by Dayna Quince
Heather looked down to hide her pleased smile. There was a curl of pleasure in her stomach and her cheeks warmed. She needed to change the subject quickly.
“Do you like working for the duke?”
“Of course.”
She didn’t buy it for a second. “Truly? I’ve heard he can be somewhat…difficult.”
“That can describe most of the upper echelons of society, Miss Everly. You will have to clarify.” His gaze was penetrating.
Heather felt the previous moment of pleasure slip away like a dark cloud sitting over a picnic. “Is he…is he a mean man?” she asked finally.
Mr. Calder was silent for a moment. “He has a reputation that is well-deserved. I’ve been out of society for so long, I can’t tell you how much is true or untrue. But I can promise you I—he would never hurt you.”
Heather bent her head and closed her eyes against a wave of sorrow. She was trying to be strong. She shook her head and looked up. “Does he have any family?”
“None that care to know him,” he answered without feeling.
His eyes watched her, and Heather had a feeling he saw everything. Was it as painfully obvious to him as it was to her that she didn’t want to marry the duke? She tried to rally her courage. “Do you think the duke will wish to marry me?”
“I can’t imagine any man not wishing to marry you, Miss Everly.”
He said it with such conviction that Heather forgot how to breathe. “Thank you,” she said but it was so quiet, she wasn’t sure he heard her.
“Why would you want to marry a man like the duke?”
“It isn’t a question of want, Mr. Calder, but a question of need. I need to marry the duke. For my sisters and my mother.” She looked up into his eyes, her own burning with the painful admission. If only he knew the torment inside her, the fear, the darkness of holding the secret of her father’s death so closely to her heart. His eyes looked right back at her, probably seeing her for the desperate creature she was. Yet, his eyes were not hard and judging but soft and sympathetic. That stung even more.
“I don’t need anyone’s pity.” Heather pushed out of her chair and turned. It was a small room, so it only took two steps, and she was already before the fire, her hands shaking, her lashes brimming with shameful tears. She tried to catch them discreetly with her gloved finger.
A gentle hand on her shoulder turned her. “Please don’t cry. I can’t bear it.”
His voice was deep, a vibration she could feel inside her stomach. She tried to hide her tears, sniffing gently and wiping at her eyes, but they were relentless.
“I’m going to kiss you if you don’t stop crying.”
A surprised half-laugh, half-sob erupted from her. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say.”
He brought one large hand to her face, cupping her cheek, his fingers sliding into her hair. “Not ridiculous, just fact. I can’t stand to see a beautiful woman so sad.”
Heather gulped down another sob. It sat like a stone in her chest as she looked up at him. There it was again, that dream-like feeling. Every movement impossibly slow except the tender beating of her heart, which seemed inordinately fast. She swallowed. His eyes were dark as midnight, with reflections of the fire twinkling like stars inside them. A brazen tear slid down her cheek as if to taunt him, slipping into the seam at the corner of her lips. His eyes followed it and did not look away as his head bent to her own.
It felt like an eternity before his lips touched hers, a slow meeting of softness. His hands gently slid up her arms, fingers closing around her shoulders. She didn’t know a man’s lips could be so soft. She stood frozen, shocked and afraid to trust herself to respond. His lips moved against hers gently, a massaging caress, and then he pulled away.
The kiss spread over her skin the way fire consumes paper. When it was over, she took a breath, and her lungs felt scorched. She floated, light and fragile, on the verge of disintegrating into nothing but ash and want. Her eyes blinked open and met his. Traces of the fire still lingered there, and she now recognized the glow.
It was desire.
Heather jerked out of his hold. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I know, but I did warn you.”
Heather folded her arms across her chest. “What are you about, Mr. Calder? Do you expect me to trade favors for favors?”
“No. Never. I only wished to comfort you,” he said earnestly.
“You’ve taken instead of given. You’ve behaved badly from the start. A steward should know better, but you’ve carelessly crossed the line again and again.” He stepped back further from her, but he hardly looked contrite. “What do you have to say for yourself?” Heather demanded.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m no child, Miss Everly. Perhaps I’ve been too far removed from society at the ducal estate in Scotland, but I know the look of a woman in need very well. And you, my dear, are a woman in need. The question of what that need is, you haven’t quite figured out. A testament to your innocence. But I know what you need, Miss Everly.”
“How dare you,” Heather whispered.
“How dare I? If you want to claim a duke, you’re going to have to become accustomed to my honesty. I can see right through your fragile armor. You want to marry the duke as much as you want to jump naked into the Thames. This is a world of wants and needs, Heather. You need to marry the duke, but I can see very plainly that you want me.”
Heather gasped. It was such a sharp intake of breath that she almost choked. She spun away from him and reached for the door, but he was there, blocking her path.
Fallon cursed his idiocy again. What was he doing? He’d kissed her, he still wanted to be kissing her, but his lie was steadily digging a hole that he couldn’t stop falling into.
“Move or I shall scream.”
“Don’t scream. The repercussions are far more serious for you than for me.”
Heather glared at him. “What do you want from me?”
“I want to help you. I see a young woman throwing herself on the sword for her family, and I don’t understand why.”
“Because I love them. Because if I don’t, we will have no future, we will have no place to live.”
“So you would marry a man old enough to be your grandfather? A man known across England and the continent for his horrible demeanor?” His sanity hinged on her answer. His insatiable curiosity had turned into full-blown obsession over dinner, and yet he still didn’t understand her.
“Yes.”
He stepped closer. “You’d lie beneath him and moan his name for the sake of keeping your respectability?”
The slap stunned both of them. “Perhaps I deserved that,” he rubbed his cheek.
“We’re done here. Get out of my way,” Heather fumed.
“Listen to me. Until—the duke—feels the desire to peel himself off his ass at the Foal and Mare, I am your only connection to him. You need me.” Fallon bit his cheek. Faegan was going to skin his hide over this.
“And you want me, is that what you’re proposing?”
He smiled a little. “No. I can see my kissing you was a dreadful mistake. Please forgive me.” Huge mistake, gigantic. He wanted another kiss more than he wanted to breathe.
“Then why did you do it?”
What could he say? He chose the truth, if the truth was his father wasn’t moldering six feet underground. Maybe if she knew how awful marriage to his father would have been, she’d look kinder upon his lying, idiotic son. “Because you needed it. It is a terrible shame that your charms will be wasted on a man like the duke. He would never appreciate you, Heather. He would never gaze in wonder at the creaminess of your skin, marvel at the softness of your lips. You would be nothing but a trophy for his collection. I thought you should know that. I thought to kiss you so you would know that you are wanted, you are beautiful, and you’re deserving of so much more than being an old man’s prize. That was all, and I shan’t do it again, not unless you ask me to.”
She wat
ched him for a moment as an array of emotions took possession of her delicate features. She took a deep breath, and then another. Her lips molded into a firm line and she strode out of the room without uttering a word.
Chapter 6
Fallon watched her go, gripping the back of the chair she’d vacated lest he go after her. Very little riled him these days, but Miss Heather Everly inspired a sort of rabid curiosity in him that led to lust-induced stupidity. The poor girl looked as though she were sentenced to the gallows. Should he be insulted on the old duke’s behalf? Fallon snorted. If she really was tempted to marry the old duke, Fallon would be the first to warn her away. He hadn’t seen the man since he was six years old, but the handful of times his father had chosen to visit him was enough to know he was better off without the man. Faegan and Mrs. Fergusson were all the family he had needed.
Fallon reclaimed his seat behind the desk, shaken by the force of his regard for Heather. He sat back in the chair and folded his arms behind his head. Damn but her lips were soft. Like a feather brushed against one’s skin.
She was determined, he’d give her that much. But what could he do for her? You could confess, his conscience whispered. No, it was too late for that now. He had to determine if marriage to her was a real possibility for the two of them. If not, he could let her down gently and somehow become an anonymous benefactor for her family. Perhaps, maybe… Fallon groaned. He couldn’t think straight, not after that kiss, not after seeing the pain in her eyes and knowing he could fix everything for her.
If only he hadn’t lied about being a steward.
He leaned forward in his chair and resumed his message to be sent to the Foal and Mare first thing in the morning. It was fortunate Lady Endervale found him charming enough to participate with the guests. Signing with a flourish, he sanded the paper and folded it. He sealed the missive then stood. It was still early, but it would be pointless to join the other guests if Miss Everly were not in attendance. She was, after all, his purpose for being here. Tomorrow, he would have to recover the ground he lost and find a way to earn her trust. He would need more allies in the household, a maid or two, even Lady Endervale herself. It shouldn’t be difficult. As curious as he was about Miss Everly, the guests were equally, or more so, curious about the Duke of Ablehill. The questions were never-ending, their eyes bright with interest, about a man no one cared to personally know but only gossip about.
Slamming his fist on the desk, Fallon gathered together his papers and shoved his fingers into his hair. Faegan would be better soon. His ankle wasn’t broken luckily, but it had swelled to an alarming degree. Perhaps Faegan could pretend to be the duke—no. No! No more lies, no more idiotic ideas! Fallon cursed and pushed away from the desk. What he wouldn’t give for a strong drink, but a quick visual search of the room revealed nary a drop of liquid to be had. Lord, he was a fool. This situation was laughable—but not to Heather—Fallon reminded herself. No, all her hopes were resting on his shoulders, and what a heavy burden it was.
Fallon blew out the lamp and headed for the billiard room. He wanted to get a feel for the gentlemen in the house and their views on Miss Everly. Part of Fallon’s curiosity was spurred by the fact that Heather wrote the letter in the first place. Yes, her family was broke and heavily laden with debt, but she was young and beautiful. Surely, she could find herself a husband other than the dead duke she had unknowingly sought.
Fallon reached the billiard room as the gentlemen were removing their jackets in preparation of a game. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one needing a little distraction.
“Good evening,” he greeted, and stopped once he entered the room.
“Calder, old boy, do join us.” Lord Jonathan Rigsby waved him over. He received polite nods from Mr. Hughes and Sir Stanley, but Lord Draven stood silently back in the corner and drew from a cigar.
Fallon entered and removed his jacket. “You’ve already even numbers, but I’d like to watch if I may?”
“Nonsense. Do take my spot. I like to watch.” Lord Draven’s deep voice said from the corner. The glow as he pulled from the cigar lit his eyes eerily.
“My thanks,” Fallon said tentatively.
Lord Rigsby handed him a stick and took the first shot. There was silence, except for the sound of balls knocking together, followed by curses.
“You’ve already sunk half the balls,” Sir Stanley grumbled.
Lord Rigsby smiled triumphantly. “We’ll take stripes.”
They continued to play in comfortable silence, the clink of balls, tumblers, and shuffling feet filling the room. Fallon enjoyed it immensely. He thought about how to phrase a question to get answers, without revealing overmuch.
“So what’s the old man like?” Lord Draven’s deep timber interrupted his thoughts.
“Beg pardon?” Fallon said after he finished his shot.
“The duke,” Draven said flatly.
Fallon cut his eyes to the side, before turning to sip from his glass. “The duke? I suppose the easiest answer is that all the rumors are most likely true.”
Chuckles rumbled throughout the room.
“He’s looking for a wife?”
Interesting, Fallon thought. “Aren’t we all?” he said with sarcasm.
“Those of us that can afford one,” Draven answered.
Fallon smiled at the barb. He expected to be reminded of his place, and often. “All men of great holdings need heirs.”
“Not I. At least, not yet. I’ve no wish to be leg-shackled anytime soon.” Rigsby laughed.
“Then why attend this party?” Fallon asked with curiosity.
“My mother. She has other plans for my matrimonial state.”
More chuckles.
“It’s not a bad lot. It was a pleasant view from where I sat at the dinner table,” Mr. Hughes added.
Fallon kept his face impassive as he moved around the table. He was enjoying playing his own spy. “Which view was that? I dare say I had a pleasing vista as well, but I’m merely a seat filler for the duke.”
“Miss Everly.”
“Oh, yes! She was entertaining and beautiful,” Sir Stanley agreed.
Fallon felt his fingers tighten around the stick. “Oh, really?” He felt eyes on his back.
“But she is unofficially claimed, is she not?” Draven’s voice said from the shadows.
Fallon briefly looked over his shoulder at the man behind him, before turning back to the table. “So it would seem. But the duke has yet to meet her, and I gather she might choose otherwise if she knew she had the ability.” He looked up at Hughes and Stanley. They both looked uncomfortable.
“Tis unfortunate about the lack of dowry…and the rumors,” the cryptic voice behind him spoke up again. He was like a devil on Fallon’s shoulder and felt the urge to flick it off. “Rumors? Is that such a hindrance?”
“For some.”
Fallon again felt the gaze boring into his back. What was Draven’s angle? Hughes and Stanley kept their eyes averted and downcast. “A boon for the duke then. He is always pleased to get what he wants, especially if he feels it was taken from someone else’s hand.”
The dark voice rumbled with laughter behind him. “A man after my own heart. Perhaps he would like a little sporting competition?”
At this, Fallon turned slowly and peered into the dark. “Sporting, you say?” He let the sarcasm settle into the silence.
“Yes, sporting,” Draven finally answered.
Fallon didn’t detect any malice. Perhaps Draven was a good sport. “Do you intend to pursue Miss Everly then?”
“That is the game, isn’t it?”
Fallon loosened his grip on the stick lest he break it. “Is it? Would you intentionally mislead her or is your interest genuine?” The tension was getting thick now, but Fallon wasn’t about to encourage a rake to toy with Heather.
“Draven, you’re sucking the joy from the room again. May we continue playing? All this talk of marriage is making me itch,” Rigsby intervened.
<
br /> Wary laughter was heard from Hughes and Stanley. Stanley took his turn, almost ending the game.
“This room stinks. I’m getting some air.” Draven pushed away from the wall and left the billiard room, a cloud of cigar smoke trailing him. The door clicked shut behind him.
Fallon wanted to groan. The last thing he needed right now was an enemy in the house. The others looked around hesitantly. “My apologies if I have overstepped,” Fallon said to ease the tension.
Rigsby shrugged. “Draven likes tension and he enjoys playing the villain. Think nothing of it.” He took a shot and won the game.
“Be that as it may, I think I will retire. Enjoy your evening.” Fallon bowed to them and departed. The halls were dark as he headed to his room, moonlight streaming like ghostly white ribbons through the windows. He thought of Miss Everly and wondered if the same moonlight would be shining on her sleeping form, or if her curtains would be shut tightly against the night.
Chapter 7
Heather tried to clear the foggyness in her head as she followed Violet into breakfast. Her sleep had been erratic, the same dream occurring over and over. She dreamt of him, Mr. Calder, and the gentle kiss he had given her. In her dream, she kissed him back without fear, without hesitation, or thoughts of ruin. She kissed him back because she wanted to. In her dream, he looked deeply into her eyes, his smile lighting a fire in her she had never felt before. Over and over she kissed him, each time more wild than the last, and then she would jolt herself awake.
She quickly scanned the room as they entered, relieved to not see him immediately. Round tables had been set up informally, and guests could serve themselves from the sideboard. She nodded to those closest in greeting and went to make herself a plate. Taking a seat beside her mother, Heather sat down and accepted a cup of tea from a footman.
“Where are all the gentlemen?” Violet asked as she spooned eggs into her mouth.
“Riding, I’ve been told, but they shall return shortly for the games.”
