Capturing the Heart of a Cameron (Farthingale Series Novellas)

by Meara Platt

She couldn’t refuse or he’d know she had lied to him. Well, it was only a small lie. Still, she felt badly about it. She supposed there was no harm in accepting. Lord Margate had prepared a show of fireworks for his guests that was to start shortly after the sixth dance ended. Many of those guests were already drifting onto the terrace to secure good spots for the viewing.

  A gentle breeze blew through Evie’s curls as she stepped outside with Lord Grantham. “Ah, it’s good to feel the air.”

  He readily agreed. “Would you care for a walk in the garden? I think I see Lady Eloise and the Duchess of Edgeware strolling by the rosebushes.”

  “That would be lovely.” She flicked open her fan and waved it lightly to draw the slightly overheated scent of him away from her nostrils. They had time yet before the sixth dance started and she wasn’t eager to return to the crush of sweating bodies.

  Or to watch George with his arms around the viscountess.

  Only a dance.

  He had no interest in that woman, did he?

  As they made their way toward her friends, Evie suddenly realized that this would be an opportune moment for Lord Grantham to kiss her. Oh, no! Perhaps he was contemplating that very thing. She couldn’t allow it to happen unless George was looking, which he was not.

  Her palms began to itch and her heart was beating too fast. She and Lord Grantham had started to wander slightly off the garden walk, but she quickly set them back on the pebbled path amid a group of strollers. After a moment, she let out the breath she’d been holding. She was quite safe now and silently admonished herself for failing to be more careful. It would have taken nothing for Lord Grantham to draw her behind one of the sculpted bushes and steal a kiss, assuming that was his intention.

  Apparently, it wasn’t. Thankfully, he didn’t try. Not only didn’t he try, but he didn’t appear to have considered it, not even for a moment. Well, that’s flattering. He led her straight to her companions, both of whom were sending her silent messages asking what, if anything, had happened. “Nothing like a leisurely stroll to cool one after a lively dance,” she hinted.

  “Lively?” Dillie said, now frowning.

  “Nothing like it,” she repeated, since they’d obviously missed the clue she was trying to convey. Now they were both giving Lord Grantham such unpleasant looks she felt sorry for the man. Obviously, she’d botched the hint and they now believed him to be a depraved wretch. “My lord, I believe the musicians are about to finish the fifth set. Will you escort me back inside for our dance?”

  “I’d be delighted.” He appeared greatly relieved. Poor man, no doubt he was confused by the obvious cut he’d just received from Dillie and Eloise.

  “We must have intruded upon a private conversation,” she said as they ambled back toward the house, now feeling quite badly for drawing him out into the garden and using him as a pawn in a romantic chess match that she was playing on her own. George was nowhere in sight and didn’t seem to realize there was even a game being played.

  Lord Grantham returned her uneventfully to the ballroom for the sixth set, was ever polite, and then deposited her with Daisy and Gabriel as soon as the set was over. “Well?” Daisy asked eagerly.

  “Nothing happened,” she admitted with a sigh, now thoroughly disheartened. She’d been uncomfortable with the scheme in the first place, but to select a gentleman and find out he wasn’t in the least interested, and then also realize that George wasn’t in the least interested… could the evening turn any worse? “If you’ll excuse me. I think I’ll join Dillie and Eloise in the garden.”

  She had just descended the terrace steps and once more started down the garden walk when she received the answer to her question. Yes, the evening could get worse.

  She felt her heart shatter as George Farthingale slipped off into the shadows with the beautiful and notorious viscountess, Lady Mowbry.

  Perhaps another young woman, one with a functioning brain, might have decided then and there to forget George Farthingale and concentrate on finding a man—other than George Farthingale, of course—who could eventually grow to love her. As George Farthingale never could.

  But Evie wasn’t that young woman, so she decided to follow him and his viscountess into the isolated depths of the garden.

  Oh, dear. What was she thinking? She couldn’t interrupt his tryst with that woman. And what if he caught her snooping? Her humiliation would be complete.

  Bad idea, Evie.

  The pair suddenly stopped in a secluded corner of the rose garden. Evie saw their perfect forms outlined beneath the glow of the full, silver moon. Lady Mowbry melted into George’s arms, her breasts brazenly rubbing across his broad chest.

  Tears welled in Evie’s eyes. Why had she done this to herself? Only a fool would have followed him once his purpose was clear.

  She turned to leave, failed to watch where she was going, and tripped on a rock. The world suddenly seemed to slow as she frantically flailed her arms, to no avail it turned out, and stumbled into the thorniest rosebush in the Margate garden, possibly in all of London. No, the thorniest rosebush in all of England!

  Ouch! Ow, ow!

  She tried to extricate herself, but only managed to drive the thorns deeper into her skin. As a particularly sharp one pierced her palm, she cried out.

  Lady Mowbry muttered a very unladylike oath and dashed away.

  George rushed to her side and stopped beside the bush. “What the… Evie? For pity’s sake, don’t move.”

  “I’ll try not to. Ow!”

  He carefully slid his left arm under her shoulders to prop her up while he used his right hand to remove the branches of thorns that seemed to have entombed her. “What are you doing here? Never mind, don’t answer that now. Close your eyes. There’s a nasty branch filled with thorns dangling just beside your cheek. I’m going to draw it away.”

  “Ever so kind of you. Thank you.” Her cheeks felt hot and no doubt they were as red as ripe strawberries. Could he tell under the moonlight?

  He let out a light, coughing groan.

  Was he laughing at her?

  Well, not at her but at her situation? In truth, she’d be doing the same if the roles were reversed, only George would never be so foolish as to stumble into the thorniest rosebush ever to exist since the beginning of time.

  “That’s it, Evie. Keep still. I’ll get you out.”

  Evie was never more appreciative of his skilled hands as he slowly glided them down her body, starting at the top first in order to clear the thorns from her face. Then down along her shoulders. Then he stopped and let out a strained breath. “Evie, there’s a branch digging into your… I have to… Lord, the scrapes you get yourself into. I may have to touch you somewhere no gentleman ought to… you see…hell, Evie. I’m sorry, but it must be done.” His hand settled on her breast as he proceeded to remove what felt like twenty thorns huddled on that one mound.

  “There’s more on the other,” he said, his voice raspy and choked. No doubt this was as embarrassing for him as it was for her. Perhaps more so, for she was in too much pain to care how and where he touched her, or care that his big, warm hand felt exquisite on her breast. Or that she was responding in a most provocative way to the gentle strokes of his fingers across its tip.

  She sniffled. “Do what you must. This really hurts.”

  “I know, Evie. Be brave for me a little longer.”

  Oh, yes. She’d sacrifice her breast to his fingers for the good of her salvation. Almost worth falling into the meanest rosebush in existence for the touch of his hand on her skin. That part felt wonderful.

  He worked his way down her body, clearing off more branches at her waist, along her thighs, and down her legs. Finally, she was able to stand upright with his assistance. He cleared the last of the thorns off her slippers, but instead of allowing her to step out of the bush on her own, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to a nearby stone bench.

  He was surprisingly muscular for a doctor.

  She rested he
r head on his shoulder and simply breathed him in, his familiar light scent of sandalwood and the clean, male heat emanating from his body. No wonder the viscountess couldn’t resist him.

  He put her down gently on the bench and settled his large frame beside her. A tall torch blazed on each side of the bench, and she realized he meant to inspect her under their golden light. “Damn it, Evie. You could have been hurt.”

  I was, but not by the thorns.

  “Let me see your eyes.” He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face toward his. Their lips were exquisitely close. “Were they scratched?”

  “No, I closed them as I fell. But I got scratched everywhere else.”

  “Where exactly. Tell me.” His face was still perilously close as he began his examination, first running his hands along her cheeks. “There’s a little blood on your left cheek.” He ran his fingers along her shoulders and down her arms. “More scratches on both shoulders.”

  She nodded.

  He frowned. “I’ll have to trust you to tell me where else hurts. I can’t very well ask you to slip out of your gown right here.”

  Why not?

  She sighed. Of course, he couldn’t. And he wouldn’t. He wasn’t interested enough in her, medically or otherwise.

  Too humiliated to look him in the eye, she spoke into her gloved hands instead. At least her hands had been protected from those ugly thorns. “I’m so sorry, George.”

  He drew out his handkerchief and gently dabbed at the little streak of blood on her cheek. “Why did you follow me?”

  She let out a trembling sigh. “It’s a long story.”

  “I have time.”

  Oh, he was so handsome. His eyes appeared a silvery blue beneath the moonlight, and a little of the silver reflected against his dark hair. He was angry—rightfully so—but also gentle and concerned about her.

  The fireworks suddenly began with a loud, whistling pop that startled Evie. Her entire body jerked once, and then again as more loud whistles and pops began to fill the air. Flashes of light and streaking colors brightened the ink-black sky. George took her into his arms and held her close against his chest. The very same magnificent chest Lady Mowbry had been attacking with her large breasts.

  The warm air filled with smoke from the spent fireworks. Evie felt spent, too.

  As the noise continued, she buried her head against his shoulder once again and tried her very best not to cry.

  As with everything else this evening, she failed.

  CHAPTER 6

  GEORGE’S ENTIRE BODY was going off like the fireworks that were still exploding all around them. Fortunately, Evie was too distraught to notice. Hellfire, now the girl had buried her face in his shoulder and he could feel her every tremble and shudder as she fought back tears. “Evie, the danger’s over. Everything will be all right.”

  “No, it won’t. Not ever.” She quietly cried against his shoulder, and all he wanted to do was kiss away her tears, kiss away her fright, kiss her until she was breathless and moaning and begging for him to…

  That wasn’t going to happen in his lifetime.

  He brushed his fingers across her damp cheek. “Evie, please don’t cry.”

  His attempt to calm her had the opposite effect and she sobbed all the harder. “I can’t help it! I’ve made such a fool of myself.”

  “You followed me, that’s all. No harm done.” Other than she’d landed in that nasty rosebush and had the wits scared out of her. She was fortunate to come away with only a few scratches. His body was still going off like those fireworks. “Why were you looking for me?”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” she said softly and with such heartache, that he knew it mattered greatly.

  He waited until Lord Margate’s entertainment ended before cautiously raising the question again. The night had stilled and most of the guests were returning indoors to resume dancing or playing cards, or to enjoy the feast of desserts on display in the dining room. A smoky haze filled the garden, chasing any stragglers away. They were in an empty corner of the garden anyway. “Evie, talk to me.”

  “I don’t know what to say. Other than I’m sorry for interfering in your private moment. She’s so beautiful.”

  George stifled a bitter laugh. He had thought the viscountess beautiful at one time, but not for many years now. He knew her manipulative, scheming nature too well. He’d been about to rebuff the woman’s advances when Evie had made her spectacular appearance. If not for Evie’s injuries, he would have been grateful for the interruption.

  He tipped Evie’s chin upward so that she met his gaze. “You do realize that you’re much prettier than she is or ever was.”

  “You don’t have to pretend with me,” she insisted.

  He frowned. “I’m not. The men on your list would all agree.”

  She let out a soft, mirthless laugh. “Ah, there you would be wrong. Lord Grantham was supposed to be my almost first kiss, only he didn’t realize it. We strolled around the garden, and he had several perfect opportunities to draw me into a quiet nook, but never even considered it. Not once. So this evening has been…” She paused and rolled her eyes. “This evening has been ever so much fun for me. No kiss, which I didn’t want in the first place. Certainly not with him. A derriere full of thorns. And watching Lady Mowbry maul you with her perfect breasts. Indeed, jolly good fun.”

  She glanced down at her chest.

  “So this is what your misery is about? You think you’re lacking.” He ran a hand roughly through his hair, not eager to admit again how beautiful she truly was. Her eyes were exquisitely gleaming. Her mouth had a pouty bend to it that drove him wild. Her breasts were perfect.

  Any man who considered Evie less than spectacular in every way was either dead or deranged.

  He had to tell her something, just not the truth about how he felt. But she was feeling so low, he had to give her some encouragement. He would if she didn’t cheer up soon. And what in bloody hell was this nonsense about an almost first kiss? Did she intend to lure Lord Grantham into kissing her, only to refuse him? That didn’t sound like something Evie would do. But it certainly sounded like some ridiculous scheme his nieces would contrive for her. “First of all, there isn’t a blessed thing wrong with you, Evie. You’re a diamond of the first water.”

  So much for holding back.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m a lump of coal compared to—”

  “Damn it, Evie. You have no idea how beautiful you are. Everything about you sparkles. Take my word for it. Second of all, why did you choose Grantham for your first kiss? Or were you put up to it by my meddlesome nieces?”

  “It wasn’t a bad idea,” she insisted, the doubt on her face revealing that the idea had not been hers. “Every young woman ought to have a first kiss. But he wasn’t really supposed to be the one to kiss me.”

  “So you’ve said. Then who was?”

  She sighed. “It isn’t important. The right man will never kiss me, anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  She gazed at him a long moment, the mix of sadness and hope shooting daggers straight into George’s heart. He was an oaf to press her for an answer; however, she finally gave a little sigh and nodded. “He doesn’t like me in that way.”

  Good, George decided. He’d have to kill the bounder if he ever dared to kiss Evie.

  After a few minutes of companionable silence, George took her hand and nudged her to her feet. “Ready to go back inside?”

  Evie nodded, although it was the last thing she wished to do. However, if George did not feel the urge to draw her into his arms in a rose garden under a full, glittering moon and kiss her senseless, it was never going to happen.

  The sooner she accepted it, the better.

  She turned to walk back to the ballroom and suddenly let out a sharp cry. “My ankle! I think I’ve twisted it. Oh, this is perfect. I’ve ruined my gown. Scratched my cheeks. Humiliated myself in front of you.” And still no kiss.

  He scooped her up in his arm
s again, which was about the only wonderful part of this thoroughly miserable evening. “Put your arms around my neck, Evie. I’ll have Eloise’s carriage brought around to the front, then I’ll find her and ask her to take you home. I’ll ride home with you.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “You don’t have to leave the ball early for my sake.”

  “Yes, I do. I need to treat your cuts before they become infected.” He cast her a tender smile. “Considering your run of luck this evening, I’d rather not take chances.” As she placed her arms around his neck, he shifted her so that she was more securely up against his chest. She felt the flex of his muscles and the steady beat of his heart. Hers was madly racing. Truly, he was the most wonderful part of this forgettable evening.

  He avoided the crowded ballroom by carrying her through a side entrance and depositing her in the Margate front parlor. “Stay out of trouble,” he warned, arching an eyebrow and ruining the stern effect by gently tweaking her chin.

  She really wished he would kiss her and simply end her agony.

  Within a few moments he returned with Eloise. Rose and Daisy followed on his heels. “Oh, Evie! What happened?” Rose asked, taking in her appearance and looking at her aghast.

  She waited until George had left the room to fetch their wraps before responding. “Nothing happened.”

  “Oh, too bad,” Daisy muttered. “But it couldn’t have all been a waste of time. We saw George carry you in from the side entrance. And you look… forgive me, but you do look a bit of a mess. Something must have happened.”

  Evie sighed. “I’ll tell you tomorrow. It wasn’t good. Not any of it.”

  Eloise patted her hand. “I’m sorry, child. We thought we were helping.”

  “I know.” She cast her companions a weak smile. “As you’ve all told me before, love can’t be forced. It either exists or it doesn’t. I’m afraid where your uncle is concerned, it doesn’t.”

  George returned with their capes, first helping Eloise with hers and then helping Evie. His hands seemed to linger on her shoulders a moment longer than necessary, but Evie supposed he was being excessively cautious. He shot his nieces a scowl. “I’ll thank you girls to keep your schemes to yourselves. Leave Evie alone.”