Highland Awakening

by Jennifer Haymore

  He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “Really?” he asked, his eyes searching hers. She tried not to flinch at the anger she saw in his expression.

  “Yes, really—” she began, but he cut her off as he continued, “Did you really think I’d give a damn who the hell your father is?”

  “I—you must understand. He’s a gypsy, Cam. He not only lacks a title, but many commoners wouldn’t consider him their equal.”

  “I don’t care.” His expression was fiercer than she’d ever seen it. “Your parentage means less than nothing to me. I don’t give a damn if your father was the King of England or a slave boy from Barbados.”

  “Are you sure?” she breathed.

  “Esme. It’s you I want to marry, not your damned bloodline. I’ve told you, I am not part of this society we live in. I reject it and its ideals. How the hell could you expect me to react like one of them?”

  “Watch the way you speak to my sister, McLeod,” Trent growled, but Cam ignored him and continued, “Did you really think I’d toss you aside for something that you had no control over, that has naught to do with what you are to me?”

  She gazed at him, and in his clear blue eyes, she could see truth. And hurt, that she’d truly think this would make a difference in his desire to marry her.

  The knowledge welled from deep in her soul: She could be happy with this man. He accepted her for who she was. He was a rake and a Scot, and he made her smile and brought her pleasure and peace…and she felt comfortable with him like she had with no one else in her life—not Henry, not Trent or Sarah, or even Sam.

  “I want you,” he murmured. “You. Not a duke’s daughter, not an English lady, not a perfect society miss. You. Marry me, Esme.”

  With Cam, she could be herself. And he accepted her for who she really was. He was the first person in her entire life who’d done so. Yes, this was rushed and impetuous, and she could scarcely trust herself after her poor decision in agreeing to marry Henry, but in the end, how could she say no?

  She nodded. “Yes.” She turned to Trent. “Yes,” she told him. “I want to marry him.”

  Trent gave a sharp nod, but his lips were tight and his blue eyes were as hard as sapphires. “Very well, then. We’ll acquire a license and you’ll be wed as soon as possible.”

  Chapter 21

  Time moved forward in a slow march. Cam’s days were filled with the seemingly fruitless and endlessly frustrating search for Fraser’s murderer and Ross’s attacker, and with the dull task of guarding Pinfield. The Duke of Trent hadn’t allowed Esme and Cam to see each other for eight days so far, and missing her made the hours tick by at an even slower crawl.

  The knowledge that he couldn’t see Esme, couldn’t talk to her, made Cam feel like an essential part of him was missing. And this feeling drove home the fact that he was doing the right thing.

  Marrying Lady Esme Hawkins was what he needed. What he wanted. What would make him happy. She was the perfect woman for him.

  Four days before the scheduled date of the wedding, Cam visited Ross, as he did every afternoon, at the man’s family home in Kensington. The Rosses were a rich family, having made their fortune in the East India trade, and it was decided early on that their quiet, roomy estate would be the best place for Ross to recover.

  Ross smiled at him from his bed, his good humor having made a quick return once the fever had broken. His wound had been serious—deep and very near his lung—but he was strong, and his physician was now quite certain he’d recover. He’d still be confined to his bed for at least another week or two, but the Knights were all looking forward to his return.

  “What mischief are you up to today, McLeod? I told you, you canna be looking for my would-be killer. I want to be there when we catch the bastard.”

  Cam scowled at his friend. The man well knew that they were hunting for that bastard every spare moment they had. “You canna be cross with us if we kill him without you present. But I promise you, we’ll share every detail of the encounter with you.”

  Ross grumbled good-naturedly, but both of them knew that as much as they’d tried, the Knights had made little progress in the investigation. Still, the man was clearly after all of them. He’d show up again, and this time, they would be ready.

  “But you’ll be happy to hear,” Cam added, “that I’ll not be chasing your man today. The esteemed Duke of Trent is finally allowing me to see my betrothed this afternoon.”

  “Is he?” Ross asked.

  “Aye, but evidently we are to walk in Hyde Park, publicly, with a chaperone.”

  Ross smirked. “Ah…you wilna be allowed to meet alone in her bedchamber, then? My condolences.”

  “I’ll survive, I expect.” Cam grinned. “Barely.”

  It was true he couldn’t wait to have her again. At night he lay in his cold, lonely bed and couldn’t stop thinking of her lying naked beside him. His only relief had been in his own hand, but that couldn’t compare to having the real Esme bring him to satisfaction.

  But as much as he wanted to throw her into his bed and have his wicked way with her over and over again, he still looked forward to seeing her. He liked talking to her. Being with her. Just the sound of her voice brought him peace.

  An hour later, he approached Esme at the statue of Achilles in Hyde Park Corner. She was flanked by a very pretty, petite blond woman and a dark-haired, curvaceous lady, both of whom smiled at him, and the slight blond woman took his hands into her own when he reached them.

  “So this is the much-talked-about Mr. Camden McLeod.” Her voice was accented lightly in French.

  “It is.” Esme grinned. This must be someone Esme knew quite well—he could tell by her level of relaxation. “Cam, this is my sister-in-law, Mrs. Élise Hawkins. She’s Sam’s wife.”

  “Mrs. Hawkins. A pleasure.” Cam thought of the tall, burly Sam Hawkins, who would completely dwarf this woman. Sam was rough and dark and common-looking, and everything about this woman was light and airy, and her features were aristocratic in the extreme, from her blue eyes to her narrow face to her patrician nose.

  And how interesting that Sam’s wife was French. Sam, he knew, had spent much time during the war rooting out French spies and traitors. He wondered how the man had found this woman, how he had ended up marrying someone who’d once belonged to the enemy.

  “Non!” she exclaimed. “You must not call me Mrs. Hawkins. We will be family soon, so you must call me Élise.”

  Cam smiled at her and tilted his head in acknowledgment. “I will, thank you. And you must call me Cam.”

  “Good.” She patted his hand.

  “And this…is Emma, my brother Luke’s wife.”

  “Milady.”

  She smiled at him, her dark eyes sparkling. “Emma, I think.”

  “I don’t have the pleasure of knowing your husband.” Though Esme had told him about Luke. She’d said of all her brothers, Cam reminded her of Luke the most. Like Cam, Luke had been through difficult times as a younger man, and like Cam, evidently, those experiences had shaped who he was. Esme had said that Luke’s marriage had softened him and turned him into a happy man for the first time in his life. If that was true, Cam hoped their similarities continued.

  “You will shortly,” Emma said. “Be careful—he’s very protective of Esme.”

  “He’ll have no reason to be a grouch about Cam, once he gets to know him,” Esme said. “I’m certain they’ll be the best of friends.”

  “I’m sure they will.” Emma patted Cam’s arm. “He’s thrilled Esme has found someone like you, and so am I.”

  Cam raised his brows. “Someone like me?”

  “I mean that in the best possible way.” Emma leaned forward and spoke in Cam’s ear so no one would overhear. “I meant not a terrible prude like Henry Whitworth.”

  “Ah, I see.” Cam agreed with that, anyhow. “Then I’ll take it as a compliment.”

  “You should.” Emma flashed him a smile.

  “So we are to be your chaperone
s today whilst you stroll in the park,” Élise announced.

  Esme rolled her eyes heavenward. “Trent’s orders. Sarah’s in her confinement so he recruited my sisters-in-law for the task.”

  “We do not mind at all,” Élise said. “We are very happy we were able to meet you before your wedding day.”

  “And we know you haven’t seen each other in several days, so we won’t intrude any further. You two walk ahead, and we’ll meander along behind you,” Emma said.

  “Just, you must not hide, or do any other such scandalous thing,” Élise said. “I do not take the duke’s orders lightly.”

  Esme sighed. “He’d never know if…”

  “Hush!” Élise commanded raising her hand in the universal gesture to halt. “I will not hear any ideas of breaking your brother’s rules.” She gave Esme a stern look. “You know he has been very kind to both of you. He could have made it much worse for you.”

  Cam nodded. “Aye, she’s right, lass.” He hadn’t really expected the duke to do anything but demand marriage, but if he were a different man, he could have made it very difficult for both Cam and Esme. Cam knew that from experience with his ass of a father, who wouldn’t have been anywhere near as fair.

  With a final smile of thanks toward Élise and Emma, he threaded Esme’s arm through his and led her deeper into the park. He didn’t choose the route deliberately, just headed in the direction of the first path he encountered.

  “I missed you,” she sighed. “I wish we could be alone.”

  He chuckled. “I think I’m going to have an insatiable wife on my hands.”

  “I think you might,” she admitted. “But I have a feeling you’re just as insatiable.”

  “Mayhap I am. But I can control myself. For today, anyhow.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to do that, too.”

  They grinned at each other. “How’s your book coming along?” Cam asked her in a low voice.

  “I delivered it to my editor. Oh, Cam, I think it’s my best story yet.”

  “Do you? Why?”

  She shrugged, bit her bottom lip, and gave him a sideways glance. “Real-life inspiration, perhaps?” she said in a low voice.

  He felt unbelievably gratified by those words. “I am happy to be your real-life inspiration, anytime.”

  “Even if I decide to model one of my villains after you?”

  He laughed—the first time he’d done so in days. “Especially then.”

  They talked about her writing a bit more, then about her ideas for her next book. Then Esme asked whether there had been any progress on finding the men responsible for Fraser’s murder and Ross’s attack.

  “There’s been little progress,” Cam said. “But we think the person who killed Fraser is the same man who tried to kill Ross.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “One person at the gaming hell saw someone rushing from the scene. He was moving so quickly, he tripped over a curb and fell, but he rose and limped away before the witness could get a good look at him. Although he said he thought that the man was blond and of average height. His description matches the one the ladies who saw him at Vauxhall Gardens gave. Including the description of his black cloak.”

  “That’s good news, right? You know you’re looking for one man now.”

  Cam grimaced. “Their descriptions only eliminate about half of London’s male population.”

  Her brow furrowed. “What did his cloak look like? Was it tattered?”

  “It has been described to us as a black woolen greatcoat with cloth-covered buttons, and a hooded cape attached to it.”

  “It sounds like an expensive item of clothing.”

  “Probably.”

  “So that means he isn’t poor, which would eliminate another large portion of the population.”

  “Is this how we do it?” he asked contemplatively. “Eliminate thousands at a time until only one remains?”

  “Perhaps it’s the only way to do it,” she said.

  “Perhaps.”

  They now walked along the banks of the Serpentine, the wind rippling its surface, the late afternoon sun sparkling off the water. Nearby, a group of small children frolicked at the water’s edge, screeching with delight, their governesses watching them with sharp eyes. Traffic passed by frequently—mostly others strolling as they were. If Cam and Esme were paying attention, he knew they would have recognized several of the people they were passing. But he was happy for his focus to remain entirely on Esme, and he was glad no one had accosted them.

  Occasionally, a couple on horseback might ride by, or a gentleman or pair in a phaeton or curricle. As if from a great distance, he could hear an acquaintance calling to another, and lively conversations taking place on the side of the path. He paid attention to none of it, though.

  “We’ve been spotted,” Esme murmured, drawing closer to him.

  He shrugged. “I suppose that was the goal.”

  She laughed softly. “He probably wanted us to be seen out and about before our wedding.”

  That made sense. People seeing them “courting” before their wedding would reduce—though not completely negate—the gossip surrounding their hasty marriage.

  Esme sighed in relief. “It was the Duchess of Dunsberg. She’s been distracted by someone. Thank God.” She shuddered, and quickened her step. Cam kept pace with her easily.

  “You’re not fond of this duchess, I wager.”

  “Not at all. She is a terrible brat. She was engaged to Trent at one time, you know.”

  “Nay.”

  She laughed out a breath. “I always forget you’ve kept yourself so distant from society. Lucky you. It’s a long story, but yes, they were engaged; however, poor Trent and Sarah were falling in love. My dear brother was torn in half. In the end, though, true love prevailed, and Georgina found another duke to marry.”

  “Ah, I see,” Cam said. “So her goal was to snag a duke. Any duke would do.”

  Esme laughed. “Exactly.”

  “And I see why you write the particular stories you do.”

  “You do? Why?”

  “You are surrounded by love matches. Trent and the duchess. Élise and Sam. Your mother and father…”

  “You’re right.” Esme sighed. “Emma and Luke’s match was a love match as well.”

  “You only have two brothers who remain unmarried,” he observed. “The two youngest ones.”

  “They’re both older than me, though. Mark by six years and Theo by five. Mark is currently in India, and Theo is still at Cambridge with his nose in a book. I daresay his nose is eternally fixed to the books of Cambridge and he’ll never be permanently separated from the place.”

  “It’ll be difficult for him to find a love match if his nose is eternally attached to a book.”

  “Very true,” Esme agreed.

  “Why is Mark in India?”

  She laughed. “Because he thought it would be a fun adventure, I daresay. Mark is always looking for fun.”

  Just then, a curricle drew up alongside them. Their peace had finally been broken. With a sigh, Cam looked over to see if he recognized the person.

  He did. It was his father.

  Every muscle in his body contracted until he felt like a band about to snap. Esme must have sensed his emotion because her arm tightened in his.

  What to do? Trent didn’t want to encourage gossip, and if he kept walking, ignoring the driver of the carriage—his own father—a scandal would surely result.

  He drew to a halt and pasted on what he hoped was a neutral expression. His father was looking at them coolly, assessing Esme. Cam wanted to stand in front of her—block her from this man’s probing gaze.

  “My lord,” Cam acknowledged tightly.

  “Camden,” the earl said. “And…” He gave the smallest hint of a tight smile in Esme’s direction. “Lady Esme Hawkins. It is very nice to see you again.”

  She curtseyed. “And you, Lord Sutton.”

  Go away. Go away. Cam�
�s chest thrummed out the message, but his father clearly wasn’t receiving it.

  The earl’s cold gaze returned to Cam. “Well, son, I see you’ve finally chosen the woman who will bear your heir.” He flicked a dismissive gesture to Esme, just as he’d dismissed Cam’s mother and Anna so often when Cam was a lad. “This one certainly comes with her share of rumor and gossip, and the fact that she was engaged to someone else not a month hence doesn’t bode well, but she is a duke’s daughter. Well done.”

  Stay calm. Stay polite. Cam ground his teeth, hating how his father was speaking of Esme like she wasn’t standing right here. And how did one respond to words like the ones his father had just spoken? “Thank you,” he pushed out, unable to come up with anything else polite.

  “So,” the earl said, turning his attention to Esme, “you’re to be my daughter-in-law.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Esme said demurely.

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you certain you’re up to the task of adequately performing the duties of the Countess of Sutton one day?”

  “Er…yes, my lord,” Esme said, her gaze flickering to Cam then back to rest on the earl.

  “I must say, I am not convinced by your retiring demeanor,” Sutton said haughtily. “But I am certain Camden will keep you in line.” He turned back to Cam, effectively dismissing Esme. “And the wedding is to take place soon?”

  Cam didn’t answer. He didn’t have the ability to speak with so many dark emotions punching their way into his chest.

  “Yes, on Friday,” Esme finally said. Cam was thankful she’d answered for him.

  The earl’s eyes narrowed on Cam. “I suppose I am not invited.”

  That snide comment loosened Cam’s tongue. “You are welcome to come, my lord. However, Anna will be there. Anna—you remember her, of course. Your daughter?”

  “I have no daughter,” the earl said, his nose twitching as if he’d just inhaled skunk.

  “Well, if you dinna wish to see your daughter, then it might be a good idea to stay away.”

  The earl stared coldly at Cam then gave him sharp nod. “I will, then.” He inclined his head at Esme, but his expression remained frosty. “Good afternoon, my lady.”