efforts to beat the accent out of me.
How astute of him to notice. None other than he had ever commented on it. He was inordinately observant. Must be his soldier’s training.
“Are you here with your family, Lady Atterberry?”
True interest? Banal conversation? Or did he fish for details?
Och, Shona. Ye’ve become as suspicious as Mama.
He might as well know the truth of it.
She’d already experienced a degree of censure as a result of her mother’s sordid crimes. However, the blades and young bloods seeking a wealthy wife didn’t seem to mind her tainted past all that much. Money and position covered a multitude of sins, it seemed.
“No, Captain. I came with Bridget and Hugh Needham.” She slid him a sidelong look and discovered he closely observed her. Normally, that would have her blushing, stumbling and stuttering over her words. Where was her usual timorousness? “I’ve lived with them for the past two years.”
That she could speak freely and openly with Captain Morgan Le Draco spoke to her in an undefinable, but nevertheless profoundly impacting way.
He didn’t pry, just smiled, that disarming, devastating twist of his mouth, and her heart, nigh on smitten with him already, flip-flopped. Other parts of her did strange, not altogether unpleasant, things too. Things that had never occurred with any other man
Stop this nonsense at once, Shona. You may be a bashful misfit, but you’re level-headed and prudent.
Tish tosh, her heart scoffed. Remember your mad dash to the lake? How prudent was that?
Worry rendered her answering smile somewhat weaker and less remarkable. How would he react to her tainted history?
A fortune hunter wouldn’t care.
Enough.
With firm resolve, she banished the cynical, pessimistic voice jeering in her ear to a remote niche in her mind. “I fear my reasons for accompanying the Needhams here aren’t altogether pleasant ones.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Though acute interest shone in his eye, he didn’t probe for more information.
“It’s a long, disagreeable tale,” she ventured, not yet certain she wanted to share the ugliness with him.
“I’d be honored to hear it, but please don’t feel obligated to tell me.” He absently grazed his long fingers over his jaw. “I understand some things are difficult to discuss.”
Somehow, she knew he did understand.
What was his story? She’d like to hear his too.
And because he had permitted Shona her privacy, her pride and dignity, she wanted to tell him. Wanted him to hear the truth from her before someone whispered an exaggerated or false account and tainted her in his estimation.
“The abbreviated version is that my mother tried to have my half-sister, now the Duchess of Harcourt, murdered for her fortune. I inherited if Alexa died. Mother was sent to an Australian penal colony for the rest of her life. The Needhams graciously took me in for as long as I desired. Mrs. Needham is my half-sister Alexa’s maternal aunt.”
Because Katrina was their daughter, Shona had hesitatingly agreed to join the Needhams at the house party. Also, Alexa, whom Shona adored, had written to say she planned on attending, and Shona hadn’t seen either since Season’s end.
Another purpose had motivated her as well.
She’d accepted the Needhams’ generosity for nearly two years. Of age, with no marriage prospects and none likely to ever arise, Shona had determined the time had come for her to return to Wedderford Abbey, take over the running of the estate, and assume her role as Lord of Parliament.
Her heart and stomach quivered.
Those might be considered brave things, mightn’t they?
A little raggedy-around-the-edges smile softened the corners of her mouth.
Perhaps wee, verra tiny courageous things.
She couldn’t hide from her destiny any longer or continue to take advantage of the Needhams’ benevolence. They had
n’t been informed of her decision yet, because she wanted to inform Alexa first since her husband, the Duke of Harcourt, was Shona’s guardian.
Only for one more day.
The duke had graciously overseen the estate and managed her modest inheritance. Through his financial finesse, he’d parlayed her funds into a credible fortune. More importantly, Wedderford was now solvent, and with continued diligence, the estate might become more so. She’d continue to rely upon his guidance once she took over the management, at least until she retained a trustworthy agent.
The last steward had conspired with Mama, and he too had been sent to the penal colony.
She veered the captivating man beside her a covert glance.
Captain Le Draco looked straight ahead, his brows slightly drawn together, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, and she squelched a wistful sigh.
How she envied Katrina’s and Alexa’s composure, their confidence and sophistication. And yes, she envied the cousins their handsome, loving husbands. Both their graces openly adored their wives.
Not that she wanted to be a duke’s wife.
Her saturated gown didn’t cause the shiver padding down her spinal column.
No indeed. Shona didn’t even begin to aspire to such heights.
That notion terrified her far worse than being humble Lady Atterberry. Gads, it had taken months to accept the Chancery Court’s decision granting her the title. Alexa, as the eldest daughter, should’ve inherited the title, but the court had bestowed it on Shona instead.
With a small start, she realized the captain had turned his one arresting blue eye on her, his mouth curved into a faint ribbon of a smile.
Shona’s stomach tumbled over itself, and she tripped over her own feet.
Och, a newborn lamb is more nimble.
His firm hand at her elbow steadied her as new heat rushed to her cheeks.
What had they been discussing?
Oh, yes. Why she’d come with the Needhams.
“The Needhams are the loveliest people. Their daughter, Katrina, the Duchess of Pendergast, is a dear friend. I don’t know what I’d have done without them.” And she didn’t. As awkward and gauche as she remained, she’d been a veritable social disaster when they’d taken her in. She owed them much.
“I’m truly sorry for your suffering, Shona.”
Captain Le Draco had used her given name.
Most impudent of him. Quite beyond the pale.
And she didn’t object at all.
“It must’ve been unbearably difficult for you.” Compassion rendered his voice husky and thick, and for an instant, Shona gaped, owl-like in amazement.
Except for the Needhams, Harcourt, and Alexa, no one had ever expressed any sympathy for her situation. She swallowed against the tangled knot constricting her throat, and blinked away tears she hadn’t realized had sprung to her eyes.
She wrapped his coat a bit tighter around her shoulders. “Thank you. It was quite awful at first. But the passage of time has helped. That, and being surrounded by people I know care for me.”
Seemingly of its own accord, her finger touched his marred cheek, the merest feathering over the rigid flesh. Brazen, that. And wholly invasive, and inappropriate, particularly since she’d known him all of twenty or thirty brief minutes.
Why did she feel this compelling need to comfort Captain Le Draco? To touch him? Such a powerful, overwhelming need that she kicked aside her usual shyness and reticence?
“What about you, Captain?” Her confidence hadn’t yet grown enough to address him by his given name too. “I imagine it’s been most difficult for you as well. Does it still hurt?”
She softly pressed her pads against the contorted flesh.
He seized her hand and held it to his ravaged cheek, his eyes closed, eyelashes trembling as if he were in pain or overcome by extreme sentiment.
“Yes.”
Chapter Four
One gruff, heart-wrenching syllable.
Shona wasn’t sure which question Captain Le Draco answered. Both, most likely.
So hard for men. They had to suppress their more vulnerable emotions, hide their tender sentiments behind a stalwart disposition and detached facade for fear of appearing weak or unmanly.
“May I ask what happened?”
Once more her gumption flabbergasted her. Nonetheless, she needed to know. Not out of morbid curiosity, or because she was a prying busybody. But because, from the first moment her eyes had collided with his, she’d recognized a fellow damaged spirit. Perhaps, if she knew, she might help him. Reassure him. Bring him some small degree of comfort.
Why she should think an acquaintance of less than an hour had the ability to do any such thing made no sense. Was absolutely out of character, too. And yet, she had to try.
He unhurriedly opened his eyelids, his expression brooding and intense, the angle of his face marble hard.
Ah, here lurked the Dragon.
More than a mite unnerving, truth to tell.
To stifle the sudden nervousness bombarding her, she snagged the edge of her lower lip between her teeth. If she hadn’t seen the captain’s tender, kind-hearted side, she would’ve been blushing and stammering an apology for her boorish inquiry. Or hot-footing it straight to the house, vowing to remain in her locked chamber, buried beneath the bedcoverings until time to depart.
Initially, when she’d realized who he was, she couldn’t reconcile the gentle, considerate man who’d risked his life to the legendary soldier’s exploits. However, the man before her was every bit the fierce warrior.
A wee shiver scampered down her backbone.
A good man to have on one’s side, she’d wager. But most definitely not one she wanted as a foe.
Captain Le Draco’s features remained unyielding, a muscle flexing in his jaw, as the silence stretched awkward and uncomfortable between them.
Her heart plunged to her stomach, and she fisted her hand that clutched his coat. So much for tenacity and fortitude. She’d gone too far. Presumed too much. Pushed too hard. “Forgive me, please. I ought not—”
“A fireworks explosion last summer.” His carefully flat tone couldn’t disguise the trace of pain, piercing and raw, glinting in his bleak eye.
“Och— Oh.”
She considered his strong features. His disfigurement didn’t bother her. Mayhap because she’d never seen him otherwise. Or perhaps, as a consequence of her appearance being judged and often found lacking, outward trappings weren’t all that important to her.
“I assumed the injury a military wound,” she said.
He shook his head, his tobacco-brown hair dragging across sculpted shoulders she itched to explore. The wry, slightly brittle smile he summoned didn’t fool her. For all of Captain Morgan Le Draco’s casual indifference, the explosion had damaged his soul every bit as much as his face.
“Nothing so honorable. My regiment was passing a fireworks manufacturer in West London when the blast occurred. Several people died, and many more were seriously injured.” Grazing his eyepatch with two square fingertips, he murmured, a near challenge in his suddenly rough voice, “I’m not just blind. I lost the eye entirely.”
Poor, poor mon.
Captain Le Draco canted his head, his gaze direct and probing, as if he expected her to recoil in revulsion or abhorrence.
Only fulminating sympathy tunneled through her veins. Which couldn’t account for the delicious, comforting sensation burgeoning behind her ribs, near her heart.
“Well, I think you look quite dashing and altogether very mysterious.” With entirely too much unfettered masculine allure. She waggled her eyebrows to ease the sudden tension surrounding them.
He laughed, a joy-filled burble that began quietly but grew in intensity until his broad shoulders and chest shuddered. His mirth gradually dwindled into a lazy chuckle. The raffish smile he gave her spurred a renewed heating of her person, right down to her toes squishing against the crisp grass.
His big palm covered he
r hand resting on his forearm. “Lady Atterberry, I believe you are quite the most wonderfully, splendidly original woman I’ve ever met. And you have the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen.”
He chuckled once more, his deep, rich laugh teasing her ears.
Shona could’ve lived a year on that sweet praise but wasn’t foolish or gullible enough to read more into his words than what was there.
Nevertheless, thrilled she’d lightened his mood, she grinned and bobbed her head in what she hoped was a quaint manner. “Thank you, kind sir.”
He chuckled again, and her heart took wing.
When he laughed, his face lit up, and she quite forgot—wished that he could too—he was scarred.
Suddenly, the prospect of the week-long house party didn’t seem so dreadful. Not if she might spend part of the time in Captain Le Draco’s fascinating company.
But did he feel the same?
She slanted him a peek.
A half-smile still bent his molded mouth.
She’d hate to be a nuisance, hanging on his coat sleeves, wondering if kindness prompted his tolerant presence. If he felt… Well, she wasn’t sure what she wanted him to feel.
Anything but charity. Or pity. Or ridicule.
Those she couldn’t bear, coming from him.
They made the lawns, leaving the grove’s cooling shelter behind. Rather than direct her across the verdant expanse, he steered her ’round the perimeter.
From this angle, she could view three sides of the Davenswood.
Under a rainbow of parasols, a few bolder guests milled the terrace now, and two more laden coaches stood parked before the entry.
No one had spied Shona and the captain yet, but when they did…
She slowed her steps, a fresh wave of angst buffeting her. Engaged in conversation with the captain, she’d failed to consider how she’d enter the manor undetected. Probably impossible given the throng present.
What did it matter?
Even if the Olsons hadn’t spread word of her misadventure, by evening’s end, every guest would likely know of her ineptness. Well then, what better time to implement her budding fortitude, square her shoulders, lift her chin, and make light of the mishap?
The Wallflower's Wicked Wager (A Waltz with a Rogue Novella Book 5) Page 4
