Capturing the Heart of a Cameron (Farthingale Series Novellas)

by Meara Platt

  He followed her gaze down the street and frowned. “I’ll keep you company, if you don’t mind. You shouldn’t be standing out here on your own. Temperature’s dropping and the snow is falling harder. How about a cup of tea and ginger cakes at Blakney’s? It’s just down the street and I’ll leave word for the coachman at your modiste’s shop.”

  He arched an eyebrow, the simple gesture stopping her protest and sending her heart into another round of palpitations. The best she could manage was a nod. There was something exquisitely protective in the way he regarded her.

  “Excellent.” He extended his arm, so she rested her hand on it, rather enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath the elegant jacket and the subtle heat of his body close to hers. Everything about him felt right; she couldn’t explain it or understand why. It was ridiculous, of course. They had little in common.

  Yet she felt more at ease with him than with any duke or earl. No, that wasn’t quite right. She felt more at ease with him than with any man, for none had ever affected her the way Dr. Farthingale did.

  Which was why she was doomed to remain a spinster.

  George Farthingale silently berated himself for the hundredth time in less than an hour. Inviting Evangeline to the pie shop had been a mistake, but he couldn’t leave her out in the cold. Not that he’d felt anything but fiery hot from the moment he’d caught her in his arms outside the modiste’s shop. Hellfire.

  What was he to do about her?

  Nothing, he warned himself for the hundred and first time in less than an hour. She was a lady, the granddaughter of a duke. Her rank was so far above his he would put a crick in his neck looking up that high. Yet there was nothing lofty or condescending about Evie. Quite the opposite, she was so achingly vulnerable he wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her safe forever.

  Impossible, of course. Besides the difference in status, he was almost old enough to be her father—albeit a very young father—for there was a sixteen-year difference in their ages. It was a common enough occurrence that an older man would marry a much younger woman, but the girl was little older than his own son. He should not be thinking of her that way. He was a respected doctor, not an old, toothless lecher with a paunch and thinning hair who delighted in chasing sweet young morsels about his aristocratic estate.

  Evie, to his surprise, was entering her fourth season and had yet to show interest in any of the gentlemen who’d attempted to court her. No doubt most were interested in her family wealth and connections, but Evie was beautiful and any man would be pleased to have her as his wife. Her honey-gold curls, pink lips, and incredible eyes, a brilliant swirl of blue, green, and gray, all fit together with soft perfection.

  “I think I’m in heaven,” Evie said, closing her eyes and running her tongue along her fork to lick off the last crumbs of her apple tart.

  So was he, but not for the same reason.

  If only her tongue… no, that will never happen. He berated himself for the hundred and second time in less than an hour.

  He cleared his throat and drained the glass of lemonade he’d ordered to quench his thirst. “Glad you enjoyed it.” Not so glad you set my blood on fire. The feel of her soft curves as he’d caught her in his arms had set him off like a red-hot comet blazing across the sky. She had a way of looking at him and hanging upon his every word, as though he were the most profoundly brilliant man she’d ever met. Every time she smiled at him, the walls around his heart crumbled. Every damn time.

  He hoped the duke’s footman would enter the shop and call for her soon, for sitting beside her and pretending he didn’t feel anything was agony. She must have sensed his impatience, of course mistaking it for boredom, when quite the opposite was true. He never tired of looking at her, or listening to her. She had a delightful manner, completely genuine and never calculating or condescending.

  She set down her fork and studied his expression. “You must be bored to tears. I don’t think I’ve stopped talking since we entered the shop. Please go on about your business, Dr. Farthingale. Hannah and I will sit here until my grandfather’s carriage arrives. It can’t be long now. We’ll be fine right here.”

  He was desperate to get away from her and at the same time reluctant to leave. Their conversation was not at all dull. Quite the opposite, he enjoyed hearing about her work at the Royal Society. Her grandfather was chairman of the Board of Fellows and, since he’d contributed a fortune to restore their new wing, had received unanimous approval for placing Evie in charge of cataloguing their antiquities. She clearly loved her work, was eager and enthusiastic, and had even spotted a few fakes, for she had a keen eye and a natural understanding of art and craftsmanship.

  He thought briefly of the suitors who would flock to her at Lady Harrow’s ball this evening. Would any of those popinjays appreciate Evie’s accomplishments? He sincerely hoped so, for she would eventually have to accept one of them if she wished to marry and raise a family. Most men married for financial gain or aristocratic alliances, but in this instance it wasn’t the ducal wealth or family connection that was the prize. It was Evie.

  He shook his head and grinned. “No, I’ll stay. You’re still more interesting than Lord Walsey’s gout-ridden foot.”

  She let out a merry laugh. “I am immensely flattered, Dr. Farthingale. My heart is in a frenzied beat and I’m in grave danger of swooning over your seductive words. I don’t think I’ve ever been compared to someone’s inflamed foot before. It leaves me quite breathless.”

  He liked the way her teasing smile reached into her eyes.

  The clash of blue, green, and gray, and the shimmer of those expressive eyes left him breathless as well. “Forgive me, Lady Evie. Now you know why women run in the opposite direction whenever they see me approaching. I’m not known for my elegant conversation.”

  “I give you leave to approach me anytime, for I far prefer an intelligent conversation to what passes for an elegant one.” Her smile faded a little as she leaned closer. “If I may be so bold as to ask—”

  “The Duke of Lotheil’s carriage,” came a booming voice from behind George. He stifled an oath and acknowledged the footman. Evie’s maid hurried to the packages that had been stacked in a corner, motioning to the footman to carry them to the carriage.

  George returned his attention to Evie, rising to escort her out. However, he hoped she would finish her thought. He was curious to know what she was about to ask him, especially since the question was prefaced with “If I may be so bold.”

  But she was fumbling with her reticule and her thoughts were already elsewhere. “You’ve been so kind, Dr. Farthingale. May I drop you off along the way?”

  He declined, for her eyes were still bright and shimmering. He knew that riding in close quarters with her would be a dangerous undertaking. He’d easily lose himself in those glistening pools of azure and green. “A walk in the cold will do me good.”

  CHAPTER 2

  EVIE SHIVERED AS she made her way toward Lord and Lady Harrow’s townhouse escorted by her grandfather and Desmond, her ivory silk gown offering little protection from the cold. She and Desmond were eager to settle their grandfather inside, for it was an unusually chill night and he had only recently recovered from a serious congestion of the lungs. Neither of them wished him to fall ill again.

  She glanced around, hoping to find Dr. Farthingale among those waiting on the queue to be announced, but none of the Farthingales seemed to have arrived yet. Her cousin Ewan had married Lily Farthingale and taken her back with him to his beloved Highlands, so they would not be present this evening. But Lily’s twin, now Duchess of Edgeware, would be in attendance with her husband, as would the other Farthingale sisters, Rose, Laurel, and Daisy, with their respective husbands.

  She and the Farthingales had gotten off to a bad start, but were now quite good friends. Unfortunately, the intimate friendship did not extend to Dr. Farthingale, for he had an exasperating way of holding back, never allowing himself to get too close to anyone. He was always
polite, but a little detached, as though to proclaim, “You have my attention, but never my heart.”

  She shivered again, bemoaning the cold night and wind howling about her ears. Her grandfather and brother went off to the card tables as soon as they were announced, depositing her in the care of a dear friend of her grandfather’s, Lady Eloise Dayne. In truth, she adored the kindly older woman, and enjoyed spending time with her. However, this evening she had a special purpose in mind. Since two of Lady Eloise’s grandsons were married to Farthingale sisters, Evie hoped to pry information about Dr. Farthingale out of her.

  “I ran into George Farthingale this afternoon,” she casually mentioned while she and Lady Eloise strolled about the ballroom. Eloise had insisted they take a leisurely turn about the large room to help ease the aches in her aged legs, but Evie suspected she had another motive in mind. Eloise walked with little discomfort and there was a merry twinkle in her eyes.

  “That’s nice, dear,” Eloise said, her gaze fixed on a gentleman across the crowded ballroom. “Lord Fisk has been pursuing you for two seasons now, Evie. He’s the Duke of Abbercroft’s son and will inherit the distinguished ducal title upon his father’s death. Is there a reason you haven’t encouraged his suit?”

  Evie shrugged. “We have very little in common. I don’t know why he bothers with me. However, Dr. Farthingale was quite pleasant to me this afternoon.” She peered out of one of the ballroom windows that ran from floor to ceiling in the hope of avoiding Lord Fisk’s gaze. The window overlooked a sweeping view of the Harrow terrace and gardens. Lady Harrow had mentioned that lanterns had been lit to create a magical effect, as though one were looking into a faerie garden, but the stiff breeze had put out all the lanterns and little could be seen other than the silver rays of a glowing, nearly full moon.

  One could also see a blanket of stars if one looked carefully through the window, although the celestial display could be better seen if one were to walk out onto the terrace. No one would dare step out tonight, for it was bitterly cold. Even the stars seemed to shiver, their twinkles crisp and crackling on the winter breeze. Of course, one couldn’t actually hear stars twinkle.

  “Have you considered Lord Dudley?” Eloise asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  Evie stifled her frustration. The only man she wished to discuss was Dr. Farthingale, but Eloise was purposely ignoring her hints. “Lord Dudley speaks of nothing but grouse hunting. Indeed, he’d like me better if I were a game bird.”

  Eloise chuckled. “I suspect you’ll have an excuse to dismiss every young man I mention.”

  She tipped her head, now curious. “Has Grandfather put you up to this?”

  “Yes, indeed. He’s afraid you’ll be branded a wallflower if you pass another season without accepting an offer.”

  Evie sighed as she absently tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I do wish to marry,” she admitted softly, “but only for love. I won’t compromise my heart.”

  Eloise smiled and patted her hand. “Good for you, Evie. Hold your ground and don’t allow yourself to be pushed into a marriage that will please everyone but you. Have you met anyone that you could love?”

  She refused to admit that she had, for George Farthingale wasn’t just anyone. And what if he didn’t love her? She wasn’t certain that he liked her. He’d been quite nice to her this afternoon, but he was a doctor and probably politely making certain she hadn’t suffered any serious harm from her almost fall. “I may not ever find him, but I’m also not afraid of being put on the shelf and forgotten. I have a small inheritance of my own, and I expect my grandfather has made arrangements to add to it. Even if he never adds a shilling, I’ll live quite comfortably for the rest of my days.”

  “Dear girl, you are far too young and much too pretty to be talking like that.”

  “No, I’m being practical. I haven’t had proper guidance from anyone but you.”

  Eloise’s gaze softened. “I haven’t done anything.”

  Evie shook her head. “You’ve done more for me than my own family. If it weren’t for you or the kindness shown to me by the Farthingale family, I…” She paused and said nothing for a long moment. “You know how it is, Eloise.”

  “Indeed, my dear.” Then Eloise’s eyes brightened and her lips curved into a broad smile. The lilac egret feather atop her white hair began to bob up and down. “We’re going to fix things, starting now. The Farthingale sisters must be consulted. An excellent idea! Now, why didn’t I think of it sooner? They will love this project.”

  “Idea? Project?” Evie shook her head, confused.

  Eloise’s eyes positively sparkled. “You, of course.”

  Evie’s heart fluttered in panic. “I am not a project.”

  “Not yet, but you will be before this night is through.” Evie recognized that glint of determination in Eloise’s eyes and knew the older woman would not be dissuaded. Her protests would be for naught.

  That obstinate little curl fell onto Evie’s forehead again. She quickly tucked it back behind her ear. “I adore the Farthingales, but I certainly do not need their assistance. In any event, they’re too busy with their own affairs to bother with me.”

  Eloise’s egret feather bobbed again. “Nonsense, child. They wish to see you happily settled as much as I do.”

  She knew they did, but Farthingales never threw themselves into a task halfheartedly. Evie knew she’d be inundated with gentlemen callers by tomorrow unless she put a stop to Eloise’s so-called project at once. And to bring the sisters into it? Rose would find her a man with a good head for business. Laurel would find her one with a passionate nature. Daisy’s choice, no doubt, would be an honorable sort with a profound sense of duty, and Dillie would find her a man who needed her. Problem was, no man needed her.

  The curl fell over her forehead again.

  She stuck it impatiently behind her ear again.

  And who wanted a woman with ears that flopped and couldn’t hold a curl from slipping off?

  “Ah, reinforcements have arrived. Well, one Farthingale is now walking into the ballroom. I hope you don’t mind my calling over Dr. Farthingale.”

  Evie’s eyes shot wide and she followed Eloise’s gaze to the doorway. Oh, dear. Chocolate puddles were already forming inside her. He looked utterly magnificent in his formal black attire, his shoulders broad and his steps confident as he caught sight of Eloise’s waving hand and approached them.

  He was hard to overlook since he was taller than most men and carried himself with an air of refinement that even gentlemen of rank sorely lacked. “He gave me an ointment to rub into my aching joints and it’s worked a miracle. I really must thank him.”

  Evie’s heart was in spasms and firmly lodged in her throat by the time he reached their side. “Lady Evie,” he said with a husky murmur, nodding in her direction.

  She smiled back, unable to utter a sound. Her face was a hot flush and the dratted strand of hair was on the loose again, dangling over her forehead. Fortunately, Dr. Farthingale had already turned his attention to Eloise, the two of them conversing about the miracle ointment. She eased back and leaned against the frigid window pane, needing to cool herself down.

  Dr. Farthingale cast her a second look and his brow furrowed. “Lady Evie, you appear distressed. Is there something I can do to help?”

  Kiss me.

  “The poor girl has been keeping me company all evening and missing all the fun,” Eloise intoned, overlooking that they’d been together only about twenty minutes and the orchestra had not yet finished playing the first dance of the evening, a quadrille. “Her card is shockingly empty. You must ask her to dance.”

  Evie first felt an explosion of delight and then panic set in. “No. It’s quite all right.” She was beginning to pant like Jasper again. “I’m certain that Dr. Farthingale has better things to do than waste a dance on me.” Pant. Pant.

  “I’d hardly call it a waste, Lady Evie. Quite the opposite, I can’t think of anything more pleasant.” He cast he
r a tenderly intimate grin. “Again, much more enjoyable than Lord Walsey’s swollen foot.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh merrily. “Careful, Dr. Farthingale, or you’ll sweep me off my feet again with your flattery.” In truth, she didn’t understand how the man managed to seduce her with talk of ointments and swollen blood vessels or make her swoon with a mere glance. When he spoke, it wasn’t so much what he said but the rich tone of his voice and the way it enveloped her, slowly and completely, until all she felt was him.

  Listening to him was like taking a bite of warm chocolate pudding and letting it slowly roll about her mouth before allowing it to slip deep inside her.

  She clasped her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking.

  Then her hand was in his and he smiled at her as he effortlessly drew her onto the floor along with the other couples for what turned out to be a waltz. Her heart shot to the ceiling as Dr. Farthingale placed his large, warm hand at the small of her back and drew her close. She felt the exquisite heat of his fingers upon the silk of her gown.

  How would they feel against her skin?

  She closed her eyes, afraid they’d reveal too much if she kept them open.

  However, that decision wasn’t very bright. With her eyes closed, her other senses were on alert. As he leaned even closer, she caught his familiar sandalwood scent against his throat. That clean, male scent made her want to kiss her way up his big body.

  She wouldn’t, of course. Not ever.

  She liked his touch as well, found it confident, yet caring. He held her protectively in his arms, not that she needed protection from anyone but herself and her wanton inclinations.