The Stranger She Married

by Donna Hatch

  "No doubt. Although she did prove herself a worthy partner in whist. Her ability to bluff won us many rounds last evening.” Few women had perfected the art of keeping her face as perfectly impassive as Miss Sinclair. He wondered if the woman was even capable of emotion. “Overall, however, the whole party has been an adventure in escapes from feminine wiles."

  He'd briefly considered accepting the lovely young widow Norrington's offer for a liaison last night. Lately, however, even the most skilled and passionate women failed to fill the emptiness that seemed to be devouring him, one bite at a time.

  "Thank heavens tomorrow the party will come to a close and we can escape back to the relative safety of Uncle Andrew's estate,” Cole added.

  After bathing and changing, and receiving a fortifying grin from Stephens, Cole went downstairs for the next round. Dinner passed as smoothly as could be hoped, but he still welcomed the after-dinner ritual to enjoy port or brandy and manly conversation, sans the ladies.

  Cole nursed his brandy outside the circle of men. He had his own opinions but kept them to himself tonight. Anytime Members of Parliament or of the House of Lords began discussing politics, Cole usually kept his ears open and his mouth closed. His father, the fifth Earl Tarrington, always took his responsibility as a member of the House of Lords seriously and never missed a session until his health began to decline.

  When Cole assumed the title of Sixth Earl Tarrington, he would do his duty faithfully, and be a man of whom his father would be proud. It was the least he could do considering how he'd disappointed his father in his youth.

  The conversation became bawdy as the glasses drained and refilled and drained. Cole only half-listened without comment, staring into his glass, absently watching the liquid swirl. Then the name Palmer jerked his attention back to the men.

  "Willard Palmer can't make a business deal to save his life these days,” the marquis said.

  The duke frowned. “I met him years ago. He seemed a decent sort then."

  "Ever since he inherited his brother's estate, it's been bad luck. One loss after another."

  "Too bad. Decent sort,” the duke repeated.

  Alicia's face swam before Cole's eyes. He had never obsessed over a woman in this manner. And Alicia Palmer failed to fit the type that normally piqued his interest—unremarkable in many counts and far too innocent.

  But she was different. Perhaps there lay the key. He had met so many Catherines that he grew weary of their pretenses.

  Alicia's compassion had been refreshing. Her concern for people. Her desire to include and attend everyone with whom she came in contact, not in a calculating way like Catherine Sinclair, but in a way that made them feel important, as if she truly believed they were. Cole had witnessed Mr. de Champs’ chest swell his pleasure in her attentive company at Lord and Lady Sinclair's ball. She had done the same with every man she spoke with, looking at them as if they were the only person in the room, asking in her soft tones about their families and their lives, as if she truly cared. After only moments in her presence, each man, young or old, all walked taller.

  Her expressions revealed her true feelings when she thought no one watched; her hurt when Catherine and her parents scorned her, her amused disapproval at Catherine's flirtatiousness, her alarm when she could not remember a name right away, her sweet pleasure when others remembered her. Seeing her thoughts cross her face so plainly had been so entertaining, he wanted to sit down and watch her. Her genuine kindness continued to amaze him. She'd been compassionate to Catherine Sinclair's friend. Her reaction to the footman dropping a tray of food at the dinner party revealed no anger, no vindication, only concern for the footman's distress and embarrassment for being the focus of attention.

  Cole scowled. Kindness. Bah! When did that become anything but blasé? So she was uncomplicated and wore her heart on display. So what? He did not want to marry for several more years, despite his aunt's machinations. Surely it would take another decade or so to find a suitable girl. That settled, he squared his shoulders and left the study to find Stephens.

  "Oh, Cole, there you are, dear."

  Cole arranged his mouth into a smile. Then when he turned and saw his aunt, his smile turned into a grin. Her turban sat crookedly upon her head.

  "We were just discussing you, dear. Come into my room, I need to speak with you."

  Cole grimaced. That never boded well. Perhaps someone convinced her that he'd developed an interest in their daughter. His hopes of escaping faded as he followed her to her room.

  She sat at a chair near the fireplace and turned toward him. “May I offer you a drink, dear?"

  Cole waved it away. “I already had a brandy downstairs."

  "Now, dear, tell me. What do you think of the duke?"

  "I wish I'd met him sooner."

  She leaned back, pleased. “And his sister?"

  Cole blinked. His sister? Oh, the redhead who giggled too much. “She's not someone I had thought of at all, Aunt."

  "Cole! She is our host's sister. She likes you. Be honest, what do you think of her?"

  Since this would surely be a long night, Cole found a comfortable chair. “She is unremarkable."

  Aunt Livy's face fell. “Oh, that's too bad. She would be an excellent match, you know. And the duke thinks highly of you. He would probably give his consent."

  He raised his brows. “Are you saying other fathers would not give their consent?"

  "One never knows. And you have developed a bit of a reputation, you know."

  "Good. It will scare off any promising matches."

  She pulled her turban off and waved it at him. Her hair stuck out in all directions, making her appear as if she'd suffered a terrible fright. “You are heartless, you know that?"

  Cole fought to keep his face straight at the comical sight. “If I ever make the mistake of forgetting, I am sure you will remind me soon enough."

  "Cole, be a good boy and find someone soon. I won't live forever and I wish to meet your son before I die."

  Cole frowned. “You are only sixty and in excellent health."

  "Then think of your father."

  "Yes. He had the misfortune of having a son like me. And Jared. Then Grant. I wouldn't wish children such as us on any respectable girl.” Cole leaned back with his hands folded behind his head and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles.

  "Perhaps your heir will be respectable. Not like you. Nor Jared."

  "No, I think Jared makes even me seem a gentleman."

  "Your poor mother,” she lamented.

  "Have you ever considered that it might be your influence upon us, Aunt?"

  She wagged her finger at him. “Come, now, Cole. My own children turned out all right. And perhaps your children will be more like Christian."

  Cole grinned. The perfectly perfect Christian should have been the heir to the earldom. He was good, and responsible, and everything Mother longed for in a son. At times, Cole almost hated him, except no one could muster up a disliking for the youngest Amesbury boy.

  "I doubt such goodness is likely to be produced from me."

  "Cooperate with me. Your father asked me to help guide you. Isn't there anyone here who piques your interest? Catherine Sinclair comes from a good family. She's quite beautiful."

  "She harbors a stone in her breast she calls a heart."

  Aunt Livy nodded pensively. “She is a bit manipulative, I suppose, but it will take cunning to win you.” She proceeded to list the names and virtues of every girl in attendance at the house party, and everyone who had been at the Sinclair's ball. Cole's ears perked when she mentioned Alicia Palmer.

  "Now, she is truly a delightful girl. Very closed-mouthed about your first meeting. I think she has mixed feelings about you. Perhaps you could correct whatever went wrong then. I have already asked her to come to tea sometime after our return home."

  However tempting, now would be the worst possible time to ask Aunt Livy about Alicia Palmer; she might mistake his quest
ions for genuine interest and then there would be no stopping her.

  He stood up. “I am through discussing this boorish subject. Good night, Aunt."

  "Cole, please, sit down.” Her face and voice both sobered.

  Cole complied, but he folded his arms and glared at her. The fire popped and crackled in the grate in the stillness of the night.

  "What is wrong with you, dear? If it isn't a lady, what is it?"

  He let his arms slid down to the arms of the chair. Perhaps it was the brandy. Perhaps he was tired of wondering. “Someone mentioned a Palmer boy who had been shot."

  "Yes."

  "Do you know the details?"

  "No. I am not close to the family. Why? What's disturbing you?"

  He stood and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Nothing, Aunt, just curious. Good night."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER 9

  "Oh, look at this one.” Hannah inhaled deeply before she carefully snipped a flower. Beaming, she handed it to Alicia. “We'll have a lovely table arrangement for dinner tonight."

  Sunlight slanted through Hannah's hair, making it shimmer gold. She had all the fragile beauty of Maman and the same thoughtful, careful ways of Papa. Alicia dredged up a smile, trying to cover her concerns.

  The head cook said if she didn't receive her pay by the end of the month, she'd be forced to give notice, as well. The cook's assistant had already left. How could they hope to cope without a cook? Of course, Uncle Willard's creditors had only given them until the end of the month, too. If she didn't marry by then, a cook would be the least of their concerns.

  Mr. Braxton had left the country without making an offer, and Alicia's relief overshadowed any curiosity of the reason. But Colonel Westin, despite the set-down Lord Amesbury gave him at the races, had agreed to pay Uncle Willard's debts and provide a respectable dowry for Hannah in exchange for marriage to Alicia and her dowered plot of land bordering his own. No one else could afford her. Or had the desire.

  Alicia made a vow to stop running away from her troubles. She would encourage Colonel Westin, and when his offer came, tell him she'd be honored to be his bride. And hope the sick feeling in her stomach would fade in time.

  Hoof beats reached her ears. A stunning white horse cantered into view and rode up to the house. Alicia could not clearly see the rider from this distance, but knew Colonel Westin never rode horseback. Perhaps the visitor sought Robert or Uncle. She turned her attention to Hannah, accepted the next flower, and laid it in her basket with the others.

  They spoke of inconsequential matters, enjoying each other's company while Alicia tried to shake off her melancholy. A chill breeze began, blowing in a large, dark cloud. Alicia looked up to determine if the cloud looked dark enough to threaten rain.

  Hannah began humming. She seemed so content that Alicia did not wish to spoil the afternoon by suggesting they return inside merely because of a few clouds. She said nothing.

  "Miss Palmer,” a male voice called.

  She looked up. At that moment, the clouds parted and shone down on the most devastatingly handsome man that ever lived. She gaped at him, undone by the sheer power and masculinity of that man. His long, muscular legs brought his marvelous form toward her in space-devouring strides. Again, the graceful, predatory way he moved reminded her of a great cat. His immaculately tailored clothing included a creamy cravat, rich green frockcoat, striped waistcoat, fawn breeches, and black Hessians. He casually carried his top coat over his arm and his hat in his hand, but there was nothing casual about his purposeful stride. Sunlight shimmered off his sable hair. How could such a heartless man be encased in such beauty!

  "Lord Amesbury,” she all but stammered.

  She and Hannah both sank into curtseys while Alicia's heart pounded so noisily she expected Hannah to stare. The clouds darkened, covering the sun.

  "Forgive me for interrupting. May we walk?” He bestowed that familiar, heart-thumping smile. Clearly, any conscience he might have possessed at birth no longer resided within him.

  Alicia glanced at Hannah who could have lit up a large room with the intensity of her blush. Alicia wanted to run, to escape the unrelenting power of his magnetism. Her mouth dried and her palms grew moist, but she could hardly refuse. Fiend!

  She reminded herself of her vow to stop running and drew herself up. “Of course."

  The coolness of her voice brought Hannah's head up in surprise. Lord Amesbury sobered and glanced back the direction he'd come, as if second-guessing his mission. Alicia wondered if it were the first time any lady had been less than enthusiastic at the honor of spending time in his presence. Perhaps this would be good for his humility.

  He solemnly offered them each an arm. He slowed his pace to match their smaller strides, and they strolled down the garden paths, commenting on the gardens, the weather, and everyone's health. He smiled down at her, his eyes almost a tangible caress. Again, gentleness shone there. Alicia wished heartily he would leave and take her swirling, chaotic emotions with him.

  Finally, realizing that he would never mention the reason for his visit with Hannah next to them, she turned to her sister. “Hannah, dearest, I see O'Leary up ahead. Would you ask him when he plans to dig up the bulbs?"

  Hannah blinked at the odd request, glanced at Lord Amesbury and murmured an assent. She curtsied prettily to the viscount, before trotting to the gardener out of hearing.

  The look of gratitude he gave her might have softened her heart if it had come from anyone but Lord Amesbury.

  "Is there something you wished to discuss, Lord Amesbury, or is this merely a social call?” Alicia could not decipher his sideways glance.

  "I know it's bold of me to pry, but I must ask, whom are you considering for a husband?"

  She pressed her lips together. “You're correct. You are both bold and prying."

  "Please oblige me."

  Alicia looked over the horizon. “Colonel Westin."

  "The cretin who spoke so rudely to you at the race?"

  She stared down at the ground. “I have no choice."

  "Everyone has a choice."

  She shook her head, trying to steady her voice. “I don't. This will save us all from debtor's prison. It's the only way."

  He nodded. “I understand."

  Alicia stared at him. How dare he think he understood her! A surge of anger loosened her tongue as she jerked her hand from his arm and whirled on him. “It's all your fault. If you hadn't shot my twin in that ridiculous duel in London, he would be alive and I would not be subjected to my uncle's problems."

  A brief pause followed her outburst and his features settled into a puzzled frown. “I only shot him in the arm."

  "He developed an infection from the wound and the surgeon had to amputate his arm at the shoulder. They gave him opium for the pain. It became an addiction. He faded further and further away. One night...” her voice caught and she tried to swallow. “One night he took too much. Whether he could no longer face life without an arm, or it was accidental, I will never know. I found him late that night...” A sob tore through the lump in her throat. “You killed him just as surely as if you had put a bullet through his heart!” Her whole body shook, and her fingernails dug into her palms.

  Though she could not see him clearly through her tears, he remained motionless, without a word of defense.

  "After my parents died, Armand would have inherited and I would be safe with him. But he died three months after they did and now I am at the mercy of my uncle who has ruined us!"

  His voice hushed. “I'm so sorry. I truly did not know."

  Alicia turned away. She began walking faster and faster until she was running back to her home. Drowning in grief, she stumbled to her room and collapsed upon her bed.

  What was Lord Amesbury's game? Why did he act with kindness toward her when he was so clearly a man of depravity?

  It did not matter. His handsome face harbored her brother's killer and no amount of wishing would change th
at truth.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER 10

  Cole heard Alicia's retreating footsteps. He felt nothing but emptiness as he stumbled to a stone bench and sank his face into his hands.

  He had killed that boy.

  He had killed him over a lightskirt in lady's guise who demanded he defend her honor. After all the carnage of the war, the last thing Cole wanted was more blood on his hands. For that reason, he hadn't lasted more than a year as a pirate. It was bad enough to kill in war; fighting over a bit of treasure seemed shallow, even for a hard-hearted cad like him. But like the fool he was, he'd challenge the duel and had watched, recoiling, as Armand groaned in pain, clutching a bleeding arm.

  Cole went to the Palmers townhouse to inquire about his opponent. The servants told Cole that the bleeding had stopped and Armand would make a recovery. Instead, he had lost his arm. And then he had died. Alicia had watched him suffer.

  And now, one of the few truly genuine ladies he had ever met was alone, doomed to marry a man who would look upon her as an object and mistreat her.

  It was his fault.

  Rain began to fall, gently at first, but gradually increasing in ferocity. Alone in the garden now, Cole raised up and stared into the gloom and blinked as water hit his eyes.

  She hated him. He couldn't blame her.

  Cole stumbled toward André, mounted, and urged the horse to a reckless gallop along the dark highway.

  Alicia would marry another. He should not care. She was nothing to him.

  But his actions directly affected her fate. Because of him she was alone, and that made her his responsibility. He had to act. The shame in her eyes as Colonel Westin publicly humiliated her angered him. The terror as she fled from Mr. Braxton at the ball enraged him. He had to do something to protect her. His honor, annoying thing that it was, demanded action. His heart had nothing to do with it.

  He was also turning into a liar.

  The only way he could save her would be to marry her himself. But she would never marry him, not even to escape a worse fate at another man's hands. If only he could find another to marry her, someone who would treat her well and protect her from harm.