by Donna Hatch
Miss Palmer emerged perfectly composed. She’d smoothed her hair back into place and her freshly washed face showed no trace of tears. Careful scrutiny revealed that her gown still showed signs of being crushed, but a casual glance might not discover it. However, a tiny bruise formed around her full, rosebud lips. Worse, her expressive eyes still revealed her terror.
The volcano of rage threatened to erupt, demanding action. Cole offered her his arm and patted her hand, hoping to give her some measure of comfort. He struggled to keep his touch gentle when a lust for enforcing his own code of justice left him shaking.
They found Mrs. Hancock gossiping in a circle of older ladies. “Back already, dear?”
Miss Palmer looked poised to flee. “Ah, we left a bit early.”
“Captain Hawthorne decided to dance a few sets in your absence but he asked me to tell you he will return shortly to claim his dance.”
Elizabeth joined them, glanced wistfully at Lord Amesbury, but turned a bright smile on Alicia. “Robert is here looking for you.”
Miss Palmer noticeably brightened. “He’s here?”
At that moment, a younger gentleman wearing an insolent grin approached Miss Palmer. “Did you save me a dance, Lissie?”
Cole frowned at the man’s cheekiness but his disapproval faded to puzzlement. He knew that young man from somewhere. A vague unease arose.
When the newcomer’s gaze moved to Cole next to her, he paled visibly. “You!”
Miss Palmer gasped. “Robert Palmer, where are your manners?”
Of course. Robert Palmer. From London. Cold dread trickled across his heart as he considered the ramifications.
Maintaining his cool demeanor, Cole inclined his head. “Mr. Palmer.”
“What are you doing here?” Palmer demanded. Cole raised a brow. “Dancing. And you?”
Palmer took Alicia’s arm. “Come, Lissie. We are leaving.”
“Now see here—” Cole began, but Palmer pinned him with a dangerous glare.
“Stay away from my cousin. Haven’t you done enough?”
“Your cousin?” Cole looked from him to the lovely Miss Palmer and understanding dawned. He cursed under his breath. He hadn’t been aware Armand Palmer had a sister. Not that he’d bothered to find out. Letting out a long breath, Cole glanced at Miss Palmer. The ramifications he’d considered a moment ago took a more serious turn.
Palmer shot Cole a venomous glare and took the girl by the arm. Anger rolled off his body as he led her out of the ballroom. Wanting desperately to explain, Cole followed them out into the foyer, away from the others.
After sending Cole a look of apology, Miss Palmer dug in her heels. “Robert, explain yourself.”
Cole remained rooted to the floor and waited for the condemning stare she would surely turn upon him.
Palmer trembled in rage. “That’s Cole Amesbury.”
“Yes, I know.” She looked back at Cole again, her brows furrowed.
Palmer trembled in rage. He spoke quietly, but each word shot through Cole like bullets fired at close range. “He’s the scoundrel who shot your twin.”
The disbelief and horror that crossed Alicia Palmer’s face seared right through to Cole’s very soul.
She blinked as she struggled with the news. Her eyes locked with Palmer’s. She shook her head. After a weighted moment, she turned her golden-brown eyes upon Cole. Mute and stunned, she stared at him while her face drained of all color.
Cole’s façade slipped and sweat trickled down his back. He could not explain why her opinion mattered to him so much, this girl he’d only met tonight, but watching her estimation of him shift from shy admiration to utter revulsion left him cold.
Without any defense for his actions, he waited. He wished she would fly into a rage and scream at him. Anything would be better than that horrified stare.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if there were more to this story than he knew. Had Armand’s injury been more serious than he’d been led to believe? Her reaction declared that Cole’s actions had significantly altered her life. The knowledge that he’d hurt this girl for whom he’d grown to care in so short a time twisted in his gut like a knife.
Robert tugged on her arm and threw Cole a murderous glare. “Come, Lissie. I’ll take you home.”
The strength seemed to leave her. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Without another word, she turned and left with Palmer, almost leaning on his arm.
Cole had the sinking sensation that he had just lost something irreplaceable.
He remained standing in the empty foyer like a lost child until the clattering of carriage wheels outside announced the Palmers’ departure. Drawing himself up, Cole collected his wits and retreated to the library where three groups of gentlemen played cards.
Ignoring the others, he downed two glasses of cherry brandy before his courage returned. He cursed his weakness for letting Aunt Livy bully him into coming to this ball. He had come expecting to be perfectly bored, just the same as every other ball and soiree he’d attended since his return to civilization two years ago. What he found had been far more horrifying—himself at his worst.
What had he done?
After another bracing drink, he composed himself and left the library. He had an appointment with Mr. Braxton. Not that Braxton knew, of course, but it existed, nonetheless.
Cole sought out the host and found Lord Sinclair’s wife instead. “Lady Sinclair.”
She turned to him with the same calculating smile her daughter Catherine wore. “Lord Amesbury. I do hope you are enjoying yourself. May I be of assistance?”
“I wonder if you’d be kind enough to introduce me to one of your guests—Mr. Braxton.”
Her practiced smile never faltered. “Of course.” Her gaze focused on someone off to the side. “Why, here he comes now.”
A silver-haired man approached with a slight limp. Cole inwardly saluted Miss Palmer. She surprised him; he would not have suspected such a sweet-mannered girl to know how to inflict such a personal and effective attack upon a man. Mr. Braxton wore an expensive suit and a family crested ring on his finger. He looked harmless, respectable, incapable of the violence he had committed against Alicia Palmer.
While Lady Sinclair made the introductions, Mr. Braxton studied him shrewdly. “If I remember correctly, your father is the Earl Tarrington.”
“You remember correctly.” Cole clenched his fists.
A light of recognition entered his eyes. “Ah, yes, I see the family resemblance. I have had occasion to meet him over the years. I understand his health has not been good of late.”
“He is convalescing in Bath,” Cole replied tightly. “Sir, I wonder if I might have a word with you in private.”
“As it is, I am not feeling well. I have come to make my apologies to our lovely hostess.” He turned to Lady Sinclair. “With regret, my lady.”
“Then please allow me to escort you to your carriage,” Cole interjected before the hostess could reply. “I insist.”
A brief flash of alarm crossed Mr. Braxton’s face as he no doubt saw the murderous look that must have been visible in Cole’s eyes. Braxton glanced at the hostess, who raptly watched their interchange.
His gaze returned to Cole and he nodded stiffly. “Of course, my lord.”
They stepped outside. The cool night air did nothing to cool Cole’s temper. Too bad he couldn’t just pull the man into a dark corner and stick a knife in his ribs. Perhaps that year on Jared’s pirate ship had affected Cole more deeply than he realized.
Mr. Braxton watched him warily. “What can I do for you, Lord Amesbury?”
Fully aware of his intimidating stature, Cole faced him and folded his arms. The longer the silence lasted, the more Mr. Braxton shifted and glanced around, tugging at his collar.
“Well?” Braxton finally said.
“I understand you are considering making an offer for Miss Alicia Palmer,” Cole said at last, letting his voice convey his disapproval.
> Mr. Braxton flinched. “I have not yet decided. She seemed quite proper at first, but flew into a temper and behaved in a manner most unbecoming of a lady.”
With effort, Cole held on to his rising rage. “Perhaps because you behaved in a manner most unbecoming of a gentleman.”
“How dare you, sir.” Braxton tried to appear affronted but only managed to look afraid.
“I saw her running from a room a few moments ago as if the devil were chasing her. You were lying on the floor looking most uncomfortable.”
In a defensive maneuver, Braxton attempted to collect his courage. “Earl’s son or no, I don’t know who you think you are that you can accuse me of—”
Cole grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in until their noses almost touched. “I think I am a very dangerous man to cross. I should call you out, but I do not wish to further humiliate Miss Palmer. Know this: if you ever go near her again, or frighten her in any way, I will take great pleasure in whipping you like the cur that you are.” He shook the man a little, just for good measure, his temper straining his control.
Sweat beaded on Braxton’s face and his breathing became a series of gasps that had nothing to do with Cole’s grip.
Cole continued, “And if one breath of scandal ever arises in association with her name, regardless of the source, I will rip out your heart with my bare hands. No one will ever find your body.”
Braxton made a strangled noise.
“Have I made myself clear?” Cole demanded.
“Perfectly,” the other man gasped.
After a slow, dangerous perusal that always left opponents begging for mercy, Cole released him. His year posing as a pirate had not been entirely in vain. Still bristling with unreleased fury, he stalked back into the house to tell his aunt and uncle he’d had enough of tonight’s festivities.
Mr. Braxton made a hasty retreat. Cole watched him go, plotting his next move, before returning to the soiree he dearly longed to leave.
Just inside the ballroom, standing in a circle of young ladies, Elizabeth Hancock glanced at Cole. Then her smile faltered.
His expression must have been thunderous. He pulled on his practiced mask and called up a polite smile. Seeing her reminded him of his promise to Alicia Palmer. With perfect civility, he asked Miss Hancock for a dance and she accepted demurely. The girls nearby all either giggled or shot her looks of envy.
As lovely as a doll, Miss Hancock executed the dance moves perfectly, and said everything expected and proper, but only served to remind him why he avoided such green girls. Despite the aura of grief that surrounded her, Alicia Palmer possessed poise and unaffected dignity that remained notably absent in Elizabeth and the rest.
Cole nearly cursed out loud before he caught himself. When did he begin comparing women? The only ones who interested him were lonely young widows who no longer cared about propriety. Miss Palmer was everything he generally avoided; he couldn’t explain what had drawn him to her side in the first place.
Nor could he fathom why losing her good opinion haunted him.
Where the devil were his aunt and uncle? He needed to retreat before he cracked. After returning Miss Hancock to her mother, Cole downed another cherry brandy, fighting to regain his normal bored, amused expression. He failed miserably.
Uncle Andrew found him. “Care to have a go at billiards?”
“I’d rather leave now.”
Uncle Andrew held his hands up in a gesture of helplessness. “You’ll have to take that up with your Aunt. In the meantime, you can do what I do and enjoy a tactical retreat into the billiards room until it’s safe to come out. Your aunt is dancing and I daren’t interrupt.”
“Fine.” Cole set his glass on a passing tray.
“I’m surprised at you, nephew.”
“Oh?”
“You actually danced.”
Cole uttered something between a snort and a laugh. “I did. Twice.”
Uncle Andrew smirked. “Truly? Twice? Both with the same lady?”
“No. Two different ladies.”
“Widows?”
Did Uncle know him that well? “No, I thought I’d live dangerously and dance with young ladies actively seeking a husband.”
Andrew chuckled. “You do thrive on danger.”
“The second was because I promised the first that I’d dance with her friend.”
After casting him a look of disbelief, Uncle Andrew opened the door to the billiards room. Decorated in dark paneling and rich reds, and smelling faintly of cigar smoke, the billiards room had a decidedly masculine feel. For the moment, they were the only gentlemen using it as a refuge from the ball and its feminine snares.
Uncle Andrew set up the billiards balls. “Since when do you make such promises?”
“As you say, I miss the danger of my former life and decided to stir up some.” Cole carefully lined up his shot, took a practice stroke, and missed two balls.
Alicia Palmer’s face appeared in his mind’s eye. He’d never met a woman with such an unspoiled temperament. She did not possess the studied, flirtatious mannerisms of so many ladies of the beau monde, nor did she seem capable of any deceit. Each emotion, each thought, crossed her face unconcealed. Shame-faced, she had declared herself a fortune- hunter. But she did not fit the type; she lacked the calculating edge; she was too unaffected, too artless.
He remembered her in the garden, her mantle of quiet, dignified sorrow, the tears she tried so valiantly to suppress, and her sweet concern for her friend. Normally, Cole avoided wide-eyed innocents, but something about her drew him the way no one ever had. It touched him deep inside where he thought he no longer had any feeling. It excited him. It frightened him.
It didn’t matter. When Robert Palmer had told her Cole had shot her twin brother, the horror that overcame her features was more gut-wrenching than the fright she suffered at the hands of Mr. Braxton.
After Uncle sank two balls, Cole banked the next shot and missed again. He cursed.
Uncle Andrew chuckled. “Something has you rattled tonight, Cole.”
“Yes. Interfering busybodies who drag hapless relations to marriage marts,” Cole snarled.
Andrew chuckled again and positioned his cue stick.
Cole didn’t care what Alicia Palmer thought of him. She was a self-proclaimed fortune hunter desperate for a husband, and he only liked experienced women seeking a nice, uncomplicated affair. Clearly, they did not belong together.
The pronouncement did nothing to sweeten his mood.
The door opened and Aunt Livy’s turbaned head appeared. “Oh, there you are, my love,” she said to Uncle Andrew. She frowned at Cole. “Cole, dear, you ought to be out among the guests, not in here out of circulation.”
“I danced, Aunt. Twice. With two different young ladies.”
“I know dear, and you did me proud, but there’s someone to whom I must introduce you.”
Cole scowled and heaved a sigh. “Another one? Haven’t you done enough?”
She smiled, unimpressed by his dark mood, curse her. “Oh, no, not nearly enough.”
Cole indicated the billiards table. “We just started the game. I’ll be out when we’ve finished.”
She turned an imploring look upon him and smiled. “Please, dear? This is the last one tonight, I promise.”
Cole rolled his eyes. If this were the last one tonight, then heaven help him tomorrow night. How could he be such a weakling when it came to Aunt Livy? No one else could manipulate him as she did.
Uncle Andrew chuckled. “I’ll rescue you later, Cole.”
Cole groaned loudly but offered his arm to his aunt. “If I marry, your purpose in living will vanish. I must resist for the sake of your life.”
“Fear not. You have three younger brothers. Christian will be easy; he’s so charming, if a bit shy, that he may not even need my help. Jared won’t be so difficult once he tires of traipsing across the seven seas. Grant will be the biggest challenge, but then, you know me; I love a good cha
llenge.”
“Challenge? Hopeless, if you ask me.”
“I’m a very determined woman.”
“Utterly ruthless,” he agreed.
Though he refused to look at her, he felt Aunt Livy watch him as they strolled down the corridor toward the ballroom. Quietly, she said, “It was kind of you to dance with Miss Palmer, Cole.”
Instead of his usual quip, Cole found himself asking, “What do you know of her family?”
She glanced at him. “The present-day Palmers or the former gentleman and his lady?”
“Either. Both.”
“The former were lovely people, respectable. Mrs. Palmer was French and had a sort of gentleness about her. Very beautiful. After their deaths, his younger brother inherited the estate.” She tsked. “Willard Palmer is not the gentleman his brother was. Gambler, drinker. He’s made terribly risky business ventures. His debts are mountainous, and he might be forced to sell the family estate soon or risk having it seized. Unless he can arrange a good match for his niece.”
Cole glanced at her. “Oh?”
“The family is counting upon her to marry well in the hopes that her husband will rescue the family from their straits. I believe her uncle is exerting considerable pressure upon her.”
The thought of that pure, unspoiled girl at the mercy of unscrupulous old men like Mr. Braxton rekindled his anger. It also explained why she needed to marry a wealthy man without fitting the profile of a true fortune-hunter. Her uncle was the fortune-hunter, using his niece to solve problems of his own making.
“She has refused to wed any of them so far,” Aunt Livy added.
“Smart girl.”
“Sooner or later, Willard Palmer will force her to accept one of them. He’s getting that desperate. Such a shame. She’s a delightful young lady, not the great beauty her mother was, but still pleasing, nonetheless. Well-mannered and sweet. Such a tragedy to endure so young. She took their deaths very hard. Understandable. First her parents and then her twin brother, all in a matter of months.”
Cole blanched. Armand Palmer was dead?
He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Standing rooted in the corridor, he pressed the heel of his hands over his eyes. Had he…?