Fortune's Flower (Passport to Romance Book 1)

by Anthea Lawson

  “I don’t see that I need to tell you anything, Mr. Huntington.” Lily wore an exceedingly stubborn look. “I’m afraid I’m not in the habit of confiding in men who despise me.”

  Despise her? Had he really used that word? Thinking back, he supposed he had. Finding the locket, exhaustion, worry over Sir Edward and the failure of the expedition had not inclined him to kindness or diplomacy. And she had betrayed him.

  A nearby couple lurched precariously close. He pulled Lily hard against him and spun her, adroitly moving them out of harm’s way. Her breasts grazed against him, her hair brushed the skin of his throat, and she smelled of softness and lavender. Gods. If things had been different… if she had been different.

  He stiffened and set her back to the regulation distance.

  “Whatever we may think of one another is irrelevant. You know how proficient my cousin is at stirring up trouble, and for some reason he seems intent on deviling you. If you value your reputation and your fiancé’s affections, I suggest you confide in me.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then you are far less intelligent than I have given you credit for.”

  She looked away and was silent for several moments. Finally she spoke. “I learned quite a bit from your cousin—especially about your reasons for going to Tunisia. I hope your next quest for a fortune does not involve duping innocent parties into aiding you.”

  That stung. Trust Reggie to put things in the worst possible light.

  “Regardless of what you may think, your uncle was fully aware of my reasons for traveling to Tunisia. He was more than happy to lend his assistance, especially since he would likely make a new botanical discovery.”

  Her eyes flashed, brilliant turquoise. “I don’t see why you concealed the matter from me. After all, we were…” She trailed off, color rising in her cheeks.

  “Yes. That is entirely the problem, isn’t it?” He remembered all too well. Even now he was acutely aware of his hand resting on her body just where her slim waist curved into the sweet flare of her hip. “I didn’t explain everything to you because I hoped… Well. It’s no concern of yours now, since according to your fiancé, you have important matters to attend to—such as your upcoming wedding. Now, tell me what Reggie said or there will be no wedding.” Society would chew her up if rumors about them began to circulate.

  “Mr. Huntington, I would thank you to loosen your grip on my hand before you do permanent damage.”

  He had not realized how tightly he was holding her.

  She told him then how she had accused Reggie of being behind the raid on their camp and of his threats to her. It was as serious as he had feared, but there was something more behind his cousin’s threat. Something that James did not understand—yet.

  “Why would he seek you out? Reggie doesn’t expend effort unless he hopes to gain something. Could it be there is still something between him and Isabelle?”

  Lily shook her head. “He didn’t even ask after her. It was as if she had completely slipped his mind—or never existed for him in the first place.”

  The couples in front of them had bunched together. James spun Lily and she followed his lead easily, avoiding the crush. “Whatever Reggie has on his mind, it seems you’re in jeopardy until you and—what is his name?—are wed.”

  “Lord Buckley.”

  “Yes, Buckley.”

  “And what right do you have to assume that we are to be wed?”

  He scowled. “Only that you carried his picture with you to Tunisia, and that your mother sent you a chatty letter discussing the progress on your wedding gown, and that you appeared here tonight with him and let him drag you around and tell you that you are not to paint your uncle’s specimens.”

  Her face flushed. “He did not tell me I could not paint them. In fact, I distinctly told my uncle that I would.”

  “Buckley is not your husband yet, is he? He doesn’t have the authority to rule you, but he—” James winced and missed a beat of the dance.

  “I would thank you not to mash my foot again, Miss Strathmore.”

  “You were making a fool of yourself, and it was the only way I could silence you. It’s obvious to me now that you are consumed with jealousy because I refused your oh-so-moving proposal of marriage in favor of Lord Buckley—who, despite his shortcomings, is a lord and a gentleman.”

  James could feel the blood throbbing at his temple. “Gentleman or no, your fiancé is a pompous ass by any standard, and I can’t think of a couple who deserve each other more.”

  He had brought her to the edge of the dance floor. “Good night, Miss Strathmore.”

  He turned and strode for the exit without looking back.

  ***

  “Out early, sir,” the groom remarked as James swung into the saddle.

  “Or late, depending how you look at it.” He turned his mount through the gate in the old stone wall. The morning air was cool, the cobbles of the quiet street still wet with dew.

  A few more hours and the scene would be entirely changed—cart vendors and sweepers would dodge around the elegantly dressed Mayfair residents crowding the street on their way to see and be seen. He planned to be on the outskirts of London by then.

  A good, hard ride and then a visit to the gentlemen’s boxing club. Anything to dispel his restless thoughts.

  Lily. How easily she threw him into turmoil. He had thought he’d gained some measure of peace in the valley, but seeing her again—and meeting that Buckley fellow—was enough to drive a man mad. James spurred his bay into a canter and leaned forward into the wind.

  When he returned to his lodgings several hours later, there was a note waiting. James. Urgent business. Your presence is needed. My library, one o’clock. —Lord Denby.

  He ran his hand through his windblown hair. It was nearly one now—the boxing club would have to wait for another day. He threw on a coat and headed out.

  Striding down the thickly carpeted corridor that led to his uncle’s library, James heard voices raised in anger.

  “That’s impossible. I told you before, I won’t stand for it.” It was Reggie—a very angry sounding Reggie.

  James paused before the partially closed door, then pushed it open. His cousin was standing, a scowl on his face, at one end of the long table. Catching sight of James, his look grew even blacker and his lip curled with disdain. Taking a seat, Reggie leaned over to the bespectacled man at his right and the two began a hushed conversation.

  “James. Come in, sit down,” Lord Denby greeted him. “This is my solicitor, Mr. Clark.” He indicated a white-haired gentleman with a stiffly starched collar.

  James nodded a greeting. “My apologies. I was out riding and didn’t receive your note until I returned.” He cast a quick glance over the assembled gentlemen. “I’m afraid I haven’t brought a solicitor of my own. Should I send for one?” The question was only half in jest.

  “No, at least not yet. Hear me out before you decide whether that will be necessary.” Lord Denby’s tone was dry. “I have asked you and Reginald to be here today so we can conclude the matter of Somergate. I do not want to see the estate—so favored by my father and one of our older family holdings—escheat to Kew Gardens.”

  Reggie made a sharp movement of protest, but Lord Denby held up his hand. “As my heir, Reginald, you are well provided for, and James and Caroline have fewer assets than befits their status.” He pinned Reggie with a sharp gaze. “I am aware there is no love lost between you and James—it is one of my deepest regrets that the two of you cannot be brothers in spirit if not fact. Frankly, I am reluctant to make him and his sister dependent on your charity when the title passes into your hands.”

  “I would not accept—” James began.

  “If you think—” Reggie spat, but neither of them got any further.

  Lord Denby lifted his voice, overriding them. “As executor of the will, I have examined the pages James brought back from Tunisia and concluded that they were indeed the last remains
of my father’s lost journals. James has satisfied the terms of the will and I am authorized to award Somergate to him. Since it would otherwise go to Kew Gardens, Reginald, you are losing nothing.” His look silenced Reggie’s protest. “Solicitor Clark and I have been through this carefully.”

  Mr. Clark nodded from his place beside the earl.

  His cousin narrowed his eyes. “And I say the ‘pages’ he has returned with are a blatant forgery concocted by him and Miss Lily Strathmore, who is known for her artistic skills. There is nothing to prove they are genuine. Grandfather’s gift was conditioned on the recovery and publication of his journals. Since that condition has not been—and cannot be—satisfied, the estate can never go to James.” Reggie sat back.

  Shuffling through the papers in front of him, Mr. Clark pointed out some text to the earl.

  Lord Denby gave a short nod. “Actually, your grandfather’s intent was to honor his fallen friend, Mercer, and to secure his own position as discoverer of a new species of flower. The publication of the journals was to have accomplished both objectives. Sir Edward Strathmore is preparing a monograph that establishes your grandfather as the discoverer, and James has named it Mercerium, after the fallen comrade. If the recovered pages are included in the monograph then I am satisfied the terms of the will have been fulfilled. Somergate is to be awarded to James.”

  “And I say James has failed to return with the journals and the property goes to the Crown.” Reggie was on his feet, fury vibrating through his lean frame. “The whole scheme you have cooked up is ludicrous. Besides, Kew Gardens is bound to challenge this obscene perversion of the will. Even if you give Somergate to James, it will be tangled up in the courts until his children’s children are old men and women. Come along.” He motioned to his solicitor, who scrambled to gather up papers on the table before him. “I will not stay and listen to this nonsense any longer.”

  As Reggie stalked past, he shot James a murderous glare. “You will never get that property.”

  The room was silent until the door had closed behind the two men. Then Lord Denby leaned forward, worry in the lines about his mouth. “Well, James, I am sorry. That did not go as smoothly as I’d hoped. I hadn’t anticipated Reginald would be so adamantly set against you inheriting Somergate. It’s not as though the property would go to him.” He shook his head. “I would like you to inherit it, but I’m afraid it may not be as straightforward as I had wanted. At least you know where I stand.”

  James met his uncle’s gaze. “Thank you. It means a great deal. As for the estate…”

  He shrugged.

  It was ironic to think he might actually end up with Somergate now that any hope of bringing Lily there was gone. The image that had grown in Tunisia was of the two of them there together. Without her it would just be acres of dirt.

  “Don’t assume you won’t inherit, either,” Lord Denby said. “Mr. Clark and I agree that our interpretation is sound.” He sighed. “I am committed to seeing you get the place, even if it puts Reginald and myself at odds.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “Yes, James, I do. It is past time. I am the earl now, and must do what I think is best for the family.”

  “Thank you, Uncle. Good day.” James rose and bowed.

  “We will keep you apprised. Don’t worry.”

  James gave a tight smile. “I won’t.”

  He strode back down the corridor, hands clasped behind his back. Caroline would certainly have an opinion about this, and she would want to know the details—if she didn’t already. The staff doted on her and related all the choicest gossip almost as soon as it occurred. He turned the corner, heading for his sister’s rooms.

  “Well, coz. Going to gloat?” Reggie uncoiled from a shadowed alcove and moved to block his way. “I’d hold off on that if I were you. Probably forever. There is no way you’re going to be master of Somergate.”

  “That remains to be seen.” James kept his voice even. Convenient of his cousin to waylay him—it saved him the trouble of trying to track Reggie down later. “Since you’re here, why don’t you tell me what the devil you meant by abandoning Miss Strathmore on the dance floor. Or even dancing with her, for that matter. I warned you months ago to keep your distance. She is none of your concern.”

  “On the contrary. The time the two of you spent together in Tunisia is very much my concern. I was thinking of what would result if that connection were made public. Poor girl. She’s engaged, you know?” He sent James a sly glance. “Ah, you do know. And don’t argue that you don’t care—you came running last night to protect the lovely Miss Strathmore, even though she has rejected you for another. You make such a pathetic hero.”

  “There’s nothing pathetic about it. It has to do with honor—obviously a word you have little acquaintance with.”

  Reggie smiled. “That ridiculous sense of honor will be your undoing. I will not hesitate to drop a few choice words in the proper ears regarding Miss Strathmore’s conduct with you. I saw more than you know. The ton—in particular one Lord Gerald Buckley—will be very interested to find out about her doings while abroad. She will be ruined, James, and you will be the one who ruined her. It’s too rich, really.”

  Blood thundering in his veins, James started toward Reggie. “You wouldn’t dare.” But he knew his cousin too well.

  Reggie took a step back and lifted one brow. “I wouldn’t? James, I would. Unless…”

  “Unless what?” James held himself back, jaw clenched.

  “Unless you agree to deed your interest in Somergate to me.”

  Blackmail. Of course. It was all about the estate. It wouldn’t be enough for Reggie to tie the property up in court—he wanted it for himself.

  Hot anger flooded James. It was not losing the estate to his cousin, though that galled—it was the knowledge that he had been the instrument of his own downfall. Had he left Lily Strathmore alone, as he knew he should have, she would not be in jeopardy, and he and his sister Caroline’s places would be secure. Defeat had never tasted so bitter.

  His cousin watched him, an avid gleam in his black eyes. “Consider it. Poor Miss Strathmore, shunned at every gathering, the disdainful looks and hurtful whispers following her wherever she goes. Her fiancé would certainly abandon the match—who wants another man’s castoff?—and she would have no hope of making another. She would be ostracized. No more waltzing with gallant gentlemen.” Reggie shook his head. Then his look lightened and he gave James a mocking smile. “Perhaps you should refuse my offer. Let her be ruined and then make her your mistress. She would be pathetically grateful, I’m sure.”

  “No!” The echo of James’s voice reverberated down the hall. “Damn you, Reggie. Damn you to hell. You can have the estate.” Lily’s future, however she had chosen to spend it, had to be protected.

  “Come, coz, give me your oath. I know it will bind you while my solicitor prepares the formal documents.” His cousin smiled. Every slight, every taunt, every loss James had ever suffered at his cousin’s hand was in that dark-edged smile. He shook with the desire to take Reggie by the collar and beat him senseless, but he could blame no one but himself for this predicament. This was the price he must pay.

  “I swear I will deed Somergate to you, but you will have no right to it until after Miss Strathmore has married Lord Buckley.” She would be safe once she was married. “And Reggie”—his voice grew softer, full of leashed menace—“if even a hint of scandal attaches to her name, I will hold you directly responsible and you will pay. Dearly. I swear that, as well.”

  There. James closed his eyes to block out Reggie’s look of triumph. It was done. All that was left was to warn Lily.

  ***

  James handed his hat to the butler. “Sir Edward is expecting me.” The botanist had requested he come look over the final proofs of the monograph.

  “Yes, sir. He is in the study. Shall I show you in?”

  “Thank you, that won’t be necessary.” James appreciated the inf
ormality of the Strathmores’ household. Even here, in London, they did not stand on ceremony—which was well for his purposes today.

  The faintest hint of a smile on the butler’s face reminded James that even the servants here felt as if they were part of the family. He had been welcomed as part of that extended family himself, and he would be glad of it—if it were not for Lily. As things stood, he would finish his business and then distance himself. This was her family, her refuge. He would not intrude after today, but the matter with Reggie demanded he see her one last time.

  He started down the corridor, glancing behind him as he went. The butler had disappeared back toward the kitchens. Good. James stepped quietly past Sir Edward’s study and made his way to the sunroom where the specimens of Mercerium were kept.

  If Lily were not here, he would have to find another way to speak with her. They could not meet in public—that would only play into Reggie’s hands. This was the safest place he could think of.

  The door was open, sunlight spilling onto the carpet. His heartbeat sounded loud in his ears. Quietly, he stepped up, pausing in the doorway. Lily was inside, painting. He studied her profile, the wisps of hair blazing chestnut in the sunlight, her lips slightly parted in concentration, her hands, firm and capable, guiding the brush over the paper.

  She looked up, brush arrested in midair. It struck him that she looked far more vital here than she had at the ball. Her eyes were brighter, her face more open.

  She set the brush down carefully. “Good afternoon, Mr. Huntington.” Her look held an edge of wariness.

  “May I see it?” He indicated the page on the easel.

  She hesitated, then nodded and moved aside so he could stand before the painting. “It is your flower, after all.”

  There it was, the modest flower, yet somehow it seemed lambent, the petals glowing yellow with an inner radiance. Lily had made studies—they were fanned out on the table—root and stem, tendril and leaf, all exact, all possessing that sense of something more she put into each image she created. There was the wild beauty James had glimpsed in the valley. Looking, he could almost feel himself standing on that rock, waiting for the new day to spill light into the valley.