Except Colin didn’t know the reason. Cam had said nothing about Miranda or her lack of suitors.
“It’s Irish, you’ll like it.” Cam held up both glasses. “Came in on one of Nick’s ships. He has an uncanny ability to find the best whiskey,” Cam said from his place by the sideboard. “I had a letter from him just the other day. He and Lady Dunbar will be staying at the Dunbar family seat longer than anticipated.”
“He wishes to have his duchess to himself for a while. I’m not surprised. Jemma is a rare woman to have captured Nick’s affection. Truthfully, though I expected he’d marry one day, I never thought he would do so for love. I am happy for him. I’m told Jemma is rather a good shot and prefers breeches to dresses.”
Cam handed him a crystal cut glass. “Yes, and I believe half the gossips of the ton live in fear of her, for she does not tolerate any disparaging of her husband’s character. I find it quite charming that one small dog is intent on guarding the safety of a rather large, fierce wolf.” He laughed, causing the jade figurine to bounce as if it were alive. “The bit with Arabella is unfortunate.” Cam shook his head. “But I suppose Nick had no choice but to banish her for the time being.”
“I still cannot contemplate why Arabella would do such a thing. Conspiring with Corbett, a man she knew to be her brother’s enemy, to rid herself of a sister-in-law.” The aroma of the whiskey wafted into his nostrils and he took a sip. “Delicious.”
“Makes me appreciate Miranda all the more.” Cam lifted his glass and his gaze turned thoughtful before turning back to Colin. No hint of anything other than happiness at Colin’s appearance glittered in his green eyes.
Cam truly didn’t know. Or even suspect. Well, he had been in Macao at the time of Miranda’s debut.
“Tis a shame that His Grace is not here to see me paraded about like a prize steer,” he remarked, swirling the amber liquid about in the glass. “Nick would find my situation humorous, if nothing else, though I expect he would have plenty to say. He rivals your grandmother with his knowledge of everyone in the ton.”
Cam took a sip of his whiskey and regarded Colin over the rim of his glass. “This isn’t necessary, Colin.”
“What isn’t?” The glass rolled back and forth in Colin’s hand.
“For God’s sake, Nick and I will both lend you what you need to restore Runshaw Park. I can send breeding stock from several of my estates. I can—”
“No.”
“Damn your pride. Do you really mean to saddle yourself with one of these girls? One that my grandmother has chosen for you?”
“Well, I don’t have the stomach to choose for myself.” Truthfully, he wanted none of these girls, their fortunes be damned, for none of them had hair dark as ink with eyes the color of jade.
“And I’m to tolerate Lady Dobson for a week.” Cam’s lips curled into a sneer. “Only for you. Although my wife finds her niece, Miss Lainscott, to be a lovely girl. Much more intelligent than she lets on. If you are determined, Miss Lainscott would suit you well, I think.”
“And Lady Helen? How does your marchioness find her?”
At the mention of Lady Helen, the Marquess of Cambourne laughed out loud. “Should you marry Lady Helen, you will find your visits to Gray Covington limited to holidays and the occasional hunt.”
“She is that awful then?” Of course she was. The girl was bound to be bloody awful. Colin took a deep breath. Sometime during the journey to Gray Covington, between Miranda’s obvious anguish and the overwhelming desire Colin still felt for her, he had lost interest in this bloody house party. Indeed, he’d lost interest in everything but Miranda, especially the girls brought here for his obvious perusal.
Which brought him back to the incident, as Miranda referred to it. He was just about to ask when Cam turned to him, green eyes narrowed and speculative.
“The gypsy wasn’t right, you know. You’ve lived your life by a prophecy given to you by a withered old crone in the woods. It did not come true for me. Nor, Nick.”
“I disagree.” Colin tipped his glass to his friend, the familiar feeling of dread and acceptance filling him. “Her prophecy, at least for me, has come to pass. Every fucking word.”
Cam shot him a resigned look. “Why must you be so dreadfully fatalistic? She only told us what could be. Nothing is set in stone. It’s the Irish in you. It’s always made you—”
He was about to say more when the door to the study burst open.
Two dark haired toddlers with chubby fists raised in the air ran in a crazy zig zag motion straight for the Marquess. The girl, her green eyes filled with delight, giggled. Clutched in her hand was what appeared to be a tiny spray of violets. Her brother, a more serious lad with eyes the color of a summer storm, lagged a bit behind, his dark head turning back as if looking to see if they were followed.
A harried nanny, her face red from running, huffed and puffed as she entered the study. She came to a quick stop as she spotted the two men. Cap askew atop a head of gray curls, she halted in front of Cam, her round face wreathed in apology.
“My lord,” the poor woman gulped air as she sought to catch her breath. “I beg your forgiveness for the intrusion. Lady Madeline insisted that she show you the violets she picked from the garden. I told her that you were attending to your guests, but,” the nanny held up her hands in supplication, “well, you know, my lord, how Lady Madeline gets a bee in her bonnet.”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Moore.” Cam sat down his whiskey and held open his arms to the children. “Are you two looking for me?”
Lady Madeline, her head a mass of dark curls twirling about bits of ribbon leapt at her father as if Cam were a mountain that needed to be scaled. Her small mouth pressed a series of wet kisses upon his neck as she simultaneously stuck her small spray of rather wilted violets against his nose.
Lord Robert came forward more slowly. He shot Colin a curious look, studying the scar for a moment before moving forward to his father. Patting Cam’s leg, he cautiously pulled himself up his father’s thigh, and threw his small body against Cam’s larger one.
Lady Madeline pulled her brother’s hair, earning a scowl from the boy.
Cam smiled down adoringly at the pair of children in his arms. “Did you two run from Nanny again? You must obey Nanny and not send her all over Gray Covington.”
“Look, Papa.” Lady Madeline gave her father a coquettish grin. “Flowers.” She patted his cheek with her small hand. “Love you.”
Colin envied Cam a great many things, but handling Madeline when the girl came of age was not one of them. She was a natural flirt and would likely cause trouble the moment she made her debut.
“Madeline, Robert, you have forgotten your manners.” Cam nodded towards Colin. “Do you remember Lord Kilmaire?”
Two pairs of eyes turned to Colin.
“Good afternoon Lady Madeline, Lord Robert,” Colin greeted them. The twins were beautiful children. While he avoided Cambourne House during his stay in London, Colin had been fortunate enough to spend the day in Hyde Park with Cam and the children. They’d sailed boats on the pond and shared a picnic lunch.
Madeline waved. Robert nodded solemnly.
Cam hugged both children to his chest, his eyes closing as he whispered something to both of them, then said out loud, “Terribly bad of you to run from Nanny. Although, I am happy that you sought me out. I adore violets Maddy, how did you guess?”
Madeline preened under her father’s regard. “Papa.”
“There you are.”
The petite form of the Marchioness of Cambourne marched across the room, eyes on her disobedient children, one brow raised in question.
The two toddlers pushed their face into their father’s chest.
Colin did not know Alex, the Marchioness of Cambourne well, having only met her for the first time at Nick’s wedding, but in that short time, he’d developed a deep respect for her. Cam was, well, Cam. Nick relayed to Colin that it was Cam who’d pursued the small spinster, only
to be rebuffed. She’d been betrothed to Archie Runyon before being caught in a scandalous embrace with the notorious Satan Reynolds, much to the ton’s surprise. Their hurried marriage had been the talk of London for some time.
‘Lady Cambourne’ Nick told Colin, ‘is a force to be reckoned with, a small cyclone that is much more dangerous than it appears. Cam is taken with his Marchioness and much to the dismay of ladies all over London, notoriously faithful to his wife.’
Both men stood as she entered the room. Cam’s children continued to cling to him like tiny monkeys climbing a great tree, all the while shooting their mother fearful glances.
Pushing an errant curl off her forehead, nose scrunched in consternation, Lady Cambourne but her hands on her hips and tapped her foot in irritation.
“Hello, Badger,” Cam greeted his wife, his voice serious as if her were addressing the queen.
Colin wondered how calling one’s angry wife a rodent was a wise move under the circumstances, though Colin could tell by Cam’s tone that the reference was meant to be an endearment.
Cam lurched forward towards his wife, Madeline clinging to his calf and Robert with his arms firmly locked about his father’s neck.
“I wondered where you’d gotten off to, Badger.” Cam peeled Madeline off his leg and unwound Robert’s arms. He handed both children over to the waiting nanny.
“Mrs. Moore, would you see the children back to the nursery?”
“Yes, my lord.” The nanny bobbed to Cam and led the children towards the door. He turned back to Alex and took his wife’s hand. His thumb ran over her palm in an intimate caress. “I’ve been missing you.”
Lady Cambourne gave an unladylike snort of disbelief but did not pull her hand away. She stepped closer to her husband. “Liar. You were busy drinking whiskey with Lord Kilmaire while I was tasked with overseeing a tedious dinner menu and preparing for the arrival of our guests.” She looked over to Colin. “Lord Kilmaire.”
“Lady Cambourne.”
Alex continued. “Most of whom I do not like. The guests I mean. Your grandmother has conveniently taken to her rooms to rest from the journey to avoid my displeasure.”
“I’ve been preparing as well,” Cam assured her.
Alex gave her husband an incredulous look. “Preparing for what? The headache you shall have if you finish that bottle of whiskey with Lord Kilmaire? Thank goodness His Grace is still away in Scotland. I should not survive the scandal of having three Wickeds under my roof and Lady Dobson. As it is, I expect that we are already the subject of much gossip and conjecture. I’m told all of London is agog with the news that we are hosting a house party and Lady Dobson was invited. The papers will be full of it by tomorrow.” She turned to Colin. “You’ve made it into the betting book at White’s. The ton is busy placing odds on who will be the next Countess of Kilmaire.”
“Good God,” Colin groaned and drained his glass.
“Where ever would you hear such a thing?” Cam laughed as he released her hand only to press a kiss upon her forehead. “I wonder who placed the initial bet.”
“Probably, the Duke of Dunbar. Nick’s sense of humor leaves much to be desired at times,” Colin answered.
“Lady Dobson at Gray Covington,” Alex continued. “The Dowager is fortunate I hold her in such high esteem. I’m about to flee the premises any moment. I expect the plague of locusts to follow.”
“I beg your apology, Lady Cambourne, and appreciate your sacrifice.” Colin bowed to Alex.
Waving her hand in dismissal, she shrugged. “I will survive Lady Dobson’s visit. She may not, but I will.” Alex gave a laugh. “Besides, Miss Lainscott is a lovely girl. I am more than happy to assist her in escaping the clutches of that woman.” An impish smile crossed her lips. “At any rate, if she annoys me I shall simply encourage one of the children to unravel her turban. Miranda surmises she is quite bald beneath it. I should enjoy showing her shiny pate to the guests of Gray Covington. Now that, husband, would truly be scandalous.”
Cam lifted his brow. “Surely, you can’t be serious?”
“About unraveling her turban? That depends on Lady Dobson.” Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh, you mean about the baldness? Miranda and I are in agreement. She’s bald. She must be. I’ve never even seen so much as a wisp of hair escape from her headwear.”
A bolt of longing shot through Colin at the mention of Miranda. He already missed her presence. She’d fled the coach the moment they’d arrived at Gray Covington. By the time he’d escorted the Dowager through the front door, Miranda had disappeared to her room. “Lady Cambourne—”
“Please call me Alex.” The Marchioness smiled up at him, gray eyes twinkling. “And I am not the least put out by you, Lord Kilmaire. Just Lady Dobson.”
“Colin.” He dipped his head.
“Colin.” Alex smiled up at him. “I am happy to assist you in finding a suitable match.”
A suitable match. Truthfully it sounded a bit awful.
‘Have a care for my dress.’
The moment Miranda said such in the coach, Colin had been transported to another time.
‘I will always choose you, Colin Hartley.’
Except Miranda hadn’t. Nor chose anyone else it appeared.
“I think, Alex, that we can afford a bit of scandal.” Adoration shone from Cam’s eyes as he gazed down at his petite marchioness. There wasn’t a woman in all of England who wouldn’t envy such a look from the infamous Satan Reynolds.
“Humph.” A runaway curl escaped the mass of pins used to restrain her hair and Alex puffed it away with an annoyed burst of air from her lips.
How wonderful to see Cam’s legendary charms having little effect on his wife. Lady Cambourne’s handling of her husband caused Colin to like her even more.
“I am deeply appreciative of your efforts on my behalf,” he thanked her once more.
Alex raised a brow, puffing at the errant curl again. “Yes, I imagine you will be.” She turned with a nod to both men and walked swiftly to the door before Colin could reply.
Mrs. Moore awaited her, the poor woman desperately trying to stay in command of her charges. The small white cap she wore tilted dangerously as she struggled to hang on to Robert and Madeline.
“Once we take the children back to the nursery, why don’t you sit down with a nice pot of tea, Mrs. Moore. I fear you need to regain your strength.” Alex took her daughter’s hand.
Madeline wiggled like a fish on a hook. Her chin tilted at a defiant angle. She appeared to be trying to stomp on her mother’s foot.
“Yes, my lady. That would be most welcome.” Mrs. Moore took Robert’s hand, ignoring his protest and led him from the room.
“I’ll leave you to your discussion, gentlemen. Lord and Lady Cottingham will be arriving at any moment,” she said pointedly to Cam, “and you, my lord, must play host. Lady Dobson and her niece have already been shown to their rooms.”
Alex strode purposefully across the threshhold, pulling the headstrong Madeline with her. “Come, Maddy.”
Madeline turned and blew a kiss to her father.
Cam reached out into the air, pretending to catch his daughter’s kiss, and pressed it to his heart. “A tiny tempest. Just like her mother.” He settled back into his chair and his voice lowered an octave. “You like the Tempest, don’t you, Lady Cambourne?”
“I do, my lord.” Alex replied, never halting as she sailed through the doorway. “Perhaps you’ll read that to me. A bit later?”
“You may depend upon it.”
The door to the study shut with a smart click, and the two men were alone once more.
“Alex adores Shakespeare.”
Colin doubted that Cam actually meant to read to his wife. “Indeed?”
Cam’s shoulders rippled in a careless shrug. “I read to my wife, often.”
“You are truly fortunate, my friend.” Colin lifted his glass in toast. “The fact that you found a woman to tolerate your dubious charm is a cause for cele
bration.” He took a breath, wondering if now would be a good time to broach the subject of Miranda’s unsuitability and the incident that seemed to be the cause of it.
“Miranda said something to me in the carriage,” Colin started.
“Let me guess.” Cam rolled his eyes. “Lord Thurston. My sister is quite enthralled with the rather torrid adventures of this mythical man and his lady love. Won’t shut up about them to Alex, who, I may add, nearly swoons every time she picks up one of the damn books. Lord Wently, a friend of my father’s, owns the press that publishes those ridiculous tomes. I informed him I’ve a mind to call Lord Thurston out for stealing my wife’s affection. Except he doesn’t exist. Lord Wently found my frustration quite amusing.”
I imagine he did.
Colin nursed his whiskey relishing Cam’s annoyance. Lord Thurston did exist, in a manner of speaking. It was a lark to find that the great Satan Reynolds, with his mysterious tattoo and his angelic looks, was jealous of a fictional character.
“Refuses to give me the author’s name. I’m sure the books are written by some spinster living in Surrey.”
Actually Runshaw Park.
“No,” Colin shook his head, “she said nothing at all about Lord Thurston, though I did find her reading one of his adventures the other day when I visited the Dowager.” He looked directly at his friend. “Miranda mentioned unsuitability. Namely hers.”
Cam’s whiskey paused halfway to his mouth, then he tilted the glass, draining it in one swallow. The lines around his lips tightened and a shadow darkened his face.
"I thought if I gave no credence to the gossip, never acknowledged that any of it were true, the rumors would simply fade. I assumed the Cambourne name would be enough. That the threat of the Dowager’s retaliation would be enough.” Cam stood and walked to the sideboard and lifted the decanter. “I was wrong on both counts. Terribly wrong. The ton does love a scandal, especially one as juicy as my sister’s.”
St. Remy must have broken the betrothal. The knowledge did not give Colin any satisfaction.
MY WICKED EARL: The Wickeds Book 3 Page 13