His Unexpected Bride (24 page)

She glanced at the boys who were now giggling over a joke. Cameron had opened his home to two little boys who complicated his life even more. Others would have turned away these children, who had no legitimate claim on the Hawksmoor name, but he had not.

Hands settled on her shoulders, and a sensation like a bolt of lightning cut through her, bringing her upright in her chair. She fought her desire to respond to the sensuality Cameron wrought in her with even such a chaste motion. Her fingers curled into fists as she struggled to rule her recalcitrant body.

Her dismay deepened when she saw Eustace come into the breakfast-parlor. She had not guessed he had stayed in the house overnight. If he had gone to Cameron's rooms, he would have known Cameron was not in them early this morning. She took a sip of her coffee and told herself not to panic. Eustace's eyes were droopy, suggesting he had just gotten out of bed.

“Good morning … again,” Cameron said in a near whisper as Eustace lumbered to where the newspaper was set on the table. “I would have been down sooner, but I had to send Park to retrieve my missing collar, and I believe he took advantage of the opportunity to flirt with your abigail.”

“I am glad someone has benefitted from …” She glanced at Eustace.

The footmen waited until Cameron sat. Then one placed a cup of coffee in front of him. He did not seem to hear when a maid asked what he would like for breakfast.

“You must be hungry, Cameron,” Tess said. “Can I have them fix you a plate of breakfast?” Her words sounded foolish, but she had to say something.

He looked up, startled. “Yes, thank you. Eustace, do not lurk over there. Sit and eat with us.”

“You are still in an atrocious mood this morning,” his friend replied. “I had not thought you could be in a worse one than you were last night.”

Cameron waved aside his words as he stirred cream into his cup. “Forget last night. It is over.” He glanced at Tess as he added, “I want to forget everything about it.”

Eustace seemed to take the order to heart, because he began to read the newspaper, aloud when he found what he clearly considered an interesting tidbit of poker-talk. If he noticed Tess said nothing, not even chiding him for his inappropriate comments when the boys were eagerly listening, he did not let it show.

Cameron had told her they would talk at breakfast, but there was no need. He had already made up his mind to pretend nothing unusual had happened. Mayhap he could. She feared she could not any longer.

Sixteen

The tavern was in a section of London where the
ton
did not openly venture. That was why Cameron had disguised himself in clothes he had had his valet obtain from a cart not far from this place. If Park had been curious why Cameron wanted this ragged wool coat and the breeches with no buttons at the knees, the valet kept his questions to himself.

Cameron ignored the odors that reeked in every direction. The narrow street was shadowed by the buildings, which leaned over it as if they intended to meet. A single cart was being pulled along the street by a horse so thin every bone was revealed.

Ducking into the tavern marked by a sign stripped of any color by years of fog and smoke, he sat on a bench close to the door. Another man was perched on the bench and eyed him with a derisive grin.

“Fine day fer a glass of ale, eh?” asked the man.

Cameron motioned to the barman. Two mugs of ale were brought. Setting his on the thick windowsill, he watched the other man take an appreciative drink. His own head still recalled the thud left by the brandy he had used to ease his unhappiness two nights ago with Eustace. This cheap ale might bring that pain right back.

“Ye be wantin' t'talk to someone?” asked the man.

Cameron nodded. Just opening his mouth would betray his origins. He could try to ape this man's vulgar speech, but the ears of this section of London would note any error he made.

“I 'ear ye be lookin' for me, Yer Grace.”

Cameron looked over his shoulder and saw another man. Rising, he went to a table and gestured toward the bench across from him. The man who slipped around the table with the grace of an alley cat appeared as out of place in this low tavern as Cameron did. His clothes were clean and free of patches. No beard hid his face, and a pair of glasses perched on the very edge of his nose.

“If you have the information I am seeking,” Cameron said quietly, “then you are the man I am looking for.”

“Ye be a mutton'ead to be pokin' yer nose where it don't belong.” He rubbed his chin, and Cameron noted the man was missing two fingers on his hand. The man glanced at his hand and grinned, revealing ragged teeth. “Could spin ye a tale of wot 'appens to them that pokes their noses into other's business.”

“I know about that already. What I wish to know is any information you have about the carriage accident that killed my brother.”

“And m'sister.”

“Isabel van der Falloon was your sister?”

“Jes said so, didn't I?” He pulled a cigar from beneath his dark waistcoat and lit it with an ember from the fireplace. “Isa always 'ad plans to raise 'erself above 'er station. She got 'er chance when 'Is Grace lit eyes on 'er. She was a fine-looking woman.”

“And generous.”

“To 'er family, yes.”

“And you expect the van der Falloon family—”

The man laughed around his cigar.

Cameron gave him a wry grin. He had known van der Falloon must be a name concocted by Russell's last mistress, but he had become accustomed to thinking of her by that name. Picking up his ale, he said, “You expect
your
family to be given some sort of settlement that will ease your grief at losing her and the income she would have obtained from my brother when he set her aside.”

“Thought ye'd understand.”

“I do.” He dropped the small purse on the table. “Five crowns in there, my good man. Yours to ease your grief when you have eased my curiosity.”

“'Bout the so-called accident?”

“Yes. What you told my friends at Bow Street suggested you had some knowledge of who might have been involved in the so-called accident.”

“I do.”

“So why are you seeking me out instead of telling the Runner? Other than for the money, of course.”

“Of course.” The man grinned through the rancid clouds of cheap cigar smoke.

“Why haven't you dealt with these chaps yourself? This loss of your sister has cost you dearly.”

“'Cause it ain't wise fer a man to put 'is nose where it don't belong.”

“So you have said.”

“And my nose don't belong in the Polite World.”

Cameron sat straighter. “Polite World? Are you saying there was more to this than a botched robbery?”

“Aye.” He rubbed his chin again, and Cameron wondered if the man had shaved just for this meeting. Not an unwise move, for the man could regrow his beard, and Cameron would never be able to find him again. Many men along the docks were missing fingers.

“Go on.”

“Five crowns ain't a lot, Yer Grace.”

“It will be double that, if you have proof of your extraordinary claim.”

“I do.”

Cameron listened, growing more amazed with every word the man spoke. The man did not embroider the tale. The simple recitation of the facts were even more horrific. Two men he knew had been paid well—“by a gentleman”—to make certain the duke and his mistress never reached his town house that afternoon.

It was, he realized, going to be far more complicated than he had guessed.

The house was so quiet Tess could hear the servants speaking in the kitchen as she passed the stairs. Mrs. Detloff had taken the boys to Green Park for an outing, as always with her brightly colored basket filled with toys and tidbits to make all sorts of paper toys. Harbour was overseeing the polishing of the silver. He had told Tess that Cameron would be returning in time for dinner. No other explanation, which told Tess that Cameron must be in pursuit of the truth about his brother's death.

She kneaded her hands. What would he do if he found proof of treachery? Or if he found none and had to accept that it was simply a horrendous accident? Then he would have to turn his attention to his obligations as the Duke of Hawkington, and that included obtaining an heir.

A quiver rushed through her, but she shook it aside when she noticed a motion in the parlor. Was Cameron back? She paused in the open door. Her voice came out in a squeak as she recognized the woman rising from a chair. “Mrs. Livingstone?”

The lovely blonde turned and smiled. “Your butler is very efficient to find you so quickly, Your Grace.”

“Yes.” She did not want to own she had stumbled upon Mrs. Livingstone.

“Forgive me for calling again, but I thought it imperative we speak.”

“Is something amiss?” She bit back her ironic laugh. It would be more accurate to ask if anything
else
was amiss.

“I assume you know Cameron called at my house recently.”

Tess's hands clenched at her sides. “No, I was not aware of that, but he has assured me, as you have, that you remain friends.” She forced her fingers to unbend so she could motion for the other woman to sit.

Mrs. Livingstone's face lightened with relief as she sat next to Tess on a settee. Grasping Tess's hand, she said, “He called on me because he was upset about some words you had exchanged.”

“He told you of that?”

“Not outright, but I know him well enough to know what is distressing him.”

“Me!”

“Yes, you.” Mrs. Livingstone smiled. “Do not look so grim. You are not directly the cause of his distress.
He
is creating it by refusing to acknowledge the truth—that he is falling in love with you.”

“Absurd!” Tess surged to her feet, unable to sit when her heart was leaping with joy. Silly joy, for the very idea Cameron would fall in love with a woman he had married by mistake was ludicrous.

“Is it? You are in love with him, aren't you?”

“I don't know.”

Mrs. Livingstone chuckled softly. “No wonder the two of you are upsetting each other so. You are very much alike.” She held up her hands as Tess started to retort. “You may argue with me as much as you like, but you cannot deny the truth. You are as stubborn as Cameron, and you are as intelligent, save about the matters of your hearts. Like him, you will not own when you have made a mistake, even when conceding you have would bring you great joy.”

“I should not be speaking of this with you.”

“Quite true, and I did not come here to discuss this with you. I came here to urge you to speak honestly to Cameron. He is, as you said, someone I consider a friend. I believe you and I could have been friends, too, if circumstances had been different.”

Threading her fingers together, Tess said, “That may be true, but as someone who knows Cameron well, you must know he will do everything he can to avoid acknowledging his emotions.”

“That was never an issue between us. Cameron asked for no emotional connection with me.” She put her hands on Tess's. “But he has fashioned one with you. I can see you have reached a part of him he has not shared with anyone.” Her smile became sad. “Not even with me, to own the truth.”

“Yes, I have infuriated him beyond anyone else.”

“You are helping him to stop being afraid.”

Tess stared at her. “Afraid? Cameron is not afraid. I have seen the medal he was awarded for bravery at Waterloo.”

“I am not speaking of bravery on the battlefield, but the courage to dare to feel what is in one's heart. Cameron so longs to be the man he believes his father was, always in control of himself and never making a misstep.” She smiled as she folded her hands in her lap. “Then he makes the greatest one a man like him can make. He not only marries, but he marries a woman who refuses to let him hide behind the delusion he can leash his emotions, a woman who so revels in every emotion that she cannot curb her feelings, a woman who challenges him to be as open.”

“Cameron does not wish to change.”

“What man does?” Mrs. Livingstone laughed lightly. “But you
have
changed him by making him question his assumption his father's way is the best one for him.” Coming to her feet, she said, “Promise me that you will continue in this direction, Your Grace. Cameron deserves that.”

“I will consider what you have said.”

“Consider it well, for it may be your only route to making your marriage a success.”

When she heard familiar footfalls, Tess looked up to see Cameron by her sitting room door. He motioned toward where she was sitting and asked, “May I?”

“Please come in.” She hoped he did not hear how her heart started beating like a wild bird trying to escape from a snare. When he closed the door behind him, her breath seemed unwilling to move out of her chest.

Her fantasy that he would rush to her and sweep her up into his arms and carry her to the privacy of her bedchamber was dashed when he said, “Sir Walter Long has sent this invitation to enjoy some musical selections this evening.” He offered the slip of ivory paper to her. “I thought you would find it amusing.”

“You wish me to go to this musicale with you?” she asked as she merely glanced at the invitation. If she had met Sir Walter Long at the assembly, she could not recall either his name or his face.

“Yes.”

She could not halt the question that burst from her lips. “But why? After what happened when we went out among the Polite World last time—”

“It is because of that mix-up that it is imperative you join me tonight. We must assure everyone you are not having an
affaire
with my good friend.”

“I will not speak with him unless you are present.” She came to her feet. “Even if he is choking in front of me, I shall not offer him my glass without your permission.”