Miss Frazer's Adventure (6 page)

Still, he had to acknowledge that her lack of memory might be for the best. She had revealed the most intimate contents of her heart last night. It was quite possible that she would fiercely regret her confessions. And resent him for possessing her secrets.

Perhaps it would be best to keep the truth of last evening to himself.

Well, at least most of last evening, he corrected with a wicked smile. There were some parts he definitely intended her to recall.

“I must say that I am deeply wounded, my love. For me it was a night that shall be forever branded upon my memory,” Luce devilishly murmured.

She stiffened in a wary manner. “What do you mean?”

He moved to settle himself on the sofa close beside her, laying his arm along the back of the cushions so that his fingers could lightly brush her shoulder.

“Well, it was our first kiss. A most momentous moment, or so most maidens seem to feel. Still, I suppose there will be endless more kisses for you to hold as keepsakes.”

Her eyes widened in dismay. “You . . . kissed me?”

Gads, she made it sound as if he had tumbled her into the bed and ravished her, he acknowledged wryly. Well, two could play at that game.

“I did, but only after you so prettily begged me to do so.”

A palpable shock filled the air. “I did no such thing.”

“Shall I tell you the precise words that you used?” he murmured softly. “Or perhaps you would prefer that I tell you of how your arms wrapped about my neck and your lips . . .”

“You are merely roasting me,” she at last managed to choke.

His hand moved upward and brushed a titian curl. He discovered his fingers lingering at the silken texture. Fire and silk; it was a fascinating combination.

Of course, he was learning that every stubborn, mysterious part of Miss Frazer held a certain fascination. In Kent she had been demure and sweetly innocent. Last night she had been bold and reckless. This morning she was vulnerable and uncertain.

His lips curled with a wry smile. It would take him a lifetime to discover all the hidden depths of this maiden. And much to his surprise, he realized that he was looking forward to the journey.

“There is no need to appear so shocked, my love,” he assured her. “I was more than pleased to oblige your request. Indeed, I eagerly place myself at your disposal whenever the urge might come upon you again.”

Her eyes darkened, as if vaguely sensing that something had indeed occurred during her bout of madness, and with a jerky motion, she set aside her empty cup.

“That will not be necessary,” she retorted in a tight voice. “Last evening I was . . . I was not at all myself.”

“Ah, but you assured me that you were only pleasantly giddy.”

“Obviously, I was a great deal more than giddy. I would never have allowed you through the door, let alone requested that you . . . you . . . kiss me, if I had not been out of my wits.”

He lifted his brows at her less than flattering declaration. If it were not for the fact he knew damn well that she had eagerly responded to his touch, he might have been angered by her refusal to acknowledge the undoubted attraction between them.

As it was, he merely smiled. “Then I must make a note to order several crates of champagne for our wedding breakfast, my love. I shall definitely desire you to allow me through the door on our marriage night.”

A flustered blush added a much-needed color to her white countenance as she tilted her chin to a combative angle.

“You may order all the champagne that you desire, but I assure you that there is not going to be a wedding,” she retorted. “Not ever.”

His smile dimmed as he regarded her stubborn expression. Gads. He had promised her a flirtation. Even if she did not recall the promise. But how the devil was he to woo her when she was determined to treat him with such distrust?

“Are you always so unforgiving, Kate?” he asked softly, claiming her gaze with his own. “I have attempted to apologize for my boorish behavior and to seek some means of healing the wounds that you suffered. What must I do to earn your pardon?”

She appeared unbalanced by his direct attack. “I . . . it is not a matter of forgiveness.”

“No?” He tilted his head to the side. “Then you are not attempting to punish me?”

“I have told you that I have put the past behind me.”

“If that is true, why do you insist that we will never wed?” he demanded in low tones. “Unless there is some other reason you have so adamantly decided we should not suit?”

Her tongue peeked out to wet her lips, and Luce briefly worried that she would flatly refuse to answer. Then, clasping her hands in her lap, she drew in a steadying breath.

“I have decided that I prefer not to be wed for my wealth.”

Well. That was as straightforward as a shovel to the head. He gave an uncomfortable cough.

“I see.” He took a moment to carefully choose his words. Kate was too intelligent to believe any vague prevarications. Nor would she be easily swayed with sweet words and empty flattery. It appeared his only choice was the truth. “You believe my only interest is in your dowry?”

She regarded him steadily. “Can you deny that my father offered you a sizable fortune to take me as a wife?”

“He did approach me with such a proposition,” he conceded. “Sir Frazer was aware of my own father's charming habit of tossing away his fortune at the gaming tables and believed that I would be anxious to acquire the funds necessary to keep my estate from tumbling into ruin.” He paused, not missing the manner in which her jaw tightened. “I refused.”

Her eyes abruptly narrowed in blatant disbelief. “Balderdash.”

Luce gave a lift of his shoulder. “It is the truth, Kate. I had no intention of being purchased like a horse upon a block simply because your father desired my bloodlines.”

She did not appear the least impressed with his explanation. Indeed, she seemed more offended than ever.

“If you did not wish to wed me, then why, pray tell, did you ever propose?”

“Because I met you,” he said simply.

“What?”

“After I refused your father's proposal, he insisted that I join him for dinner to assure there were no hard feelings between the two of us.” Luce could not prevent his lips from twitching with wry amusement. “As you must know, your father can be rather . . . insistent when he chooses.”

She could not halt her revealing grimace. “Yes.”

“He was a wise gentleman. He must have known that I expected a tediously dull evening enduring a full-out assault by a desperate, brazen woman who was on the hunt for a title.” Luce's gaze shifted to the titian curl that he had wrapped about his finger. “Instead, I was greeted by a shy, astonishingly gentle maiden. A maiden who seemed quite capable of offering her heart to an awkward earl who feels more comfortable among the docks than among the
ton
and a fluttering collection of female relatives who would be bound to smother her with their attentions. To be frank, you appeared eminently suitable to claim the title of Countess of Calfield.”

“I . . .” She gave a slow shake of her head, as if not yet prepared to accept the truth of his words. “You could not possibly have known anything about me. You rarely bothered to call and when you did so, it was only in passing.”

Luce gave a nod of his head, fully aware that he deserved her criticism.

“You have the right to be disappointed in me, Kate. I was shamefully inattentive as your fiancé.” He heaved a rueful sigh. “It would be a simple matter to blame my neglect upon the burdens of my business, or even the duties of learning to be an earl. It was what I told myself. But in truth, I fear I was merely uncomfortable and not at all certain what to do with you.”

She blinked in confusion. “What to do with me?”

Luce's lips twisted in self-derision. “Unlike most gentlemen, I have never spent much time among society. My only experience has been among females who make no demands upon a gentleman and possess few expectations. Certainly, I have never learned the delicate art of wooing an innocent maiden. I feared I might make an utter ass of myself if I tried to win your affection.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Instead, I managed to wound your feelings and, in the end, to lose you entirely.”

She faltered at his stark revelations, as if being forced to consider him as more than the arrogant, cold-hearted beast she had convinced herself he must be.

Still, her eyes remained guarded as she met his piercing gaze. “That does not alter the fact that you would not be marrying me if it were not for my fortune.”

Luce abruptly shifted so that he could lay his hands upon her shoulders. There would be no more misunderstandings between them. He knew from experience that they could only move forward if the past was laid to rest.

“Just as you would not wed a gentleman unless he were of proper birth and social position,” he said firmly. “It is your duty to your family to offer them connections that would otherwise be above them, just as my duty is to ensure the welfare of my family. That does not mean that we cannot come to care for one another or to find happiness in our marriage.”

“No.” She jerkily raised her hands to press them to her temples. “Please, Luce. I do not wish to discuss this now. My head is still aching and I cannot think clearly.”

His lips thinned with impatience but he reluctantly forced himself to remove his hands from her shoulders. The most certain way to lose her was to attempt to force her to his will.

It was, after all, what her father would do.

“As you wish.” He offered her a smile. “Why do you not ring for a hot bath, and once you are feeling more the thing, you can join me downstairs?”

“Why?” she demanded warily.

“I thought we might spend a few hours enjoying some of the sights.” He grimaced at the shadows beneath her eyes. “I doubt your constitution will be up for more strenuous pleasures until tomorrow.”

“I am to join Lord Thorpe for a ride in the park later this afternoon,” she said in defiant tones.

Luce's features briefly tightened before he forced himself to relax.

“Very well,” he conceded with an unconsciously predatory smile. “But you are having dinner with me.”

“Luce.”

He abruptly rose to his feet, realizing he had to get out of the room.

One more mention of Lord Thorpe and he would resort to his original plan to toss her over his shoulder and head for the nearest vicar.

“Do not linger too long in your bath, Kate,” he commanded in dark tones. “I shall be awaiting you in the garden.”

Without giving her the opportunity to protest, Luce turned about and left the room. He moved down the hall with long strides and shoved open the door to his own chambers.

At his entrance, Foster pushed himself from the chair where he had been impatiently awaiting Luce's arrival.

“It's about bloody time,” the old sailor muttered in sour tones. “I have been waiting here for near an hour.”

Luce shrugged, crossing the room to pour a large measure of brandy. With one motion, he drained the fiery spirits down his throat.

“I fear there has been a change of plans, Foster,” he said, turning to regard his companion. “I will not be joining you at the docks this morning.”

Foster folded his arms over his barrel chest. “Chasing after that woman, I suppose.”

Luce smiled grimly at the hint of disapproval in the gruff voice. “Must I remind you that that woman is soon to be the next Countess of Calfield?”

“And must I remind you that you wouldn't be chasing after her like a hound on the scent if you hadn't been late to your wedding as I warned?”

“I am painfully aware of my folly, thank you, Foster,” he retorted in wry tones. “Now I must do what I can to repair the damage. And for that I need your assistance.”

The hardened sailor recoiled in horror. “My assistance? With a proper lady?”

Luce lifted a slender hand. “Be at ease, you cowardly dog. I know you are allergic to the fairer sex. Or at least to those who do not frequent the taverns. What I need from you is information.”

“What sort of information?”

Luce narrowed his gaze. “Whatever you can discover on a Lord Thorpe. Especially any scandals that might be attached to his name, and if he is in need of a fortune.”

The bushy brows rose in surprise at his clipped command. “Competition, Luce?”

“The enemy, Foster.” A hard smile touched his lips. “One I intend to defeat before he ever reaches the battlefield.”

“It is . . . magnificent,” Kate murmured in wonder, leaning over the metal railing in the Whispering Gallery of St. Paul's Cathedral toward the patterned marble floor below. “What does the book say?”

Luce appeared remarkably content for a gentleman who had devoted the past two hours to trailing behind her as she wandered through the beautiful church. He obediently leafed through the small pamphlet he had purchased before beginning the tour.

“Let me see, the fresco paintings within the dome were the work of James Thornhill, and that railing you are currently leaning against was created by Jean Tijou. Below us you will find an epitaph for Wren carved into the floor. It is written in Latin, but it translates to: ‘Beneath lies buried the founder of this church and city, Christopher Wren, who lived more than ninety years not for himself but for the public good. Reader, if you seek his monument, look around you. '” He lifted his amused gaze to meet her expectant expression. “More?”

“Of course. You cannot properly appreciate such beauty without knowing the history, can you?”

“After eight and twenty years of presuming that it was perfectly possible, it appears I labored under a dire misapprehension. I do thank you for correcting my tasteless lack of sensibility,” he teased with that gentle humor that continued to catch Kate off guard.

Of course, if she were perfectly honest with herself, there were a great number of things about Luce that had caught her off guard since his arrival in London.

Her heart gave an odd squeeze as she recalled his arrival in her chambers that morning. Gads, surely almost any gentleman would have fled in horror when she embarrassed herself by nearly sicking up all over him? Instead, Luce had competently taken charge and even managed to make her feel better when she had been certain she was hovering near death.

And then he had sat beside her and so earnestly attempted to convince her that he did not consider her a mere source of ready wealth. That he believed she was perfectly suited to be his bride and Countess of Calfield. And that he had been as uncertain and anxious as herself . . .

With a considerable effort, Kate thrust the memories aside. No. She had determined when she so reluctantly left her chambers this morning that she would not dwell upon her sudden bout of uncertainty.

Whatever confessions Luce might have offered changed nothing, she assured herself firmly. She had come to London with a purpose and nothing he might say or do would alter her determination.

Feeling his gaze resting upon her expressive countenance, she forced a calm smile to her lips. She was the new, daring Miss Kate Frazer, she reminded herself sternly.

“Wren was obviously a genius,” she murmured.

There was a glint in the blue eyes that warned he suspected at least a portion of her inner unease, but thankfully he did attempt to press her.

“Obviously, and like most geniuses he was also a bit batty. It says here that when this dome was being completed, he had himself hauled up in a basket two or three times a week to ensure all was going to his plan.” He glanced the long distance down to the smooth marble below. “Can you imagine swinging about in a basket when you are seventy-six years of age?”

Her nose wrinkled. “I cannot imagine swinging in a basket at any age.”

He leaned his large frame against the railing, studying her beneath half-lowered lids. “Not even for the sake of such a glorious work of art?”

She glanced about the ornate perfection that glowed like a jewel. A sense of awed peace filled her heart as she breathed deeply of the hushed air.

“You are right. I believe I would have dangled in a basket from sunup to sundown if I could have created something so wonderful,” she admitted with a wistful smile. “How splendid it must be to watch a dream taking form stone by stone, brushstroke by brushstroke.”

“Yes, there is nothing so satisfying as shaping something from nothing.”

She regarded him with a searching gaze, intrigued by his low words.

“You speak of your shipping company?”

He blinked as if startled that she had sensed his deeper meaning.

“Yes, I suppose I do.” He smiled with a boyish charm. “Although a handful of ships can hardly compare to a work of such wonder.”

“I would not think that it is the size or the grandeur of the dream that is important, but the dream itself,” she murmured as her hands skimmed over the smooth railing. She was startled by the odd ache that clutched at her heart. Determinedly, she sucked in a deep breath. “Tell me, how did you ever come to own a shipping company?”

He searched her guarded expression for a moment before offering a faint shrug.

“It was actually more a fluke than choice. Ten years ago, I happened to win a ship in a card game, although it was rather a jest to claim the pile of rotting timbers as anything beyond a ruin. In truth, I had every intention of selling it to the first gullible fool who would give me a quid when I happened to go down to the docks and stepped onto the deck.” His lean features unwittingly softened with a deep sense of pride. “In that moment, I realized that I could do more with my existence than waltz through ballrooms or follow my father's footsteps into the gambling hells.”

“You enjoy your business?”

His lips twitched at her hint of surprise. “I enjoy the challenge. Even the risk. I hazard the entire future of my company with every cargo I purchase. It is a gamble each and every day.”

The unmistakable glitter of pleasure that warmed his blue eyes summoned that ridiculous ache once again. Her fingers tightened upon the rail as she considered the source of her discomfort.

“I must say that I envy you,” she admitted slowly, her brow unconsciously wrinkled as she sorted through her strange emotions. “I cannot recall ever possessing a dream that I could follow.”

Thankfully, he did not treat her confession with an offhand dismissal. Instead, his expression became somber as he reached out to gently brush a curl that lay against her cheek.

“Surely you must have harbored dreams as a young girl?”

She gave a restless shake of her head. “The usual maidenly dreams, nothing of value.”

He gave a lift of his brow. “Having been born a tedious male, I fear I do not possess the secrets of mysterious maidenly dreams. What do they entail?”

“The typical desire for being beautiful and slaying gentlemen with a single glance. For taking London by storm and being the Toast of the Season.” She grimaced. “For having a charming, handsome gentleman sweep one off to his castle to live in enchanted happiness.”

“That is not such a bad dream, is it, Kate?” he murmured.

Her lips thinned as she considered her childish fantasies. “It is a dream that utterly depends upon another to offer happiness. I have come to realize that such a fate is never possible. I must seek my own fulfillment. My own dreams that can be accomplished by my own efforts.”

She could feel him stiffen at her side. “And you hope to find fulfillment in defying your father, and in dreams while fluttering about London?”

Kate abruptly turned to face him with flashing eyes. She might have known. How could he possibly understand? He had not been constrained his whole life with impossible standards. He had not been smothered and imprisoned until he did not even recognize himself.

He had been free. Free to seek his dreams. Free to follow whatever path he desired.

Free to leave her to standing like a pathetic fool at the altar.

“It grows late,” she retorted in chilled tones. “I must return to the hotel so that I may change for my drive with Lord Thorpe.”

Not surprisingly, his features tightened at her firm command. But rather than offering the scathing lecture that was no doubt trembling upon the tip of his tongue, he instead forced a smile to his lips. At the same moment, his fingers tenderly caressed her cheek.

“Do you know, my sweet Kate, dreams are rather odd,” he murmured in husky tones. “They are not a matter of choice but rather of destiny. You may hide and flee all you wish. In the end, it will be fate that determines your future. And not even you, my stubborn minx, can evade fate. Our fate. Together.”

A shiver raced down her spine at the soft, relentless certainty in his voice.

He sounded as if he had actually seen the future.

Their future.

No. That was ridiculous. No gentleman could see the future. Certainly not her future.

She was thinking mad thoughts.

* * *

He was mad.

Returning to the hotel, Kate had thankfully retreated to her chambers to change into a brilliant yellow riding gown and tailored black pelisse. Unfortunately, her thoughts refused to remain focused upon her upcoming meeting with Lord Thorpe. Or even upon her efforts to arrange her curls into a charming cluster atop her head.

Instead, she discovered herself brooding over and over upon Luce's parting shot.

Blast it all. She had never claimed to comprehend the muddled workings of the male mind. In fact, she had known for years that men in general were a mystery that appeared to defy logic.

Luce was simply a prime example of his bizarre species.

At least Lord Thorpe made a vague stab at normality, she told herself later, moving down the stairs and into the lobby to join the handsome nobleman as he awaited her beside a large potted plant.

She might not comprehend his mysterious interest in her, but at least he did not tangle her thoughts and twist her stomach into knots.

With a smile, Kate allowed the gentleman to politely lead her from the hotel toward the awaiting carriage. With that same delicate care, he lifted her onto the high-perch phaeton and she covertly studied his masculine body attired in a dove gray coat and pale ivory breeches with glossed Hessians.

Definitely a sight to make any maiden's heart flutter, she thought with a sigh of pleasure. And the perfect means of soothing her raw nerves.

Taking his own place upon the padded seat, Lord Thorpe gave a nod to his groom, who set the perfectly matched grays into motion. Only as they were rumbling away from the hotel did he turn to offer her his blinding smile.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked gently.

She grimaced, still feeling the lingering malaise clouding her mind. “As if I spent the evening in the ring with Gentleman Jackson.”

“I feared as much.” He reached out to lightly clasp her fingers. “Forgive me, Kate. I would never have ordered the champagne if I had known how quickly it would go to your head.”

Kate allowed her fingers to remain in his grasp. There were none of the explosive tingles that she experienced when Luce touched her, but there was a pleasant warmth that she welcomed at the moment.

“It was not your fault,” she assured him firmly. “I have never had champagne before, and I did not realize how much I was drinking until it was too late. By then, I no longer considered the dangers.”

Perhaps sensing her lingering embarrassment at her night of overindulgence, he gave a low chuckle.

“You were charming.”

“No, I made a fool of myself,” she confessed, even if he was not to know just how foolish she had been. “Thank you for being a gentleman.”

He shifted to face her as the dark eyes slowly roamed her pale features.

“It was not without its cost. You have no notion how long I paced in front of those damnable stairs, battling with the desire to say the hell with nobility and to join you upstairs.”

Hoping he did not presume she was some sort of shallow tease, Kate gave a faint frown. “Forgive me. I did not intend to mislead you in any manner.”

“Do not apologize, my dear.” With a deliciously elegant gesture, he raised her fingers to his lips. “There is no rush to forward our relationship beyond what you desire. I am content to be companion, friend, and diversion. Whatever it is that you need.”

Kate's smile swiftly returned at his light teasing. This man could no doubt charm the fish from the ocean.

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes,” he said softly.

She raised her brows. “I will hold you to it, you know.”

“I certainly hope so.”

There was a wicked smokiness to his tone, but before Kate could respond, the carriage was slowing to turn into the already crowded park.

By mutual consent, their conversation turned to less intimate subjects, and Kate allowed herself to be entertained by his softly murmured descriptions of the various nobles who had remained in town rather than returning to their various estates. He possessed a wicked sense of humor and startling intelligence that soon had her chuckling at his antics. Slowly the lingering cobwebs in her head faded and she began to feel almost herself as they turned to wind their way back through the park.

At least now she knew what it felt like to be properly cast to the wind.

And wretchedly nursing a sore head.

And she did have the comfort of knowing she had not done anything to actually bring her shame.

No,
a renegade voice whispered in the back of her mind,
you just begged two men to kiss you.

She fiercely thrust aside the distasteful thought. Those depressing notions were a thing of the past. Whether she had a glorious flirtation or not was incidental. There were an endless variety of experiences she had yet to seek and enjoy. And she was not going to waste her time brooding upon one mistake.

Breathing deeply of the astonishingly mild air, Kate settled back in her seat and watched as Lord Thorpe cast a lazy glance over the park. It was a lovely sight. For a maiden who had spent her entire life surrounded by flowers and trees and open fields it was not entirely pleasant to spend her days in cramped neighborhoods and among endless smoke-blackened buildings.