In the Bed of a Duke Page 6

  She studied him a moment, her intelligent eyes alive with speculation.

  “But don’t,” he warned her, “push your luck. I only have so much candor to spare in a day.”

  His admonishment startled a surprise laugh out of her, and he was transfixed at what a smile could do to her. No one had a more glorious smile than Charlotte Cameron.

  And the idea that it was he who brought it to her lips pleased him greatly. More greatly than it should.

  She started walking.

  He could only follow.

  They came out of the woods into another field. Here the land was rolling pastures. The clouds had parted to reveal a full moon that gave off a light almost as bright as day.

  Phillip noticed a three-sided hayrick with a thatched roof on the other side of the field. He started toward it. Here was shelter for the night.

  Miss Cameron skipped a step to stay even with his since Homer was eager to reach the hayrick.

  “So, what are you doing in Scotland?” she asked Phillip. “Especially since you are apparently risking your life to be here.”

  “We’ve already had this discussion,” he said, brushing the question aside. The grass was short but very thick. His boots were soaked. Her kid slippers could not be better. He reached for her hand to help her over a muddy gully time had eroded in the field.

  She jumped it, almost landing in his arms. She pulled away immediately without looking at him. “Several times,” she agreed. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

  “Because I don’t wish to,” he reminded her.

  Exhibiting a remarkable tenacity, she pressed, “Is it because of the feud?”

  “After almost two hundred years?” Phillip shook his head. “Please, Miss Cameron, give me some credit. I have few thoughts about Scotland. My family considers itself English.”

  “But you have Scottish roots?”

  Phillip stopped, realizing she would pursue her line of questioning until she had answers or discovered the truth—and he had no desire for her to know about his twin Justin. It would be best if he gave her something to occupy her nimble mind. “We held land up here at one time,” he said with undisguised irritation, “but my father sold it—and at a good price, too. Perhaps that is what has them all foaming at the mouth.”

  Miss Cameron wrinkled her brow in puzzlement. “Has anyone ever attacked you before about this feud?”

  “No,” he answered and then hesitated, realizing that her questions were some he should have asked himself before he’d taken off hell-bent for leather upon receiving Nanny Frye’s letter. It didn’t make sense—and yet, his brother may have been kidnapped over it. “I knew of the feud as family lore from both my grandfather and father. My father knew the present laird. They went to school together.”

  “They were friends?” she asked, as if startled by the information.

  “What did the laird say?” he answered, curious to her response.

  Miss Cameron didn’t like having the questions turned upon herself. In the silence, Homer tried to drop his head and graze. Phillip tugged at his lead, a silent command for the disgruntled horse to be still. The movement gave her an opportunity to dodge his question. “He’s hungry. We should let him rest for the night.”

  “Oh, no, Miss Cameron. You will not evade me, not after hounding me most of the night with your questions. What did the laird say? I’m assuming I was mentioned.”

  This time, she didn’t dither. “Laird MacKenna didn’t mention your father, but he did refer to you as his enemy. His first words to me were that we shared a common enemy—you.”

  “And he searched you out for that reason,” Phillip said, stating a fact. Nor did he believe it could be coincidence that Laird MacKenna’s interest in Miss Cameron would coincide with his receiving Nanny Frye’s letter.

  Phillip wanted to pull out the letter and study it for new clues or hidden meanings but knew he must wait until he had a moment alone—

  “So what did your father say about Laird MacKenna?” Miss Cameron pressed, interrupting his thoughts. “Did he consider them friends?”

  “Not hardly,” Phillip confessed with a snort. “When my father told me the story of the feud, he prefaced it by saying the MacKennas are a strange lot. At one time, they traveled in the same circles.”

  “Could something have happened then?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Phillip said, allowing his voice to echo the exasperation he was feeling. “Perhaps. Maybe. Certainly it is possible Father could have insulted the man. In fact, it would be probable. My father could be quite ruthless when he had a mind to be.”

  “Like his son?” she murmured.

  Phillip narrowed his gaze at her. “No one has accused me of such to my face,” he said, in a tone that had never failed to make any man freeze in fear.

  It had no such effect on Miss Cameron.

  She stood in the moonlight, her eyes shiny with intelligence, her back straight, and her head high. “Just because they don’t say it to your face, Your Grace, doesn’t mean it isn’t said…or holds a ring of truth.”

  Damn, but he liked her courage!

  In spite of himself, he had to smile. “Well done, Miss Cameron. Well done.”

  Now it was her turn to be surprised. Her brows came together. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you smile before. Does that mean there is a truce between us?”

  He let his smile widen before assuring her, “Absolutely not.” Tugging Homer’s lead, he began walking toward the hayrick.

  Behind him, she said, “You’d best beware then, Colster. I am a fierce enemy.”

  Phillip almost laughed aloud at that statement. He turned, still walking, and said, “I hope so, Miss Cameron.”

  She didn’t take offense. In fact, she gave a rueful smile and started following. “You’re incorrigible. Perhaps I should believe the things they say about you.”

  “Your drivers and their friends are still back the other way. You could ask them,” he said turning, the two of them falling into step together.

  Miss Cameron gave a mock shiver of disgust. “No, I made my choice when I shot one of them. Better the devil you know.” She said this last with such a cheerful attitude, Phillip did laugh. He couldn’t help himself, and she grinned back at him as if she’d accomplished a miracle.

  It bothered him a bit to be thought so sour. Fortunately, they’d reached the hayrick, and he was happy to change the subject. “We are finally in luck. This looks good enough for the night.” The hayrick was full of freshly mowed hay. He took off his greatcoat and spread it on hay. “Stay here while I scout out the area.”

  For once, she didn’t argue but sank gratefully down onto his coat.

  “And you, my friend Homer,” Phillip said to the horse, who was excited to see so much fresh fodder, “you will graze over here.” He led Homer over to a pasture and away from such a bounty of fodder. Removing his neckcloth, he used it to hobble the horse. Homer seemed content to give up his claim on the hay in return for a pasture of grass.

  Phillip circled the area around the hayrick. Not far away was a line of trees and a running stream. He returned to tell Miss Cameron of his find. “I’ll lead you to it, and you can have a moment alone,” he offered delicately.

  “You don’t need to,” she told him. “I can find it.”

  “I would feel better if you had an escort,” he said.

  “And I need a moment of privacy,” she informed with a note of finality.

  For a brief second, he thought of challenging her, but then realized exactly how tired she was. The braid she’d put in earlier was completely undone and, with her hair loose around her shoulders, she looked younger…but as determined as ever.

  “You’ve done more today than an army of women,” he conceded. “If you need me, call.”

  “I shall shout my lungs out.”

  He smiled at her terminology.

  “Careful, Your Grace, or you shall make a habit of smiling,” she chided.

  �
�I’m always on my guard with you, Miss Cameron.”

  His words seemed to catch her a moment. He expected her to offer another protest. But then, without so much as a murmur, she left the hayrick.

  He listened to ensure she was going in the right direction.

  She was.

  Phillip sat and was almost overwhelmed at how good it felt to finally relax. He couldn’t wait to get these wet boots off. They felt molded to his feet.

  Finally, he was able to have a moment of privacy for himself to review Nanny Frye’s letter. He removed his jacket. There were rips in the seams at the sleeve. He pulled the letter out and tossed the jacket aside.

  There wasn’t enough moonlight this far into the hayrick to see the words, but Phillip knew them by heart. What he wanted to do was touch the letter, to feel it, hoping for some divine guidance as to its authenticity.

  What if all this was a hoax? What if his brother had died?

  The idea didn’t ring true.

  Whether it was false optimism or foolishness, deep inside, Phillip did believe the letter was true. Justin was alive.

  But for what purpose would someone put into play such a treacherous scheme?

  “Your turn.” Miss Cameron’s voice was the first he realized she’d returned. He’d not even heard a footfall. With a start, he quickly folded the letter and, because he’d thrown his coat aside and didn’t want to make an issue of the letter, he slid it under his greatcoat beneath him on the hay.

  She noticed his hasty movements. “I didn’t mean to startle.” Her gaze went to where his hand rested on the coat over the hidden letter.

  “You didn’t.”

  Miss Cameron moved over to the greatcoat and sat down. Immediately, Phillip rose, wanting to act as normal as possible. He placed his foot over the spot where the letter was hidden. “Felt good to take my jacket off.”

  She pulled her heavy honey blond hair over one shoulder and combed it with her fingers. “The stream is icy cold. It revived my spirits a bit.”

  “Good.” He hesitated. She looked at him with askance. He realized she was waiting for him to settle down. He picked up his jacket. “Here, you can use this as a blanket.”

  Miss Cameron smiled her appreciation, her teeth white in the shadowy darkness, and he was struck by what a good smile she had. It was an honest smile, and the tension her sudden appearance had caused eased.

  He was overreacting. He was being a complete fool. Since he’d first met Miss Cameron in the coach, she’d acted with courage and candor, and the least he could do was give her a little trust. “I’ll be back,” he told her. “See if you can get to sleep.”

  “Thank you,” she said. He’d taken a few steps before her voice stopped him. “Your Grace?” He turned. Her gaze met his. “I’ve been thinking. You are right. I should return to London.”

  There. Proof that she wasn’t in league with MacKenna. A surprising relief flooded through him. “I’ll see to it in the morning. Now, sleep.”

  He left, his step lighter.

  It didn’t take him long to do what he had to do and during that time, he regained a bit of perspective. He was going to miss Miss Cameron. Most people never told him their true opinions. Charlotte Cameron couldn’t seem to hold hers to herself.

  He’d like to bed her.

  The idea seemed to have materialized out of the thin air but once in his mind, it would not be shaken.

  He wanted Miss Cameron. He wanted to bury himself deep within her. Just the thought of it made him as hard as an iron rod.

  Phillip plunged his hands up to his elbows in the icy stream. The cold had no impact on his lust.

  Dear God, what had come over him?

  Elizabeth had been a dutiful wife, but she’d not liked the carnal side of marriage. Out of respect to her, Phillip had kept his needs contained. He had control over himself.

  But Miss Cameron wasn’t Elizabeth. She wasn’t fragile. Indeed, if her response to his earlier kiss was any indication, she’d give as good as she got.

  Phillip lowered his head to the icy stream at just the thought and splashed water on his face. He had to keep his wits about him.

  He reminded himself that in spite of her advanced age, and willing kisses, Miss Cameron was quite obviously an innocent. The pull between them was strong, but not so much that he would compromise her virtue.

  He couldn’t bed her. He had to send her back to London. It was the right and honorable thing to do. Besides, if word escaped about their Scottish holiday together, she would truly be ruined, and all of her dreams of respectability would be lost because Phillip would not marry her. Not after the scandal of Miranda.

  Admiring a Cameron and trusting one were two separate and distinct things. London would go whirling off its axis if the scandalmongers even had a hint that he and Charlotte had been traveling together, and he’d had enough of being the object of gossip for one lifetime. It would not happen again.

  Besides, Miss Cameron might have many charms but she didn’t have the requisite sense of class his duchess would need. Phillip had overlooked that trait once when he’d offered for Miranda and had paid a dear price. Never again would he join the ranks of those men foolish enough to compromise their public authority by chasing bits of muslin.

  Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t admire her. And, if he were a less principled man, he wouldn’t hesitate to take complete advantage of their situation.

  Of course, he’d first have to ensure there were no pistols or knitting needles close at hand.

  This thought made him smile.

  Charlotte. He even liked the sound of her name. It was like a whisper.

  But she was not for him.

  Finally certain he had his baser emotions in hand, Phillip walked back to the hayrick in good spirits and would have stayed that way save for the sight of Miss Charlotte Cameron standing by the door in the moonlight reading Nanny Frye’s letter.

  Chapter 5

  Charlotte could not believe what she was reading. The moonlight had to be playing tricks on her. She strained her eyes as she reread the cramped writing two, then three times, her mind struggling to grasp the full import of the words.

  Colster had a twin brother? An older one who everyone had thought had died but had been kidnapped by Laird MacKenna?

  When she’d caught Colster reading this letter, and then scrambling to hide the fact of it from her, her curiosity could not be stopped.

  Besides, he’d left the letter out…sort of. She’d not had to go digging around in his pockets for it.

  And, reading it, she understood why he didn’t want her to know of it. This brother would have been the duke. The rightful duke. The letter explained why he was traipsing around Scotland by himself and why he was so tense, not that he needed an excuse.

  A cloud crossed the moon, blocking all light—

  No, not a cloud. Colster.

  Charlotte’s throat went dry. She raised her gaze.

  He pulled the letter from her fingers. She’d never seen him look so grim. “Curiosity is one of your failing virtues,” he said.

  “The writing was hard to read,” she said, fear, and guilt, making her voice faint.

  “But you read it,” he said with certainty.

  His voice was so quiet. He was angry. Very angry.

  “You said we were enemies,” she reminded him by way of a justification. “I caught you hiding it. I meant only to protect myself and my sisters…but I wish now I hadn’t read it.” She also wished her knees didn’t shake so. His calmness was frightening. Still, she could not resist asking, “Is it true?”

  He folded the letter. “I don’t know.”

  “But you are on your way to see Laird MacKenna to find out.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that is why you were so violent when you realized I was riding in the laird’s coach. You thought I was in league with him.”

  “Are you?” He’d moved inside the hayrick.

  Charlotte turned, following him with her eyes.
“No. I know nothing of this.”

  He picked up his jacket and tucked the letter into a pocket. His calmness unnerving.

  “What are you going to do?” she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out. “If that letter is true, you stand to lose everything.”

  “If that letter is true, I have a brother to protect and defend.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, the true enormity of what he faced settling in. “I had nothing to do with this.”

  Colster tossed the jacket down. “I am certain you didn’t. I didn’t know at first…but I do now.”

  For the first time since he’d discovered her with the letter, Charlotte felt safe enough to release her breath in a sigh of relief. “And please, I won’t say anything to anyone in London. You can trust me,” she assured him, well aware that for the first time in her dealings with the duke, she had the upper hand.

  He’d do anything to keep this information secret. Delicious possibilities poured into Charlotte’s mind. Colster could see that Constance’s name was on the list of all the important London hostesses. And with one word, he would return all the business her brother-in-law Alex’s shipping firm had lost over the scandal.

  Even better, he could do nothing to her personally now. Colster wasn’t like Klem and his cousin. He was a man of honor.

  She was as smug and happy as a cat who had the songbird in her mouth.

  Some of what she thought must have shown on her face, because he said, “You aren’t going to speak of this to anyone.”

  That depended on him, didn’t it?

  His face was in the shadows, but it wouldn’t have made any difference. She was no longer intimidated by him.

  “Of course not,” Charlotte answered with a purr. “I’ll keep mum to everyone in London.”

  “Oh, no, you aren’t going to London.”

  This was just too satisfying. “I will go wherever I wish, Your Grace,” she told him, proud to have finally outwitted her opponent. It was everything she could do to not dance a little jig. “You will have to trust me. You have no other choice.”

  Tension emanated from him. She couldn’t see his expression, but she knew he didn’t like this one bit—and that made her feel all the more powerful, something she’d rarely experienced in her life.