Capturing the Heart of a Cameron (Farthingale Series Novellas)

by Meara Platt

  Frances meant to follow after the woman, but Robbie held her back with a firm grip on her arm. “What are you doing, Frances?”

  “Saving her since you obviously won’t help and she hasn’t the courage to save herself. Let me go.” She tried to jerk out of his grasp but he wouldn’t release her.

  “And what do you intend to do about Mr. Cranshaw? Challenge him to a duel?”

  She was still trying to pull out of his grasp. “At least I’m trying to do something. You’re just letting her go back to that villain. How can you allow her to do that? What if he hurts her again?”

  “He might.” His expression turned glum, revealing his own frustration. “Likely, he will. But she loves him, you heard her say so. She won’t leave him, no matter how long and hard you plead with her.”

  “How do you know? You won’t even let me try.” He now held her firmly by both arms, although she had to admit his touch was gentle.

  “You’ll be wasting your time and placing her in greater danger. I’m not saying it’s right or fair, Frances. Had she come to us crying for help, now that’s another matter. But she didn’t. You’ll soon learn that you can’t fight every battle. You have to choose carefully those you do.”

  She wanted to shout at him, tell him he was an ogre and every bit as horrid as she’d expected, but it simply wasn’t true. He’d spent the entire day healing the sick and that was his battle, the one he’d chosen to fight. It was an honorable battle and she couldn’t help but admire him for it.

  “Go home, Frances.” He sounded weary as he released her. “Get a good night’s rest. You’ve worked hard all day.”

  “You’ve worked harder.”

  “You’re new to this rigorous schedule. I’m used to it.” He glanced toward the entry door. “My carriage is outside. The driver will take you home. Or rather, he’ll take you to Lady Brazelton’s. I’m glad she took you in, but I’m very sorry your family has cast you out.”

  “Not your fault. I don’t mind. They’ll take me back as soon as this dare is over.” She arched an eyebrow and smiled. “In truth, I like this unexpected freedom. They’ll be horrified to know that they’ve actually done me a favor. I like Vi.”

  He returned her smile. “So do I.”

  “Robbie…” She paused to swallow hard. “Would you allow me, that is… after the wedding… do you think you might allow me to—”

  “No, Frances.” He turned away and abruptly strode out.

  CHAPTER 9

  “FRANCES!” CHARLES WHISPERED sharply in her ear to bring her awake with a jolt. “Blast it, you almost fell asleep in your soup.”

  “I did?” She was exhausted and this evening’s dinner party seemed interminable. Robbie had warned her not to attend, but she’d promised Charles and couldn’t renege on her promise. Now, she was suffering for it.

  “Is it almost over?” She arched her back to stretch her tired limbs.

  He groaned lightly. “We’ve just started.”

  “Just started?” She stifled the urge to yawn. Of course, they were only on the soup course. She gaped numbly at the orange liquid forming a stagnant pool in the bowl she’d almost fallen into. “I don’t feel well.”

  “You do look a bit pale. It’s that damn cousin of mine. He’s working you too hard. I’ll have a talk with him.”

  “You can’t.”

  Charles rolled his eyes. “I can and I will. He’s not only my cousin, but my best friend. His door is always open to me. The problem is you, Frances. You won’t forget this silly dare.”

  She frowned. “And admit that women are the weaker sex? Is that what you want me to say?”

  He did not look at all abashed. “Well, it’s obvious you are the weaker sex.”

  She clenched her gloved hands into fists. “Is that so?”

  “Indeed, it is. Just look at Robbie. He seems fit and he works longer hours than you.”

  She glanced up, startled. “He’s here?” She peered down the table toward the head where he was likely to be seated, for he probably was the highest-ranking person in attendance and therefore given a place of honor beside the hostess. And no one could ever forget that Robert MacConnell was the Duke of Kintyre. He looked more suited to his ducal title than any man she’d ever met. “When did he arrive?”

  Had he noticed her asleep? Goodness, she hoped she hadn’t been snoring.

  “He arrived as we were all about to sit for supper. Caused quite a stir among the ladies, but he always does. He’s been frowning at you down the table this past half hour.”

  She groaned. “I’ve been asleep for half an hour? No wonder he’s irritated with me. He warned me not to attend, but I refused to listen.”

  “Och, Fee. Have a care—he isn’t a man to cross.”

  She stared down the table back at Robbie, surprised to find little anger in his expression. He was worried about her; it showed in the gleam of his compelling gray eyes. His gaze felt like a caress against her skin, as though his magical eyes had the power to see through the delicate ecru silk of her gown straight into her heart. Oh, those eyes! Hot, intense. Beckoning her to places she dare not go!

  She cleared her throat. “Ah, finally. The fish course.”

  CHAPTER 10

  ROBBIE’S CARRIAGE ROLLED to a stop in front of Vi’s townhouse the following morning shortly after sunrise. It was a dull, drizzly day, gray and cold as usual, but not quite cold enough for Robbie to wear his cloak. However, that would come soon enough with the onset of winter.

  He withdrew his fob from the pocket of his vest and glanced at the time. Unholy early, that’s what time it was, even for him. He’d insisted on picking up Frances on his way to the clinic, not out of courtesy, but out of concern. He wanted to make sure she hadn’t overdone it last night. Not that she’d been drinking. She hadn’t touched anything stronger than a tepid ratafia.

  What worried him was her determination to keep her social obligations in spite of working all day, for her family and even his own cousin were insisting on her attendance at two or three social functions a week and it was simply too much for Frances to manage.

  Not even he could handle that schedule. These evening affairs often did not start until eight o’clock and usually ended well past midnight. She’d declined most invitations, but everyone was putting pressure on her and she didn’t always have the strength to hold her ground.

  He stepped down from his carriage and was about to knock at the front door when it suddenly opened and Frances stepped out bundled in a sapphire blue pelisse to match the color of her gown. “Very kind of you to offer me a lift,” she said, casting him the softest smile.

  “I was worried about you.” There was no harm in admitting it. His concerns were strictly professional. “Let me see your eyes.” Your beautiful eyes. “Good, no dark rings beneath them.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “That’s because I fell asleep at the supper table. I’m sure you noticed. Everyone else did.”

  He grinned. “You were hard to overlook, passed out cold in your soup bowl. Drooling into your chowder.”

  She winced. “I doubt I shall ever live down the spectacle. But why were you there? I thought you hated these affairs.”

  “I do.” He took her hand and assisted her into his carriage, his heartbeat spiking even at this innocent touch. He climbed in after her and settled in the seat opposite hers. “But I was worried about you, Frances. I wanted to be sure you were all right this morning.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not. Obviously. But I don’t know how to get out of these social duties. I’m getting married within the next few months and everyone’s clamoring to see the happy bride-to-be.” She paused a moment to regain her composure, but he noticed her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Those tears would not fall, he knew. She had too much spirit to give in to the overwhelming odds placed against her.

  “My family’s angry with me,” she said quietly, her voice noticeably shaking. “Especially my sister, Meredith. She believes I’m treatin
g Charles abominably. She thinks I ought to be by his side constantly, the dutiful, biddable betrothed.”

  “Dutiful? You’re hardly that. Nor are you biddable.”

  “I know.” She clasped her hands together to hide that she was fretting, but Robbie could clearly see what she was doing. However, he made no comment, preferring to allow her to talk. He liked that she was confiding in him. “Meredith has been helping me out,” she continued, now fidgeting in her seat. “She’s accompanied Charles on his daily round of social calls, but she doesn’t wish to do it any longer. People are starting to talk, that’s what she claims. And she says that it isn’t seemly for Charles to be seen with her when he’s supposed to be engaged to me.”

  Robbie nodded. “I don’t disagree with her.”

  “Nor do I. Charles is angry, too. So is the board of directors of the Royal Hospital. Seems everyone has been shouting at me lately. You and Vi are the only ones who tolerate me, and you barely do that.”

  The carriage lurched suddenly and Robbie reached out to catch Frances before she slid off her seat. She was a slender thing to begin with and had already lost weight after only a few days into this dare, even with the hearty meal supplied by his excellent cook each midday.

  Twenty more days left to go.

  His hands closed around her small waist. “Not hurt, are you?”

  “No. Just a little bounced around.”

  His heart spiked again, seeming to be his response whenever he touched her, no matter how casually. “Well, let’s see how today goes. If you decide to end this dare, I’ll understand.”

  She frowned. “And if I decide to continue?”

  He released her and eased back against the squabs. “You’ll go up another notch in my estimation.”

  The comment surprised her. “I will?” Her cat eyes widened and she laughed softly, a gentle, melodic trill. “I suppose you don’t mean it as a compliment. I started rather low in your opinion, so there’s nowhere else to go but up.”

  He said nothing, allowing her to believe the worst.

  She was wrong.

  He’d never met a woman he admired more.

  The first few hours passed quietly, giving Frances hope that she might survive to the end of the month, but that possibility was shot to bits when she opened the door at noontime and found her father and several members of the hospital’s board of directors glowering at her.

  Oh, drat. They were back again and obviously eager to cause more trouble.

  She stepped in the doorway to block it and folded her arms across her chest, at the same time casting them a frown. “Do you have an appointment, gentlemen?”

  “Enough of this foolishness, Frances.” Her father advanced and reached for her arm. “You’re coming home with me.”

  She slapped his hand away. “I will not!” Oh, dear! She’d actually struck her father!

  Lord Digby pretended outrage. “Insolent creature! Now, see here—” He abruptly stopped talking and stared over her shoulder. “That is… Your Grace, surely you can’t…”

  “Anyone sets a hand on her, they’ll answer to me,” Robbie said with lethal calm, coming up behind her to lend his support. She wanted to cheer. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him for coming to her defense.

  She wouldn’t, of course.

  She felt the graze of his arm against her back, a purposeful touch to assure her that he was there to protect her. She dared not turn around to face him. It wasn’t necessary, for Lord Digby’s discomfort confirmed what they all knew, that Robbie was not a man to be crossed without dire consequence.

  There was a quiet confidence in his manner. One had only to look at him to know that he was a man of substance and strength. That he was of noble stock and carried himself with regal authority was of no moment.

  He was a man of worth, no matter his title.

  She watched the men clear their throats and fidget in front of her, their bluster disappearing and their complexions now pale, all except for her father. She’d slapped his hand away in an unpardonable act of defiance and he was not going to forgive her for that insult.

  He wouldn’t strike her; he’d never raised a hand to any of his daughters. Nor would he confine her to her quarters. He couldn’t because he’d already tossed her out of the house.

  “Father,” she said, about to take a step toward him.

  “Now’s not the time, lass.” Robbie took gentle hold of her shoulders and drew her behind him as he took over blocking the clinic entrance. While the men could have easily pushed her aside to make their way inside, they’d never get past Robbie.

  He was a superb block of granite.

  “Mr. Cameron, I’ve already assured you that your daughter is safe with me.” Robbie’s manner was quite conciliatory despite the tension evident in his stance. “So why are you gentlemen here again?”

  Frances was still behind him and staring at his broad shoulders. She hadn’t realized quite how big he was. And muscular. Any girl would think herself fortunate to be in his arms.

  Not her, of course.

  She would be marrying his cousin.

  Still, he had taken her into his arms the night they met and then kissed her exquisitely on the lips. It wasn’t a kiss she would soon forget. Indeed, she’d never forget it, for the sensation was something quite magical.

  “So you claim, but is she safe here?” Her father said, not quite calm, but neither was he ranting and apoplectic. “I need more assurance than you can offer me, Your Grace. Frances is with you from sunup to sundown. Without a chaperone.”

  “Mrs. Pringle is here every day. I work alongside her.” Frances now stood beside Robbie. “She’s quite respectable. And there’s a constant flow of patients in and out of this clinic.”

  Robbie turned slightly to glance at her as he spoke. “Miss Cameron, you don’t owe these gentlemen an explanation. Your behavior has been above reproach.”

  Not quite true. They both knew that this scandalous dare was ripping through the very fabric of society. She, for one, was glad of it. “Anyway, who would want to come near me smelling as I do by the end of the day? Certainly not His Grace.”

  Robbie choked on his laughter. “Miss Cameron, that will be quite enough.” He turned to face her, grinning broadly and making no attempt to contain his amusement. Then his gaze turned tender. “Your point is made.”

  She blushed.

  He turned back to her father and the gawking men beside him. “Anything more to be said? No? Good. Then I must ask you once again to leave. I have patients to see.”

  “But Frances—”

  “Is still not going to back down from the dare. Good day, gentlemen.”

  Lord Digby’s mouth curled in a snarl. “You haven’t heard the last from us, you insolent girl.”

  Robbie stepped in front of her again, casting a large shadow as he once more blocked the doorway. “If you have anything to say to Miss Cameron, you shall say it through me. Lord Digby, if I hear that you’ve gone behind my back and accosted her verbally or otherwise, I shall twist your body so out of joint you’ll be shaving your moustache out of your arse. Have I made myself clear?”

  Having said that, he stepped back and shut the door in their faces.

  Frances tried to school her features, but a bubble of laughter escaped her lips. “Thank you—”

  “Don’t.” He shot her a scowl and then made for the stairs to return to his office. “Frances, you’re a nuisance. Keep out of my way for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” No casual reference to him as Robbie this time, for even she knew enough to keep her distance from an angry man. Robbie would never harm her, of that she was certain. But this latest incident was going to circulate throughout Edinburgh and soon thereafter reach the Prince Regent’s ears. This dare could hurt Robbie’s plans for his hospital.

  Frances was truly sorry for that.

  The dare was important to her, but not worth hurting the ill who relied on Robbie to save their l
ives.

  She started for one of the examination rooms to prepare it for his next patient, but stopped when she heard his boots on the steps as he made an about-face and descended the stairs. “Frances,” he said with a gruff roll of the r in her name, the sound of his rugged burr simply melting her bones, “join me in my office when Cook arrives with today’s meal. We’ll dine together.”

  “We will?” She thought he didn’t wish to set eyes on her for the rest of the day.

  He nodded. “I canno’ return you to my cousin looking like a ragged bag of bones.” That said, he marched back upstairs.

  She nudged a loose curl off her forehead and smiled. “Be still my heart.”

  Robbie’s next days were spent wanting to kiss his way slowly down Frances’ body and at the same time wanting to wring her pretty neck for all the trouble she’d caused him. What was he to do about her? She was beautiful, intelligent, and surprisingly delightful on one hand, and on the other hand, his worst nightmare.

  She had invaded his waking thoughts and now was regularly invading his nightly dreams. These weren’t respectable dreams either. More precisely, they were fantasies of him doing naughty things to her body that would make an alehouse bawd blush, and her doing even naughtier things to his body with those rosebud lips of hers. No, not remotely respectable. “Less than two weeks,” he muttered, counting the days, hours, and even the minutes until her time at the clinic would end.

  “Robbie, you haven’t touched your stew,” Frances said as they sat across from each other at his desk to eat their midday meal. She set down her spoon with a light clatter and regarded him with concern.

  He said nothing as he studied her. She wore a gown of forest green wool, much less fashionable than the one she’d worn on her first day at his clinic, but of a similar hue that somehow illuminated the dark, sparkling emerald of her eyes. “Aren’t you hungry? It’s delicious. I’ve finished my second bowl. You haven’t even started on your first.”