The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress

by Victoria Alexander

  “You may suspect whatever you wish, Mr. Fairchild,” she said sharply, clenching her fists in her lap. “The fact is I don’t, at this particular moment, know the answer to your question, so obviously I cannot answer it.”

  Lord Larken’s gaze shifted between the two of them. “Perhaps we might know the answer if you told us the quest—”

  “No!” Lucy and Cameron said in unison.

  “Oh, I see.” Mr. Wilcox nodded in a knowing manner. “It’s that kind of question, is it?”

  “It’s the kind of question that is not at all in the spirit of the game,” she said firmly, in a tone that sounded uncomfortably like that of her mother. She drew a steadying breath and forced a bright note to her voice. “Do forgive me, gentlemen. I am not usually one to renege on a promise or a wager, but under the circumstances . . .”

  “Not that we know what the circumstances are,” Sir Edwin murmured.

  “I suppose this sort of thing happens on occasion—not that it ever has to me before, of course—but then nothing like any of this has ever happened to me before and . . .” Good God, she was babbling. This is what that blasted man had reduced her to. She hadn’t babbled in, well, days at least. “It is regrettable but . . .” She shrugged and cast them a brilliant smile. “There you have it.”

  “Have what?” Mr. Wilcox’s bushy brows drew together in confusion.

  Cameron studied her as if he could read her mind. The slight knowing smile playing on his lips did nothing to ease her growing panic. She needed to escape that smug look before . . . well, before she did or said something. Something stupid or rude or wrong. Like scream at him about what a heartless, callow beast he was. Or, better yet, smack him.

  “Now, if you will excuse me.” She got to her feet and picked up the paper with the question she’d written. The last thing she wanted was for Cameron to read that she could come up with nothing better than What are you hiding? which had seemed rather clever and all-encompassing when she’d written it, but not quite as insightful now.

  “Again my apologies.” She nodded, took two steps, then swiveled back and snatched his question off the table as well. She wasn’t going to leave that for anyone else to read either. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ll tell us what the question was,” one of the gentlemen asked behind her.

  “Absolutely not,” Cameron said.

  Another gentleman sighed. “I didn’t think so.”

  Lucy tucked both folded papers beneath the waistband of her gown, bemoaned for perhaps the thousandth time the lack of pockets in evening dresses, and was barely out of the library before Cameron caught up with her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that and, aside from justifiable anger, she certainly wasn’t sure how she felt about him. At least not at this very moment. She hadn’t expected him to follow her, but then what about Cameron Effington was expected?

  “How could you?” she said through clenched teeth. “What kind of question was that?”

  “I thought you wished for high stakes.” He signaled to a nearby footman.

  She stopped and stared at him. “This was not what I had in mind.” She started off again. Lucy had no idea exactly where she was going, but it was an enormous house and she could probably stalk through it for hours. “That question wasn’t in the spirit of the game.”

  “You said that right before you stomped off.”

  “I did not stomp off.” At least she had tried not to stomp off. “I thought I made an exceptionally graceful exit, all things considered.”

  “My mistake, of course you did. Your composure was admirable, all things considered. Why, aside from that air of angry indignation that surrounded you, you appeared almost serene.”

  She clenched her teeth. “Good.”

  “However, I disagreed then and I disagree now. My question was entirely in the spirit of the game,” he said at her heels.

  “It was personal!” She picked up her pace.

  He pulled up next to her. “It was indeed.”

  “You had no right to ask it.”

  “I’m afraid I have to disagree with that as well.”

  “Imagine my surprise.” Again she stopped and turned to him. “Are you going to follow me through this entire house?”

  “That’s my plan.” He grinned in an unrepentant manner that would have been charming at another time. Now, it was infuriating.

  “Your question was . . .” She struggled for the right word. “Not the sort of thing you expect an answer to in front of virtual strangers. It was the wrong place and the wrong time to ask me something like that. It was private and personal and—”

  “Don’t forget important.” He accepted her cloak from the footman. “I thought it was important.”

  “Ha!” She scarcely noticed him helping her on with her cloak. He was right though—it was important. At least to her. But what did it really mean to him? “One does not frivolously wager on important questions.”

  “I didn’t wager on the question,” he said mildly, accepting his coat from the footman and putting it on. “I wagered on the cards. I wagered for the answer.”

  “It’s the same thing.” She waved off his comment.

  “No, actually, it’s not.” He took her arm and steered her down the corridor. “Although I suppose now we’re getting into semantics, which will serve neither of us well.”

  “I scarcely think—”

  “Suffice it to say, an opportunity presented itself and I took advantage of it.”

  She snorted. “Indeed you did.” She braced herself. “Are you trying to humiliate me?”

  He laughed. “Good Lord, no.”

  She glared at him. “This is not funny.”

  “Oh, but it is.” He released her arm, opened a door, and grinned. “It’s extremely funny and you would realize it if you weren’t so busy being indignant. And annoyed.”

  “That question was completely unfair.”

  He nodded. “Probably.”

  “Furthermore, it’s not the kind of question that should be asked to only one party.”

  “I agree.”

  “If one party answers, the other party should as well.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “The fact that you agree with me does not negate the . . . the unsuitable nature of the question!” She huffed. “Particularly in the setting in which it was asked.”

  “So it’s not the question itself that has you so irate, but the arena in which it was posed?”

  “I am irate about it all,” she said in a lofty manner, but he might well have been right. Nonetheless, she was not going to admit it to him. “And justifiably so.”

  She raised her chin and stepped through the doorway, the frosty February night air pulling her up short. “Good Lord, it’s cold out here.” She glanced around. She’d never been on the terrace before and she really couldn’t see much now. Clouds drifted across a pale crescent moon. The terrace was little more than shadows and darkness, and a hint of snow was in the air. “What are you doing? Why are we out here?”

  “I’m changing the rules.” He stepped away from her, farther onto the terrace, as if he was looking for something.

  She wrapped her cloak tighter around herself and scoffed. “You can’t change the rules.”

  “Why not? You did.” He vanished in the shadows.

  “I couldn’t answer your damned question because I don’t know the answer,” she called.

  “And I am supposed to believe that because you have never been less than honest?” His voice drifted back from what she assumed was the far end of the terrace.

  “Yes,” she snapped, and ruthlessly ignored the voice in the back of her head that pointed out that might not be entirely true.

  “Well, I don’t believe you, Lucy Merryweather.”

  “That is not my concern.” She sniffed. “Where are you anyway? I find speaking to a disembodied voice, in the dark, in the cold, rather eerie and extremely disconcerting.”

  “Right her
e.” The strike of a match sounded and fire flamed, illuminating Cameron. He lit a gas lamp perched on the stone balustrade of the terrace.

  She narrowed her eyes. “What are you up to?”

  “You’re the second woman today who has asked me that question.”

  “Which should tell you something.”

  “Possibly.” He chuckled. “As I said, I am changing the rules.”

  “You can’t—”

  He held up a hand to quiet her. “I most certainly can, but rules might not be the right term. Perhaps it’s the regret that needs to change.”

  “You can’t change a regret.” She really didn’t want to be the least bit curious, but she was. “You can make amends for it or atone for it, but you can’t simply change it.”

  “I’m not going to change it, I’m going to substitute one regret for another.”

  “You can’t do that either.”

  “And yet I intend to.” He moved along the balustrade and lit a three-armed candelabra positioned a dozen feet or so from the lamp. “I promised to assist you in accomplishing those things your great-aunt never managed. I think we can both agree that our wager tonight elevated what was a rather lackluster game into the realm of high stakes, can we not?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose.” Even if she did hate to admit it.

  “So you may check that off your list.”

  “Possibly.” Although she really couldn’t since she had played but certainly hadn’t won. Worse, his question kept repeating itself in her head. There were several reasons she could think of as to why he would ask such a thing. One was to embarrass her, and he had denied that. As for any other reasons, well, when one looked at it in a calm and rational way, as difficult as that was, they weren’t all that dire.

  “I have been considering the remaining items on your list.” Cameron continued to move around the perimeter of the terrace. “There are some that can’t be accomplished at this time of year.”

  “I realize that.” She pulled her cloak tighter around her. “Can’t we discuss this inside? It’s entirely too cold, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “My, you do get cranky when you’re cold.” He chuckled.

  Her jaw tightened. “Go on.”

  “It struck me that swimming naked in the moonlight is one of those things that sounds delightful but might not live up to expectations.” He shot her a pointed look. “Believe me, I know.”

  “Do you?” Perhaps it was the cold or the fact that he could be so amusing, but her anger had definitely dimmed. What was he up to?

  “First, there’s the choice of the appropriate location. There is a pond on the grounds here.” He circled behind her and she had to turn to keep him in sight. “Did you know that?”

  “I did.” She nodded. “There was ice-skating there at Christmas.”

  “So I thought skating in the moonlight might serve the same purpose.” He lit a third lantern sitting on a bench near the manor wall.

  “Did you?” She resisted the urge to smile. “Dare I ask if you intended skating to be accomplished naked as well?”

  “Believe me, I did consider it but, as you have pointed out before, I am not overly fond of the cold. And I couldn’t expect you to skate naked if I was not going to skate naked. It seemed, well, inconsiderate.”

  “How very thoughtful of you.”

  “Thank you. I thought so.” He continued his progress around the terrace, stopping here and there to light a candle or a lamp. She wondered how many there were and how he had managed to arrange for them. “And then I realized there was very little light tonight.” He glanced up at the moon. “The full moon was over a week ago. This is a very feeble, waning crescent tonight.”

  “That does create a problem if one is attempting to swim or skate in the moonlight.”

  “It also makes navigating to a pond on unfamiliar grounds on a cold night exceptionally difficult. So I thought a terrace would do just as well.”

  She raised a brow. “For skating?”

  “Come now, Miss Merryweather.” He shook his head in a chastising manner. “I am changing the regret, remember?” He lit another candle, then glanced around in a satisfied manner.

  The lamps and candles glowed in the sharp night air as if touched by magic. In spite of the cold, or perhaps because of it, the terrace took on the feel of a place of enchantment, a winter palace. A place of dreams and illusion and romance. A place where anything could happen.

  “I gather this is your attempt to provide a substitute for moonlight?”

  “Exactly.” He grinned. “And a damn fine job I’ve done too.”

  “It is possibly somewhat impressive,” she said grudgingly, and smiled in spite of herself. “As I don’t see that we can swim or skate here, what else are you changing?”

  “I was hoping you’d ask.” He turned and signaled to someone out of sight. A moment later the strains of a violin drifted around them.

  Sheer delight washed through her and she wondered exactly when she had stopped being angry with him.

  “I would imagine that your great-aunt would have quite regretted not dancing on a crisp night under a pale moon in an enchanted setting had she passed on the opportunity, don’t you agree?”

  Lucy blew a long breath and admitted defeat. “I know I would.”

  “Excellent.” He grinned. “Miss Merryweather, allow me to introduce myself,” he said with a formal bow. “I am Lord Cameron Effington and I should very much like the honor of this dance.”

  Her breath caught. “This is silly.”

  “Yes, I know. It seems to me you’re rather fond of silly on occasion.”

  “Yes, I suppose I am.” She sighed in resignation and stepped into his arms. A moment later they were circling the terrace, the cold forgotten. “How did you arrange all of this?”

  “One learns how things work and who to ask for what when one grows up in a household like this,” he said in a matter-of-fact manner. “If you’re especially lucky, you discover a member of the household staff plays an instrument, in this case a violin, and can be convinced to play while standing in an open doorway.”

  “My, that was lucky.”

  “It was indeed. I was prepared to hum.”

  She laughed.

  “I have been surprisingly lucky tonight.” He paused. “You approve then?”

  “Goodness, Cameron, it’s wonderful.” Even nature conspired in the spell Cameron had wrought. The pale moon peeked out from behind dark-edged clouds like a celestial goddess stealing a look at the mortals below. The night itself was still, without even a suggestion of a breeze. The music floated on the air and drifted into Lucy’s soul. It was indeed magic. And he had done it all for her. Her heart fluttered. “And, well, perfect.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” He paused. “I knew I needed to do something, something grand and perfect, once I learned from Lady Dunwell that you discovered my real name at the ball.”

  “I can’t imagine this was easier than simply confessing your deception.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he said under his breath. “I suppose confession might be easier when one starts out with a clear deception in mind. In my case, one thing simply led to another and before I knew it, well, it was messy and convoluted and I had no idea where to start. But I didn’t plan to deceive you.”

  “Thank you for saying so.” She paused. “I really didn’t think you had.”

  “That’s something, at any rate.”

  “Goodness, Cameron, I have always thought that I was an excellent judge of character.” She shook her head. “I would hate for you to prove me wrong.”

  His hand tightened on hers. “As would I.”

  “Believe me, I do understand the expectations placed on children by their parents and their families.”

  “Expectations?” A cautious note sounded in his voice.

  “Yes, of course. To be, to do exactly what we are supposed to be and do.”

  “Ah yes.” He led her through a flawless turn. “You w
ere supposed to be part of a banking dynasty.”

  “Which was never my desire, by the way. It seems to me one can choose to do what other people and society itself has decided is appropriate or one can follow one’s own path, no matter how difficult it may be.” She shrugged. “Although it’s much easier simply to do as expected.”

  “Not upsetting the cart as it were.”

  “Exactly.” She nodded. “Even if everyone else thinks we’re foolish or choosing the wrong path. But you could have confided in me, you know.” She gazed up at him. “Ambition is admirable. I would never fault you for wanting to succeed on your own.”

  He grinned. “How very American of you.”

  “I am very American,” she said primly. “I can’t imagine how difficult choosing your own way in life would be for the son of a duke. To go against one’s family’s plans and wishes.”

  “Oh.” Surprise sounded in his voice. “Well, yes.”

  “I suspect a private investigator is not what your father envisioned for you.”

  “No, he most certainly did not,” he said slowly.

  “Which is why you use the name Fairchild.”

  “I have always used Fairchild professionally.” His tone was measured. Even now that the truth was out, the poor dear was watching his words.

  “It seems to me if you are doing what you want to do in spite of your family’s objections, then you must prove their objections wrong.”

  “And how would I do that?”

  “Why, by being the very best private investigator you can, of course,” she said firmly, and resisted the urge to point out that he hadn’t been very good at his chosen profession thus far.

  “That certainly makes sense.” He smiled weakly. “Particularly as my family tends to be very accomplished. My oldest brother is brilliant in matters of finance and management. He will make an excellent duke one day. My two other brothers excel in the family’s business pursuits. And my sister is pursuing the arts. Painting and sculpture and whatever else strikes her fancy at any given moment. My mother is aware of Grace’s work but my father has no idea.”

  She nodded. “It is more difficult for women.”

  “Indeed it is. Not all women are as strong-minded and independent as you, although you and Grace would get along quite well.”