Miss Frazer's Adventure (13 page)

It was all decidedly unjust.

Of course, he had to admit he did not appear particularly knightly at the moment. His lips twitched with irrepressible humor as he glanced down at his once elegant attire, now thickly coated with a layer of mud. If truth be told, he looked more like something that had been found in the bogs than a gentleman.

Glancing up, Luce met the twinkling gaze of Kate as she stood in the center of her chambers. Through the connecting door he could hear the servants preparing the hot bath he had ordered, but for the moment, he was unfortunately trapped in the rapidly drying muck.

“I suppose you find this amusing, my sweet?” he demanded with an expression of magnificent disgust.

“Of course not. You were very brave, Luce,” she said in choked tones.

He lifted a brow at her patent lie. “Then why are you laughing?”

She struggled a moment before her treacherous laughter rang through the room. “I was just thinking of those children as they followed us back to the inn.”

He planted his hands on his hips, flakes of dried mud fluttering to the carpet.

“You did precious little to halt their jesting.”

Another bubble of laughter rose to her lips as she recalled the merry parade that had drawn the attention of every household in Brighton.

“Well, it is not every day that they are treated to the sight of a nobleman covered in mud. They thought you the true Mad Monk.”

“No, just a Mad Nobleman,” he protested. “Made all the more mad by allowing himself to be lured into traipsing through the fog and mud for a nonexistent treasure, I might add.”

She gave a remarkably unsympathetic shrug. “I did tell you that you need not come with me.”

His gaze narrowed as he gave a slow shake of his head. “And I told you that you are not going anywhere without me,” he retorted in possessive tones. “Speaking of which, I believe my bath is almost prepared. Would you care to join me? We could share luncheon among the bubbles.”

Not surprisingly, that ready blush touched her soft features. “Actually, I believe I would prefer to share luncheon without bubbles and with a gentleman who is not quite such an interesting shade of gray.”

“My dear, I am wounded,” he murmured, taking a step forward. “I was after all forced to endure humiliation after so heroically saving a young lad from his perch upon the cliff. Surely that is worthy of some reward?”

Her lips twitched at his words. “Are good works not supposed to be a reward in themselves?”

He allowed his gaze to sweep over her slender form, enticingly revealed by the soft peach gown.

“I prefer a more . . . tangible reward.”

She seemed to catch her breath at his soft words before she was sternly meeting his wicked gaze.

“Perhaps Billie's mother would be willing to share her muffins. He seemed to believe they were quite tasty.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Not at all what I had in mind.”

“I fear that is the best offer you are going to receive,” she pertly retorted.

A rueful amusement rippled over his mud-crusted features. “At least assure me that you were suitably impressed with my attempt to play the role of the knight in shining armor.”

“Oh, I was definitely impressed,” she assured him.

“Then I suppose being the town's temporary jester was not entirely a waste of a morning.” He tilted his head to one side. “You are certain about that bath?”

She wrinkled her nose at the pungent layer of sticky mud. “Very sure.”

“Then how about a kiss to sooth my bruised pride?”

“Umm . . . I believe I shall have to decline.”

He heaved a disappointed sigh. “You are a hard and heartless woman, Miss Kate Frazer.”

“No, I am a clean and tidy woman, and I intend to stay that way,” she informed him with a smile. “However, if you must insist upon a reward for your heroic deeds, I will order a tea tray with your favorite apple tarts.”

“Mmm . . . actually, I believe apple tarts are your favorite, Kate.”

“Really? How very odd.”

He gave a low chuckle before turning and heading into his chamber. Despite the trials of the morning, he felt strangely lighthearted. Well, perhaps not so strange.

Since his rescue of young Billie, there had been no mistaking the increased warmth within Kate. Oh, it had not been anything dramatic. She had not suddenly tossed herself at his feet. Or proclaimed the words of never-dying devotion he longed to hear. But there had been a definite thaw.

It had been in the manner in which she had regarded him with those fascinating, changeable eyes. In the manner in which she had reached out to touch him when they were returning from the cliffs. And in the manner in which her expression had softened when she gazed at him.

The wary barriers that she kept so rigidly between them were beginning to falter. Now he had to make certain that they crumbled completely. And he had to do so with enough finesse that he did not inadvertently ruin what progress he had managed to make.

A rather fine-edged sword.

With a wave of his hands, he dismissed the hovering servants and began peeling the stiffened clothes from his body. Then, with a deep sigh, he sank into the warm water and thankfully scrubbed the filth from his hair and countenance.

A part of him longed to linger in the refreshing warmth and simply soak away the chill that seemed to have settled in his very bones from their lengthy walk. But a larger part of him was far too impatient to return to Kate's company to waste a moment.

They had only a few hours left in Brighton. He had to ensure that she was truly his before they returned to London.

With that thought in mind, Luce left the bath and attired himself in a dark blue coat and a silver waistcoat studded with pearls. His golden hair was still damp, but he combed the locks in an elegant style toward his countenance and even took the tedious effort of tying his cravat into a far more elaborate knot than usual.

At last deciding he had done all that was possible to make the maiden's heart flutter, he gave a tug on his cuffs and moved across the room to pull open the connecting door.

Rather to his amazement, he experienced the oddest flutter in the pit of his stomach. Nerves? Surely not.

He had faced his father's drunken fury. Raging seas. Murderous pirates.

How the devil could a slip of a girl rattle his fire-forged courage?

It was absurd.

Dragging in a deep breath, Luce forced himself forward, not halting until he had crossed the chamber and was settling his long form on the sofa next to the titian-haired beauty. Perhaps a strategic mistake, he ruefully acknowledged as her warmth and alluring scent wrapped about him.

His intent was to charm, not to pounce.

Although . . . no, no, no. Definitely no pouncing.

Fiercely gathering his frayed control, he met her searching gaze with a smile.

“Well, my dear, I do hope that you have ordered a lavish tea,” he teased as he settled back in the cushions and draped an arm over the back of the sofa. “I have discovered that toting half the countryside back to the inn upon my clothing has given me rather a sharp appetite.”

“Actually there was no need.” She leaned forward to pull the cloth off a large tray set on the table before them. What she revealed was an astonishing feast with thin-sliced ham, stuffed mushrooms, braised potatoes, and strawberries in cream. “It seems that the inn's cook happens to be an aunt to young Billie and, after learning of your daring deeds, decided that you were in need of a reward.”

“Good God.” Luce regarded the platters with genuine surprise. “Did someone tell her that an entire battalion rescued Billie?”

Her lips twitched. “No, just one very muddy knight in shining armor.”

“Ah, but now I am a well-scrubbed knight in shining armor,” he pointed out as he reached for a strawberry.

“Yes, and decidedly less pungent.”

He flashed her a scandalized glance. “Pungent? I will have you know that a Peer of the Realm is never pungent.”

“Aromatic?”

“Fragrant.”

“Fah.” She wrinkled her nose at his teasing. “Your fragrance reeked to high heaven.”

“Very well, I might have carried with me a . . . scent of muck and mire, but now I am freshly scrubbed.” He allowed his hand to drift along the back of the sofa toward her bare neck. “Of course if you have doubt I could always return to the bath and you could ensure that I did not miss a . . .”

“That is quite all right,” she firmly interrupted, although her eyes glittered with amusement rather than the wariness he had come to dread. And most shockingly, she did not even attempt to pull away from his light touch. “I will trust you managed to scrape off the worst.”

He heaved a deep sigh. “And I thought being a knight in shining armor would mean at least a few favors from my favorite damsel.”

“Favors?”

Of their own volition, his fingers cupped the back of her neck. Despite all his stern warnings not to press this maiden into full retreat, her flirtatious manner was impossible to resist.

He was a gentleman and a pirate, not a saint.

“It is tradition, you know.”

“I . . .” She licked her full lips and Luce knew he was lost.

With a low groan, he slowly lowered his head to that tempting mouth. “Allow me to demonstrate, my sweet.”

The hotel had not changed.

There was still a polite hush that clung to the cozy lobby, a lovely spice of freshly cut flowers in the soft air and the tempting scent of baking bread that escaped from the nearby kitchens.

Kate felt a shiver sneak down her spine as she climbed the wide stairs to her chambers.

She was uncertain what she had expected.

It had, after all, been only a few days since she left London. What could possibly have changed beyond the odd guest or two?

But Kate knew she had expected it to be different. Perhaps because she was different. The handful of days alone with Luce might have been an eternity.

She had left the city as a willful child who believed she possessed the will and the divine right to control her destiny. She had presumed herself in utter command of her fate.

Now she realized just how foolish she had been.

No one controlled fate, destiny, or . . . the treachery of a willful heart.

Not even the new, daring, utterly reckless Miss Kate Frazer.

Which only made it more imperative that she flee from Lord Calfield, she acknowledged with a covert glance at the man walking silently at her side.

Her breath seemed to be caught in a relentless vise as she recalled how, earlier that morning, he had solicitously ensured that she was warm enough in the carriage and provided her with the apple tarts he had ordered from the kitchen. He had even commanded the driver to halt at a small cottage so that he could ease his mind that Billie had not experienced any ill effects from his adventure.

There had been a poignant sweetness in his patience with the impish lad, and a true graciousness in his ability to smooth over Billie's parents' awkward gratitude.

He was a gentleman that any maiden would be proud to call husband.

For a brief, crazed moment as they had left the cottage, she had wondered why she continued to battle his offer of marriage. She enjoyed his company, she admired his intelligence, and after their kiss, she could not deny that she desperately longed for his touch.

Why not return to Kent as he requested?

Would marriage to a gentleman she considered a friend and potential lover not be preferable to the danger she courted by remaining in London? Her fantasy of glorious independence could not last forever.

Then panic had set in.

Marriage to Luce would be considerably different from sharing a few days of adventure. Once she signed the license, he would be in utter command of her life and her fortune. She would once again be under the control of a male who would possess the right to demand her absolute obedience.

What if his seeming indulgence was no more than the desperation of a man in need of her dowry? a warning voice had whispered.

There was every possibility that once he had her in his power he would readily return to his own interests. Interests that would keep him in London and perhaps even traveling about the world. While she would once again be buried in the country with the added burden of his mother and sisters keeping a judging eye upon her every movement.

Gads, how could she take the risk?

It would shatter her heart.

No. There must be some means of winning her independence. A means that did not depend upon risking her future with Lord Calfield.

All very sensible. Unfortunately, it did not keep her from experiencing an aching pain that clutched at the center of her chest.

Lost in her thoughts, Kate barely noted her surroundings. It was not until Luce reached out to grasp her arm that she realized they had arrived at the door to his room.

Clearly sensing her distraction, he regarded her pale face with a searching gaze.

“Well, my dear, I have returned you to London, just as I promised.”

“Yes,” she croaked, her throat constricted as she battled the threatening tears.

Blast it all.

Luce had been right when he said that every adventure had a price. She had not known how high the cost would be.

“You have been very quiet,” he accused with a gathering frown. “Are you not feeling well?”

“Of course I am.” She forced herself to give a small shrug. “I have always been rather quiet.”

“Perhaps before you left Kent, but you have been very different since arriving in London.” His gaze narrowed with a dangerous perception. “What is it, Kate?”

She had to get away. He knew her too well to be fooled for long. She drew in a deep breath and fought for control of her unruly emotions.

“I suppose I am rather tired. Maybe I should lie down for a bit.”

His blue eyes darkened in swift concern. “If you have taken a chill, I must call the doctor. It would be foolish to take any risks.”

A warmth at his ready desire to care for her rushed through her blood before she sternly took command of herself.

“No, I am merely weary from the travel.”

“You are certain?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will escort you.”

“Luce.” She paused to swallow the ridiculous lump in her throat. “I would prefer to go to my rooms alone.”

He stilled, his senses on full alert. “Why? Do you fear I will press myself upon you?”

“Of course not. There is simply no need to escort me a few steps down the corridor.”

“And there is nothing troubling you?”

Nothing beyond a sense of loss that felt as if it were settled in for a good long stay, she wryly acknowledged.

“Not at all,” she bravely lied.

A sudden flare of anger tightened his features, assuring her that he was not fooled for a moment.

“I presumed, Kate, that I had finally convinced you that I am not the enemy. Was I mistaken?”

She bit her lip at the new edge in his tone. “Please, I do not want to discuss this now, Luce.”

“Discuss what?” He reached out to cup her chin. “The fact that you are determined to judge me in your father's shadow?”

She abruptly pulled away from him. She was not prepared for their inevitable confrontation. Not now. Not when she felt vulnerable and not at all herself.

She needed time to remind herself of all the sensible reasons for not marrying this glorious gentleman.

“I just want to go to my chambers,” she pleaded softly.

“Very well,” he gritted out, clearly angered by her elusive manner. “We will continue this discussion over dinner.”

“I cannot. I promised Lord Thorpe before I left London that I would attend the theater with him tonight.”

Pure male fury hardened his expression as he took a threatening step toward her.

“So that is the reason you were so determined to leave Brighton,” he rasped. “You had already made plans with your devoted rake.”

“Luce,” she protested, glancing down the hall to ensure they were alone. “Please do not make a scene. There are servants about.”

“I do not give a damn if every servant in London is about.”

“Well, I do.”

“Then we will go into my chambers and discuss this in private.”

She took a hasty step backward. “No.”

“The devil take it, Kate. Why are you closing me out?”

“I have to go.”

The muscles of his jaw knotted as he struggled to control his rising fury.

“Oh yes, I would not wish you to be late for your evening with Lord Thorpe. He does, after all, possess the good sense not to desire you as a wife. It seems a certain means of driving a gentleman mad.”

Kate gave a mute shake of her head as she abruptly turned and fled down the hall.

Dear lord, what a fool she had been.

A naive, ridiculous fool.

* * *

He had been a damnable fool.

Watching Kate scurry away, Luce clenched his hands in impotent fury.

Why the hell had he pressed her?

He had known from the moment they left Brighton that something was troubling Kate. Her determined distance had been nearly palpable in the air, even when he had teasingly attempted to coax a smile to her pale face.

He should have been more patient, he chastised himself. She was wary of offering her trust to any gentleman. Her father had trained her to believe that love meant blind obedience and submission to constant judgment. It would take patience to teach her that he would never cage or condemn her.

But the moment he felt her replacing the barriers between them, he had overreacted.

Kate filled him with a joy he had never before experienced. Just having her near was enough to brighten his day. What if she decided to force him from her life? What if she decided she could never be his wife?

What if she decided Lord Thorpe might better fulfill her need for glorious adventures?

Startled by the ruthless jealousy that pierced his heart, Luce ground his teeth in frustration.

Bloody hell.

He could not lose Kate. Not now that he had discovered how deeply she had entrenched herself in his heart. Not when his soul sang when he caught a glimpse of her. Not when she made his body ache with an incessant need. Not when she filled his every thought.

She belonged to him.

Not because she could provide the money he so desperately needed. Or because she was of suitable birth and position.

She belonged to him simply because she was Kate.

With a growl, he turned on his heel and rapidly left the hotel. Perhaps he should be more patient and understanding, he grimly acknowledged as he caught the nearest hack and demanded to be taken to the docks. But he would be damned if he would stand aside and allow Kate to be seduced away by a charming rascal.

The journey did not take long. Leaving the hack, Luce crossed directly to the small pub where most of his crew preferred to gather when they were in London. Thrusting open the narrow door, he stepped into the loud, smoky public room and glanced about for Foster.

He need not have bothered. The door had barely closed behind him when he saw the craggy sailor barreling his way through the throng to stand before him with an accusing expression.

“Well, it is about bloody time. Where have you been?”

“Not now, Foster,” Luce sternly halted the hovering lecture. The elderly man had a rather annoying habit of treating him as if he were eight rather than eight and twenty. “What have you learned of Lord Thorpe?”

There was a sharp pause at his unusual lack of civility. “Has something occurred?”

Luce grimaced. “The gentleman is a blasted thorn in my side. I should like to throttle the treacherous cur.”

Foster gave a lift of his shaggy brows. “Are you certain that it is Lord Thorpe who is the thorn, and not Miss Frazer?”

A rueful sigh was wrenched from his throat. Of course Kate was a thorn. A relentless, prodding thorn. She had been plaguing him from the moment he had stepped into the London garden and viewed her sitting there blithely flirting with another gentleman.

“She is proving to be somewhat trying,” he admitted as he scrubbed a hand over his face. It was taking every bit of willpower not to charge back to the hotel and toss her over his shoulder. His distant ancestors clearly had the right idea in handling unruly women. “Just give me what you know of this Thorpe fellow.”

There was a moment's pause before Foster at last heaved a heavy sigh. “Very well. From what I could discover, he just celebrated his thirtieth birthday and has been the target of every matchmaking mama in England since coming of age. There have been a few earlier scandals, but none that were any more than the usual antics of a wealthy nobleman, and all of them forgiven when he returned from the war as a hero.”

A war hero? Gads, it made his teeth clench.

“What about his finances? Is he on the dun?”

“It is rumored that he possesses a bloody fortune.”

“His family? Are they welcome among society?”

“You could say that,” Foster retorted in dry tones. “His father is the Duke of Harmond and his mother is the daughter of the Earl of Coventry.”

Luce abruptly dropped onto a wooden chair. So much for his fortune-hunting theory, he grimly acknowledged. The man could no doubt buy and sell him a dozen times over.

“You are certain?”

“ 'Taint easy to mistake the son of a Duke, Luce. I'm surprised you didn't recognize him yourself.”

He should have, of course. Although he rarely attended society functions, he was a shrewd enough businessman to keep a careful account of those among the
ton
who possessed wealth or power. It was vital to cultivate such relationships whenever possible.

Now he could only presume that his wits had been too scrambled by Kate to allow his usual instincts to sense the truth. And, if he were perfectly honest, his judgment had been clouded by a healthy dose of good old-fashioned jealousy.

He wanted to believe the cad was a worthless scoundrel. It helped to make his own reasons for pursuing Kate more palatable.

“Damn,” he muttered.

“Is something wrong, sir?”

He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “What could possibly be wrong, Foster? My family is in near ruin, my fiancée treats me as if I carry the pox, and she is now currently in the company of the most dashing, wealthy bachelor ever to grace England.”

“Yes, well, a rather nasty bit of ill luck.”

“You could say that.”

Foster cleared his throat. “Mayhap it is time to consider a change of plans.”

“A change of plans?”

“There is more than one wealthy maiden in London.”

Luce's brows abruptly snapped together. “Good God, not again, Foster. I have told you that I do not want another. Kate is the only wife I desire.”