Collector of Hearts

by Cassandra Samuels

  ‘It will be fine. I do not have the slightest concern. He has given up on me so there is no need for any worry. He may well be engaged himself, if the rumour mill is right.’

  Isabelle’s brow furrowed. ‘As far as I understand he didn’t give up on you at all, simply saw the error of his ways. I promise you will not have to put up with him more than necessary and I doubt there is any truth to the rumours.’

  Arabella hugged her sister again and gave a small laugh. ‘Truly, it’s fine. Nothing could ruin my happiness for you and Quinn, not even the Collector of Hearts.’

  ***

  Robert was in the country and with a lovely widowhis mother. He had decided that a visit to her was urgently necessary. He had neglected her dreadfully and London had lost its appeal. He was definitely not avoiding Arabella.

  He had brought his mother gifts of rare plants and bolts of fabric, ribbons, and a new bonnet. He knew these tokens did not make up for his absence but she refused to go to London anymore. And he knew that was his fault. Guilt was something he carried with him like a convict carried a ball and chain.

  To make things worse, he was being plagued by vivid dreams. He’d had two since being here at Bloomfield. The last one had disturbed him the most. He didn’t understand why he kept having them or what they meant.

  He was tied to a pole, immobile, and although he struggled against his bonds he could not free himself, and again he was wearing those ridiculous purple tights. Arabella was there dressed as a gypsy, dancing around him and playfully running a large ostrich feather over him. She was so lovely she hurt his eyes. It was divine torture. All he wanted to do was be free and take her in his arms and ravish her with kisses.

  But she hovered just out of reach, like waves lapping at the shore. Deliberately teasing him with that damn feather. Quinn arrived, dressed in a wig and gown. He waved a gavel above his head and pointed it at him before smacking the gavel down on the sound block.

  His mother pulling the bellpull for tea brought him back to his current situation. He looked up from the book he’d been ignoring on his lap. His mother’s parlour was a pretty room, with comfortable furniture and a cosy feel. This had always been the place he had come to hide from his father’s wrath as a child. And now it seemed to be the place he had come to hide from himself.

  An impossible task.

  The book of choice tonight should have been titled A Study in the Boredom of Farming, as boredom was exactly what it incited in him. It should surely have been categorised as fiction. Gentleman didn’t really spend their days discussing crop rotation and livestock regeneration, did they? Wasn’t that what land agents and estate managers were for? The idea of becoming a ‘Lord of the Manor’ appealed to him about as much as being flogged. Unfortunately, a landed gentleman was exactly what he was. Although he pretended not to care about his financial affairs, he invested wisely and knew where every penny was spent. Quinn may think he didn’t listen to him, but he took in everything and sometimes even acted on the advice. He just didn’t feel the need to advertise the fact.

  Ah, Quinn. He could put the blame for his current desolate disposition squarely on his friend’s shoulders. He would never have left London if not for Quinn and his ridiculous sense of noblese oblige.

  He’d stopped damning the man to the devil two weeks ago and now was just damning himself. In the end, his whole trip had not given him the distraction that he had hoped. Arabella was still firmly entrenched in his psyche, haunting his nights and taunting his days, testing his resolve to stay away to the point of breaking.

  One of the pretty little maids, Ellie, had come to his room last night and he had sent her away. He was not at all amused by his loss of interest in women and blankly refused to acknowledge Arabella as the reason. It was because he was tired and bored. It was because he was not well. It was because of those damn dreams, which had become the bane of his existence.

  What was wrong with him? She filled his head until he thought it would explode but there seemed no relief to be found in another either. He was caught in a twisted ring of frustration and nobody but Bella would be able to release him. God, he couldn’t even indulge in some harmless shenanigans without her ruining it. Damn it all, he missed her and wasn’t that ironic.

  He threw his book down in disgust and, standing, made his way over to the fireplace, brandy in hand. He wanted to get good and foxed but his mother disliked excessive drinking. However, his mother’s dislikes were not really high on his list of things to worry about at the moment. He poured more liquid into his glass and then stared at it morbidly. Something had to be done, but what?

  ‘All right, what is going on with you?’ His mother asked from behind him.

  He jumped. He had completely forgotten that she was even in the room.

  ‘Nothing,’ he replied, although he knew it was not going to satisfy her. ‘Just some estate issues.’

  ‘Estate issues, hmm, why does that not quite fit?’ Lady Anne Shelton put her knitting down and placed her hands in her lap. ‘I admit I was shocked at finding my wayward son dirty and travel-weary on my front steps. Don’t misunderstand. I am pleased to have you home and without an entourage of others, but you’ve been sulking around for days.’

  ‘I have not!’ he snapped.

  ‘Are you ill? For I cannot conceive any other reason.’

  ‘No, I am not ill,’ he replied, growling. ‘Why can’t a man just stand by the fire?’

  ‘Any other man probably could.’

  He stalked to the window and looked out.

  ‘I’ve not seen you sit for more than a half hour the whole time you’ve been here and that was only because we were having dinner. I’ve never seen you so … distracted.’

  ‘I am neither distracted nor sulking, so please just …’ He waved a negligent hand towards her, ‘knit.’

  She raised an unamused brow at him and he did his best to give her a leave-it-alone look but, of course, she ignored it completely. She was his mother, after all. ‘Are you ever going to forgive yourself?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘It has been nearly ten years. Forget Cath—’

  ‘That’s enough,’ he interjected. ‘Catherine is the last thing I want to talk about. Can’t you just leave me be?’

  ‘No, Robert, I’m afraid I can’t. I will not let you do this to yourself any longer,’ she insisted.

  ‘To myself, or do you mean to you?’ He gave her a pointed look, then seeing her hurt expression felt awful again. ‘I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.’

  ‘It is time to let the past go. Can’t you see what it has done to you?’ she pleaded with him.

  ‘For pity’s sake, madam, must we keep having this conversation?’ His tone was bitter and sad. In so many ways Catherine had ruined his life, and in turn, he had ruined others. Another guilt he carried with him. He should look like a camel with the amount of self-pity he carried around.

  ‘It appears as though we must, for I cannot continue to watch you destroy yourself.’

  He spun on his heel and made for the door.

  ‘Why must you always pretend nothing hurts you?’

  His hand froze on the door handle. ‘I am not pretending. I am what I am,’ he replied in a resigned tone. ‘I am sorry if I have caused you any inconvenience. That was not my intention.’

  ‘What was your intention? Do you have any idea what it has been like for me? Sitting here, waiting? Waiting for the day that some messenger comes to tell me that my boy is dead?’

  Her words wounded him like a fast blow to the solar plexus, and from his own mother. If he needed any further proof that the world was off its axis, this was it. ‘I know I have dishonoured you, shamed you. I apologise, but I can’t undo what I have done.’ He hadn’t meant to hurt her but nor could he explain what it was that drove him. She thought she knew, but idle gossip could only give her the tiniest hint of the true bastardry that had been done the day that he had killed James. The day Quinn had sav
ed him and all the days, months and years after that day.

  Sometimes, when the hours were darkest, he wished that Quinn had not pulled him off that wall, that he had let him jump into that filthy, bubbling sewage pit that was the Thames … but he had, and returning to that wall would never undo all that he had done since.

  ‘Come, Robert, I am your mother. Tell me what is bothering you so? You would not have come here for nothing. If not Catherine, then what? I can’t believe that you would leave London in the middle of the high season simply to ride about the countryside.’ He said nothing. ‘You have your father’s stubborn streak.’

  Robert shook his head. ‘Good Lord, don’t bring him into this.’

  ‘Well, surely you must be missing London, and Shacklesbury. His mother writes to me often, most likely because she knows that you do not. This must be the longest you have ever been away from each other since you met.’

  ‘Why would I miss him?’ His mother was fishing for information, but he didn’t want to burden her with his ludicrous obsession for Arabella Fleming, or his promise to Quinn to leave her alone, even though he knew it was the right thing to do morally. Personally, he hated the fact that he had been forced to agree to leave her alone. Quinn should never have expected him to do it. He missed her and he wanted her, and time had only made him crave her more. Surely it was a sign of madness to feel like this?

  ‘Did you get yourself into another duel? Is that why you’re here? Do I know the family?’ his mother asked sternly.

  He gave her a withering look. He had long since learned to keep away from women whose family were known to his mother. However, it was impossible to know how a woman might be related to another without leaving Debrett’s or Burkes peerage by his bedside. And he hardly felt like giving them a quiz about their family history before taking them to his bed.

  He turned towards her. ‘No, I haven’t. Really, it is nothing that needs bother you.’

  ‘You needn’t hide your feelings to spare mine. I doubt anything about you could shock me anymore,’ she replied. ‘If it is not Quinn, it must be a lady, I think.’

  ‘Mother,’ he said slowly, his voice rising slightly in warning. She always thought he was in love, or perhaps she was always hoping he would one day fall into it for no good reason. She should have known better, known him better. Or perhaps she knew him too well and it was he who no longer knew himself.

  ‘Oh please, I know you think yourself immune to human feelings but I see deep and disturbing thoughts plaguing you. Perhaps, if you confide in me, at least it will be out in the open and who knows, I may even be able to help.’

  He took a large swallow of brandy and turned back to the fire. ‘I doubt that very much.’ There was silence for a time with only the crackling of the fire to disturb the peace. When he looked back again, she remained in exactly the same position as before, just waiting. Her golden hair, with only a few streaks of grey, reflected the light from the fire. He loved his mother’s hair. He always had.

  ‘Try me,’ she said with a smile of challenge.

  Robert smiled tightly back, accepting her dare. ‘All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ He took another sip of his drink and considered where to begin. It was doubtful that his mother would ever ask him to explain himself again after this.

  ‘Quinn is contemplating marriage to a young lady by the name of Isabelle Fleming.’

  ‘Yes, I know. And you’re worried about how this marriage will affect your friendship?’

  ‘How could it not be altered? But that is not the reason.’

  ‘Then it must be Isabelle. You don’t like her or … you do?’

  ‘No.’ He wanted to laugh at the conclusion she had jumped to. ‘She has a sister, Arabella. They are twins. Identical twins.’

  ‘I see,’ she said gravely. ‘Did they play a trick on you? I’ve heard that they do that, you know.’

  ‘No, they didn’t play a trick on me.’ How to tell her the real reason he was so conflicted when he himself had yet to figure it out. He should have known it would be like this. He should have just blurted it out but this was his mother. He couldn’t.

  ‘Then this Arabella must be the problem. Did she not fall for your charms, darling?’ Her tone was searching but the look on his face must have told her she had just hit the nail on the head. ‘And so you ran away here.’

  ‘I did not run away, Mother.’

  ‘Then why are you here? And don’t give me any excuses about touring the estate. Only the forcing of your hand could have persuaded you to do so.’

  ‘I was...’ He had never been able to hide anything from her; not his devilish pranks as a child nor his evil deeds in London. She always seemed to forgive him, but not before severely noting her displeasure and disappointment. He hadn’t deserved any forgiveness, but took it anyway, for he was a greedy man, a selfish man and it was too easy to just accept it.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ he began again. ‘My intentions towards Miss Fleming were... I don’t know how to explain it. She challenged the Collector of Hearts... me. It made the game more interesting, more exciting. I don’t know what I was thinking. I tried to tell myself and Quinn that I was just teaching her a lesson but I was kidding myself. I wanted her. Don’t you see? I wanted her because I couldn’t have her. She’s a virgin for one and I never play the game with innocents.’

  ‘I see you have feelings for this young lady.’ Her eyes were intent on him, serious and wise.

  ‘I’m not sure what I feel for her. Then Quinn, the big dolt, fell for Isabelle. I don’t blame him. She’s a lovely girl and well suited to him.’

  ‘So you’re happy for him.’

  ‘Of course, but now Quinn has got a bee in his bonnet and has laid down his gauntlet of friendship and demanded that I end my game with Arabella.’

  ‘And now you’re angry with him.’ It wasn’t really a question but he still felt the need to answer her.

  ‘I am. I’m blood... very angry! He gave me no other choice but to give her up.’ His hand had formed into a fist but he forced himself to grip the mantelpiece instead.

  ‘Perhaps another woman may take your interest in time. I’m sure they practically line up.’

  He refilled his glass. ‘I don’t want another woman. I want her.’ He kicked a log with the toe of his boot and watched as the sparks flew up the chimney.

  ‘Oh dear,’ his mother murmured. ‘You really do like this Miss Arabella Fleming.’

  ‘I never said I liked her.’ It came out as a growl as he turned towards her.

  ‘But you do, don’t you?’ His mother smiled in triumph. ‘This is why you are having so much trouble letting her go.’

  ‘Whether I do or not, which I don’t, doesn’t matter because I promised Quinn I would not pursue her. I won’t break my promise.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. However, if you really like Arabella, perhaps you should change your tactics to win her.’

  He turned towards her and was surprised to find her right next to him. ‘What?’

  ‘Perhaps, if you act the gentleman I brought you up to be. Be nice. Be charming and then she just might … come to you.’

  He raised a brow in surprise. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’

  ‘I am suggesting you woo her.’

  He chuckled. ‘Mother, I do not woo.’

  ‘Exactly. This is why she would never suspect it.’

  ‘She doesn’t even like me.’ He ran a finger idly over the ornate carving in the surround of the fireplace and tried to ignore the pain in his chest.

  His mother touched his arm. ‘But you will make her like you. Don’t you see?’

  Easier said than done. How could he make her like him considering he disliked himself? He was involving his mother in his schemes. Surely that was yet another sin to add to his very long list. ‘Thank you for your counsel, Mother, but I can’t.’

  ‘How will you know for sure unless you try? Perhaps absence has made the heart grow fonder? It has for you
.’ She didn’t react to his snort of disbelief. ‘Deny it if you think you must but I know you. I am, after all, your mother.’ She kissed him on the cheek and left him to contemplate the licking flames in the grate and his persistent flame of desire for Arabella.

  ‘One more thing.’ She paused in the doorway. ‘Why do you think this Arabella has had such an effect on you? What is it about her that makes you want her so badly? The answer may be simpler than you think.’

  The answer may be simpler that you think. Bah! Was she really suggesting he might be in love with Arabella? He refused to become a henpecked, respectable member of the family variety. He had made a vow to protect himself against just such a thing, but sitting on his hands here was not helping either. He didn’t want to fall in love with her, he’d not made that vow lightly and he meant to keep it.

  His mother had suggested he make Arabella come to him, and Quinn had insisted that if Bella had asked for his attentions he would not have asked him to stop seeing her. Could he change her mind? Make her like him? Make her want him? It would certainly solve his problems. Surely Quinn could not blame him for that?

  Chapter 10

  ‘What the devil? I’m in love with a widow?’ Robert stared at Quinn. The ton gossips had been busy while he’d been away at his mother’s for the past month and a half.

  ‘Well, I only suggested you were seeing a widow and therefore not socialising. The rest grew like a plague. You know how the ton is. I had no control over it and, anyway, it was your fault for staying away so long.’

  Robert rubbed his hand over his face in an attempt to keep his calm. ‘My God, I’m ruined,’ he said through his fingers.

  Quinn chuckled. ‘Hardly. It would take me days to list the number of women who asked about you. That you are, perhaps, capable of falling in love has only made you more popular, at least amongst the women. The men still hate you.’

  Snorting in disgust, he grabbed a cue from the rack on the wall and hit the small white ball on the billiard table with restrained force. He had removed his jacket and loosened his cravat, but he still felt confined within his clothes.