The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress (20 page)

“Apparently I’m afraid of dying before my time,” she said wryly.

He laughed. “I assure you, that will not happen today. I told Carswell we only needed to stay up for a few minutes. As soon as I release some of the gas in the balloon, we’ll start to descend. As the rope slackens, he’ll reel it in. We’ll be back on the ground in no time.” He paused. “Lucy.”

“Yes?”

“If I am to do that, you are going to have to let go of me.”

She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind staying up here forever with you in my arms, but at some point we’re going to get very hungry.”

“Well then, it can’t be helped, I suppose.” She released him with a reluctant sigh.

He cast her a confident smile, then turned and reached up to adjust a valve. A soft hiss of escaping gas sounded and they slowly started to descend. “This will take a few minutes. We don’t want to drop too quickly.”

“What a terrible choice.” She blew a frustrated breath. “Die a thousand deaths in a slow descent to solid ground or plummet and die only once.”

“Let’s take a thousand, shall we?”

“I have to confess, going down makes me just as uneasy as going up.” She hesitated. “However, I would feel much safer if . . . well . . .”

He grinned and slipped an arm around her waist. “Is that better?”

“Not entirely. But this is.” She stretched up to meet his lips with hers in a kiss long and slow and as heavenly as their surroundings. And when she drew back to gaze into his eyes, the flutter in her stomach was no longer due to the movement of the basket. “Now, Mr. Fairchild.” She smiled. “
Now
, this is indeed an adventure well worth having.”

“I cannot agree more.” He chuckled. “So, tell me, what else are you afraid of, Lucy Merryweather?”

“You’re just trying to keep me from thinking about our imminent demise.”

He laughed and his arm tightened around her.

“I’m afraid of being forced to fit into expectations that no longer seem to suit me,” she said without thinking. “I’m afraid of molding my life to the requirements of others and losing my soul in the process.”

He stared down at her.

“And I’m afraid of reaching the end of my life with regrets.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” He grinned, drew her closer, and kissed her once again.

Without warning a line from her great-aunt’s letter to her flashed through her mind.

Love, my dear girl, is never a regret
.

Lucy Merryweather had the remarkable ability to make him gasp with shock or sputter with indignation. Tonight, she simply took his breath away.

Cam had thought she looked like a magical forest creature in the conservatory. Now she looked like their queen.

Her gown was blue, the color of crystal clear ice in a frozen pond, and turned the blue of her eyes deeper and more vivid. The bodice dipped in a scandalously low V that at once annoyed and delighted him. The whole thing was held up with tiny lace sleeves that could be snapped with one flick of a man’s fingers. His stomach tightened at the thought.

He stood in the shadows of an arched colonnade that ran along one side of the ballroom discreetly watching her dance with one gentleman after another, including one who must have been royal given the ornate, medal-covered sash he wore diagonally across his chest and the way everyone who crossed his path bowed before him. Cam smiled. Obviously, Lucy could check
dance with a prince
off her list. There was really no need for him to be here.

Cam’s time would be better spent writing. But he had never written anything so quickly in his life. Every time he sat down at his desk he was like a man possessed. His pen fairly flew across the page. Five installments of
Daring Exploits
had already appeared in the
Messenger
, two more were written and scheduled. He had added a few pertinent secondary characters and while he wasn’t sure how Lucy’s quest would end, Mercy Heartley would be successful in gaining her inheritance. Better still, he had written and rewritten the completed installments into book form.

No, there was no need for his presence tonight. Lucy was in the capable hands of Lady Dunwell, and no one knew the tricks of men better than Beryl Dunwell. But ever since Lucy had said that she would be here, he couldn’t get the idea of dancing with her out of his head. A single dance was all he wanted. Silly, of course. One would think he hadn’t held her in his arms only a few hours ago or felt her warm body next to his or kissed her. But there was something about dancing with a woman, something about the way the music filled your soul and the way two moved as one, that had always seemed special and deeply romantic.

Besides, it was his experience that women were always a bit more amenable to things like confessions and the complete truth if a little romance was mixed in. The dance floor was the one place he could truly get her alone, without the constant presence of Miss West. He would much prefer to tell Lucy everything without the other woman’s forbidding presence. Although admittedly, he’d had a few missed opportunities.

He had intended to tell Lucy the truth about his deception yesterday when he came to apologize. But finding her nearly naked had swept that from his mind. Then he had planned to confess everything when they were floating above London. He had never expected her absolute terror nor that the way to ease her fear was to hold her in his embrace and kiss her over and over again. He grinned at the memory. He was nothing if not helpful.

It wasn’t difficult for him to arrange to be here tonight. His family always received invitations to events like this. Depending on the importance of the event, and whether the duke and duchess were otherwise engaged, one of the duke’s children would be sent to represent the family. Tonight it was Spencer’s turn, although Cam had yet to see his older brother and didn’t especially want to. Spencer would wonder why Cam had deigned to make an appearance at the sort of function he usually avoided and Spencer could be relentless when he wanted to know the truth of a matter.

His oldest brother wasn’t his only concern. Cam hadn’t realized what a mistake this was until after his arrival. Everywhere he turned he saw someone he knew. And while it would be wiser to leave now, certainly he could avoid unwanted encounters long enough to have one dance. If he swooped in on Lucy right before she was about to step on the dance floor—

“Is that her?” A glass of champagne appeared before him.

Cam resisted the urge to sigh in frustration and instead forced an innocent tone and took the glass. “Is that who?”

Spencer stood by his side, surveying the dancers. “The American.”

Damnation, he might as well confess all. It was impossible to have secrets in his family. “How much do you know?”

“Oh, I should think I know quite a lot.” Spencer sipped his wine. “Let’s see. I know Simon wrote you a letter of reference extolling your qualifications as a private investigator.”

“Yes, well, I can explain that—”

“And I know that you are I. F. Aldrich, the author of a series of extremely popular stories about a runaway American heiress. And while the stories are fictional, apparently the heiress is not. That information is thanks to Thad.”

“I shall have to remember to thank him myself.”

Spencer chuckled.

Cam glanced at his brother. “Does anyone else know?”

“I doubt it. I daresay I’m the only one with all the pieces.” Spencer shrugged. “Mother is following the
Daring Exploits
with bated breath. I’m fairly certain she has realized it’s your work, but she hasn’t mentioned it. And Father is back to reading only those parts of the
Messenger
Mother clips for him.”

“Good.”

“However, as I said, I am the one with all the pieces.” He paused. “But I do think congratulations are in order.”

“For what?”

“Your stories are proving to be remarkably popular. Not surprising as they are most entertaining. I suspect the book will do even better.” He glanced at his brother. “Given the timing of the heiress stories, I’m assuming you intend to compile them into a book.”

“That was my plan,” Cam said under his breath.

“Was?” Curiosity sounded in his brother’s voice. “And has something changed?”

Cam hesitated.

“Ah, I see.” Spencer chuckled in that wise, older brother way he had. “It’s the girl, isn’t it?” His gaze scanned the dancers. “Which one is she?”

“The one in blue.” Cam nodded. “Dancing with the tall, thin fellow.”

“Of course. She’s quite lovely,” Spencer murmured. “Does she have a name?”

“Miss Lucy Merryweather.”

“The name is familiar.” Spencer’s brows drew together. “American banking, I believe?”

Trust Spencer to know a business name even from another country.

“Her father.”

“I see.” Spencer paused. “You know, it’s been a long time since you confided in me. Should you wish to do so now—”

“She thinks I’m a private investigator who has been hired by an old friend she was once supposed to marry to keep her out of trouble.”

Spencer frowned. “Have you?”

“No.” Cam scoffed. “No, I was trying to learn more about her and she jumped to this conclusion, and it seemed in my best interest so I didn’t correct her. Besides, I needed inspiration. A muse as it were.”

“Oh, that sounds good.” Spencer nodded. “I would stay with that if I were you. A woman would much rather be thought of as a muse rather than think she had been shamefully misled for the sake of literary success.”

Cam slanted him a wry glance. “It’s not going to work, is it?”

Spencer shook his head. “I wouldn’t think so.”

“I’m going to have to tell her the truth, aren’t I?”

“If you were hoping I’d say no, I’m afraid you’re talking to the wrong brother.” Spencer chuckled. “Telling the truth is usually the right thing to do.”

“I’ve already come to that realization. I’m just trying to find the right moment.”

“Ah yes, the right moment. Timing is critical in a situation like this,” Spencer said in a knowing manner. “Tell me something, Cam. What happens then? Or rather, what do you hope happens then?”

“I hope she forgives me, of course.”

“And then?”

“And then . . .” Cam blew a long breath. “I don’t know. Bloody hell, Spence.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know anything. I can’t think about anything but her.”

Spencer studied his brother curiously. “You’re serious then?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“I see.” He paused. “It shows, you know.”

“What? My confusion?”

“How you feel about her. That she is uppermost in your thoughts. Your stories,
Daring Exploits,
may be far closer to the truth than you care to admit.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Cam scoffed. “I’ve taken great pains to disguise her completely.”

“Have you?” Spencer’s brow rose. “Your . . . Miss Heartley, is it?”

Cam nodded.

“Let’s see, how did you put it? Ah yes. You describe her as having hair the color of burnished gold, with fragile features, a mere slip of a woman who looks as if she would blow away in a strong wind but with a determination and will forged of iron.”

“Your point?”

Spencer nodded at Lucy. “How would you describe Miss Merryweather?”

“Well, her hair is certainly not burnished gold.” He studied Lucy for a moment, not that he needed to. He could describe her with his eyes closed. “It’s much more of a, oh, a bright gold, I would say, newly minted, not as red as a burnished gold. And her features are not fragile but rather fine and delicate. Yes, she’s short in stature but deliciously curved in all the nicest places and she certainly doesn’t look as if she would blow away. As for the rest of it . . .” Good God, Spencer was right. There, on the dance floor, with a few minor alterations, was Miss Mercy Heartley. Still, no one unacquainted with her would ever connect the very real Lucy Merryweather with the fictional Miss Heartley. “You only recognize her because you know Miss Heartley was based on a real woman. No one else will.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Both,” Cam muttered, and sipped his champagne.

“As for the story itself, your heroine is on a quest to gain her inheritance.” Spence’s gaze fixed on Lucy. “Is Miss Merryweather on a quest as well?”

Cam blew a long breath. “You could say that.”

Spencer nodded. “And did Miss Merryweather ride a camel?”

“It was an elephant.”

“And dress as a man at a gentlemen-only sporting event?”

“It was Prichard’s.” He glanced at his brother. “The night we were all there.”

“The ever sacred, never to be defiled Prichard’s?” Spencer stared in disbelief.

Cam winced. “I’m afraid so.”

Spence laughed. “She certainly does have spirit.”

“At the very least.” Cam smiled.

“Let me ask you something else. The rest of the characters in
Daring Exploits
, are they based on reality as well? Or are they fictional?”

“Fictional,” Cam said firmly. “No more than a product of my imagination.”

“Interesting.” He paused. “Then let me ask you this. Strictly as an ardent devotee of the story, mind you.”

“Yes?”

“The gentleman who has been following your heroine, who was originally employed by the man who wants her to fail so she will be forced to marry him, who started out intending to thwart her efforts but is now helping her . . .”

“Yes?”

“He’s fallen in love with her, hasn’t he?”

“Of course he has.” Cam scoffed. “Readers like nothing better than a good love story.”

“And what happens when he tells her he was working against her in the beginning?”

Cam paused for a long moment. “I don’t know.”

“That’s the crux of it all, isn’t it?” Spencer nodded. “You might want to work out that little plot detail before you go much farther.”

“He runs the risk of losing her if he tells her.”

“My dear younger brother.” Spencer cast him a sympathetic look. “He will absolutely lose her if he doesn’t.”

 

 

“Why, Mr. Fairchild.” Lucy widened her eyes in mock indignation. “Perhaps you are unaware that I had promised this dance to someone else?”

“I was completely aware of that.” He grinned and whirled her around the dance floor to the glorious strains of a Strauss waltz. “But as he was not as quick as he should have been, he missed his chance.”

“It seemed to me you gave him little opportunity.” Indeed, Cameron had cut in front of her next partner in an impressive display of determination and efficiency.

“Exactly my plan.”

“You didn’t mention you would be here tonight.”

“How could I pass up the chance to dance with you?”

“Well, I am an excellent dancer.” She grinned. “Due in no small part to any number of lessons my mother insisted I and my brothers take. You dance quite well yourself, Mr. Fairchild.”

“My mother too insisted her children know the proper way to dance.”

She studied him closely. “So your only purpose here is to dance with me?”

“Exactly.”

“And is it living up to your expectations?”

He executed a perfect turn and she followed him flawlessly, almost as if they had danced together always. As if they were always meant to dance together. It was as delightful a thought as it was confusing. But then what about Cameron Fairchild wasn’t?

“It is more than meeting my expectations.” He grinned down at her. “My thanks to your mother.”

“She would be thrilled to know that at least in this I am meeting her expectations,” she said wryly.

“Come now, surely you haven’t been a disappointment to her?” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine that.”

“In little more than a month, I will be twenty-four years of age. And, as I am not yet married, I am indeed a great disappointment.” She thought for a moment. If she truly expected honesty from him, perhaps she needed to be completely honest herself. “From very nearly the day I was born I was expected to marry your employer.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Jackson Channing?”

She nodded. “My grandfather and his great-grandfather founded Graham, Merryweather, and Lockwood Banking and Trust. His grandfather is president and chairman of the board, my father is a director of the board. I believe both families had dreams of a banking dynasty.”