By Any Other Name

by Candace Camp

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Rylla leaned her forehead against the windowpane, gazing down at the street below. She sat curled up on the window seat of Eleanor’s room, and behind her, Eleanor was packing the last of her clothes into a trunk. Eleanor was talking, but Rylla found it difficult to keep her mind on her friend’s words. She hadn’t been able to keep her mind on much of anything all morning.

  Except, of course, Gregory. And the night before. What would happen now? She thought of the gossip she had heard over the years—how this girl or that was “ruined.” How men were no longer interested in a woman once they’d obtained the prize they sought.

  What would she do when she saw Gregory again? Or perhaps she would not even see him. Perhaps he no longer desired her. He might now consider her lewd and licentious. It was said men were like that.

  But not Gregory. He understood her desire to do things, see things. Indeed, he seemed to enjoy her nature. He never looked grim or disapproving over something she said. At times he objected, saying something was too dangerous, but he never told her she was too unladylike or acting like a romp. No, Gregory was different. He would not turn from her. Her heart clenched inside her chest. She didn’t know how she could bear it if he did.

  “I am sorry to go home before Daniel returns,” Eleanor told her. “I know you are worried about him.”

  “Yes.” Rylla pulled her thoughts away from their unproductive course. “But it’s Christmas Eve. You will want to spend it with your family.” She straightened and leaned closer to the window. “There’s Gre—Mr. Rose. And Sir Andrew. I wasn’t sure—I mean, I wasn’t expecting them.” She jumped up, shaking out her skirts and checking her image in the mirror.

  Eleanor joined her at the window. “Sir Andrew is escorting me home today.”

  “He is?” Rylla stared.

  “Yes.” A secretive smile played at the corners of Eleanor’s mouth.

  Rylla’s jaw dropped. “Eleanor! What are you saying? Is he—are you—”

  Eleanor laughed. “I will let you know after our journey.”

  Stunned into silence, Rylla followed Eleanor down the stairs. When she stepped into the drawing room, her eyes went immediately to Gregory. He was sitting on the sofa, talking stiltedly with Rylla’s parents and Sir Andrew. Both the young men popped to their feet, looking vastly relieved, when Eleanor and Rylla entered.

  Rylla blushed. She could not see Gregory without thinking how he had looked last night, deep in the throes of passion. She wondered what he thought when he gazed at her.

  After a few minutes, Eleanor and Sir Andrew took their leave. Gregory and the Campbells stood on their front stoop, waving good-bye until the post chaise turned the corner. Rylla’s father retired to his study, and Mrs. Campbell walked back to the drawing room. Rylla started to follow her mother, but Gregory reached out a hand to stop her.

  “Rylla. I want to talk to you.”

  Rylla turned to him, her heart beating painfully hard. Gregory’s face was unaccustomedly serious. Her spirits plummeted. She had been wrong. His feelings had changed. He was about to tell her he was returning home to the Highlands. Or he would say he didn’t think they would suit.

  “Rylla, dear?” Her mother paused in the doorway of the drawing room.

  “Yes, Mama.” Rylla ducked her head, avoiding Gregory’s gaze, and hurried after her. She could not bear to talk to him today. She could not manage a calm, collected front with him.

  Rylla avoided Gregory’s eyes as she chattered gaily about Christmas and Twelfth Night parties. They were interrupted by the sound of the front door closing, followed by footsteps in the hall. As Rylla looked toward the doorway, a young man walked into the room. He was travel-stained and weary, but he smiled at the two women.

  “Daniel!” Rylla popped up and ran to her brother. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  “Here now, Ryl, careful, I’ll get you dirty.”

  The next few minutes were filled with excited babble. Finally Mrs. Campbell, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, hurried off down the hall to inform her husband of the news. Rylla waited until she was gone, then swung on her brother.

  “Daniel! Where have you been? I was certain something terrible had happened to you. Gregory and I have—”

  “What? Who is Gregory?”

  “I’m sorry. You don’t know Mr. Rose.” Gregory had become so much a part of her life that it seemed absurd that her brother had not even met him. Quickly Rylla ran through the introductions of the two men, then returned to her topic. “What happened to you, Daniel? Why didn’t you tell us where you were going?”

  “I didn’t expect to be gone so long,” Daniel protested. “After Papa and I, well—” He glanced uncertainly at Gregory.

  “Do not stand on ceremony with Gregory,” Rylla told him. “He knows all about it. He has been helping me search for you.”

  “Search for me! But, Rylla, how . . . where . . .”

  “Never mind that. Tell me where you went.”

  Daniel sighed. “I was furious at Papa, but I knew he was right. I had to set everything straight. I went to arrange to pay my gambling debt. And Kerns showed me your brooch!” An aggrieved light shone in his eyes. “Rylla, why did you give that blackguard your pin?”

  “I was trying to save you,” Rylla retorted. “He said you were in dire straits.”

  “I would have come about. But when I saw he had your brooch, I knew I must get it back immediately. I couldn’t pay it over time. So I went to Ramsey.”

  “Ramsey! Who is that?”

  “A chap I know at school. Only it turned out he had gone home for Christmas. I had to go all the way to Aberdeen. I didn’t think to leave you a note. Once I was on the road, there wasn’t any use writing you. I’d be home by the time you got a letter. But when I got there, it turned out Ramsey was sick. I had to cool my heels for days, waiting to see him.”

  “But why did you have to see him? I don’t understand.”

  “To sell him my brace of dueling pistols.”

  “The ones with the silver chasing?” Rylla stared.

  “Yes. He’s wanted to buy them for months.”

  “But you love those pistols!”

  “I know.” He shrugged. “But I couldn’t let Kerns keep your brooch, now could I? And then, when I get back here, Kerns tells me you’ve already gotten the thing! Rylla, you shouldn’t have gone to see him.”

  “I was fine. I was with Gregory. It’s Gregory you owe. He bought my brooch back for me last night.” Rylla could not control the softening of her voice as she turned toward Gregory.

  “Mr. Rose, I am deeply in your debt,” Daniel began manfully. “It was very good of you to help my sister, and—”

  “Daniel.” Mrs. Campbell appeared in the doorway, smiling. “Dear boy, do come and speak to your father. He is so relieved and happy to have you home again.”

  “Yes, of course.” Daniel turned toward Gregory apologetically, but Gregory waved him on.

  “Go and see your father. Plenty of time to discuss this later.”

  Gregory watched Daniel and his mother leave the room, then swung around. “Rylla . . .”

  “Daniel will be able to pay you back. That will make everything all right.”

  “The devil with the money,” Gregory said impatiently. “Rylla, I must talk to you.”

  “No, really, there is no need. I knew what I was doing last night. I will not hold you to account for—”

  “Bloody hell, what are you talking about? Rylla—” He grabbed her hands between his. “Look at me.”

  She lifted her chin pugnaciously, though she suspected the look was spoiled by the tears in her eyes.

  “Rylla! Are you crying?” Gregory stared at her, aghast. “Please . . . I realize that I acted like an utter cad. But I could not bear it if you hate me.”

  “Of course I don’t hate you.” She feared that in a moment she would be in sobs. Rylla tried to tug her hand free, to no avail.

  “Then tell me that I st
ill have a chance. That you are not tossing me out on my ear.”

  “Have a chance? A chance for what?”

  “To win your heart. I was too rash, too forceful, I know. But I love you with all my heart, and if you will only let me, I shall prove that I am worthy of you.”

  “You love me?” Rylla seized on the only words that were important to her. “Do you mean it?”

  “Of course I do.” Gregory looked surprised. “I will do everything I can to make you feel the same way about me. I will woo you as you should be wooed. No doubt you are angry at me, but I—”

  “I’m not angry.” Rylla smiled tremulously. “I could not be angry at you.”

  “Oh, I am sure you could be,” he replied candidly, adding, “Probably will be, too.”

  Rylla laughed and blinked away her tears. “Well, I am not angry with you now.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it.” Gregory grinned. “I thought—you would not look at me, and then you wanted to talk about that blasted brooch. You were crying!”

  “Not because I was angry. I thought you were here to tell me good-bye.”

  “Good-bye! Good Gad, no. Why would I say a thing like that? I came to ask you to marry me. I intended to go to your father, but I wanted to ask you first. I thought he might say it was far too soon, but I don’t want to wait.”

  “Nor do I. He may say it’s too soon, but I don’t care. He will come around.” She grinned. “It’s better to start wearing him down as soon as possible.”

  “I am good at wearing people down,” Gregory assured her.

  She laughed. “Do you mean it? Do you truly love me? You are not just asking me because you feel obligated?”

  “I truly love you,” he told her solemnly. “I would marry you today, this moment, if I could.”

  “Oh, Gregory.” She let out a sigh of happiness. “I love you, too.”

  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, then glanced around. “Ah, there it is.”

  “There what is? Gregory, where are you going?” Rylla laughed as Gregory pulled her over to the doorway.

  “Looking for a sprig of mistletoe.” He pointed up to the pale white berries hanging in the doorway. “So that it is acceptable for me to do this.”

  He bent to kiss her. With a long sigh of happiness, Rylla curled her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

  It was going to be a wonderful Christmas.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at the next delightful

  historical romance by New York Times bestselling author Candace Camp

  A PERFECT GENTLEMAN

  Coming Spring 2017 from Pocket Books!

  Prologue

  1871

  Abby tucked her hand into Graeme’s arm, and they started up the stairs. Everyone was watching them. Afraid she might stumble or do something equally embarrassing in front of them all, she was grateful for his support. She cast a shy glance up at the man beside her and was struck all over again by how handsome Graeme was—the clean-cut profile and firm masculine chin; the full mouth that could curve up in a smile and make her heart lift in her chest; the blue eyes rimmed by sinfully thick lashes a shade darker than his brown hair. More amazing still, he was hers.

  She ducked her head to hide her little smile of pleasure. She was Mrs. Graeme Parr now—no, Lady Montclair. No, that couldn’t be right either, for he would not be Lord Montclair until his father died. All the names and titles were confusing. It was best to avoid the subject altogether—Abigail had found that in London, the wisest course of action was to keep one’s mouth shut.

  Not that Graeme was ever unkind. He was a perfect gentleman, the sort that hostesses relied on to dance with the wallflowers or spend a few minutes talking to the old ladies. Unfailingly pleasant and polite, he treated her, as he did everyone, with quiet courtesy. He had not once gotten that supercilious look on his face that other English people did when she said a name wrong—how could anyone expect Worcester to be pronounced like that!—and he kept a polite expression on his face the few times she did say something, no matter how banal it was.

  He did not love her, of course. Abby was well aware that her attraction lay in her father’s fortune, not her face and figure. And, in truth, between the chaperones and social activities, the two of them hadn’t been alone enough to become more than acquainted. But Graeme would be good to her. Kind. And she would earn his love; Abby was certain of that. She was now a married woman, out from under her father’s thumb, with a husband who would not scold her or try to rule her every movement.

  She stole another look at her groom. Deep lines bracketed his mouth, and he had shadows beneath his eyes. Like her, she thought, he had been unable to sleep well recently. How could one, with the myriad of things to do before a wedding? All the running about, meeting so many people it made her head swim . . . the nerves that would not quiet.

  Still, the set look on his face seemed too grim for mere weariness. Was he angry? Only minutes ago she had noticed him talking to her father. Thurston Price had a way of infuriating people, snapping out orders as if one must scurry to do his bidding. Of course, most people did. Including her.

  But it didn’t matter now. She was free of her father. They were free of him. Tomorrow they’d be off on a monthlong tour of the Continent. Alone. Just as they would be tonight. Her fingers tightened on his arm. For the first time, she would be truly alone with her husband. The thought was intoxicating . . . and a little frightening. She was decidedly uncertain of the details; no one would say anything clear about what went on. Even her maid, Molly, on whom she could usually rely, was of little help, having been a spinster all her life.

  “Just trust in his lordship,” was Molly’s best advice. “He seems like a gentleman even if he is British.” Molly, whose mother hailed from Glasgow, had an inbred distrust of all things English.

  Molly was right, of course. Graeme was a perfect gentleman. Unlike her father, he would not roar at her over a mistake. Still, she could not help but wish that this night was over, that it was tomorrow morning and they were starting out on their life together.

  Abigail had looped the train of her wedding dress over her arm to make certain she did not trip over it, and it was beginning to weigh on her arm. The long veil and the intricate hairstyle beneath it were heavy as well, and her corset, fastened more tightly than normal to create the perfect wasp waist, made it impossible to draw a full breath.

  Leaving the stairs, they started down the long hallway to their suite. It seemed to Abby that Graeme’s pace picked up, and she wondered if it was eagerness or merely the same excess of nerves she felt. Her heart was pounding as he opened the door and stepped back, politely ushering her into the room. She walked inside, hearing the door close heavily behind them.

  She wasn’t sure what to do, much less what to say. Her cheeks flushed as the silence stretched, and finally, curiosity overcoming her shyness, she turned to look at him. He stood facing her, that same tense look on his face. The nerves in Abigail’s stomach tightened.

  “What—” she began, not even sure what she was asking. “Are you—is something wrong?”

  He let out a short, humorless huff of a laugh. “What isn’t wrong?”

  The blood drained from her face, and a buzzing began in her ears, so loud she could not make out his words. She clenched her hands, drawing a deep breath, willing herself not to faint.

  “. . . but I’m not dancing to his tune,” Graeme was saying when her ears cleared. His eyes were hard in a way she’d never seen them. “Or yours.”

  “Excuse me?” Her voice came out barely more than a whisper.

  “Your father may have bought you a husband, but he did not buy a puppet.”

  “I—I don’t understand.”

  “Then I shall make it as clear as I possibly can.” He took a long stride toward her, his eyes implacable. “The two of you have the title you wanted so much, the name you coveted. But that is all you ac
quired. I am not here to provide him with future earls carrying his bloodline. I made this bargain to save my family, not to stand at stud for the Prices.”

  Abigail drew in a sharp breath, as stunned as if he had slapped her.

  “That surprises you? Are you so incapable of human feeling?” His words came out fast and furious, raining down like stones on her bruised heart. “Did you honestly think, knowing I loved another, that I would just slide into your bed? That I would be your lapdog? You’d best think again. I will never be a husband to you in anything but name.”

  Abby could not speak, could not move, could only stare at him in bleak horror. It took every ounce of will to keep her trembling knees from collapsing under her. Graeme despised her. This perfect gentleman, this kind husband, who she had thought would be her lifelong shelter, in fact wanted nothing to do with her. He loved someone else.

  Graeme paused, watching her as if he expected a reply. Pain and loss and fury swirled inside Abby, almost choking her. “I see.”

  His mouth twisted. “I thought you would.”

  Turning on his heel, he strode to the door. He tossed the hotel room key onto the lamp table and walked out of the room.

  Abigail continued to stand, gazing at the blank expanse of the door, still too stunned to move. Her legs began to tremble until they could not hold her any longer, and she sank to her knees, a low cry escaping her. Reaching up, she wrenched the delicate veil from her head and, at last, she gave way to sobs.

  Chapter One

  1881

  There was someone in his room.

  Graeme’s eyes flew open, and he found himself staring at a massive square head on a level with his eyes. The dog regarded him unblinkingly, its graying forehead creased as if in deep concern. Graeme, muscles instinctively tensed, relaxed, letting out a sigh.

  “Good Lord. James . . .” Graeme turned his gaze toward the man in the doorway, shoulder carelessly braced against the frame. “A fellow could have a heart attack, waking up with that beast staring at one. And what the devil are you doing in my room at the crack of dawn?”