A Scandalous Winter Wedding

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘No.’ Her own heart was beating so hard that she could hardly breathe. ‘No, Cameron. Please, I can’t...’

  ‘You assume you can’t, because you’ve not thought about it. Think about it now, Kirstin. I’m not asking you to marry me straight away—though that’s what I want. And I’m certainly not asking you to give up all that you’ve worked so hard for. All I’m asking is that you think about it, that you give us a chance to see if we can create a whole new life together. Will you at least think about it?’

  ‘No!’ Panic-stricken, she jumped to her feet. ‘No, Cameron, I can’t countenance that.’

  ‘Why not? Don’t you care for me?’

  ‘You know I do, but—I told you. I told you right from the start that we could not—that we could never—Our situations are far too different for us ever to find any compromise we could be happy with.’

  ‘You can’t know that if you don’t try.’

  ‘I don’t need to try,’ Kirstin said wretchedly. ‘I know it wouldn’t work, it’s impossible.’

  ‘Why is it so impossible?’ Cameron caught her hands, forcing her to face him, to meet his gaze. ‘Can’t you trust me with the truth?’

  It was that same look he’d had at the park gates earlier. As if he was pleading with her to tell him something. An appalling possibility crossed her mind. But that was simply not credible. She tried to think, tried desperately to recall if she had said one single thing, made a single slip which could have set him down that path, but there was nothing.

  She shook her head. ‘There isn’t anything to tell.’

  ‘You know,’ he said gently, ‘the one thing you’re not any good at is lying.’

  He knew. She had no idea how he’d guessed, but he knew. She was finding it difficult to breathe. She must have laced her corsets too tight. The room was too hot. The need to escape was too strong to resist. Kirstin, who had never failed to face anything in her life, made for the door.

  He caught her easily. He was smiling. Why was he smiling?

  ‘Kirstin, my darling, I know we have a daughter. I know that she is the reason you think our being together is impossible, but you’re wrong. I have never been so delighted...’

  ‘Delighted?’ She stared at him in utter disbelief. ‘You told me that you never wanted children. You said that you would resent them, that you—you cannot possibly be delighted.’

  ‘But I am. When I saw her—’

  ‘When?’ Cold anger cloaked her terror. ‘When did you see her?’

  ‘The morning after the ball. I was on my way out, heading to Half Moon Street, and I saw you.’

  A faint flush tinged his cheeks. ‘You followed me?’ Kirstin exclaimed incredulously. ‘You spied on me? You followed me to my home, the home that I have been at great pains to keep private.’

  ‘For a reason I now understand fully.’

  ‘For a reason which I never wished you to know.’

  ‘But I understand that,’ Cameron said urgently. ‘You were determined to establish yourself, to make an extraordinary life for yourself. Despite what happened between us that night, you didn’t know me, could have had no idea whether I’d ignore a letter informing me that I was a father or, perhaps worse, from your point of view, whether I’d force my name on you and dictate how both you and your daughter should lead your lives. Am I right?’

  He was so correct that she was astonished and could only nod. ‘You see now why it is impossible?’

  ‘I see now why it was impossible six years ago. But now...’

  ‘No,’ Kirstin said flatly, ‘nothing has changed. I am perfectly happy as I am, and perfectly capable of taking care of my daughter myself. I don’t need you.’

  Cameron looked as if she had slapped him. ‘And my daughter? Isn’t she entitled to a father?’

  ‘She doesn’t need one. She has no idea who you are, and that is how I intend things to remain.’

  ‘But I love you.’

  ‘That changes nothing,’ she said ruthlessly, refusing to see the hurt she was causing, wanting only to escape, to protect her daughter and herself. ‘I don’t love you. I won’t love you. There is nothing more to discuss.’

  He was silent for a very long time. ‘I notice you don’t deny that she is mine.’

  It was an agony not to relent, but she was fighting for her life. Even so, she would never tell such a dastardly lie. ‘Of course she is yours,’ Kirstin admitted shakily. ‘Why else would I have kept her a secret?’

  He studied her, his eyes hardening. ‘I won’t allow my daughter to suffer as I did for the lack of a name.’

  ‘She has my name.’

  ‘You know perfectly well what I mean. You are so determined to bend the world to the shape you desire, and heaven knows I admire you for it, even though there must have been many occasions when you’ve paid a heavy price for your uncompromising stance. But it’s wrong of you to make our daughter pay the price for your principles.’

  ‘My daughter does not suffer,’ Kirstin said through gritted teeth.

  ‘What does her school think about her mother, Miss Blair?’

  ‘She does not attend school.’

  His lip curled. ‘So that’s how you preserve her innocence? That’s how you protect her, is it? By hiding her away? You can’t do that for ever.’

  ‘Don’t you dare tell me what I can and can’t do. This is why I did not tell you...’

  ‘You’re deluding yourself,’ Cameron barked, making no attempt to subdue his anger any more. ‘You can’t keep her hidden away from the world for ever. The longer you lie to her...’

  ‘I don’t lie to her.’

  ‘She may not be old enough to be curious yet, but one day she will ask about me. For such an intelligent woman, you’re being incredibly stupid. I can’t bear the thought of my daughter going through life tarred as a bastard.’

  ‘She is not—’

  ‘Don’t kid yourself. That is exactly what they’ll call her. She’ll be ridiculed, she’ll be bullied, she’ll be made to feel that she is worthless. It will be a permanent stain on her character. I speak from experience, as you may recall from my choosing to confide in you.’

  ‘It’s not the same,’ Kirstin protested, but her words lacked conviction.

  ‘You know it is, which is why you’ve brought her up in splendid isolation, by the sounds of it. Well I won’t stand by and let her suffer. I won’t let her endure what I did.’

  His peremptory tone made her rally. ‘You have no say in the matter. After tonight, I never want to see you again.’

  If her words hurt him, he recovered quickly enough. ‘After tonight, I am absolutely determined to give my daughter my name.’

  ‘Don’t be preposterous. You can’t force me to marry you, Cameron.’

  ‘I won’t have to. Logic and reason, those tenets you live by, will eventually make you realise that you owe it to your daughter to free her to go out in the world, and to protect her too. It’s clear that you love her very much. Loving someone doesn’t mean keeping them in a gilded cage, Kirstin. It means...’

  He turned away, pouring a glass of champagne with a shaking hand, downing it in one. She watched, unable to move, almost beyond thought, never mind words. This couldn’t be happening.

  Cameron set the empty glass down. ‘I’ll give you a year.’

  She stared at him blankly.

  ‘Twelve months to think about what I’ve said, to come to terms with the fact that we’re going to be married, and then I’ll be back.’

  ‘We’re not going to be married.’

  ‘You need have no fear that I’ll force myself on you, or on my daughter either. I won’t interfere with your precious life. I’ll give the child my name—you’ll allow me that, at least?—but that’s it.’

  ‘I would become your property. You would be entitled to my business—the la
w would give you it all, including my daughter.’

  ‘Do you not understand me at all?’ he roared, clutching at his hair. ‘Can you not get it into your head that I’m not interested in owning you or changing you or—Dear God, Kirstin, have you really no idea at all what I feel for you? I wouldn’t change a hair on your head.’

  His hand reached out towards her, but he snatched it back. ‘You think this is all about the child, don’t you? You’re quite wrong. It was about you, first and foremost—but there’s no talking to you about that. I’ve done with spilling my guts. Think very carefully about what I’ve said. I’ll be back in exactly a year from now to hear your answer.’

  He opened the door for her. Distraught, she walked towards it, wondering if her legs would carry her the short distance to her own suite and the sanctuary of her bed.

  ‘Kirstin?’

  She gazed up at him through a curtain of tears.

  ‘Her name,’ Cameron said wretchedly. ‘I don’t even know her name.’

  ‘Eilidh,’ she said, as the tears began to cascade down her cheeks. ‘Her name is Eilidh.’

  * * *

  Cameron remained where he was, standing by the door, completely numb. A sharp rap roused him from his reverie. He wrenched it open, only to be confronted with two waiters and his very carefully ordered dinner. He sent them away, keeping only the wine, cursing his stupidity. After all, Kirstin only gave second chances to deserving females.

  He loved her and yet he had lost her.

  With a shaking hand, he poured himself a large glass of wine, gulping down the finest vintage the hotel had been able to provide as if it were ale. Kirstin was gone. Kirstin didn’t love him. Wouldn’t love him.

  He stared down at the floor as if into a chasm. He’d get by without her. His chest tightened. He bit back a huge heaving sob. He’d survive. He poured himself a second, brimming glass of burgundy and tipped it down his throat. Another sob racked his body. No wine, no matter how fine, was a cure for a broken heart.

  Cameron staggered to his bedroom, threw himself on the bed and pulled a pillow over his head.

  * * *

  He woke in the early hours of the morning with an aching head but a clear mind. He’d gone over and over what he’d said the night before, wondering if he’d got it wrong, but he hadn’t. It was Kirstin who had made it all about her daughter, giving him no option in the end but to follow her lead. The child was all she cared about.

  While he had been falling in love with her almost from the moment she’d stepped through the door of this very suite, she had never seen him as anything other than a—a dalliance. She didn’t love him. She wouldn’t love him. And there was not a thing he could do about that.

  Heavy-hearted but resolved, Cameron rang the bell for shaving water and coffee, and set about packing. He would never be happy without Kirstin, but if what made her happy was to be free of him, that was what he’d give her.

  Though on one point he was resolute. His daughter. Eilidh. It was a very different kind of pain, the knowledge that he’d never be part of her life. The only thing he could do was protect her from all that he’d suffered. Let her save the grit and determination she’d no doubt inherited from her mother for more worthwhile causes than defiance and covering up her hurt.

  Sitting at the writing desk, Cameron dipped a pen in the ink and pulled a fresh piece of paper towards him. It was a curt note, businesslike in its tone, stating his terms. He folded the thick wad of notes he’d obtained from his bank yesterday and sealed it. Contract completed. Time for him to move on.

  Picking up his portmanteau, he gave the porter directions for the rest of his luggage. No looking back at the room where he and Kirstin had made love. Or he had made love, to be brutally accurate. No looking back at the table where they’d dined together so many times, or the sofa where they’d sat, sipping sherry. He’d never drink sherry again.

  Treading lightly, he pushed his note with some difficulty under the door of Kirstin’s suite. Then he made his way down the stairs, paid their bill, and went out into a hackney, headed for the posting house to join his sister and his niece for their journey back to Scotland.

  Chapter Twelve

  Eight months later, October 1819

  Kirstin made a final, wholly unnecessary check of the dining table. The silverware glittered, the crystal sparkled, the napkins at each of the four place settings were crisp and folded into the shape of fans atop the Royal Doulton crockery. She’d lived in this house on Russell Square for four years, and this was the very first dinner party she had hosted. A most extraordinary and momentous event, which had taken her three months to organise. She moved one of the decanters set out on the sideboard a fraction to the left, twitched the curtains, and left the room.

  Her little enamel watch told her that her guests were due in half an hour. In the drawing room, champagne was chilling on ice, sherry and madeira had been decanted, and a variety of glasses and goblets were set out on a silver tray. Upstairs, Marianne was reading Eilidh her bedtime story. Her daughter had turned six two weeks ago. Another milestone she had deprived Cameron of.

  Her heart lurched as it did every time she thought of him, which was constantly. Every time she looked at Eilidh she was reminded that her daughter was the product of two parents, reminded that one of them was missing out on every aspect of her life. Guilt was her constant companion. But it wasn’t the worst of her burdens. Being in love and having thrown away the chance of happiness was the hardest to bear.

  Kirstin sank into her favourite chair, resting her head against the winged back, closing her eyes. She’d finally acknowledged that she loved him that fateful morning when she’d woken up heavy-eyed in the hotel to find his note pushed under the door, though she had refused to act on that revelation.

  She’d procrastinated for weeks, diverting herself by being insulted that he’d insisted on paying for her services when she had wanted to give them free, as a gift. With anger that he had spied on her, with outrage that he had dared to demand that she marry him, with indignation that he had dared to ignore her very clear declaration that they could have no future once Philippa had been found.

  She had refused to allow herself to miss him. She had refused to take his vow to return seriously. It had been bluster. He had been hurt by her rejection. Angry at being thwarted.

  But she knew Cameron too well to convince herself of any of those things, and the pain of recognising how her cruel words must have injured him was an agony.

  He loved her.

  She remembered the first time this fact had fully registered. She had been in discussions with a client, too intent on the subject matter to notice that he’d served her coffee and not tea until she’d tasted it. Assailed by the aroma, and the memory of Cameron drinking his first cup of the day, as he always did, in one gulp, she had completely lost track of the discussions.

  Cameron loved her.

  He’d poured his heart out to her, and all she’d been able to think about was Eilidh. She’d thought that Eilidh was all he’d been interested in, too obsessed with her own fears to listen.

  Cameron loved her.

  Later that day, alone in her drawing room, Kirstin had mustered the courage to reflect on their time together. The memories, kept buried for weeks, had been frighteningly vivid, fresh and heartbreaking.

  Cameron loved her. He loved her—everything about her. He knew who she was under her skin, and he didn’t want to change her. He didn’t want to put her in a gilded cage.

  When you love someone... he’d said, and though he hadn’t ever finished that sentence she knew now what he meant. He’d set her free by leaving her, as she’d asked him to do. When he came back it would not be to trap her or to change her. He’d asked so very little of her. How her jibes, her determination not to listen must have hurt him. She’d give almost anything to take them back.

  She had known she
could not undo the harm done, but she had been determined to find a way to apologise. It would have to be something extraordinary. Something unique. A gift that no one else could give.

  The idea which had come to her had been so obvious it had taken her breath away, though how she was to achieve it, she’d had absolutely no idea. But she had known she would find a way.

  Because she loved Cameron.

  It had come to her like a simple truth, one she had not once tried to deny in the weeks and months that had followed. She loved him with all of the heart she must have convinced him she didn’t possess. She loved everything about him, and it was just as he’d said to her, she wouldn’t change a hair on his head.

  She’d cried then, wretched with guilt and with loss, for it had all seemed so impossible. Even if she hadn’t killed his love that night, even if he did still love her, despite her best efforts to stop him, what difference did it make that she loved him back?

  They led very different lives. He didn’t want to change hers. She didn’t want to be the reason he changed his, for then he would blame her if it went wrong, or he would resent her, and their love would twist and warp into something very different.

  Eilidh, ironically, was not the problem Kirstin had always imagined, because Cameron was not the man she’d always feared. All he’d asked from her was the right to give his daughter a name. To legitimise her, in society’s eyes, for her sake.

  From a man who had never had a family, who had gone to such lengths to protect the family who had rejected him, that was a very paltry request. He’d asked for his daughter’s given name, but he’d claimed no rights—on the contrary, had promised not to interfere. How much that must have cost him. How wrong she had been, how very wrong, to imagine that he’d take more if it was not given—Cameron, who always put everyone’s needs before his own.