Miss Frazer's Adventure (9 page)

Then she was ruefully thrusting aside temptation.

Luce had already warned her that every adventure came with a price. A throbbing head had been the cost of overindulgence with champagne. The cost of sailing off with Luce would be much greater.

A cost she was not yet prepared to pay.

She pulled from his lingering touch with a lift of her chin. “A tempting offer, Luce, but one I fear I must decline.”

“Why?”

“I prefer to remain in London.”

He gave a slow shake of his head. “No.”

“What?”

“It is not because you prefer to remain in London,” he said with relentless assurance. “It is because you are frightened to take the risk.”

Her eyes swiftly narrowed in annoyance. “That is absurd. Why would I be frightened?”

His gaze slowly swept over her shadowed countenance. “Because you fear that you might discover more than distant lands.”

“And what would that be?”

“What every person desires. Friendship. Passion. Love. The certainty that you possess a companion who will forever stand by your side.”

A sharp tingle raced down her spine at his confident words. He was so utterly certain. So convinced that he could read her heart.

It was more than a tad unnerving.

“I think that we should return to the hotel,” she abruptly announced, determinedly pressing herself to her feet before he could discover some means of undermining her decision.

Unfortunately, her haste was her undoing. Even as she rose, her foot remained caught upon the hem of her gown, and with a stifled gasp she discovered herself tumbling forward.

Moving with smooth grace, Luce was before her, catching her in his arms to keep her upright.

“Careful, my love,” he murmured, holding her far too close for Kate's peace of mind.

Clutching at the lapels of his coat, Kate sternly willed her knees to halt their urge to give out. A task that was far more difficult than it should have been.

“You may release me,” she forced herself to mutter.

“In a moment.” His head lowered, his cheek softly brushing over her curls.

“Luce . . .”

She felt his lips touch her temple as he breathed in deeply. “Kate, what is that perfume you wear?”

Her toes curled at the seductive rasp in his voice. Or perhaps it was the heat of his body that surrounded her like a cloak of temptation.

“I . . . I wear no perfume,” she inanely retorted. “It is merely my soap.”

“No. It is you. The scent of you,” he muttered, his arms tightening about her body. “I would know it anywhere. It is driving me mad.”

She shivered at the fierce, unexpected excitement that raced through her blood. She wanted to remain in his arms. To tug his head downward and press her lips to his own. To experience the magic that beaconed.

Instead, with an unsteady motion, she forced her hands to push at his broad chest. Luce's particular brand of magic was far more potent than she could ever have expected.

Rather to her disappointment, he reluctantly lowered his arms and stepped back to regard her with darkened eyes.

“Do you expect me to apologize?”

No doubt she should be embarrassed by what just occurred between them.

Or angry.

Or even shocked.

But what she felt instead was an odd sense of awareness. As if some deep, unrealized question had finally been answered.

It was as unexplainable as it was confusing, and with a vague shake of her head, Kate wrapped her arms protectively about her slender waist.

“No.”

“Good.” His lips slowly curled in a smile. “Because I am not at all repentant. I enjoy having you in my arms. Just as I enjoy having you in my company. And I will continue to attempt to convince you that we belong together.”

“I . . . we must return to the hotel,” she said abruptly.

He paused for a long moment before giving a mysterious smile. “If that is what you wish.”

Kate clenched her teeth. The trouble was she did not know if that was what she wished at all.

And it was entirely Lord Calfield's fault.

* * *

This was entirely Kate's fault.

Not only had she ensured that he would devote another restless night to pacing his chambers. A far too frequent occurrence. But now he was near to an open battle with his most staunch friend.

He stood in the sitting room of his hotel chambers, crumpling the list of eligible maidens that he held in his fist and glaring at the man who had arrived with the dawn.

“Dammit, Foster, I asked you to discover what you could of Lord Thorpe, not to play matchmaker. Why the devil would I desire the names of rich maidens when I already possess a perfectly suitable fiancée?”

Calmly sipping the coffee that Luce had ordered, the hardened sailor merely lifted a brow. As always, he managed to appear as if he had slept in his clothes and forgotten to shave. A man perfectly suited for his life at sea.

“I know what was requested,” the sailor retorted as he settled more comfortably in the chair. “But after last night, I decided that you were more in need of a bit of common sense.”

“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”

Foster carefully set aside his cup, as if sensing he might have need of his fists. A wise choice, considering Luce was already battling his frustrated desires and sleepless nights.

“It means that last night I wasn't liking what I was seeing. No man worth his salt would. That woman has you behaving daft.”

Luce slowly narrowed his gaze. “Daft?”

“I seen how eagerly you seek to please her.” Frowning, Foster regarded him with a somber expression. “She has you behaving no better than a mincing dandy.”

A flare of annoyance raced through Luce. As much from the disdainful manner in which Foster spoke of Miss Frazer as from the implication that he was an overeager twit. He would not endure any disrespect toward his future wife. Not from anyone.

“As I recall, you were the one to warn that I did not possess enough concern for Miss Frazer's tender sensibilities. You even predicted her reaction to being left at the altar,” he said in sharp-edged tones. “Why do you quibble now that I have discovered the truth of your concerns?”

A further hint of color touched the already ruddy countenance. “It is one thing to offer the wench a measure of respect, 'tis quite another to allow her to dangle you upon a hook like a landed trout.”

“First a mincing dandy and now you compare me to a trout?” Luce demanded in dangerous tones.

“Can you deny that she has you chasing after her as if you were a beggar?” Foster demanded stiffly. “She should be pleased to become your wife. Any other maiden would be.”

Luce grimaced at the blunt accusation. He did have his pride, after all. A great deal of pride.

Still, he had come to realize that wedding him was not nearly the prize he had presumed it to be. At least not for Kate. He would have to do whatever necessary to convince her that he was the only gentleman who could truly bring her happiness.

Surely that was not such a horrid sacrifice?

“I was mistaken to take Miss Frazer for granted, Foster. And even more mistaken to have humiliated her in such a public fashion.” He paced to glance down at the tidy garden that was annoyingly empty of Kate's presence. “She is more than merely an easy means to a fortune. She is a young maiden who deserves to be wooed by a gentleman who truly cares for her happiness.”

Not surprisingly, the confirmed bachelor recoiled in distaste at the mention of wooing a proper maiden.

“Gads, it is as I feared. You begin to sound like some lackwitted poet,” Foster bemoaned with a visible shudder. “You have been ashore too long. It softens the mind of even the most sensible gentleman.”

“I assure you that my wits are in perfect working order.”

“No.” A stubborn expression settled on the wide features. “If that were true, then you would have changed your bait and gone after easier prey days ago.”

Luce was glad that his arms were safely locked across his chest. Otherwise he might very well have attempted to shake his friend. As it was, he contented himself with a glare of exasperation.

“We both know I cannot afford to lose this particular prey. Not unless I desire to watch my estate crumble into ruin.”

“One quarry is much like another. No use bemoaning the one that got away.”

Luce snapped his brows together at the muttered accusation. “She has not gotten away. Not by a long shot.”

As if regretting stirring Luce's ire, the older man lifted his hand in a soothing manner.

“I did not mean to imply you could not have her if you desired. I merely wonder why you would go to the effort.”

“I should think that was obvious.”

“Why?”

For a moment Luce was at a loss for words. He knew that Kate was meant to be his wife. It was a truth written within his soul.

Unfortunately, he knew that to confess such a thing would only convince Foster for certain he had lost his wits.

“She suits me.”

Foster lifted a bushy brow. “There are bound to be any number of women in London who would suit you just as well. And with far less effort.”

“Tell me, Foster, do you have some reason to dislike Miss Frazer?” he abruptly demanded.

Just for a moment, Luce thought his friend might refuse to answer. In obvious discomfort, Foster scratched his head before at last clearing his throat.

“Truth be told, I think the chit is playing you for a fool, and I haven't a hankering to listen to you blubbering over a damnable broken heart.”

Well.

That was unexpected.

Luce blinked in startled disbelief at the weathered countenance. “Good God, are you foxed?”

Foster folded his arms over his chest, clearly embarrassed at having confessed his inner thoughts.

“No, I damn well am not foxed. And neither am I blind. I seen how you looked at that woman.”

“Of course I looked. For God's sakes, what man with blood in his veins wouldn't look?”

“It wasn't the look of a man wanting a taste of a pretty lass.”

“I assure you that I very much desired a taste.”

Foster stubbornly gave a shake of his head. “You've lusted after plenty women afore. You never gazed at them as if you had found a precious treasure you feared might be stolen.”

Luce stiffened. Dash it all. Foster was being absurd. Precious treasure, indeed.

If he had gazed at Kate, it had been as a gentleman at the end of his patience. Nothing else.

“I possess a measure of fondness for Miss Frazer,” he at last admitted in a tight voice. “But I am certainly in no danger of becoming the pathetic wretch you have described.”

Annoyingly, Foster merely offered a grunt at his reassuring words. “If that is true, then there is nothing to keep you from at least having a go at some of them females on the list. I have it from a lady friend of mine that all of them are proper enough, with a fat dowry to tempt any man. And all more than eager to welcome the attentions of an earl. You could be wed afore the ink dries on the license.”

Luce's nose flared at the mere thought. “Dammit, Foster, I do not want to wed another.”

“But . . .”

“No. I do not care if they all come with dowries the size of France and bells upon their toes. I have chosen Miss Frazer to be my wife, and that is precisely who I will have.”

“Aye.” Foster thinned his lips until they nearly disappeared. “And what if she will not have you?”

Luce sucked in a sharp breath, abruptly turning toward the window. He would not even consider the possibility of defeat.

It was untenable.

“I would request, Foster, that unless you are interested in acquiring a lovely young debutante as a bride for yourself, you would devote less attention to making lists and instead discover the information that I requested upon Lord Thorpe.”

He could feel Foster's gaze boring into his back, but as Luce refused to turn and confront the unwelcome concern upon the craggy features, he at last heaved a heavy sigh.

“Aye, sir.”

When the knock came upon her door early the next morning, Kate offered considerable thought to whether or not to simply ignore it. She had already received her breakfast tray and Lord Thorpe was far too much of a gentleman to brazenly approach her private chambers.

By means of rather simple deduction, it left only Lord Calfield as the possible culprit standing on the other side of the wooden panels.

For long moments she wavered. She was not at all certain that she was prepared to confront the charming, fiercely determined gentleman at such an early hour. Not when she had yet to finish her tea.

Still, the discreet but insistent pounding showed no indication of ending anytime before the next century. If she did not answer, then there was bound to be unwelcome notice. She would prefer that the entire hotel not be speculating upon Mrs. Freemont and her gentlemen callers.

Heaving a faint sigh, she rose to her feet and unconsciously smoothed the skirts of her deep rose gown. She even paused before the mirror to adjust her curls before she realized what she was doing.

“For goodness' sakes, Kate, do not be any more of a fool than you need to be,” she sternly chastised herself. What did it matter if she were attired in rags with her hair in tangles? She had no desire to attract the attentions of the annoying gentleman. Indeed, she had attempted to do precisely the opposite.

With a small sniff at her ridiculous behavior, she firmly marched to pull open the door. She even managed to paste a smile to her lips, although it promptly disappeared as her mouth dropped open in shock.

“Julia.” She gave a slow, disbelieving shake of her head.

“Thank goodness you are here,” the young maiden breathed, brushing by the frozen Kate to stand in the center of the room.

Closing the door, Kate turned and regarded her cousin with a wide gaze. Although she had sent Julia a discreet note when she had first arrived in London offering her location in the case of dire need, she had never expected her young cousin to suddenly appear.

Indeed, she could not imagine any reason for Julia to be here unless . . . she abruptly pressed a hand to her clenched stomach.

“Julia, what is it?” she demanded, her heart lodged in her throat. “Has something occurred? Is it Father?”

“Hold, Kate.” Julia put up her hands with a reluctant smile. “Your father and family are well.”

“Oh.” Kate heaved a deep sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“Do not thank the heavenly father so swiftly,” Julia warned with a grimace. “I fear that you will not be at all pleased with what I have to tell you.”

Assured that at least nothing horrid had befallen, Kate waved a hand toward the nearby sofa. “Then I suppose you should have a seat and tell me what brings you to London.”

With a faint nod, Julia removed her bonnet and settled upon the edge of the cushions. She waited for Kate to settle beside her before drawing in a deep breath.

“Kate, your father is in London,” she abruptly announced.

For the second time in mere minutes, Kate felt her mouth drop in shock. “In ... London?”

Reaching out, Julia gently grasped her hand in her own. “Yes. It seems that he received a message from his man of business concerning an investment he is particularly interested in.”

Of course, it was not unheard of for her father to visit London. He had often done so over the years, although he had sternly refused Kate's persistent pleas to be taken along. Still, it was truly the height of ill fortune that he would choose to make one of his infrequent visits at this precise moment.

Stunned by the unexpected development, Kate swallowed the lump that threatened to form in her throat.

“When did he arrive?”

“Last evening.”

“I ... see.” It was a struggle to clear her fogged mind enough to think coherently. Her father. In London. Dear heavens. “How long does he intend to remain?”

“Only a week.” Julia grimaced, her lovely eyes filled with rueful amusement. “You know how your father can be. I swear he complained the entire trip that he would not remain a moment longer than necessary in such a wretched place. If it were not for the fact he believes that he is about to make yet another fortune, he would never have set foot in what he claims to be ‘the cauldron of wickedness and vice.'”

Against her will, Kate felt her lips twitch at Julia's resigned tone. Her father had always held London and society in contempt. She could only presume that it had something to do with her mother and the torrid affair that had led her to Paris.

The brief amusement, however, was swift to fade as she met her cousin's concerned gaze. “Well, it is certainly inconvenient, but surely there is no need to panic. Father is not likely to set foot outside his hotel unless it is to visit his man of business and—”

“I have not finished, Kate,” Julia interrupted, her pretty countenance rueful. “Your father did not come to London alone.”

Kate gave a lift of her brows at the ridiculous words. Of course her father did not come alone. Not only had Julia obviously traveled with him, but Sir Frazer never left his estate without a battalion of servants, stewards, and solicitors. In truth, his long train of coaches was more suited to royalty than a mere “sir.”

“I suppose your mother is also here?” she retorted.

“She is, along with Aunt Sylvia and her endless brood of children, Cousin Mary and her two daughters, as well as Cousin Henry.”

Kate slowly leaned back in the cushions, stomach churning with disbelief. “Saints above. Whatever are they all doing here?”

Julia heaved a sigh. “Well, Aunt Sylvia decided that it was high time her tribe of savages were allowed to view the numerous historical sights, which might very well prove the end of refined civilization. Cousin Mary is determined to purchase wardrobes for her daughters, as if one seamstress is not like another, and Cousin Henry claims he desires a new pair of Hessians, although it is my opinion that he has more of an interest in the local brothels than in the boot maker.”

Kate's stomach clenched a bit tighter. This was a disaster. A stroke of ill fortune of monumental proportions.

Avoiding her father was merely a matter of caution. After all, he could be depended upon to avoid any location that might possibly attract members of the
ton
. But to avoid dozens of relatives complete with their hordes of servants who would obviously be crawling throughout the streets of London . . .

“Blast,” she muttered, clenching her hands in her lap.

Julia offered a sympathetic sigh. “I am sorry, Kate. But I had to warn you.”

“Of course. Can you imagine what would have happened had I accidentally bumped into Aunt Sylvia upon the street?” She gave a sudden shudder.

“No doubt you would discover yourself hauled back to Kent and locked in the cellar before you knew what had occurred,” Julia retorted.

The melodramatic words should have been humorous. Kate, however, did not laugh.

While her father might not actually lock her in a cellar, she knew him well enough to realize that what little breath of independence she had managed to wrangle would be gone forever. He would see her deception as a flagrant attempt to follow in the footsteps of her mother and would take firm action to ensure that she was never allowed another moment alone.

He might even decide to buy her another fiancé. One that would arrive at the church on time.

She sucked in a sharp breath at the ghastly thought. No. She could not allow it to happen. She would not.

“Obviously, I must ensure that I am not discovered,” she muttered in low tones.

“How?”

“I suppose I have only two choices,” Kate grudgingly admitted. “I can either return home or remain in these chambers until Father leaves. Neither of which is particularly pleasant to contemplate.”

“Which will you do?”

Kate turned her head to regard the tidy but cramped sitting room. The mere thought of being confined in such a small space was enough to make her cringe. Surely an entire week of pacing the floors would be unbearable. And yet, she was not at all prepared to return to Kent and her life of relentless boredom.

“I do not know,” she admitted with a sigh. “It would be a wrench to leave London.”

“You are enjoying your stay, then?” Julia demanded.

“How could I not?” Kate gave a lift of her hands. “I could never have dreamed of all the wondrous sights and endless entertainments. I believe I could remain here for months and never grow weary.”

A teasing smile touched her cousin's lips. “And what of your wish for a glorious flirtation? Have you encountered any dashing, delightful rogues?”

Caught off guard, Kate could feel the revealing heat crawl beneath her skin. “Actually, I . . . there has not been much time.”

A hint of stubborn determination hardened Julia's delicate features. “Oh no. There is something you are not telling me. Who is he?”

Kate nervously cleared her throat. “Well, there is Lord Thorpe. And before you begin torturing me with a dozen questions, allow me to inform you that I know very little about him beyond the fact that he is handsome, charming, and a true gentleman.”

Oddly, Julia narrowed her gaze at the rushed words. Or perhaps, not so oddly. After all, the two girls had been raised practically as sisters since Julia's mother had come to live with Sir Frazer after the abrupt departure of Kate's mother. She always knew when Kate was attempting to hide something from her.

“There is something else,” she said in stern tones. “Give over, Kate.”

Just for a moment Kate battled against the inevitable, and then with a sigh, she offered Julia a faint grimace.

“Lord Calfield discovered that I had traveled to London and followed me here.”

A stunned silence descended as Julia pressed a hand to her heart. “Dear heavens. How do you know? Has he approached you?”

Kate gave a decidedly humorless laugh. “Oh yes. In fact, he is staying at this very hotel.”

“Here? But this is terrible.”

“Fairly terrible, yes.”

Her cousin gave a slow shake of her head. “I cannot believe it. He did come to Rosehill, of course, but when I told him that you were in Surrey and had no desire to speak with him, I presumed that he had chosen to accept your decision. I never dreamed . . . however did he find you?”

Kate shrugged. “He merely followed the tracks I thought I had hidden so cleverly. Obviously not cleverly enough.”

Brooding upon the unexpected revelation, Julia puckered her brow, clearly attempting to sift through the numerous difficulties that Luce's presence in London would present.

“Does he know of your charade?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“But he has not exposed you?”

“Not as of yet.” Ridiculously, Kate felt her blush deepen. She discovered herself oddly reluctant to discuss Luce and his determined pursuit. “He believes that if he is charming enough, I will eventually come to my senses and return to Kent to be his wife.”

The dark brows lifted in astonishment. “And is he?”

“Is he what?”

“Charming?”

“Do not be absurd,” Kate retorted with more force than necessary. Perhaps because she was telling such a blatant falsehood. If nothing else, Luce possessed the charm of the devil himself. “At the moment, I am forced to endure his presence. Soon enough he will grow weary and search out a more willing maiden.”

“Well. This is an awkward predicament. And more than a bit dangerous, Kate. Lord Calfield could easily ruin your reputation if he chose, you know.” Julia eyed her with obvious concern. “Are you certain that it would not be best simply to return to Kent?”

“Actually, I am uncertain of anything at the moment, Julia,” Kate ruefully conceded. “I must have time to consider what is for the best.”

“Well, do not do anything without informing me of your decision,” Julia warned in firm tones, rising to her feet. “We are staying at the King's Arms. Leave a message for me there.”

Kate also rose, giving a nod of her head. “Very well.”

“I must go before my absence is noted.” Julia leaned forward to place a light kiss upon Kate's cheek. “But know that I am here for you if you have need.”

Kate smiled fondly at the maiden who had always provided her with unquestioning love and support.

“Thank you, Julia.”

“For goodness' sakes, take care of yourself.”

Replacing her bonnet, Julia moved to the door and, with a last concerned glance, slipped out of the chambers. Once alone, Kate flopped back onto the sofa and heaved a heavy sigh.

Blast. Blast. Blast.

What the devil was she to do?

* * *

What the devil was she up to?

Pacing the empty hallway, Luce glared at the stubbornly closed door to Kate's chambers. Only the fact that he had engaged her in a relentless inquisition assured him that the stubborn maiden was still within. As she had been for the entire day. Now, as the afternoon sun trailed steadily across the sky, he progressed from frustrated to downright concerned.

Why would she remain the entire day locked in her tiny chambers?

Was she ill? Was she troubled? Was she angry? Was she . . .

A dozen explanations, each more horrid than the last, raced through his mind. It was near the hour for tea when enough at last became enough.

Squaring his shoulders, Luce stepped across the hall and, without so much as a knock, thrust the door open. Rather to his surprise, it was unbolted and swung open easily. A swift glance revealed Kate curled on the sofa with her head laid back on the cushions.