His Unexpected Bride

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Cameron,” she said, walking toward him as she had so often in his dreams, “you missed all the excitement.”

  He gulped, wondering if she had any idea what images of excitement filled his thoughts just now. Her in his arms, soft and willing, bold and seductive. He tried to force those thoughts aside, the effort making his voice gruff as he asked, “What has been going on here?”

  “Heddy got out.” She looked down and smiled, and he realized Russell’s sons were standing beside her. Until now, he had been so fascinated with the promise in her eyes he had not noted the children.

  “Heddy?” he asked.

  “My pet hedgehog.”

  He choked on his astonishment. “Hedgehog? How long have you had this pet hedgehog, Tess?”

  “Since it was a baby. About three years ago.”

  “Three years?” He had expected her to say she had found it in the kitchen garden. “Did you bring this creature here from the country?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  She walked into the bedchamber with the lads in tow. When she gestured for him to follow, every inch of him reacted, even though he knew she was not offering the invitation a wife should make to her husband. She walked to a table and drew aside the cloth on the cage where the hedgehog was asleep.

  “You keep it here?” he asked.

  “Surely you saw this cage in my room and in the carriage.”

  “I will own I had other matters on my mind the sole time I was in your chambers in your father’s house. I did no more than give a passing thought to what sort of animal lived in the cage on your table. Nor did I take note of the cage on our way to London.”

  “I thought your lack of curiosity remarkable, I will say.”

  “And I will say I do not want vermin in my house.”

  “Heddy is not vermin.”

  “The hedgehog belongs outside in the garden. It is not right to keep a filthy creature in the house.”

  “She is well mannered, and I keep her cage clean.” She arched a russet brow at him. “Why are you complaining about her being a filthy creature when you did not know she was here until I spoke of her?”

  Before he could answer, Donald piped up, “I will help Aunt Tess keep the cage clean.” The boy grinned broadly. “I was the one who found her in the pot over there.”

  “I will help! I looked, too!” Philip tugged on Tess’s skirt. “Let me help, too.”

  “Yes,” she said with a gentle smile, “you may help keep Heddy’s cage clean. That way, she will become accustomed to you. Now Jenette will take you to have your supper.”

  Her abigail took each boy by the hand and led them out of the room.

  When Cameron was about to follow, Tess said, “Please wait.”

  Could she hear his heart thudding at the soft warmth in her voice? When she went to the table which he once had used as a desk, but she had converted into a dressing table by hanging a glass over it, she picked up a small box and held it out to him.

  He took it without speaking. Slipping it beneath his coat, he turned to go into the sitting room.

  “Cameron?” She stepped in front of him. “You cannot pretend nothing of importance is in that box.”

  “What is in it had its hour of importance, but that hour is past.”

  “And that is that?”

  “What else do you expect it to be?”

  She folded her arms in front of her, clearly unwilling to put an end to this conversation. “I expect it to be something you are proud of.”

  “I have no wish to be lauded as a hero, so leave off with your mewling for the great hero you wished you had wed.”

  “Mewling?” Her hands clenched on her arms. “I can assure you, Cameron Hawksmoor, no one will ever use that word to describe me … if one sticks to the truth.”

  “So you are accusing me of lying?”

  “I am accusing you of being shortsighted, short-tempered, and short a sheet.”

  He laughed dryly. “Another example of your wit, I see.”

  “Quite the contrary. Another example of how I tire of your tiresome tantrums. You act no older than Donald when you cannot have your way.” She squared her shoulders. “Cameron, they are your nephews.”

  “So I was told.”

  “You think they are not? I know the boys were brought, unbidden, to the house, but didn’t the paperwork found in Russell’s house prove he had been paying someone to watch over his children?”

  He waved aside her question. He did not want to think about what the paperwork at Russell’s house had revealed. “That is neither here nor there. They are here now, as you are.”

  She took a deep breath, then released it as her shoulders sagged. “Cameron, I was a fool to listen to someone who told me there was more to you than you allowed anyone to see.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Pamela Livingstone.”

  He was certain he had misheard her. “Pamela? When did you speak with her?”

  “When she called.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes, to offer her sympathies upon Russell’s death.” She faltered, then said, “As well, she wished to let me know there was more to you than the emotionless martinet who blames everyone else for his own mistakes and shuts everyone out of his life. I had hoped she was right, that your ex-mistress knew you better than I did, but it is clear she is wrong. You have fought so hard to set aside every feeling you have that you have forgotten how to feel. You are so determined to govern your emotions that you have come to fear having them. You cannot even accept your due as a hero in the war against the French.”

  She pushed past him and out of the room. With a curse, he started to follow. Then he halted himself. If he gave chase now, he was certain to show her exactly how out of control his emotions were when he pulled her up against him and kissed her with every bit of his yearning for her.

  That would be a mistake now. He reached under his coat and pulled out the box. Tossing it back on the table, he cursed. Tess was right. He was determined to avoid his own feelings, especially the ones for her.

  Thirteen

  Eustace Knox poured himself another glass of wine, then faced Cameron, who was standing by a leather chair. Eustace’s fingers clenched and unclenched on the glass, matching the nervous tic that had twitched Eustace’s right eyelid since Cameron had come into the room.

  Cameron had not intended to come to the club this morning, for he had hoped to pay a call on Pamela and find out whatever had possessed her to give Tess a look-in. Instead he was here in response to his friend’s urgent request, which apparently was about to become another scold. Cameron was tempted to tell his tie-mate another dressing-down would just add to his ill humor.

  “It is simple,” Eustace said as he sat in another chair. “Even though on dits have been very clear that you returned to London with a bride almost four months ago, there are those who are questioning—very loudly and most rudely, if you wish to know the whole truth—why you and Tess have yet to be seen at a gathering.”

  “Do not lecture me, Eustace.” Cameron set his glass on the table beside his chair and looked out the window to the street below. The rain had chased most of the pedestrians from the walkways, but the door to the club across the street was continually opening and closing. “I do not need more problems dropped onto my head.”

  “I am trying to halt a problem that has been brewing for the past fortnight.”

  “Do those same gossipmongers recall I have been in mourning for the recent death of my brother?”

  Eustace shrugged. “Your father’s death did not halt Russell from dancing at Lady Brigham’s assembly a month later.”

  “I am not Russell.”

  “No, and so people are curious about the woman you chose to wed.”

  “Chose? You know the truth of that wedding.”

  In the reflection in the windowpane, Cameron could see Eustace set his glass on the table beside Cameron’s and come to his feet. “Yes, but I thought
, as you have made no motion in that direction, you had decided not to set Tess aside. You told me you did not fill out the papers from Paige.” His eyes widened. “Or is it simply you have not filled them out yet?”

  Cameron turned from the window. “I trust you had a genuine reason for sending me that frantic note asking for this meeting to discuss dire matters.”

  “Other than you should bring your wife to the assembly at Lord Peake’s house next week?”

  “Eustace, I have had enough of this skimble-skamble.” When his friend seized Cameron’s sleeve, Cameron shook off Eustace’s hand. “Have you lost every bit of mind you had?”

  “I am thinking of you and your wife. By remaining out of sight, you are the cause of too much poker-talk. You need make only a brief appearance at the assembly, and the Polite World will see nothing to interest them. Their attention, then, will turn to other matters.”

  Cameron had to agree his friend’s suggestion made good sense. “I believe you are right, Eustace. Thank you.”

  “While you are in a grateful mood—”

  “How much do you need?” Cameron shook his head and reached again for his glass. Taking a deep drink, he said, “I did not expect you to spend through your inheritance with this speed. ’Tis not like you to make pots and pans with me.”

  “I am not begging for alms from you.” He grinned when Cameron arched a brow. “All right. I am, but I have had unforeseen expenses.”

  “Now you sound like Russell. He said that too often in the past year as well.”

  Eustace flinched.

  “What is it?” Cameron asked.

  For a long moment, Eustace did not answer. He drained his own glass, then said, “Disparaging your dead brother is bothersome to me.”

  “Sorry, but I have found lately that however difficult the truth may be, it is preferable to the alternatives.” Those words echoed through Cameron’s head as he agreed to lend his friend one thousand pounds and while he walked down the stairs toward the door to the street.

  Did he truly prefer the truth? If so, why was he avoiding confronting it where Tess was concerned? He must either put an end to this marriage or accept it. He had been able to set aside that concern while dealing with Russell’s estate, but he must make a decision soon. After all, as his mother had been eager to remind him, he was now the Duke of Hawkington, and it was fortunate he had a wife to give the family’s title a legitimate heir.

  “Hawksmoor?”

  Cameron turned to see a door open to one of the card rooms. Inside, John Stedley was sitting with several other club members, playing cards. The viscount, a good-looking blond man with enough blunt to enjoy the flats whenever he took the notion—which, Cameron had heard, was often—was shuffling the cards for the next hand.

  “Just the man I was hoping to see,” Stedley said. With his cigar, the viscount motioned for the other men at the table to leave. Cameron nodded to the others, who gathered up their winnings and moved away like well-trained soldiers. “Sit down, Hawksmoor.”

  “I see you are winning.”

  Stedley looked down at the pile of money and chuckled. Reaching into the box by his side, he pulled out a cheroot as thick as the one he was smoking and handed it to Cameron. “And Millsmere is buying, so you might as well enjoy raising a cloud at his expense.” Without a pause, he said, “Pamela tells me I should, upon the very first opportunity I have, offer my congratulations to you on your bride, for she was much impressed with your new wife.”

  “Yes, Tess mentioned Pamela gave her a look-in to offer her condolences at Russell’s untimely death.” He lit the cigar as he recalled what else Tess had said to him about Pamela’s comments.

  “Untimely?” Stedley picked up his glass of wine and leaned back in his chair. “There are rumblings among those who should know better than to gossip that your brother may have chosen the exact time of his death.”

  “You believe Russell killed himself?” Cameron laughed tersely. “My brother was never fond of anything that did not bring him pleasure, and I doubt there is much pleasure in crashing one’s carriage into a tree.”

  “My point exactly.” Stedley sat straighter.

  “I am afraid if that is your point, I do not comprehend it.”

  “Your brother was miserable just before he died. Dashed poor company, always down in the mouth about something or other, to the point there was a general feeling he was tired of life in London.”

  “When I last spoke with Russell, he was jubilant.” His mouth twisted as he puffed on the cigar. Millsmere must have been losing badly, because this was a truly fine smoke. “He had a new mistress, and he, for once, was not asking me for a loan.”

  “He had regained his pleasure in life not because of his new incognita, but because he had decided not to pay hush money to whoever had a hank upon him.”

  Now Cameron sat bolt upright in his chair. “Had a hank upon him? Are you saying my brother was being blackmailed?”

  Stedley shuffled the cards over and over. “I assumed you knew.”

  “No.”

  “It was not quite common knowledge, although I know he spoke of the disgusting matter to several friends one night when he was deep in his cups.”

  Cameron folded his arms over his chest. “Blackmailed for what? No matter what else my brother did, he showed good sense in not seducing another man’s wife.”

  “That is not the only thing one can be blackmailed for.”

  “True, but Russell had no interest in politics, and he certainly was not interested in any sort of industry. No one could accuse him of taking another’s ideas for his own profit.” He put down his cigar, no longer interested in it. By the elevens, was it possible Russell had been blackmailed? That would explain the two hundred fifty pounds that monthly vanished from Russell’s funds and was never accounted for.

  “What about a duel?” Stedley continued.

  “Russell?” Cameron laughed mirthlessly. “On that one subject, my brother showed the utmost common sense after his single encounter with an affaire de honor. He would ignore a gauntlet thrown down at his feet or slapped across his face. He enjoyed life too much to chance that some drunken beef-head might aim a pistol at his heart.”

  Stedley shrugged. “I have to own he never mentioned why he was being blackmailed, only that it was costing him dear. Find out who was extorting money from him and why, and, I suspect, Cameron, you will discover what caused that carriage to crash.”

  “I know. ’Twas thieves chasing them.”

  “But who set those thieves upon them? That is the question you should be asking.”

  Cameron heard the shouts even over the clatter of horseshoes on the stones of the street. Drawing in the reins, he watched Russell’s sons racing about the center of the square. A footman chased after them, adding to their giggles and excited cries. The younger boy ran up to where two women were talking. Throwing his arms around the waist of one for a quick hug, he then ran back to join his brother.

  The perfect scene of domestic bliss … but one Cameron had no part in. He looked toward his door. When had his home become someone else’s, so he felt like an outsider there?

  He shivered, even though the air was warm. Blast it! Why was he acting as if he were jealous of those children? Marrying Tess would never have been his choice. Even so, he could not deny how her hands had gently enfolded Philip when the little boy flung his arms around her. Nor could he deny the thoughts of those fingers touching her husband in other, more intimate ways. This need was becoming more intense with the passing of each hour.

  His wife.

  Yet she was not his wife. Their marriage was a delusion. Thinking of other matters would be the best thing he could do. He should concentrate on finding out the truth about what had caused the carriage to crash, killing Russell and his mistress, and why. The muddled and often contradictory story the constable had shared with him had created only more questions in his mind.

  “Cameron!” Tess’s voice swept all dark thoughts from h
is head as his heart abruptly came to life as if it had been dormant too long. She waved to him, smiling.

  He swung down from his horse and walked to where she stood by a woman who must be at least two decades older than Tess. The woman’s hair was still an uncompromising brown, but her face bore the wrinkles of many years. She was plump and quite short. Her clothes were simple, but obviously well cared for. Over her arm, she carried a basket covered with a bright cloth. A pair of scissors stuck out of one side.

  “Cameron, this is Mrs. Detloff, the new governess. Mrs. Detloff, Lord … I mean, the Duke of Hawkington.” Tess’s face flushed with her error. Then she smiled. “Forgive me, Cameron.”

  “It is a title both of us must still become accustomed to having connected with my name.” He was astonished when she lowered her eyes, obviously not wanting him to guess her thoughts. What had unsettled her now?

  Before he could ask that aloud, Mrs. Detloff said, “’Tis a pleasure to have the chance to oversee your nephews, Your Grace. They are lively boys.”

  “Lively may be an understatement.” He watched Donald pounce on his brother, and the two boys fell to the ground, wrestling like pups.

  “I assure you I am equal to the task, Your Grace.”

  “I trust you will be.”

  “She has offered,” Tess added, “to oversee the moving of the boys’ things from their old house.”

  “Haven’t they all been moved here already?”

  “I thought it best for them to become used to this house before we brought in much that reminded them of their past.”

  “No doubt an excellent idea, and no doubt something Mrs. Detloff and some of the footmen can handle with ease.” He held out his arm. “Tess?”

  Her fingers quivered when she put them on his sleeve. Leading her toward the house, he handed the reins to the lad who rushed to take them. He saw Tess’s surprise when he continued along the walkway that edged the street around the green center of the square.

  “The boys were collecting grubs and insects for Heddy,” she said.

  “Who?”