by Meara Platt
“I’ll come with you, love. We both owe her the apology.”
But they had yet to take a step before there was a commotion at the door, and their butler was knocked aside. “Grimsby, what...”
Robbie strode in, carrying an injured Heather in his arms.
Dahlia swooned and would have collapsed if Ronan had not still been holding her.
“Robbie, bloody hell! What happened?”
“Och, Ronan. I’m not sure. The pixie ran straight into the street and almost got run down by a passing carriage.”
“Run down!” Dahlia was going to faint. “This is all my fault. I’ll never forgive myself.”
“She’s fine. No harm done,” Robbie quickly assured, obviously noting Dahlia’s pallor. “I pulled her to safety, but I think she might have twisted her ankle. Why was she running off in tears? What happened to overset her?”
Dahlia swallowed hard. “I scolded her. I shouldn’t have. Please, Robbie. Carry her upstairs to one of the guest bedchambers while I find Uncle George. My poor uncle. We never give him a moment’s rest.” She placed a hand gently on Heather’s arm. “I’ll tell Lord Tilbury you’ve–”
Heather inhaled sharply. “No! I don’t want him to see me like this. Robbie, please take me upstairs. He’ll think I’m a ninny and will never want to marry me.”
Robbie appeared to lose patience with her. “He’s already committed to marrying ye. He canno’ back out of it now. Dry yer tears, Heather. Ye’ll be a marchioness before the month is out.”
Dahlia watched him stomp upstairs with Heather in his arms.
Ronan ran a hand through his hair. “Hell, Robbie’s hurting, too.”
Dahlia did not think she could feel any worse than she did now. “Is he in love with her?”
“I honestly don’t know. But he’s a Scot, and when a Scot loses his heart, it’s forever. Even a hound like Robbie.”
She nodded, now feeling quite miserable. “Let me fetch Uncle George.”
Ronan held onto her a moment longer. “I love you, Queen Pea. Please don’t be sad. Your sister has to make her own choices and live with her own decisions. You cannot live her life for her or force her to follow your advice. Put it out of your head for now. You need to put on a smile and dazzle our newly arrived guests.”
He tipped her chin up when he saw she was nibbling her lip, a sign of her fretting. “Queen Pea, it rips me apart to see you hurting.”
She reached up and kissed him. “I know, my love. I’ll be all right in a moment. I suppose there’s little I can do about Heather now. She and Robbie are together again...not under the best circumstances, but I have faith that whatever is meant to happen, will happen.”
She tucked her arm in his as they walked into their newly decorated parlor together. It was a beautiful room, done in soft tones with a splash of floral in the pillows and curtains. She considered saying a word to the Marquess of Tilbury, for he would surely have noticed Heather’s absence by now. But he appeared engaged in deep conversation with the Duke of Stoke and Lady Melinda.
A shiver ran up her spine.
Ronan frowned. “Love, are you certain you’re all right?”
“Yes. Let’s find Uncle George. Oh, there he is, talking to Rupert.”
She left the party a moment to lead her uncle upstairs. When they reached the guest bedchamber, they found Heather lying on the bed, her shoes and the stocking on her injured foot removed. Her foot was resting on a pillow, and she had a damp cloth across her brow.
“Thank you, Robbie,” Dahlia said, realizing it could only have been him tending to Heather.
George arched an eyebrow. “You’ve done most of the work, MacLauren. Left little for me to do but bind her ankle. Is it broken?”
“No, just a mild sprain.” He had been standing on the opposite side of the room, his back to all of them as he peered out the window onto the street below. But he turned to face them now. “I’ll be going. Ye dinna need me here.”
Heather gasped and sat up. “Robbie, please. Stay.”
He did not look at all delighted with the request. “Why?”
“Because I need you to read The Book of Love with me. I promised my sister I would. I broke my oath to her, and I’m so ashamed. I’ll be off my foot for a few days. Won’t I, Uncle George?”
Their uncle sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, two days for certain.”
“See, Robbie.” Heather cast him a pleading look that he ignored, refusing to even look at her. “I mean to make things right.”
“Och, pixie. Ye’re too late for that. I’ll return the book to ye before the week is out. Read it all ye like. Read it with yer marquess, for all I care.” He stormed out of the room.
Heather’s chin wobbled, and her eyes turned watery. “Oh, Dahlia! What have I done?”
Dahlia sat on the bed beside her sister and wrapped her arms around her. “Nothing that wasn’t meant to happen.” She fervently hoped so. “Just listen to your heart. The magic will happen.”
It had to happen, didn’t it?
Whether or not Heather ever read the book with Robbie.
Ronan walked in just then. “I was worried about you.”
Heather believed he was talking about her. “Only an ankle sprain,” she said. “I’ll be fine in a day or two, right Uncle George?”
“Yes, Heather.”
Dahlia kissed her sister. “I had better return to my guests. I’ll send a maid up to take care of you.”
She walked out with Ronan and turned to him just before they made their way downstairs. “Ronan, I love you.”
He arched an eyebrow. “What brought that on?”
“Other than you are wildly handsome, and I cannot keep my hands off you.”
He stroked her cheek affectionately. “I’m going to remind you of your words as I lure you into my bed tonight.”
“You cannot lure me if I’m determined to go willingly. Desperately. Eagerly.”
He grinned. “Fine. And by the way, feel free to explore my body to your heart’s content. I won’t stop you.” He nodded toward their bedchamber. “I’m sure no one will miss us. Care to...”
She threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely, knowing she must have surprised him by her actions. “Oh, Ronan! I feel so off-balance. Every little thing seems to make me cry. I must have been insufferable this past week. And now Heather is overset, and it’s all my fault.”
“It isn’t. She knew what she was doing...or avoiding. Robbie’s back now, and I expect these next few weeks are not going to be dull. They are going to do whatever they are meant to do, and hearts will win out in the end. As for you...” He laughed softly. “How are you feeling?”
“Wretched. You know I am. I’ve been so worked up over this party and now Heather. My stomach is in a constant roil. I haven’t been able to hold down my food all week. Why are you laughing?”
He kissed her with aching sweetness. “Because, my love, I strongly suspect that roil you are feeling is my son or daughter.”
She looked up at him, gaping. “What? How can you be sure?”
He held out his hands, cupping them in the air and glancing at her breasts. “I know your body. You used to fill the cups of my hands, and now you spill over–”
“Ronan! That is not scientific at all.”
“But I’ll wager it is just as accurate. Dry your tears, my beautiful Queen Pea. I think I shall be a father by Christmas, and you shall be the most beautiful mother in the world.”
READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT THE HEART OF LOVE:
CHAPTER ONE
London, England
May 2021
Whatever Heather Farthingale expected to see while in the garden at the break of dawn was not the big Scot, Robert MacLauren, tumbling over the high stone wall of Number One Chipping Way and dropping like a giant boulder onto the decorative wooden bench that stood against the garden wall. “Robbie!”
He did not tumble so much as crash down and land flat on his back atop the bench that was
never going to support the muscled heft of him hitting it with such impact. Heather was not surprised when the bench began to sway precariously or when the wooden slats gave an ominous groan and sharply cracked.
She winced as the entire bench collapsed beneath his magnificent body, leaving him sprawled and dazed in all his golden glory.
Well, there was no point denying that Robert MacLauren, captain in the Scots Greys, the Crown’s most distinguished cavalry regiment, was splendid in every way.
“Bollocks,” he muttered, his words slurred as he gazed up at the early dawn sky. “Who moved the bloody wall?”
Well, perhaps this was not his finest moment.
“Robbie, are you hurt?” Heather hurried over to him and knelt by his side, ignoring the dampness of the grass now seeping through her thin robe and nightrail. The sun had barely peeked above the horizon, and she doubted any of the servants were stirring yet.
She’d only come outside to calm her betrothal jitters, especially since tonight was the night of the Marquess of Tilbury’s grand ball, and she would be standing by his side now that they were betrothed.
But here she was, unable to sleep, and never expecting to encounter anything but the light breeze against her cheeks and the soft twitter of birds in the blossoming trees.
She had not expected the morning serenity to be shattered by this big Scot hurling himself over the wall from the fashionable Mayfair street known as Chipping Way and crashing onto the charming bench designed for sitting.
He’d smashed it to bits with his less than elegant dive.
“Are you drunk?” He did not need to answer. She smelled the ale on his breath and the acrid scent of cheap perfume on his jacket. “Ugh, you reek.”
He lay atop the soft grass, blinking his eyes as he tried to focus them on her. “Pixie? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me. I ought to be furious with you.” But she was afraid he had truly been injured. Getting him tended before he did more damage to himself was more important than lecturing him on the evils of his rakehell life.
She wasn’t even certain he qualified as a true rakehell because he was too hardworking, had a well-defined code of honor, and had always been a complete gentleman in all his dealings with her. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
“Looking for ye, lass. And I’ve found ye. How’s yer ankle?”
“Completely healed. Thank you for asking.”
He smiled at her with enough warmth to melt a frozen sea. But this was Robbie’s way, wasn’t it? He knew how to turn on the charm whenever he wished.
Perhaps she was being too hard on him.
He had never attempted to take advantage of her. Quite the opposite, he’d appointed himself her protector and been quite wonderful to her until the Marquess of Tilbury had come along and taken up the role.
She shook out of her thoughts and touched him cautiously, afraid he might have broken a bone or cracked his head against the wood as it splintered. “Oh, dear. The wood sliced your arm as it broke apart. You’re bleeding. Please don’t move. Let me get help.”
He caught her hand in his rough palm, his touch surprisingly gentle. “No, lass. Give me a moment, and I’ll manage on my own.”
“Don’t be stubborn. You need help. You fell off the wall.”
“I could have fallen off the roof and not hurt myself. When ye’re that drunk, yer body does no’ feel it.”
“You must be jesting. If you ever dare climb on the roof, I’ll grab a loaded rifle and shoot you off it myself.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a warm smile that brought out the handsomeness of his features. “Just get me to the kitchen. I’ll tend to the cut on my own. What are ye doing out here at this unholy hour? Isn’t Tilbury’s ball tonight? As his betrothed, ye’ll be standing by his side. Ye want to make him proud, don’t ye?”
“Yes...I just...” She frowned at him. “You had better sober up before the party. I won’t have you showing up in your condition.”
He reached up and caressed her cheek. “Heather,” he said, pronouncing it Heether in his thick brogue, “I canno’ go, lass.”
“Why, Robbie? Are you still angry with me?” She wanted to cry, for his presence mattered to her more than she would ever dare admit.
He did not appear quite so drunk as he gazed at her with gorgeous eyes the green of a lush, Highlands glen. She had expected to find them reddened and dissipated, but they were surprisingly alert and clear. This was Robbie, somehow always looking magnificent even when he ought to look like something the cat dragged through a fetid alleyway.
Even now, a lone sliver of sunshine managed to shine down on his head so that his beautiful mane, cropped short at the sides and thick on top in military fashion, appeared golden.
This was one of his most irritating qualities, his ability to look as glorious as a Scottish sun god no matter what befell him.
He caressed her cheek again. “I could never be angry with ye. Why would ye think such a thing?”
“Because you left town so suddenly after the new year and we never got to read that book together. You also stormed off after rescuing me the other day at Dahlia and Ronan’s house. Now my sisters are worried because they think I’ve put a hex on myself by not reading the book with you as I promised I would.”
He closed his eyes and moaned. “Och, The Book of Love. I have it in my pouch. That’s why I came here. I meant to return it to ye.”
She glanced around. “I don’t see your pouch.”
“Bollocks. It’s on the other side of the wall.”
She rolled her eyes. “The one you almost broke your neck climbing over?”
He sat up slowly. “Aye, that one. My friends were supposed to toss it to me.”
“Some friends,” she muttered. “Were they the ones who heaved you over? You might have broken your neck.” She suddenly gasped and scrambled to her feet. “What have they done with the book? Do you think they took it? They can’t! I need it back.”
She had no sooner said the words than an object came flying at her head and struck her cheek. She reeled, and would have fallen, had Robbie not caught her in his arms. “Pixie, are ye hurt?”
He sounded quite shaken and did not appear at all drunk now.
She was surprised by how quickly the pouch smacking her in the face had sobered him up. He’d shot to his feet with such speed, she realized he could not have broken any bones or else he would never have been able to move so fast.
Thank goodness for small mercies.
He held her in his arms and was now stroking her hair, possibly to calm himself as much as it was to calm her. Her hair was in a loose braid down her back and probably unkempt since she hadn’t bothered to brush it before coming down here this morning.
She hadn’t expected to encounter anyone.
“I’ll be all right in a moment.” But she had to rest her head against his chest when she suddenly felt lightheaded.
Her heart was still racing from the shock of being hit, but as she was now pressed to his chest, she could hear the rapid pounding of his heart and knew he had been rattled as well. “I’ll kill them if they put a mark on ye.”
She eased back and touched her cheek to the spot that was now throbbing. It also burned lightly and felt moist. She suddenly realized why. “Robbie, am I bleeding?”
The blaze of fire in his eyes and the gentle sweep of his thumb across her cheek was all the answer she needed.
“Tilbury’s grand ball!” She would now be facing her guests - and worse, her betrothed - with a bruised cheek. What if it was swollen, too? How was she to appear elegant when she looked as though she’d been caught in a street brawl?
“We’ll fix it, Heether. Ye’ll look like a beautiful pixie, as ye always do.” He glanced at the pouch that had landed at their feet, the straps now loosened, causing it to fall open to reveal the book’s red-leather binding, peeking out.
He bent to retrieve the pouch and then surprised her by also lifting her in his a
rms. “What are you doing? I can walk. You’re the one who needs carrying.”
He laughed softly, a deep, glorious rumble. “Och, lass. I’d topple on ye and squash ye like a bug if ye ever tried to lift me.”
“But Robbie, you fell, and now your arm is bleeding.”
“I’ve suffered worse. Ye’re the one my pawky friends hurt. Is yer head still spinning?”
She nodded. “How did you know?”
“I can see it in yer eyes.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck because she was indeed feeling a little woozy. Or was it giddy? She could lie to herself and blame it on the pouch hitting her face. Or she could admit the truth she’d always dreaded. There was something about this big Scot that always made her head spin.
And now he was back after being away for months.
She squeezed her arms tightly around him...she hoped he would not mistake it for a hug. Perhaps it was a hug.
She was glad to have him back.
She’d missed him.
“My little pixie,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I missed ye, too.”
She wanted to cry.
Why did he have to come back today of all days? She was about to make her first formal appearance beside her betrothed. She and the Marquess of Tilbury would soon be married, and she would be a marchioness.
This was her dream.
This had always been her heart’s desire. Ever since she was a little girl, she had always said she would grow up and marry a nobleman, be a fine lady, and live in a fine house.
But Robbie had returned, bringing with him The Book of Love.
Was he about to shatter her childhood dreams?
ALSO BY MEARA PLATT
FARTHINGALE SERIES
My Fair Lily
The Duke I’m Going To Marry
Rules For Reforming A Rake
A Midsummer’s Kiss
The Viscount’s Rose
Earl of Hearts
If You Wished For Me
Never Dare A Duke
Capturing The Heart Of A Cameron