Desperate and Daring 01 - Desperate and Daring (12 page)

Heather tried to concentrate on the open book in front of her, but all she could think about was Fallon. He had sent his regrets for dinner. At the time, she had been relieved, but now she was obsessing over the reasons why he couldn’t be there. She tried to focus on something else, anything but him, but she was failing miserably. What was he doing? Who was he with? He didn’t seem to enjoy the attention at Gunter’s, but that could change. Once the ton got ahold of him, would he change, too? She groaned as she agonized over her thoughts. She tossed the book away from her and slipped out of bed. Tucking her robe around her, she grabbed her candle, deciding a little exploring might be in order.

She inched out of her room, chasing the shadows away with the glow of her candle. Passing the rooms of her mother and sisters, she reached the stairs and climbed up to the gallery. A long hall of pictures beckoned, and one by one, she stopped to peer at them. She analyzed each face, growing more puzzled as they gave no hint of familial connection to each other. No two faces were similar in any way. She reached the final pictures before a set of large double doors. This face she recognized. Similar, but different. Harsh where Fallon was kind, dark where Fallon was light.

“Amazing, isn’t it? I am the very image of him.”

Heather jolted in surprise, her candle almost slipping from her hand. “Dear God, might you have warned me?”

“My apologies. I was taking the moment to just watch you, as I lately haven’t had the chance to do, and my wits escaped me.”

Heather tried to steady her hand. She set the candle down on the hall table. He had a way with words. They wove around her in invisible threads and pulled her to him. She resisted. He came to her, and she took pains to control her breathing.

“He once tried to deny his patronage of me after my mother passed. He was a blind fool.”

“That’s horrible,” Heather responded quietly. She was already feeling the tug of his energy, that indescribable urge to draw closer to him whenever he was near.

Fallon shrugged. “That’s when he left, determined to prove my muddied lineage and disinherit me. I was six.”

Heather was speechless. “He tried to disinherit you?”

“Yes, well, that’s what he claimed before he left. I never heard another word until we were notified of his death twenty-nine years later.”

“Who raised you?”

“The staff. Sturdy clansmen who never cared to follow a single order. They drove away the duke’s steward. Faegan took over affairs, and we carried on, did as we pleased, lived as we pleased.”

“A boy’s paradise.”

“Exactly. Though Mrs. Ferguson made sure I attended my lessons, ate all my spinach, and washed behind my ears.”

“You said you never left Scotland before the party, did you attend school like most boys of nobility?” Heather wondered.

“No. My existence was scarcely known beyond the castle. I was very sick as an infant. Mrs. Ferguson was worried that the duke might send me away. She never asked for a single penny to care for me. She raised me as her own, even made my clothes. Faegan used earnings directly from the land to pay the tutor. I’m practically a savage compared to the gentlemen you are accustomed to.”

“I’m sorry,” Heather said in very real sympathy. His past painted a very different picture of the charismatic man she knew before.

“No, I’m sorry. You’re getting a bad deal, Heather. I’m not worthy of you, and I probably never will be.”

Heather was again robbed of speech. She couldn’t summon her anger, not after what he’d just told her. He was doing it again, disarming her with words. She swallowed and tried to wet her tongue enough to speak. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

“Then what would you say?” He pressed.

“I… I don’t know,” she said in aggravation. “This—this pretending isn’t easy for me either.”

“We don’t need to pretend, Heather. We had something between us once,” he said in exasperation.

“No. It was a lie.”

He spun away from her, took a few angry strides, and turned back. “Did you lie? Because I didn’t lie about what I felt.”

“You lied about who you were.”

“I lied about my station. Strip away the title, and I am just Mr. Calder. You said you fell in love with him. I am him.” He stepped closer again, but she was still out of arms reach.

Heather folded her arms over her chest. She remembered those words, she said them in anger, but she had meant them. She had fallen in love with the steward, but now he stood before her as a duke. It felt too good to be true. There was just so much about him she didn’t know. How could she have fallen in love with someone she didn’t know? She felt like the biggest fool.

“I don’t know who
he
is anymore. Those days were just a dream.” She turned away from him
“A fantasy,” he said as he stepped closer. He wrapped his hands lightly around her shoulders touching, but not holding. Neither moved for a moment. “I’d like to hear you play again.”

Heather remembered that afternoon, the way she longed to be with him. Well, here she was. “This is the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do.”

Fallon snorted. She felt the whoosh of his breath in her hair. “You were prepared to marry an old man with a black heart.” He turned her, and they both looked up at the picture of his father. “This must be from before I was born, but his eyes look the same as they did when I was a boy. There is no joy in him, Heather, no love. He would have broken you. Maybe I’m not such a bad bargain after all. I want to cherish you. I want to take care of you.”

Heather tucked her head into her chest. Those words again, such sweet promises, but she knew by the lick of heat in her belly that being cherished was not all she was looking for. Her steward had shown her that but would this duke?”

He turned her to face him. “What is it?”

She shook her head and refused to look up. She was afraid there was need in her eyes. Surely, he wouldn’t be able to see it in the dark. He tipped her chin up. She looked into his eyes, little more than shadowed pools. They caught the tiniest flicker from the candle, like a single star in a midnight sky.

She knew he saw it, she knew it deep in her bones. It was inevitable. He lowered his head slowly. He was giving her time to move away, but she couldn’t. Didn’t he know that? She had no power here. Something took over her, and she had no will to deny it. His lips met hers gently, silently asking for permission, begging to be accepted. She didn’t deny him, nor did she invite. She was too afraid, her heart still bruised from the shock of his deception. She couldn’t give him what he wanted. A part of her wanted to, but she was incapable. The anger and hurt were still there, the lack of trust a bitter reminder. His arms came around her, pulling her close. She was arched against him and it felt wonderful, but still she didn’t move. She could neither acquiesce nor deny.

She remained pliable in his arms, and he didn’t seem to mind. He kissed her deeply, nudging her lips apart and searching the inner cavern of her mouth. Heather wanted to moan. His kiss brought back so many feelings from before. She had clung to him before, begging for more with her body. She could almost see herself doing it again, but she held on to her resolve despite the watery feeling in her knees and the pooling warmth inside her. He brought one hand to the back of her head, holding her as he plundered her mouth deeper, nearly stripping her wits.

She released a breathy gasp as he pulled away, a smile playing about his lips. She hoped he wouldn’t move away too soon, or she might collapse at his feet.

“I have hope, Little Flower. A man with hope is a dangerous thing.”

“What is it you hope for?” she said as she regained her footing and pushed away from him.

“I have hope that one day soon you will return my kisses again. You will beg for them.”

Her mouth dropped open to instantly deny him, but then she clamped it shut and changed her mind. Why should she deny him? He was her fate, no matter how angry she was, or distrustful, he was still going to be her husband, he still rescued her family from the gutters of ruin. Why must it be a battle? He did not own her heart, but he did have her gratitude.

“I hope that too, Fallon.” She could tell she had surprised him. “But it won’t be tonight. Goodnight.” She turned and walked away. She didn’t look back until she reached the stairs. She glanced back briefly to see if he was watching and stopped. He was staring at the portrait of his father. He looked to be in pain, his fists clenched at his sides. Her mind raced with questions, but before she could take another step, he lifted the candle and blew it out. Heather turned and continued down the stairs as quietly and carefully as she could. What had she just seen?

She made her way back to her room in the dark and climbed into bed. She lay under the coverlet and thought of the way he had looked. Was he still angry with his father? He seemed so confident and assured. Yes, there must be old wounds, but surely, time had healed them? He talked with such joy of Scotland and those who raised him, but was it possible that the desertion of his father still caused him pain? Heather didn’t know what to do. She wanted to ask him, but something told her he would not be forthcoming. The look on his face had been so startling that he had to be hiding something—
but what?
More lies? He used to be the charismatic and confident Mr. Calder. Now he wanted to prove that he was the same man, only a duke to boot. But, something was very wrong with the way he had looked at his father, and if she were putting the fate of her family in his hands, she needed to find out what it was.

Sporting new clothing expertly fitted by his new tailor, and looking every inch a ridiculously wealthy duke, Fallon was strolling on Bond Street and pondering the many windows for inspiration for a gift. According to Faegan, a woman’s heart can be softened with fripperies. Fallon didn’t believe Heather was such a woman, but it certainly couldn’t hurt, could it?

He stood before a window display of bonnets and fans, completely at a loss for what to buy. He was so focused on the ribbons and rosettes he didn’t notice the gentlemen who paused next to him.

“It’s disgusting, isn’t it? Why on earth does a bonnet need such adornment?” Rigsby said beside him.

Fallon jumped. “Bloody hell, Lord Rigsby.”

“Just Rigsby will do.”

“Buying off a mistress, Ablehill? Only diamonds will do,” Draven said from his other side. Fallon turned to him with a murderous smile. “I’m of the mind to put your teeth in the back of your throat, Draven.”

“No doubt it’s deserved, but how ‘bout a drink instead.”

“In good time, but I think our friend here needs some help.” Rigsby stepped between the two men and gestured to the window. “I assume you are searching for a gift for your betrothed?”

“You would be right.” Fallon turned back to the window with a sigh.

“Nothing here is going to inspire much…ah, romance, if that’s what you’re aiming for.”

“I just want to see her smile,” Fallon admitted.

“Ah, then let’s go inside, and I will give you some insight into a woman’s soul.”

Fallon nodded and reluctantly followed Rigsby and Draven inside. He didn’t know what he was getting into, but hopefully, they would not lead him afoul.

After advising him on his purchases—and what Fallon would consider invaluable knowledge, he let them persuade him to join them at a gentlemen’s club called Whites. They hailed a hackney and shortly arrived at 38 St. James Street. Fallon followed Draven and Rigsby in. In the few days that he has been in London, Fallon noticed a kind of unsettling phenomenon would happen whenever he was announced or introduced. All talk would cease, and then a dull roar of whispers would follow. Whites was no different, only the curious where brave enough to approach. He received many congratulations to his betrothal and observed many calculating smiles. He was relieved when they took a private dining room away from the din of the main room. A waiter brought them snifters of brandy, and they sat and sipped in companionable silence.

“Now that you’ve been ousted from obscurity. I wondered if you would consent to breeding Maxim with a mare of mine,” Draven began.

Fallon gave him a dark look. “I’ve yet to decide whether I should call you out or hang you by your pantaloons in Hyde Park.”

“Come now, can’t we move past it?” Draven said with and innocuous smile. “No harm was done—at least not by me,” he pointed out.

Fallon set his teeth. “You made Heather upset and uncomfortable.”

“He makes all women uncomfortable, but he’s not a bad sort once you get to know him. He can be tolerable,” Rigsby interjected.

“I like to liven things up by playing the villain. It suits me, and I would think most agree. But where would you be without me?” Draven leaned forward. “I know you’re the real duke because of that little story you told about Maxim. I met Wallace at a horse fair in Edinburgh. I had heard rumor of Maxim’s birth and sought him out for my own stables. Imagine my surprise when I’d learned he’d been sold to a duke’s son. At that moment in the drive, it eluded me, but then that fateful morning it all came together perfectly. Even then, the name Ablehill was vague to me. I am an ally, should anyone question your legitimacy.”

“No one can question my right to the inheritance. The old duke left a wide berth in regards to living family that still wished to associate with him.”

“Then I must apologize,” Draven said suddenly. “My behavior was a lark at yours and Miss Everly’s expense. I’m sorry.”

Fallon was surprised but still skeptical. “I accept… for now.”

Draven nodded. “Of course. Trust must be earned.”

“Here, here.” Rigsby lifted his drink and Fallon and Draven followed suite. They each sipped and the tension dissipated.

The conversation moved to calmer topics of races, horses, and boxing. Fallon felt out of his depth having only read about these things in the paper. He’d done very little traveling until now, and even in Scotland, he hadn’t participated in much of the social world for fear of his father’s allegations. He felt like an outsider more than ever. He could look and act like a gentleman, but could he ever be one? Another snifter of brandy soothed his doubts and left him feeling pleasantly warm.

Draven and Rigsby were quite entertaining. Without even thinking beforehand, he invited them to dinner that very night. They accepted. They left the club and parted ways on the street after Fallon gave them his address. He hailed a hackney and went straight to the townhouse to alert Lady Everly to the addition of two more guests. He hoped she wouldn’t be cross.

She did raise a brow, but then shrugged daintily and claimed Violet and Prim would be delighted to join the throng to even the numbers. By their wide smiles directed at him, they certainly were.

The Everly’s were seated around a tea tray in the drawing room, looking quite at home in his father’s home—or his home, he should think. He liked the vision they presented, especially Heather in a new pink gown that hugged her bosom in the most enchanting way. It made it hard to look away from her. He took the seat Violet offered beside Heather and set the gift boxes on the table. He presented one to Lady Everly.

“For you, my lady. For educating me in my role here. I’d be a bumbling fool without you.” He handed out the others as Lady Everly graciously thanked him and opened her gift. He turned slightly towards Heather as he presented her box, wanting to see her expression as she opened her gift and watched her watch her sisters open theirs. To Lady Everly he gave a crystal bud vase, Prim and Violet both received new silk fans, and to Heather, he gave a pair of luxuriously soft gloves. His gift was seeing her eyes light up whilst watching her sisters. She smiled with true joy, elated by the happiness of her family. She turned to him with that smile and his heart warmed with triumph.

“How am I to repay you?” she said.

“You’ve already repaid me,” he said quietly amid the chatter of her sisters and mother.

Her eyes twinkled. “I do believe you wished to hear me play again.”

Fallon’s smile broadened. “That I did.”

“Is there a harp in the house?”

“I have no idea.”

“Then we shall have to look.” She stood and he followed.

“We will return in a moment, Mother.”

“Yes, dear,” her mother chimed pleasantly.

Fallon wondered at the sudden lack of concern over the fact that they were about to leave unchaperoned. He wasn’t about to argue.

The music room shared a wall with the drawing room, but essentially, they were alone. The room was spotless, but had an air of being entirely untouched, the instruments placed decoratively rather than for use. There was indeed a harp. It was large and ornately carved with elaborate scrollwork and Chinoiserie and gold decoration on the crown. The pillar, neck, and sound box were glossy black enamel.

“How lovely,” Heather said in appreciation. “It’s the finest I’ve ever seen.”

“I’d expect nothing less from a man like the duke.”

Heather turned to face him. She put a hand on his chest and came up on her tip toes to lightly kiss his lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For the gifts.” She smiled.

“I didn’t do it for a kiss. I did it for your smile.”

“Then you get both today.” She stepped back.

“And you said you’d play for me,” he reminded her.

She laughed as she pulled a Chippendale chair from the wall. “Would you mind?” She gestured to the massive harp.

“It would be my pleasure.” Fallon lifted the harp by the pillar and the sound box—not without some effort, and set it before her. She moved into position, and Fallon pulled another chair close to listen.

“What would you like me to play?”

“You know precisely what I want to hear.” He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair, crossing his ankles.

Heather tried not to stare, but he cut quite a handsome image. He was so long and muscular it made her think of—no, she could not let herself go there. She tore her gaze from him, put her hands on the strings, and began to play. She did not lose herself in the music as she normally did. She was too physically aware of the man sitting nearby. From her peripheral vision, she could see his booted feet, and she could feel his attention on her, but she tried again to resist all thought of him and focus. She struggled through the rest of the chords and finished sloppily. She cringed as she pulled her hands away.

“I’m out of practice.”

“It was beautiful, Heather. You are an accomplished musician.”

“You are too kind.” She stood and he followed suit. Why was she so uncomfortable now? She tried to shake it off, but then he smiled at her again, and she felt a wave of warmth spread throughout her body.

“We should return.” She hurried from the room and he followed. He didn’t say a word, of that she was thankful. They returned to where her family waited and Heather poured herself another cup of tea. She felt so odd, her thoughts and emotions once again aflutter over his simple act of giving them gifts. It wasn’t the gifts that had pleased her. It was the happiness it brought her sisters and mother, which was the real gift. Little by little, they had watched their things disappear in an effort to pay her father’s debts. Innocuous things, material things of no emotional value, but then there was nothing. One realizes how to appreciate a single pair of gloves, but then mourns as they slowly become frayed and stained, and there are no other gloves to be worn. She could still taste the desperation she would feel as she mended and mended those same gloves praying her luck would change just enough to afford another pair. Even the string and thread she had used was of precious value.

Thankfully, those times were over.

She released a heavy sigh, inadvertently drawing the attention of the others.

“Is something amiss?” Her mother asked with concern.

“No, I was just thinking of something forlorn. Pay me no mind. It’s of no relevance now.”

Her mother nodded and continued on. She was discussing the preparations for the engagement ball to take place in two weeks.

“Whatever you need, you have only to instruct Faegan, and he will take care of it.” Fallon assured her.

Heather looked down to hide the sudden dampness in her eyes. She had done exactly as she ought. She had procured a comfortable future for her mother and sisters by giving her hand to Fallon. She had prepared for the worst, but now, as her anger faded, and she could see the strain of the past leaving her mother, she felt so lucky. If only she could feel what she had before for him—the wonder, the absolute trust. Perhaps that would come in time, but compared to the future she had prepared herself for, this new future looked much brighter.

*

Heather joined her family in the drawing room as the first guests arrived. She was delighted to see Anabelle and Hazel again. They took seats further down the room away from their parents and Heather answered all their curious questions about how her engagement came to be.

“Well, that is a relief,” Hazel said emphatically. “To think you would have had to marry an old man…” She shook her head. “Scandal or not, you’ve escaped the hangman’s noose.”

Heather laughed. “I knew my previous circumstances were dreadful, but I never likened them to being sentenced to death. Though I am still a bit nervous of the scandal that may ensue, I too am relieved. He is really a very kind and generous man. I am very grateful.”

Anabelle looked at her oddly. “Just grateful?”

Heather gave her a speaking glance. “Yes, grateful.”

Hazel giggled behind her hand. “Never mind the broad shoulders and handsome face.”

“Hush, Hazel.” But Heather could feel herself blushing.

New arrivals claimed their attention, and Heather felt a moment of panic when Fallon arrived with Lord Draven and Lord Rigsby. She had known they were coming, and vowed to herself to pay Draven no mind, but now that she saw him, and that arrogant smirk he wore, her confidence faltered. She looked back at Anabelle and Hazel, astonished to find them positively glowering in the direction of the new arrivals.

“Dear lord,” Heather whispered. “What is it?”

“Draven,” Anabelle growled.

Heather nodded. “He’s said awful things to you as well, I suppose?”

Anabelle’s gaze snapped to hers and she flushed. “No, he’s done something far worse.”

Heather’s eyes widened.

“He told me very boldly that he told Lord Rigsby that he had kissed me. He said it was for my own good.”

“I’m going to skewer him with a fork,” Hazel said vehemently.

“Why would he say such a thing?”

Anabelle simply shrugged, but she was still looking Heather in the eyes and her eyes said something far different. “Oh, dear.” She turned to see the group of gentlemen making their way over. Fallon smiled at her in greeting and introduced the gentlemen. Their reception was so cold that Heather almost expected to see her breath when she laughed nervously at Lord Rigsby’s quip.