A Perfect Gentleman

by Candace Camp

  “I was so frightened. I thought I would lose you, and I—I’ve never felt like that. So scared and helpless. I rode like a maniac, and then I saw you struggling with her . . .” He shook his head. Graeme picked up one of her hands in his and looked at her palm, his fingers gently sliding over the bandage. “Your hands. I didn’t realize you hurt your hands.”

  “I scraped my palms holding on to that branch.” Abby shrugged. “It looks worse than it is. Molly slathered salve on them so enthusiastically she had to wrap bandages around them to keep me from sliding off everything I touched.”

  “I’m sorry.” He raised her palm to his lips and softly kissed it.

  “It’s not your fault.” She smiled at him, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

  “Yes. It is. Ultimately it is all laid at my door. I’ve made a thousand mistakes. More. From the very beginning I was blind and stubborn and so wrapped up in my bitterness, I didn’t even look at you. I assumed a great deal without having any real knowledge. I didn’t give you—I didn’t give us a chance. Worse, I was unfair and unkind to you.”

  “That’s all long ago. You aren’t the only one who made mistakes. My pride was hurt, and I ran away. I could have stayed and explained it to you. And before that, I could have discovered what my father was doing; I think I probably didn’t want to know. Because I was getting what I wanted. It was selfish of me. I wanted to marry you so much.”

  “Why?”

  Abby chuckled at his astounded tone. “Because the moment I saw you, I wanted you. You were handsome; you were the perfect gentleman. You may not be aware of it, but when you smile, you take a person’s breath away. I suspect a large number of girls would have been thrilled to marry you. I know I was. I’m not entirely sure I would have turned you down even if I had known then that you loved another.”

  “Abby . . .” He did not look at her for a long moment, frowning down at their linked hands. Just when she thought he would say nothing more, he raised his head. “I’ve known Laura since we were children. Her mother and mine were good friends, and they visited often until her mother died. Even after that, we saw her when we were in London.”

  “Graeme, you don’t need to explain. I understand.” Abby tried to tug her hand away, but Graeme held it fast, his eyes intent on hers.

  “No, you don’t. I didn’t understand. I did love Laura, but it wasn’t the way I love you.”

  Abby’s breath caught in her throat, but she did her best not to show any reaction, afraid she might stop the flow of his words.

  “What I felt for Laura was nice—a quiet thing, a natural progression, I suppose, from the friendship we had always had. I still care for her, but I think it is the way I would feel about a sister. I’ve never had one; perhaps if I had, I would have recognized it for what it was. It was nothing compared to the way I love you. The passion and fire and depth . . . Oh, the devil, I’m not good at explaining how I feel.”

  “I think you’re doing a stellar job of it. Go on.”

  “This afternoon, I realized that if I were faced now with having to give you up as I did Laura, I wouldn’t do it. No matter what the consequences—scandal, penury, whatever came—I would never have set you aside. It would have been like tearing out my own heart.”

  “Oh, Graeme!” Abby clapped both hands over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.

  “No, please, don’t cry. I realize you probably don’t feel the same. But I’m going to do everything I can to change that. I will woo you and win you—you know I am stubborn enough to keep at it and too proud to admit defeat. If we were not already married, I would ask you on bended knee. But as it is, I can only say I want to be with you, to have a real marriage.”

  “You idiot!” Abby flung her arms around his neck, belying her words. “Of course I love you. I fell in love with you ten years ago, and when I returned a few months ago, I did it all over again.”

  Graeme surged to his feet, taking her with him, and locked his mouth on hers. When at last he lifted his head, he smiled down into her face, saying, “Then you bartered with me for more than a child?”

  “I told myself I would be content with a child, but that was a lie.” Abby linked her hands behind his neck. “The truth is, I want it all—marriage, children . . . and most of all you.”

  “Then, my love, I would say we have a bargain.”

  “Indeed we do.” Abby grinned up at him saucily. “How should we seal it, do you think?”

  Graeme swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. “I’ll show you.”

  epilogue

  Six months later

  Graeme strode from desk to window to fireplace, unable to keep still. “It’s taking far too long, don’t you think? There must be something wrong.”

  His cousin, sitting in the comfortable chair before the fire, long legs stretched out to warm his toes, opened an eye and regarded him. “As I said the last three times you asked, I haven’t the faintest idea. I’ve had no more infants than you.”

  “Clearly not. This is where you’re supposed to tell me I’ve nothing to worry about and that it’s all going as it should.”

  James rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you sit down? You’re making me dizzy.”

  Graeme released a long-suffering sigh and threw himself down into the chair across from James.

  He immediately popped up again as his mother sailed into the room, beaming. “Is it over?” He hurried toward her. “Is Abby—”

  “Mother and daughter are fine.”

  Graeme stopped, feeling suddenly a little light-headed. “Daughter? It’s a girl?”

  “Congratulations, Graeme.” James arose and followed him.

  “Yes—I—thank you. I must go see her.” He swung back around to his mother. “Abby’s all right? You said she’s all right.”

  “Yes. She’s doing very well. The doctor will be down to tell you shortly, but I couldn’t wait.”

  “I don’t want to see the doctor. I want to talk to Abby.” Graeme strode past her and trotted up the stairs. The doctor was just stepping out of the room, and Graeme nodded at him as the man began to speak. “Yes, just a moment. First, I must . . .”

  He bypassed the man, going straight to the bed. “Abby.”

  Her eyes were closed and her face was pale, which set his heart to racing, but as soon as she heard his voice, Abby opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “Graeme.”

  “My love.” He took her hand and bent to kiss her forehead. “Are you all right? I can’t believe . . . Mother said it went fine, but it’s been so long. You look tired.” He realized that he was babbling and stopped.

  “I’m fine.” Abby squeezed his hand. “I’m wonderful.”

  “Yes, you are.” He smoothed his hand over her forehead.

  “We have a baby girl.” She turned her head. “Molly? Where is she?”

  “Here we are.” Molly bustled forward, smiling broadly. Graeme could not recall seeing such an expression on the maid’s face before now. In her arms, she carried a small bundle. She stopped in front of Graeme, holding out the roll of material to him, and he realized that inside the blanket lay a small, red-faced creature.

  Before he knew what she was doing, Molly settled the bundle in his arms. “Oh, but I don’t . . .” He raised his head to find that Molly had already stepped back.

  Graeme looked back down at the tiny face. She was slightly less red than a tomato, and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, her mouth wide open, though the sound that came out was more a cranky hiccup than a cry. Tiny black brows curved above her eyes, miniature replicas of Abby’s eyebrows, and atop her head was a damp mop of hair the same raven color. Her tiny fists waved spasmodically, and he could see her feet beating against the blanket. With her flying fists and the faint bruising beside one eye, she looked as if she’d been sparring.

  “She’s . . . beautiful,” he breathed, awestruck.

  The noise she was making became a wail, and her face grew even redder. Graeme, feeling a bi
t panicked, jiggled her a bit, and amazingly, she hiccupped to a stop. Cradling her in one arm, he reached out a finger to her hand, amazed at its tiny detail. Her fingers curled around his, and his heart swelled in his chest.

  “Abby, she’s absolutely perfect.”

  “I know.”

  Graeme grinned at his wife, then leaned over the bed to carefully place the baby in the crook of Abby’s arm. Watching his wife, her dark head close to her daughter’s, Graeme thought that he had never seen anything so beautiful.

  Together they watched the baby, exclaiming over the perfection of her many features, from her shell-like ears to her tiny toenails, until she fell asleep and Molly swooped in to take her away. Abby smiled up at him, but he could see the weariness gathering around her eyes.

  “You should sleep. You need your rest. She’ll be a whirlwind. Just like her mother.”

  Abby took his hand. “You aren’t disappointed, then? That she’s not a boy?”

  “No. How could I be disappointed? She’s beautiful. Again, just like her mother.”

  “But you don’t have your heir.”

  “I don’t care. I’d take ten more just like her.”

  “Ten!” Abby chuckled, rubbing her thumb over his fingers. “I think not.”

  “Besides”—Graeme bent down and kissed her forehead—“it’ll give us a reason to try again.”

  “Do you need a reason?”

  “No.” He smiled into her eyes. “I need no reason but you, my love.”

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  Love is in the cards for a young Scottish heiress in this first book in Candace Camp's latest Scottish series!

  Treasured

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  Damon, the earl of Mardoun, is smitten the moment he meets Meg, the village healer, but she rejects every advance he makes. But when unforeseen circumstances bring them together, her conviction begins to fade . . .

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  In her fourteen years as a governess for London's most elite, Mary Woodward has been known to work magic with her difficult charges. And never before has she been tempted to break the strict rules she sets for herself, but oh, never before has she been governess to the daughter of the very handsome and very single Lord Eric Asten . . .

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  A Momentary Marriage

  By Candace Camp

  Coming soon from Pocket Books

  Laura glanced around the cluttered room. She had packed most of her belongings, but she hadn’t had the heart to enter her father’s study. Now, looking at his books and papers haphazardly stacked and scattered and wedged in wherever they would go, tears clogged her throat anew.

  It was so unfair that a good, kind, intelligent man like her father, a man who had spent his life healing others, should be taken away when so many other men far less worthy than he survived. Venal, brutal men like Sid Merton.

  She scowled at the thought of their landlord. He would be coming around today, wanting his money in full—no matter that her father had been in his grave less than two weeks. She had been selling everything she could, but few people wanted their multitude of books or their old, well-worn furniture.

  As if her thoughts had conjured him up, there was a loud knock at the front door. Laura opened it and faced Sid Merton with all the calm and dignity she could muster. The man started to walk in, but Laura neatly sidestepped him, slipping out of the house and into the yard.

  Thwarted, Merton followed, looming over her. Tall and heavily muscled, he was accustomed to intimidating everyone. “I want my rent money.”

  Laura curled her fingers into her skirts. “It will take time to settle my father’s affairs. I’ll find a way to pay you what we owe if you will only wait—”

  “Oh, I could wait.” Merton smiled in a way that sent a shiver of revulsion through her. He wrapped his beefy hand around her wrist, tugging her toward him. “If you were nice.”

  “Let go of me.” Laura tried to pull her arm away, but he jerked her forward. She slammed against his broad chest, and Merton twisted her arm up behind her back.

  Behind them someone cleared his throat loudly. “I beg your pardon.”

  A tall, thin man stood at the edge of the yard beside a carriage. His face was shadowed by a hat, and his pose was studiedly careless, his weight on one leg and a hand resting lightly on the head of a gold-knobbed cane. In a faintly bored voice steeped in aristocratic hauteur, he went on, “It appears your suit is unwelcome to the lady.”

  “What business is it of yours?” Merton snarled.

  “Well, you see, I have come to speak with her father.” He swept off his hat and sketched a bow to Laura. “Good afternoon, Miss Hinsdale. I hope I have not arrived at an inopportune time.”

  “James de Vere.” Laura stared. He was the last person she expected to see in her yard. He looked older and thinner—but, of course, it had been eleven years since the day he strode into her parlor to slice her hopes and dreams to ribbons.

  Sir James was still as coldly handsome, his tone as supercilious. And though the sight of him awoke a host of bitter feelings, Laura could not help but be glad of his arrival. At least Sir James was a gentleman—and the kind of man who always won.

  “If you would be so kind, Miss Hinsdale, I would appreciate a bit of your time,” Sir James went on. “If, of course, you are not otherwise occupied.”

  “I am perfectly free.” Laura took another step away from Merton, yanking her arm as hard as she could. Merton’s grip did not loosen.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Merton growled at her.

  James turned a disdainful gaze on him. “You, my good man, are becoming tiresome.”

  “Tiresome!” Merton gaped at him.

  “Yes. I believe it’s time you left.”

  “You’re the one that’s leaving,” Merton said menacingly, his free hand knotting into a fist.

  “I think not. For the last time, release Miss Hinsdale.”

  Merton let out a scornful laugh, making a show of looking the other man up and down. “You think you’re going to make me?”

  “No.” James smiled thinly and snapped his fingers. The largest dog Laura had ever seen jumped out of the open carriage door. “He is.”

  There was a dead silence as both Laura and Merton eyed the dog. The top of his blocky head was level with James’s waist. His muscular body was a mottled combination of black and yellowish tan, but the muzzle and face were entirely black, as if he wore a mask, and it rendered his eyes barely visible, giving him an even more sinister appearance.

  James flicked his hand toward Laura and Merton. “Guard.”

  The dog stalked over—he was even more terrifying at close range—and took up a stance beside Laura, his eyes fixed on Merton. Color drained from the big man’s face, and he dropped Laura’s arm. Shooting her a vicious look, Merton whirled and strode away, not even glancing in Sir James’s dir
ection.

  Laura’s stunned gaze went to James. Gratitude mingled awkwardly with her years-old dislike for the man. “I, um, thank you.”

  He gave a careless shrug and strolled toward her. As he drew close, she could see purplish shadows beneath his eyes. His face was etched with lines of weariness. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. “I could hardly allow the churl to accost you. Graeme would have had my head.”

  “I doubt Graeme would have ever known.” Sir James accepted gratitude as gracelessly as he did everything else.

  She looked down at the dog. Her eyes hadn’t very far to go. The animal regarded her gravely. His muzzle had a few flecks of gray in it, and the thick wrinkles above his eyes gave him a worried look.

  “And thank you,” she told the dog. He accepted the compliment better than his master, giving a wag of his tail as he continued to study her. Laura was someone who generally liked dogs, but this one made her a trifle wary. “May I pet him?”

  “Yes. He’s not likely to bite your hand off.” James might look older and more worn, but his voice was still the same, delivering whatever he said in a cool, faintly ironic tone.

  “Not likely? That’s reassuring.” She stroked her hand across his head. The dog allowed her caress without losing any of his dignity—no fawning, rear-end-wiggling, hand-licking response from him. His calm, steady scrutiny was a trifle unnerving. “Trust you to have a pet that terrifies people.”

  She thought the noise James made was a chuckle. “Trust you not to back away from him.”

  Had he just given her a compliment? It seemed unlikely.

  James shifted and cleared his throat. “Miss Hinsdale . . . I came to talk to your father. Is Dr. Hinsdale in?”