Abducted By A Fiery Lady (Historical Regency Romance)

by Ella Edon

  Luke shot him a glance. “What made you say that?”

  His friend smiled. “Luke…I know what it looks like, and feels like, to be in love – you know that.”

  Luke just stared into the flames, not sure what to say next. On the one hand, he felt comforted that, at least, somebody knew. On the other hand, he felt awkward at having been so easily read.

  He heard Canmure stand up, hauling himself out of the chair. He grunted and limped towards the fire. “I know what loving someone feels like, and I know that there’s one thing you should never, ever do, when it comes to love.”

  “What’s that?” Luke frowned.

  “Deny it.”

  It was such a bald statement, and it landed like a building falling down. Luke shivered and wondered – not for the first time – what had happened to Canmure, and why he had never settled down himself.

  “I see.”

  “Probably not.” Canmure laughed. “I don’t think anybody sees that, until they’ve made the mistake and it’s too late.”

  Luke nodded.

  Canmure just looked at him. “So?”

  “So?” Luke frowned.

  “So? Why haven’t you told her yet?”

  “Told her what?”

  “That you love her,” Canmure stated.

  Luke lifted the heavy brass fire-poker, stirring the ash. A shower of sparks rose, floating to the chimney. He watched them glowing, there.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  Canmure just looked at him, big brown eyes full of disbelief. “You don’t?”

  “What?” Luke shrugged, feeling irritated. He had wanted a quiet evening and a chance to get this uncomfortable, heavy costume off before going to sleep. Instead, he was in here, being judged by Canmure?

  “If you don’t know why you haven’t told her, then you’re more a fool than I thought.”

  Luke whipped round, feeling stung. The poker scored a line through the fire, raising cinders that fell, hissing, to the grate.

  “That’s unfair,” he exclaimed. “How can I tell her how I feel? The poor woman is in more distress than I could ever be.”

  “Distress?” Again, his friend sounded disbelieving.

  Luke rounded on him. “Yes. Distress! She’s trapped by a father who is sick, and her own mistaken sense of obligation. She’s frightened, and alone, and uncertain— I don’t know how to help her!”

  He was breathing heavily as he ran out of words. Canmure was still standing placidly by the fire, leaning heavily on his walking-stick. He raised a tired brow at him.

  “That’s it,” Luke said, exhausted. “Now you know.”

  “Now you know what you can do,” Canmure replied cryptically.

  “I do?” Luke frowned, feeling utterly mystified.

  “Yes. You can tell her you love her. I reckon that’ll solve her distress. And then you can try and knock some sense into her father’s head.”

  Luke let out a long, deep breath. “You’re right, Canmure. But…”

  “But?”

  “How am I supposed to confront her father? Emilia would hate me for it! And if I did, it would mean her father knew she’d confided in me. I don’t know what he’d think about that. Her father means more to her than I do, and if I set myself up against him, I’d lose her respect.”

  “Yes,” Canmure mused, then sniffed. “I see what you mean.” He went and sat in the chair again, staring into the flames.

  “So?” Luke asked, feeling like his nerves were fraying now. “What should I do?”

  “Start by taking her into your confidence. Tell her how you feel about her. Then, maybe she’ll see fit to tell you more about her, too.”

  “Makes sense,” Luke admitted. He lowered himself to the hearth-rug, sitting cross-legged, like he had as a boy. He looked up at Canmure. His friend’s face, mottled by the firelight, was not without deep care.

  “I know what it’s like to not tell somebody you love them, until it’s too late,” Canmure admitted.

  “You do?” Luke asked. “What happened, Canmure?”

  “Never mind.” His friend shook his head.

  Luke looked at his hands, not wanting to intrude. “Love is a wonderful thing,” he said slowly. Just thinking about the way that he felt for Emilia made him smile. His whole chest felt as if it was lit up inside, by a brilliant white light.

  “It is,” Canmure agreed, nodding. “What’s she like, this girl?”

  Luke closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. “Beautiful,” he said simply. “Brave. And a fine dancer – she’s better at the waltz than I will ever be.”

  Canmure chuckled. “That’s saying something.”

  Luke grinned at him, keeping his eyes shut. “She’s a fine walker, with the lightest footsteps you can imagine. She likes nature and she has a poetic streak. She’s got softly curling hair and blue eyes. And the softest lips you can imagine, while we’re about it,” he added, blushing.

  “I can just picture her,” Canmure said. “You could have just described about half of London.”

  Luke made a face. “What can I say? Describing Emilia is like trying to explain a sunset – I could say it’s simply dust on the horizon, reflecting the red in the spectrum. But is that a sunset? No! No more is Emilia simply an accomplished, beautiful young girl.”

  Canmure just nodded. “Now I know. You really do love her, lad.”

  Luke looked up at him. His friend’s face was more serious than he’d ever seen it. He swallowed hard.

  “I do,” he whispered. “With all my heart.”

  The two of them sat in the silence a long while. The fire burned lower, the embers creaking in the grate as the flames died down. Canmure grunted.

  “It’s a long day ahead. I have to see my wretched solicitor. I’m going to go to bed.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Luke. Sweet dreams.”

  “Thank you,” he called after Canmure. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He was desperately tired, but oddly enough, the ache in his heart had dulled somewhat. He knew what he should do, now.

  “I need to tell her I love her.”

  He drew in a deep breath. It was going to take courage. After all, it always did take courage to say the truth of what was in one’s heart. It was worth it, though. He couldn’t risk losing his chance at love.

  The clocktower chimed the time in the distance – it was half-past one. He drew himself to his feet, feeling weary. “Time for bed,” he sighed, leaving the room.

  Once inside of his bedroom, he undressed himself swiftly, forbearing to summon his valet, who was doubtless asleep. He slipped into bed and rolled over, feeling surprisingly unready to sleep, though his body was exhausted.

  He lay back and let himself watch the images of Emilia that drifted through his mind – her light, dancing footsteps, her smile, those gentle eyes.

  “I love you.”

  Whispering it to the darkness was good practice. He imagined saying it to her. He blushed and knew that he would find the courage somehow.

  He woke up the next morning and rang the bell, feeling energized.

  “Morning, sir,” his man said, raising a brow.

  “Morning.” Luke stretched and stifled a yawn. “I think I’ll wear the blue velvet suit today – I’m planning a day out.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  When Luke arrived downstairs, Canmure was seated at the breakfast-table, a glass of cold water by his place setting, a weary expression on his face. He turned and favored Luke with a pallid smile.

  “You’re awake early.”

  “So are you.” Luke grinned. “How are you? I feel quite energized.”

  “Good to hear it,” Canmure said, stirring his tea. “Nice to know it’s possible. I’ve forgotten how to be.”

  Luke chuckled. “Are you going to come to the park?” he asked. “I fancy a good walk later.”

  His plan was to invite Lady Emilia for a walk, but he hadn’t said that yet. If Canmure came, he would d
oubtless bring his sister, and they would form a merry band, all four of them.

  “I would like that,” Canmure murmured, sampling one of the pastries. “I can’t today, though. I have to see my damn solicitor.”

  Luke nodded. “I understand. Well, then. Mayhap tomorrow.”

  “Capital.” Canmure nodded. “Raphaella would like to join us – she wanted to go shopping.”

  “Well, then,” Luke said. “We can meet at the park, perhaps.”

  “Capital.”

  Luke finished his breakfast – a dish of Kedgeree – and headed out into the hallway. He passed his butler on the way down.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “A message for you, just arrived.”

  “Thank you,” Luke said, taking the envelope and opening it absently. He scanned the letter and his eyes went big. It was from his uncle. It had been sent via the solicitor’s office. “This arrived today?”

  “A few minutes ago, sir,” his butler told him. “Will you send a reply?”

  “I need to go into town,” Luke said briskly. “Tell the baron that I had to go out? He can expect me back by four.”

  As he rushed out into the street, raising a hand to hail a coach, Luke gritted his teeth in annoyance. He had finally decided what to do, and now – thanks to a concern about his uncle’s finances – he was being held back from doing it. At least for today.

  “There’s always tomorrow, Luke Preston,” he told himself firmly as he vaulted up into the coach. He would just have to wait until then. But he was going to do this – Canmure was right, after all. If you loved somebody, then you should tell them before it was too late.

  Chapter Twenty

  Discussions and Decisions

  “Your father’s in the parlor, milady,” June said from the doorway. Emilia looked up from her tapestry.

  “Thank you, June.”

  “Will you take your tea here?” June asked, wheeling the trolley in across the threshold.

  As Emilia heard the familiar clatter of the cups and pot on the tray, she felt her heart twist. It seemed as if her life had been so simple. Now, it was so full of twists and turns, and the lifetime where she’d sat here with her father, waiting for morning tea, seemed impossibly far-away.

  “No, thank you, June,” she said. “I think I’ll take a cup upstairs with me.”

  She took a china cup from the tray, her eyes on the pink and gold patterns encircling the rim as she poured. It was one of their better tea-sets, bought when she was a little girl, before her papa had been in debt, when her world was carefree and different.

  She headed up the steps towards the parlor.

  In the doorway, she paused, composing her thoughts. Her father was there, seated on a wingback chair by the window, staring down into the garden. She had so many things to say to him, and no idea where to start. She cleared her throat.

  “Daughter!” Her father, hearing her, turned around. He beamed at her. “There you are. Come to join me, eh? You’ve dined?”

  “I had breakfast, yes,” she said. She hesitated in the doorway. “Father? Can we talk?”

  “Yes! Come in, my sweetling. You know I want to hear whatever it is you have to say. Sit down. Are you sure you want to sit there? Is the sun too bright in your eyes, over there by the hearthside?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Her father turned his chair around, so he had his back to the window and was looking at her. He shook his head.

  “Daughter, what is it? You sound sad. If there’s anything I can do…”

  “We both sound sad,” Emilia pointed out gently. “And yes, there are things we can do. Lots of things.”

  “There are?” He stared into her eyes. “Tell me! I would do anything to see you smile, again.”

  “I know, Papa,” she said. “But I cannot tell you this.”

  She had come to a decision the other night. She was going to tell her father what had happened. About the Duke, and his suggestion, and his threats to her – subtle and less so. Her father would know best what to do. She owed it to herself.

  I will not let this still my song.

  She just didn’t know, yet if she had the courage.

  When she looked up from her hands, her father was looking straight at her. There was concern in his blue eyes.

  “There’s no need for secrets between us, daughter. If there were, it would mean you didn’t trust me. And I hope that will never be the case. Tell me, whatsoever it is. We can put our heads together and solve it. We know we can.”

  Emilia took a deep breath. “Father…when you sent me to see the Duke…”

  “I never thanked you for that, my daughter. How did you fare? What said he?”

  Emilia felt her throat tighten, as if she swallowed glass. “He…he said…he wanted me to wed him. He’d offset his debt…”

  “What?” her father was standing up now, his face a picture of horror. “He said what? How could he? The rascal.”

  Emilia sniffed and blew her nose, trying to find words. Her father’s anger scared her more, making it harder to talk.

  “Sit down, please? Father?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, daughter. Here. Tell me now. All of it. What did he say?”

  She had found her voice now, speaking dispassionately and clearly about it. “He said that he would offset his debts with my dowry. That if you offered me to him in marriage, he would accept on condition that you write off his debts and in return, he would give you a…a thousand pounds. And demand no dowry from you.”

  Her father’s eyes bulged.

  “The blackguard,” her father swore. “If I was younger, I’d challenge him to a fight! The black-hearted, wicked rapscallion…” He shook his head. “There are no words. My poor, poor daughter! Why did you not tell me sooner? I would have given him my opinion, in strong terms.”

  Emilia sniffed, looking into his eyes. “Because…because I thought you’d agree to it.”

  She started crying, slow tears running down her cheeks.

  “What?” her father looked aghast. “Daughter! My poor, dear daughter! How can you think that? That I would…would sell you….to that brute? You are more precious to me than all the gold in India, all the silk in China. How can you not know that?”

  Emilia sniffed. “Because…because…”

  So many ways, to end that sentence!

  Because you never thought to ask after my wellbeing. Because you are always preoccupied with your funds or your card-gambling. Because you expect me to remedy everything. Because you care more about money than about me.

  In the end, she said nothing.

  Her father walked over to stand by the window. She heard him sniff, and saw his shoulders rise and fall. Was he crying? She wasn’t sure.

  When he turned around, his eyes were wet with tears. “Daughter,” he said softly. “I have been a fool. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own concerns I haven’t thought of you. Not once. I admit it. You must have thought I didn’t care.”

  His cheeks shone in streaks where tears had fallen down to his chin. He wiped them away.

  “Well…” Emilia frowned, blowing her nose in her handkerchief. She wanted to deny it. She knew it would be dishonest, if she tried to do it.

  “I know,” he said. “I have been so blind.” He reached for his own handkerchief and blew his nose firmly. “I have been a self-obsessed fool. But you trusted me enough to tell me this. And now I can make amends. We’re going to tell this fellow what for.”

  “We are?” Emilia stared at him in astonishment. “We really are?”

  “Yes. We are. I will call on him today, with my news. He can take his five thousand pounds to Hell with him,” he stated. “I shall want nothing of a man such as he has just shown himself to be.”

  Emilia was laughing now and her father grinned, hearing the sound. His cheeks were flushed, the redness appearing there again. He shrugged.

  “Well? It’s true…fellows like that are only going to one place, after the
y’re dead. And at least it’s warm, I suppose.”

  Emilia grinned, though happy tears fell, sliding soundlessly down her cheeks. “Oh, Father,” she said.

  He chuckled. “We’re going to let him have it,” he assured her. “And then, we’re going to make up our losses. We don’t need his five thousand pounds, and we’re going to show him.” His face fell.