Miss Frazer's Adventure Read online

  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.

  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 no
d 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.