Miss Frazer's Adventure (5 page)

For a moment, he halted in indecision. There had been no cry for help. No sound of struggle. She was seemingly well and locked in her chambers. The sensible choice would be to return to his bed and speak with Kate tomorrow.

Unfortunately, Luce was not in the mood to be sensible.

He wanted to assure himself that Kate was indeed unharmed. And perhaps just as importantly, he had to know if she was alone.

Refusing to dwell upon the wisdom of his decision, Luce moved to the door and raised his hand to knock. At the same moment, the sound of breaking glass resounded through the air. His heart nearly halted as he slammed his fist against the smooth wood.

“Kate,” he called roughly. “Kate, open this door.”

A nerve-racking moment passed before the door opened and Kate regarded him with a puzzled frown.

“Luce, what do you want?”

“I heard a crash.” Without ceremony, he stepped past her slight form and into her room. A battalion of French could not have kept him out. “What occurred?”

“Oh.” Allowing the door to close, Kate moved toward a nearby table. With an oddly unsteady motion, she sank to her knees next to the shattered crystal vase that had fallen and spilled numerous blood red roses over the carpet. “I knocked over the lovely flowers that Lord Thorpe sent to me.”

“Roses. Predictable,” Luce muttered, casting a jaundiced glance around the small but tidy chamber. “Where is the lecher?”

Her head abruptly lifted to stab him with an unfocused glare. “Lord Thorpe is not a lecher. He is a perfectly respectable gentleman.”

“A perfectly respectable gentleman who no doubt has made a practice of seducing and abandoning young ladies.”

“If you are going to be unpleasant, my lord, then you may take yourself to your own chambers,” she huffed, clenching her hand about the crystal shards in her hand without thinking. “Ow.”

“Here, let me,” Luce commanded in impatient tones, bending down beside her to take the sharp glass from her fingers.

Clearly caught off guard, Kate hastily attempted to retreat from his proximity. Her awkward motion, however, succeeded in nothing more than sending her sprawling backward on the carpet.

“Humph.”

Dropping the glass, Luce regarded the ungainly form with a gathering frown.

Once again, she had managed to discover a gown that was a breath from indecent. A silver satin creation with a bodice that only made a token effort to cover the slender curves. Less than a token effort at the moment, as the skirts were deliciously tugged up to her knees, revealing slender legs and a disturbing glimpse of lacy stockings.

Desire as sharp as a rapier sliced though him before he rigidly gritted his teeth.

“Kate, are you foxed?” he accused in strained tones.

“Certainly not,” she denied, then as his brows rose in disbelief, she gave a small shrug. “I am pleasantly giddy.”

“You are pleasantly cast to the wind,” Luce retorted, rising to his feet so he could scoop her from the paisley rug and carry her to the adjoining chamber complete with a wide bed. Concentrating his anger toward the letch that had obviously seduced Kate into indulging far too freely, he somehow managed to pretend the feel of her soft feminine form pressed against his body was not stirring to life things better left unstirred. He laid her upon the mattress, then perched on the edge of the bed, careful to keep his gaze upon her flushed face. “What the devil was that idiot thinking to allow you to get in this condition?”

“My condition has nothing to do with Lord Thorpe.”

“Fah. I do not doubt that he did this on purpose. Gentlemen such as your precious Lord Thorpe will do whatever is necessary to take advantage of a woman. Thank God you had enough sense to send him on his way.”

“But I did not.”

Luce stilled at her stunning confession. “What?”

“I did not send him on his way. I asked him to escort me to my door.” Sinking deeper into the pillows, Kate allowed her heavy lashes to lower to her cheeks. “He walked me to the stairs, but he would not come a step further. He said that he could not take advantage of me. I wonder if he was just lying to protect my pride?”

Luce flinched as if he had just been kicked in the stomach by a very large, very angry mule.

“You asked him to escort you to your door?”

“Mmm.”

“Are you in love with him?” he demanded harshly.

She gave a small giggle, clearly unaware of what she was saying or doing.

“Of course not. Although he is very, very charming. And beautiful. And a perfect gentleman.”

Luce studied the relaxed features, wondering where his timid, biddable bride had disappeared to. Despite his undoubted male approval of her transformation, he discovered that he missed the maiden who had stirred his heart with her sweet innocence.

“Kate, tell me why you are in London,” he prompted softly.

“I wish to enjoy myself,” she muttered. “And why should I not? Other ladies do.”

“You are not other ladies. You are an innocent maiden who should be in the care of your father. Or preferably, your husband. This foolishness might very well destroy your future.”

“What future? Married to a gentleman who desires me only for my wealth? Or better yet, the dutiful daughter growing into a bitter old spinster? Quite something to envy, is it not?”

He frowned at her sharp tone. “Is that what you believe?”

“What else could I believe?” she demanded. “For four and twenty years I have been tedious, starchy Miss Frazer. The woman who always followed the rules of others, who never took a risk, who never had an adventure in her entire dull life. Well, no more. I am going to do all the things I have ever wanted to do.”

“And what is it you want to do?”

“I am going to be just like my mother. Well, perhaps not precisely like her,” she amended. “But at least I intend to do more than watch the mold grow in the country.”

“Your mother?” Luce frowned at the absurd words. “What the devil does that mean?”

“You know . . .” She lowered her voice to a husky whisper. “The Jezebel.”

“Jezebel?”

“That is what Father calls her. You see, she ran off with a handsome Frenchman. A terrible scandal, of course, although no one is allowed to discuss it. And I have her blood. Bad blood. Wicked blood that must not be tempted. Oh no. No temptation for Miss Frazer.”

Luce's heart came to a halt. He had heard the old gossip. But somehow he had not fully realized how such an ancient scandal would have affected Kate. Certainly, he could never have suspected that she would believe that she possessed the weaknesses of her mother.

“That is absurd, my dear. Whatever the sins of your mother, you are innocent.”

“My father does not believe so,” she said sadly.

“Oh, Kate,” he breathed in soft tones.

“But, now he is not here to condemn me.” With an effort, she forced open her eyes. “Now I can live my life precisely as I desire.”

His heart squeezed at her slurred words.

So now he had the reason for Kate's sudden insanity.

Damn Sir Frazer. And damn himself. Together they had managed to drive Kate to this madness.

“And that is why you wished to leave Kent?”

“Yes.” She gave a slow nod of her head. “I do not want to be boring, tedious Miss Frazer anymore. I do not want to sit in the corner while everyone else is allowed to seek their enjoyment.”

He smiled wryly. “Such as teas and the theater?”

“Mmm . . . and riding through Hyde Park and wearing daring gowns.”

He absently reached out to stroke a finger over her hand. How frustrated she must have been, he thought with a pang. It was no wonder she was going a little insane.

Thank goodness he had followed her. There was no telling how far she might go before her senses returned.

“Of course,” he murmured. “Is there anything else on that list of desires?”

“I want to see the Prince and dance the waltz.”

“Very ambitious.”

She smiled with a fuzzy pleasure. “Oh, and I want to eat escargots and have a glorious flirtation with a handsome gentleman.”

Luce's indulgent expression was wiped away by the offhand words.

Riding in the park or meeting the Prince was one thing. He could even tolerate the offensive thought of escargots. But to encourage the attentions of some lust-crazed male? Oh no, that was an entirely different matter.

“A flirtation?”

Clearly missing the dangerous edge in his voice, Kate heaved a regretful sigh.

“It certainly seems more appealing than becoming a sour old spinster who has never been kissed.”

His teeth gritted. His hands clenched. And his heart forgot to beat.

“That was why you asked Thorpe to escort you to your room?”

“Of course.” She heaved a sorrowful sigh. “I thought if he had me alone he would kiss me.”

Luce sucked in a sharp breath. The mere thought of Lord Thorpe kissing those lips, perhaps running his hands over that slender body, was enough to make him think of murder. He would see Thorpe, or any other rogue for that matter, in hell first.

“No,” he growled in low tones.

She gave a vague frown. “No, what?”

“He would not have kissed you.”

“Fah. How could you possibly know?”

With a deliberate motion, Luce shifted until he was leaning over her slight form, his hands planted on each side of her head.

“Because I would have killed him first.”

She sank into the pillows, her eyes wide as she belatedly sensed the sudden tension in the air.

“You have nothing to do with this. No interference, remember? If I want to have a flirtation . . .”

“You will do so with me,” he announced in tones that would not be gainsaid.

“What?”

He smiled wryly, not surprised by her stunned expression. He wasn't sure himself where the words had come from.

He had come to London with every intention of collecting Kate and hauling her back to Kent. He was not about to allow her to avoid for another moment the vows she had promised to make.

Certainly, he had never imagined allowing her to linger in this hotel risking certain scandal as she made him dance to her tune.

Now, he discovered himself hesitating.

Would it be such a horrid thing to spend a few days indulging her wishes? Whatever her protest, in the end they would be wed. Would it not be preferable to have her come to him as an eager bride?

If she desired a bit of adventure, he was more than capable of providing all the excitement she desired.

And in the process, he could ensure that she realized that he was nothing at all like her bully of a father.

“I think you heard me, Kate,” he said in husky tones.

“I cannot have a flirtation with you.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, unwittingly judging the satin softness. He discovered he very much wanted to kiss her. No, to savor her, he inanely corrected himself, like a fine wine.

“Why not?”

“I . . . you want to marry me.”

He could not prevent his sudden laugh. “Is that such a terrible thing?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You only want my money.”

“You are wrong, you know,” he murmured softly. “You are a beautiful, enticing woman, my dear. There is no gentleman who would not wish to enjoy a flirtation with you. No gentleman who would not long to possess you.”

“Luce?” she breathed unsteadily.

He smiled deep into her bemused eyes. “If you are concerned that I do not possess the romantic skills of your rake, let me assure you that while my experience may not be as vast as his, my wish to please you is far greater.”

Her breath seemed oddly elusive. “But, you do not desire to kiss me.”

Not desire to kiss her? Heaven have mercy. Now he knew she was mad.

Against his better judgment, his gaze swept over her reclined form. With her hair spilling like satin fire over the crisp white pillows and her eyes darkened with emotion, she appeared as delectable as the most experienced temptress.

“That is perhaps the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” he rasped, his heart jolting against his chest. “I have ached to kiss you since the moment I arrived in London.”

“You are merely saying that to confuse me.”

Luce growled deep in his throat, slowly lowering his head toward the temptation of her lips.

Obviously, she needed proof of his sincerity.

Well, never let it be said that he failed to satisfy a lady.

Especially a lady he fully intended to have as his own.

“Shall I show you just how wrong you are, my sweet Kate?”

Kate thought she must be dreaming.

Lost in a golden haze of champagne, she watched as Luce slowly lowered his head and stroked his lips softly over her own. The caress was as soft as a whisper and yet Kate felt a bolt of lightening strike from her mouth to the pit of her stomach.

The startling heat made her heart lurch in abrupt shock.

She had always wondered what it would be like to be kissed by Luce, she acknowledged dreamily. She had even caught herself staring at those carved lips with a secret sense of excitement.

And now she did know.

A sharp, poignant pleasure filled her as she instinctively parted her lips. He readily accepted her silent invitation and deepened the kiss.

She could taste the scotch on his lips and smell the warmth of his skin. She felt the rasp of his beard upon her chin.

The combination was far more intoxicating than the expensive champagne that flowed through her blood. With a sigh of pleasure, she lifted her arms to wrap them about his neck.

“Bloody hell,” Luce moaned, lifting himself away to regard her with a smoldering gaze.

Stunned by his sudden retreat, she regarded him with bewildered eyes. “What is the matter?”

Seated on the edge of the bed, he ran a not quite steady hand through his tousled hair.

“Kate, forgive me.”

“Why did you halt kissing me?”

He grimaced, his jaw clenched as if he were in pain. “Because you are in no condition to do so.”

Kate flinched as if she had been slapped. First Lord Thorpe and now Luce, she acknowledged with a savage pain.

What was it about her? Was she that undesirable? That lacking in charm?

Perhaps her only worth
was
her dowry.

“Not again,” she muttered. “Why do you not just admit the truth? That you find my kisses repulsive.”

His lean fingers abruptly captured her chin and sharply turned her back to meet his fierce expression.

“Do not be a fool,” he rasped. “I would barter my own soul right now to continue kissing you. But your wits are clouded by champagne. If I truly thought you knew what you were doing we would not be having this conversation. We would not be having any conversation.” His gaze flared over her slender body before returning to her pale face. “We would be standing before a vicar so that I could make you my own.”

Feeling suddenly tired and confused by the odd sensations trembling through her, Kate closed her eyes.

“Please, just go away.”

There was a long pause before she felt her hair being gently brushed from her forehead.

“Will you be all right?”

“What do you care?” she muttered.

“Yes, what do I care?” he said in oddly wry tones. “Pleasant dreams, Kate.”

Kate was nearly asleep before he ever reached the door.

She just wanted to forget the wretched night.

* * *

Luce would never forget that most enticing night.

Who would have thought that prim and proper Miss Kate Frazer, his soon-to-be-bride, could bemuse him with such ease?

Certainly, he had already acknowledged that she was a pretty enough woman. And that she was the sort of intelligent, well-bred maiden that a gentleman in his position could claim with pride.

But he had been unprepared for the sweet tenderness that had raced through his heart. His lips had touched hers, and all thoughts of dowries, overbearing fathers, and endless debts had been shattered.

There had been only Kate and the warmth that she offered.

A warmth that he had never even realized was missing from his life.

Pacing the garden, Luce allowed a small smile to curve his lips. Ah yes, she would make a delightful wife.

Kindly toward his tenants, devoted to her family, intelligent enough to provide endless evenings of lively conversation, and spirited enough to ensure he was never bored.

If he had devoted an entire lifetime to choosing the perfect bride, he could not have done better.

Now all he needed to do was convince her that he would make an equally fine husband.

Unfortunately, it was a task that might not be nearly as simple as he had once supposed.

His smile somewhat faded as he recalled her unwitting confessions of the night before. He had presumed her flight from Kent was no more than a maidenly bout of annoyance. He had, after all, treated her abominably. She had been embarrassed before the entire neighborhood and she intended to ensure that he was suitably punished.

All he needed to do was to offer a grudging apology and they would be headed down the aisle, he had thought.

He could not have realized that her abrupt disappearance was a desperate bolt for freedom. Nor that she would possess an unrelenting need to taste of the pleasures so long denied her.

A rather ironic dilemma, he wryly acknowledged.

When he had agreed to marry Kate, his only thought had been upon his own loss of independence. He understood his duty, but it still had seemed a wrenching sacrifice, to be made for the sake of his family. It had not occurred to him that Kate might possess her own share of reluctance.

Somehow gentlemen throughout England were under the misapprehension that all females were eager, if not downright desperate, to wed. And if the woman was so very fortunate as to capture a proposal from a titled gentleman, well then, she should be swooning with pleasure.

It was rather a shock to encounter a maiden who not only did not wish to become his wife, but in some vague manner, even feared the possibility.

Ironic, indeed.

Absently, Luce glanced up at the window of Kate's chambers and heaved an impatient sigh. He had expected her in the garden hours ago. She was, it seemed, irresistibly drawn to the serene beauty. At the very least, he thought he might see her bustling from the hotel on her way to some damnable lecture or tea.

It was utterly unlike her to remain in her chambers so late.

Was she still abed? Perhaps too ill to arise?

It would hardly be surprising. She had, after all, been shockingly foxed. For a woman unaccustomed to such indulgence, she might very well be suffering from a thick head.

Or worse.

He wavered briefly. It was the thought of that “or worse” that abruptly hardened his features and put his feet into motion. The stubborn woman had not even possessed the sense to bring a maid on her hasty flight to London. Who would know if she were in need of assistance?

Entering the hotel, Luce halted in the public rooms long enough to demand a tray loaded with steaming black coffee and a small platter of buttered toast before sweeping back up the stairs. He ignored the raised brows of the various guests as he carried his burden carefully down the hall. What did he care if others considered that carrying a tray like a common minion was beneath him? He had never given a damn what others thought of him. A gentleman willing to enter the rather disreputable trade of shipping could not afford to worry over trivial gossip.

It was not until he actually reached Kate's door that he realized his dilemma. Glancing at the precarious coffee perched on the tray, he gave a sudden grimace. Damn and blast. How the devil did maids manage? Surely they did not possess an extra arm that they kept tucked out of sight?

Unable to conjure a means of performing his task with any grace, Luce at last raised his foot and kicked the door by way of a knock. There was a long silence before he could at last hear the sound of the handle turning, and the door was slowly cracked open. He did not await an invitation or even the opportunity for Kate to realize what was occurring. Pressing his shoulder against the wooden panel, he pushed his way through the opening, his lips twitching as Kate scuttled backward with a small squeak of surprise.

“Luce, what the devil are you doing?”

He regarded her rumpled appearance with a stab of sympathy. She was still attired in the wrinkled silver gown of the night before, her hair in tangles and her face tinged with an unpleasant hint of green. Thankfully, she did not appear to be suffering from anything more serious than a wretched hangover.

“Good morning, my dear,” he murmured, walking to place the tray upon a low table next to the window. Then, sweeping open the curtains, he turned to regard her with a smile. “It is a beautiful day.”

With a tragic moan at the sudden spill of light into the shadowed sitting room, she regarded him with a jaundiced expression.

“Beast,” she croaked.

He chuckled as he placed his hands on his hips. “Lovely to see you, as well. Are you ready for breakfast?”

She shuddered at the mere mention of food. “No. I feel wretched.”

Luce allowed his gaze to travel over her rumpled form. “You look even worse.”

“Oh . . .” She began, only to raise a shaking hand to her lips. “I am going to be sick.”

Having already predicted the natural conclusion to her night of revelry, Luce was swift to pluck her into his arms and carry her to the adjoining chamber.

“I feared I might find you in this condition,” he murmured as he carried her past the bed and toward the muslin screen in a far corner.

“Put me down,” she demanded in weak tones.

“In a moment.” Moving behind the screen he bent to gently place her on the floor beside the chamber pot. “You might as well make yourself comfortable. You are going to be here for some time.” He met her gaze with awry smile. “Call me if you need me, I will be just outside.”

He softly crossed back into the sitting room as she moaned, although he left the door open to hear if she called out. It might have been years since he had become deliberately foxed, but the memory of the morning after lingered with vivid regret.

Absently strolling toward the table that held the breakfast tray, Luce poured himself a cup of the steaming coffee and glanced out the window.

He discovered himself smiling, although there was no possible excuse for the peculiar contentment that was settled within him. Good gads, he should be furious. Not only at having to tend to his reluctant bride, who had audaciously been out drinking with a common rake. But at the knowledge she had risked certain scandal, and her own innocence, by her ridiculous behavior.

But anger was not what he felt.

He felt . . . what?

Like a husband, a soft voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Surely this was what it was to be a husband? To concern himself with Kate's welfare. To know that it was his efforts that would bring her comfort.

To be at her side when she was in need.

Sharp, male possession surged through him. For the moment, her rattled wits might deny she belonged to him, but he knew the truth. He knew it with a deep, unshakable certainty.

She belonged to him.

Lock, stock, and barrel.

Breathing in the air that was filled with her sweet scent, Luce heard the footsteps behind him. Turning, he watched as Kate shuffled toward the narrow sofa and sank onto the edge.

“I think I must have caught the plague,” she muttered.

He gave a low laugh. “No, not the plague. Just the usual punishment for too much champagne.”

“I do not suppose I will be fortunate enough to die soon?” she demanded, looking like a battered flower with her hair tangled about her white face.

“No, I fear you will survive,” he assured her with a faint smile. “Thankfully, by this afternoon you should be feeling considerably better.” He reached to pour her a cup of coffee. “Drink this and try to eat something. As difficult as it might be to believe, it will help settle your stomach.”

She shuddered but obediently reached for the coffee, which she sipped with a good measure of caution.

“Dear heavens. I never realized how ghastly I would feel.”

“Like every pleasure in life, champagne has its cost,” he said, suppressing his amusement at the sight of her misery. There was little of the demure, always proper Miss Frazer about her this morning, but he discovered it oddly moving to see her so vulnerable. “You did not believe that your lovely adventures could be had without a price, did you?”

She managed a glare, her eyes more blue than green this morning. “Could you please save your lectures, Luce? I am in no humor this morning.”

He laughed as he reached for the plate of warm buttered toast. “Then eat.”

She grimaced and leaned back in distaste. “No, I thank you.”

“Having considerably more experience in your current condition, allow me to be the expert,” he commanded, pressing a slice of toast into her unwilling fingers. “Eat.”

Too ill to argue properly, she reluctantly nibbled at the edge of the toast. Eventually deciding it was not going to make her nauseated again, she reached for another slice.

Within several minutes, the tinge of green had left her features and Luce gave a nod of satisfaction.

“Is that better?”

“I suspect that I might live,” she conceded, working her way through her third slice. “The world has stopped spinning and my stomach is not threatening an immediate revolt. I . . . what happened last night?”

Luce raised a golden brow at her hesitant question. “You do not recall?”

A vague frown marred her forehead as she struggled to battle through her foggy memories.

“I recall having dinner with Lord Thorpe and coming up to the room. And then you came to the door. . . and there were roses on the floor and . . .” She frowned with impatience. “After that I can recall nothing.”

Luce froze. There was no denying the sharp blow to his pride. Blast it all. He had lain awake for hours battling the lingering effects of her sweet, tempting kiss. Even his dreams had been plagued with the pleasures that awaited him in the marriage bed. And for her it was a moment lost in the cloud of champagne.