The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress (30 page)

But Cameron had said he loved her and she did love him. And while she truly believed love was never a regret, she couldn’t help but wonder if, sometimes, it might well be a mistake.

Lady Dunwell was wrong. A bad plan was not better than no plan at all.

Cam poured another glass of whisky, took a fast swallow, and resumed pacing the floor of his room, trying to determine exactly what had gone wrong. He’d attempted to sleep but knew full well it was unlikely if not impossible. Lucy had said she’d have an answer for him in the morning and he couldn’t be certain what that answer would be. Especially given how they’d left each other.

He was extremely proud of the enchanted winter setting he’d created on the terrace; aside from the lack of falling snow, it was a scene straight from a snow globe. The rest of the evening was filled with missteps and mistakes. For one thing, he never should have wagered that blasted question, but the opportunity had been too good to resist. All he wanted to know was if she loved him. And really, what man in his position wouldn’t? A simple yes was all that was required. If she loved him, he could certainly find the courage to tell her everything. If she didn’t, well, it scarcely mattered.

But Lucy was right. What was he thinking? It had been the wrong place and the wrong time. He should have saved that particular question for the terrace. After he’d let the magic he’d arranged do its work. He should have taken her in his arms, declared his love, and only then asked if she felt the same.

He’d never before gone to such romantic lengths for a woman and, regardless of how the evening had ended, he was quite pleased with his efforts and the result. Lucy had loved it. But asking her to marry him then was, at least in hindsight, not his wisest move. That had not been planned. No, his plan was simply to enchant her. And then to tell her everything. Of course, he had suspected that she already knew it all. That he wasn’t a private investigator hired to watch her but a journalist for a somewhat scandalous paper using her life as the basis for his stories. Unfortunately, he was wrong. He should have realized she didn’t know the worst of his deception when he’d arrived at the manor and she wasn’t furious with him. That was a clue he shouldn’t have missed.

He had tried to tell her and he would have if she hadn’t stopped him. At least he thought he would have. He still didn’t have quite the right words, but he had been confident that they would come when necessary. Not that he had said anything right from the moment he’d asked her to marry him. Yet another part of his vague and not very clever plan, although he hadn’t intended to propose at that particular moment. The words simply slipped out of his mouth. While in hindsight, it might not have been the brightest thing to do, at the moment he said the words they had felt, well, right.

He certainly never considered that she would want to think about it. No, he was fairly certain she was in love with him even if she hadn’t yet admitted it. Surely one couldn’t feel the way he did if those feelings weren’t shared. He supposed it was possible that he could be entirely wrong. After all, unrequited love and heartbreak had long kept poets busy. No, he refused to think about that possibility. He knew her well enough to know how she felt about him. Because if he was wrong, then she had lied. She would indeed break his heart.

He blew a long breath. He really couldn’t fault her for not giving him an immediate answer. But he had been, well, stunned. Once again, she was right. Given any other significant decision, he would have indeed urged her not to do anything rash, to consider her answer and everything that went along with it. It was practical and sensible and he didn’t care. He wanted her to be swept away. God knows, he was.

She was right as well when she had charged that he had never told her the truth. That she had discovered it through no fault of his. He paused in midstep. Perhaps that was the real reason for her hesitation to accept his proposal. Perhaps she suspected there was still something he was hiding. And in spite of his efforts tonight to tell her everything, he wasn’t entirely certain he would have managed it.

There was only one thing to do. He was a writer, by God, and if he couldn’t find the right words to say, he could certainly put the right words to paper. He tossed back a bracing swallow of whisky, then sat down at the desk in the alcove of his room. He selected a piece of stationery, picked up a pen, and considered exactly what to say. The simple facts of the matter would be best, coupled with his heartfelt apology and a vow to spend the rest of his life making up for his deception. He drew a deep breath and started to write.

If he wanted Lucy in his life, by his side for the rest of his days, he was going to have to win her trust as well as her heart. And hope he wasn’t too late.

 

 

She was sure of it now—she had indeed made a dreadful mistake.

Lucy wrung her hands in front of her and paced her room. She had attempted to sleep but that was futile. The very effort was pointless. How on earth could she sleep when she might have lost the man she loved? And
lost
wasn’t even the right word. Why, she had practically thrown him away. She had simply thought it was a good idea not to leap into acceptance of his proposal but to deliberate about it in a calm and rational manner. And then say yes.

Surely he wouldn’t be deterred by a minor obstacle like her very sensible desire to rationally consider his proposal. But he had not been at all gracious about it. No, he’d been quite irate and had made a few comments that were definitely uncalled for. Not that she could blame him. She heaved a heartfelt sigh. If their positions were reversed, she too would have been upset. Her heart twisted. It was obvious that she had hurt him. Which only increased her dismay. It was simply her attempt to be sensible even if sensible was the last thing she wanted.

She’d always thought she’d know the right man the first time he kissed her. And in spite of the critique she’d given that kiss, she wondered now if indeed she did know. Because in ways too vague to express in words, somewhere deep down inside, it had been more than a little wonderful.

She had to set this to rights.

But there was still something he was hiding. He had tried to make some sort of confession last night, but obviously it wasn’t of any real importance as he certainly hadn’t tried very hard. It had been her observation that when a man had something really important to say and had, at last, worked up the courage to say it, he’d let nothing deter him. Besides, her married friends agreed that it was not at all uncommon for men to use the occasion of a proposal to confess all sorts of minor misdeeds, as if by doing so they could wipe the slate clean and start anew.

Even so, there remained a niggling sense of unease that there was a matter of significance he had yet to reveal. And dishonesty did not seem the best way to start a life together. She had meant it when she said she didn’t care and that it wasn’t important, but that had been in the romance of the moment and really she did care. But did she care enough to allow whatever he concealed to ruin their future and break both their hearts?

Absolutely not.

Resolve swept through her. If he couldn’t find his way clear to confess everything to her, she might simply have to beat it out of him. Goodness, she had ridden an elephant and breached a gentlemen’s club. She could certainly wring the truth out of the man she loved.

But first, she had to tell him how she felt. She couldn’t let this wait until morning. By morning he might have decided she wasn’t worth the trouble. Which either meant he didn’t love her enough to fight for her or he was too badly hurt to forgive her. Good Lord, this was so much more complicated than the years when she was going to marry a man who didn’t make her toes curl and her heart flutter.

She’d write him a note and slip it under his door, where he would find it first thing in the morning. Lucy sat down at the small ladies desk on the far side of the room, took a piece of Millworth stationery from the paper rack, and stared at the blank page for a long moment. There were any number of things she could say but perhaps at this point brevity was best. Yes, indeed, it wasn’t necessary to write more than one word. She picked up the pen and wrote with a flourish.

That would do. She got to her feet, tightened the sash of her robe, sent a quick prayer heavenward, and moved to the door. It was somewhere in the wee hours of the morning. She had no idea of the actual time; there was no clock in her room, which she found most disconcerting and vowed, as she had every night since she’d returned to Millworth, to ask for one.

She pulled open the door, stepped into the hallway, turned, and came face-to-face with Cameron.

“What—”

“I was leaving you a note,” he said quickly, waving a folded sheet of stationery.

She stared at him. “I was about to bring you a note.”

He studied her carefully. “This strikes me as a good sign.”

“I suppose that depends on what our notes say,” she said slowly.

“You do have a point but I—”

“Goodness, Cameron, if we are about to embark on a long discussion, we can’t do it here in the hallway in the middle of the night.” She stepped back into her room and gestured for him to join her. “Don’t stand there—come in.”

He hesitated. “I don’t think I should.”

“Why? Do you intend to ravish me right here and now?”

He bit back a smile. “I don’t intend—”

“And I don’t think we can sort out our differences in the hall where anyone might see or hear us.” She grabbed his sleeve and yanked him into the room. “Good Lord, Cameron, are you trying to ruin me?” She gently closed the door behind him.

“Actually, I was trying to avoid it.”

She stared at him and at that moment made a decision. “Pity.”

His brow rose. “What?”

Her courage faltered. “Here.” She thrust her note at him. “Read mine first.”

“Very well.” He took the note, unfolded it, and studied it for far longer than it took to read a single word.

“Well?” She tried and failed to hide the impatience in her voice. And the hope.

“Well,” he said slowly, and his gaze met hers. “Is this the answer to the question I won or the one I asked?”

“I told you the answer to one would give you the answer to the other.” She held her breath. “Well?”

“Well.” A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. “You have excellent penmanship.”

Once again, she resisted the urge to smack him. “I’ve always thought my S’s were a little weak.”

“Your S’s are perfect.” He glanced at the note, then back at her. “So, you do love me?”

She nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“And you will marry me?”

“There are still practical details to consider but . . .” Her heart caught in her throat. “Yes.”

“Good God, Lucy.” He pulled her into his arms and gazed down at her. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I thought I’d lost you as well.” She swallowed hard. “Isn’t it customary, in situations like this, for the prospective groom or rather the intended groom to kiss the future bride or—”

“Sometimes you talk entirely too much.” He grinned down at her. “Have I ever told you that?”

She shook her head. “I don’t recall.”

“However, in this particular case, you are absolutely right.” His lips met hers in a kiss tender and warm and surprisingly restrained. The man really was trying not to let this go too far.

Desire washed through her and with it need and longing. She slid her arms around his neck and pressed herself closer against him, and her mouth opened to his. So much for restraint. His tongue teased hers, the sensation both odd and exciting. He tasted of whisky and desire, as intoxicating as any spirit. Heat pooled between her legs.

He pulled away and stared down at her. “Good Lord, Lucy.”

She grinned. “Yes?”

He pulled a deep shuddering breath. “I should go.”

“Oh.” She reached up and brushed her lips across his. “I don’t think so.”

“Lucy.” He groaned. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

She rolled her hips tentatively against his and could feel his erection through his nightclothes and hers. Her breath caught. She was well aware of this part of a man’s body, but it had never been pressed against her in such an intimate and arousing manner, as daunting as it was intriguing. Was this what she did to him? The oddest sense of power surged through her. How delightful.

“Actually, Cameron.” She pulled his head back down to hers. “I’m quite aware of what I’m doing to you.” Her lips pressed to his and her tongue dueled with his. His arms tightened around her, her breasts flattened against his chest, her hips pressed tighter against the hardness beneath his clothing. Dear Lord, she wanted him and all that wanting him meant.

The increasing desire within her lent a frantic edge to her actions, sweeping away any sense of self-control. She slid her hands down the front of his dressing gown, over hard planes of his chest evident under the fabric of his nightclothes, and continued downward. Her hand trailed over the flat of his stomach and fumbled with the knot of his sash.

His hand caught hers. “Lucy.” His gaze bored into hers. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Absolutely not.” She leaned forward and kissed the base of his throat. “I’ve never done this sort of thing before.”

“Now is not the time . . .”

“I think now is the perfect time.” She brushed his hand away and gazed up into his eyes. “Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you intend to marry me?”

“Without question.”

“Soon?”

“As soon as humanly possible.”

“Excellent.” The knot loosened. “I may not have given the idea of marriage any consideration but I have thought about this.” She pulled the sash free and tossed it aside. “In fact, it has come to mind rather frequently.”

“Oh?” He swallowed hard.

“Haven’t you?”

“Constantly.”

She paused and stared at him. “Are you nervous?”