Lance’s father had died when he was only four. Left in the care of his strong-willed mother and five older sisters, he’d been the darling of the family and had received no encouragement to stand on his own, even after he’d reached an age to set up his own household. He’d admitted that at one time he’d been interested in courting the vicar’s daughter, but although his sisters had supported the match (less than enthusiastically, of course), his mother had had a fit of the vapors every time the poor woman was around. The relationship didn’t make it past that.
Theodora was fairly certain he’d shared that story as a warning, and she’d assured him she was prepared for any theatrics his mother might throw their way. So long as the rest of the members of his family were welcoming, she was more than willing to soothe his mother’s understandable fears of losing her son.
It explained why Lance had remained single for so long. He felt responsible for his mother, and Theodora honored him for it. Truly, he was the kindest man she’d ever met.
He shook his head now. “Perhaps we should have a physician look at your ankle.”
Conner said in a cheerful voice that belied the evil he was trying to perform, “Och, squire, you need nae worry; ’tis nae broken. I know for I examined it myself.”
Theodora stiffened.
The squire’s polite smile wavered. “You examined her ank—”
“Fox, fetch a chair,” Theodora announced hurriedly. She warmed the abruptness of her words with a smile. “I’ll get a crick in my neck if I have to look up at you, for you are so very tall. There should be more chairs in the common room.”
He hesitated a moment, but after she sent him a pointed look, he flushed and then nodded. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he was out the door, Theodora whirled toward Conner and hissed, “I know what you’re doing and it will not work!”
6
Me?” Conner feigned an innocent look. “I’m being pleasant.”
“That’s being pleasant?”
A smile twitched his mouth, and his blue eyes twinkled with humor. “Considering the circumstances, aye. At least more pleasant than I wish to be.”
“I would not call it ‘pleasant,’ and neither would anyone else. First, you try to squeeze poor Lance’s hand off— Oh yes, I could see what you were doing. We all could. And then you blurted out that you had been looking at my ankle, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.”
“It felt natural to me.”
It had felt natural to her, too, blast it. For the hundredth time that day, Theodora had to swallow the temptation to curse. “Stop trying to shock him.”
Conner looked thoughtful, as if he were truly considering her words. “That was a bit much, eh?” He leaned back in his chair and looked her up and down. “Such a fine-looking couple. The two of you match in looks, as handsome as galleons in full sail. But lass, I can already tell he’s nae your equal elsewise.”
She stamped down a traitorous trill of satisfaction at Conner’s “handsome” comment, and said in a firm, cool tone, “You know nothing of the man. You’ve just met him.”
“I’ve heard enough. And I know you better than you know yourself. You need a man strong enough to sharpen wits with you—otherwise you’ll lead him by the nose, and neither of you will be happy.”
“You don’t know what I need, and I will not ‘lead him by the nose.’ I’m not that sort of woman.”
Conner’s brows rose, but he wisely didn’t respond.
“Besides, Lance is—”
“Lance. I meant to comment on that earlier.” Conner made a face. “What sort of name is that?”
“A good one.” She narrowed her gaze on Conner. “I’m warning you—don’t start. Whenever you don’t like something, you mock it in that odious manner you have, sneering as if you knew something no one else does, when in fact you know nothing. I won’t have you doing that to either of us!”
Conner’s smile fled and he leaned closer, his knee now against hers. “Thea, I’d never make fun of you. Nae in earnest. I respect you more than any woman alive.”
His deep voice rippled across her, as delicious as sinking into a hot bath on a cold winter day. “You tease me all the time.”
“Nae in a cruel way. But Lance? That is completely different.” Conner shrugged. “If he warrants teasing, I’ll do so.”
She shifted in her chair, moving her knee away from his and wishing her skin hadn’t warmed at that small touch, reminding her of their kiss. Suddenly, the day seemed too long to bear. She sighed, sinking a bit in her chair. “Conner, please. Just stop.”
“I dinnae know, lass. He seems to be a verrah easy target. I may nae have the strength to resist the temptation to fire a few warning shots over his bow.” Conner shrugged. “If he wishes me to quit, he’ll let me know. He’s nae a child.”
Conner absently flexed his fingers as he spoke, and she couldn’t hide a smirk. “He squeezed your hand back, didn’t he?”
Conner stopped flexing his hand and sent her a sharp look. “Nae too much.”
“He should have crushed it, as impertinent as you were, but he’s too much a gentleman.”
“Is he, now? Obsessed with the niceties, I’ve nae doubt.” Conner leaned back, his elbows resting on the chair arms as he templed his fingers and rested them against his chin. “I wonder what the guid squire would say if he knew I’ve seen his intended bride wearing naught but a sheer, seductive nightgown?”
“Oh!” Her face heated. “It was not sheer, and you know it!”
He sighed. “True. ’Twas a heavy fabric, and had enough ruffles to make a sail. Frankly, I’ve seen nuns wear less to bed.”
How had he seen nuns— No. Don’t ask. You don’t want to know. “You swore you’d never say anything about that.” Indeed, in all these years, he’d never mentioned that night years ago when, frightened out of her wits by a crashing thunderstorm, she’d run from her room at Cumberbatch House and down the gallery hallway toward her parents’ room.
The storm had shaken the house, the windows rattling as if ready to shatter, and at seventeen, she’d been so crazy with fear that she hadn’t seen Conner standing in the hallway until she’d run straight into him.
He’d been on his way to the guest bedchamber that was always kept ready should he happen to visit. As it was so late, none of the lamps were lit, and the hallway was dark when Theodora had burst from her room. Conner hadn’t hesitated a moment, but had pulled her hard against him as she shook, the storm raging overhead.
She never knew how long they stood there, her cheek pressed to his broad chest as he whispered against her hair, telling her over and over she was safe and that the storm would pass.
Eventually, the thunder had lessened and the rumbles grew quieter. And during that time, Theodora had burrowed against him, breathing in the seductive scent of his cologne, soaking in the strength of his arms, and—second by second—falling even more deeply in love with him.
And as the storm had slowly abated, the air about them had grown thick, as if charged with electricity left from the storm. She’d grown aware of his closeness in a new way, enjoying the warmth of his hands as he slowly stroked her back, the scent of his cologne lingering in the softness of his silk waistcoat where it rested beneath her cheek, the sheer headiness of his closeness—every delicious detail enveloping her like a warm blanket.
As the seconds grew, her erratic breathing had grown more so. Her legs had grown heavy, her skin prickled with awareness, and her heart thundered in her ears. She’d thought Conner had felt the same, for his breathing had increased with hers, and for one startled moment she’d thought she’d felt his lips brush against her temple.
She’d wanted to lift her face to his, rise up on her tiptoes, and kiss him—a wild and bold thought that had made her tremble anew. But while she was gathering her courage, Conner had dropped his arms and stepped back, leaving Theodora suddenly alone and quite cold.
Worse, as she stared at him, fil
led with longing and desire, he’d chucked her under the chin as one would a child and then said with cool indifference, “Off to bed with you, lass. You look a mess.”
The words had crumpled her soul even as she faced the shocking realization that not only had she clung to a man who didn’t want her, but in her haste she’d forgotten her robe and wore only her night rail, her hair unbound and tangled.
Embarrassed and flustered and in a true oh God, what have I done panic that only a brokenhearted seventeen-year-old could feel, she’d mumbled something about nightmares that had made no sense and bolted back to the safety of her room as if the hounds of hell pursued her, slamming the door behind her with enough force to knock a vase off a table.
Once safely alone she’d thrown herself on her bed, embarrassed and yearning, his cold voice echoing in her overactive imagination. She hadn’t been able to sleep for the rest of the night, dying a thousand deaths of mortification.
The next morning had found her bleary-eyed and anxious, wondering how she’d come to make such a fool of herself. And things had gotten worse when she’d gone downstairs to find Conner alone in the breakfast room.
He’d looked less than happy to see her, which had flamed her insecurities to wild new heights. In an attempt to save face, she’d awkwardly demanded that he never tell a soul about their brief encounter. She’d sworn it had meant nothing to her, and how she desperately wished to forget it. To her deep disappointment, he’d merely said sharply that of course it had meant nothing, and it would be impossible to tell anyone about something he’d already forgotten. His slightly bored air had furthered her agony and she’d returned to her room even more mortified than before. It had taken her weeks before she could think of those moments without wanting to burst into tears.
Shaking off the memory now, Thea said, “I’m surprised you remember anything about that night. I barely do.”
His brows went up. “Forget the time a lovely woman threw herself into my arms and begged me to save her? Never.”
Her cheeks couldn’t get any hotter as she fought a wild trill of triumph that the long-ago moment had stayed in his memory after all. “I didn’t beg you to do anything except forget the entire incident, which you promised to do.”
“So I did,” he said gravely, though his blue eyes twinkled anew. “Which I said merely to protect the obvious embarrassment of a young, tender lass.”
She searched his expression. “You were protecting my feelings?”
He shrugged. “ ’Twas obvious you were distressed by the incident. I thought it best to put your mind at ease.”
That was kind. If she could believe it. “So I can count on you not to mention it now.”
“Sadly, nae. You’re nae longer a lass, and this is a special circumstance.”
“Oh yes, you need to marry someone—anyone, really—so you can keep your inheritance from the ‘bloody Campbells.’ That ‘special circumstance,’ ” she said bitterly.
His gaze darkened, the humor now gone from his face. “This is nae just aboot me. ’Tis for your own benefit, as weel.”
She gave a short laugh. “How in the world would marrying you benefit me?”
“Och, there are many benefits, and you know it.” His gaze caressed her and left her short of breath. “But more than that, it would prevent you from making the greatest mistake of your life.”
The words hung over her head, and her throat tightened as if he’d suddenly jerked a noose about it. And she realized that she was terrified of that very thing. Is this the biggest mistake of my life? After I marry, will I wake up and wish for something else . . . Someone else?
Her gaze met Conner’s, and for a horrified second she wanted to blurt out everything: how much she’d loved him, and how he’d never once even noticed, and how she now desperately wanted to find her own way, her own life, without living under his shadow.
Her thoughts all tumbled from her lips in one breathless question. “Would you care?”
“If you married the wrong mon? Of course I would. Your brother is one of my oldest friends.”
“We’re not talking about my brother. And forget your inheritance for a moment, and answer this.” She leaned forward, committed to hearing the truth, however unpleasant it might be. “Why would it matter to you if I married the wrong person?”
He looked uncomfortable. “ ’Twould take a hard-hearted mon nae to be concerned aboot that, especially if it is someone they cared for.”
“So you care for me.”
“Of course I do. I’ve known you far too long nae to.”
Don’t ask. He’ll say something you don’t want to hear. But the words flew from her lips like an arrow shot from a bow. “In what way?”
He shifted in his chair, looking so ill at ease that she knew she’d hate his answer before he even spoke. “Are there different ways to care for someone? You either do, or you do nae. And I do.”
She was already too far gone to let it go. “But how do you care for me?”
“Dammit, Thea, what do you want me to say? I would watch oot for you, and make certain you are weel. You can always count on me, as you know.” He seemed to sense that what he’d said wasn’t enough, for he added in a tight voice, “You are my closest and best friend. Surely that’s enough.”
But it’s not. Her disappointment was so deep, it was as if he’d stomped on her heart. She shook off the bitter taste of his rejection, and managed to say in a colorless tone, “You are my closest friend, too.”
But I cannot settle for being just friends.
To her relief, Lance’s footsteps sounded in the hallway and he appeared with a large chair.
Looking as pleased as if he’d found a treasure, he carried it to where she sat and plunked it down at her side. “There. I’m sorry that took so long, but most of the chairs in the common room were mere stools. The landlord kindly allowed me to bring this chair from his own bedchamber.” Lance sat, the large chair creaking. “Now we may all be comfortable.”
“So we may,” Conner agreed, as if he were somehow responsible for that comfort.
The squire placed his hands over his knees and smiled. “So, Mr. Douglas—”
“Please. Call me Conner, as Thea does.”
“Thea?” The squire looked at her, a question in his eyes.
“Theodora is too big a name for such a wee thing,” Conner told the squire.
Lance looked at Theodora as if he were only now seeing her. “So she is.”
“I’m over average height for a woman.” Most of her friends were inches shorter than she. “The term ‘wee’ is incorrect.”
Lance chuckled and patted her hand. “But we’re talking as men. To us, you’re quite delicate in size.”
Theodora had just opened her mouth to flash her answer to that pompous statement when she caught Conner’s pleased expression. There was nothing he’d like better than to see her argue with Lance.
It was difficult, but she swallowed her retort. “Of course.” Later, you and I will have a good discussion about this.
Blithely unaware he’d barely escaped a precarious moment, Lance said in a playful tone, “I believe I will call you Thea as well.”
“No. ‘Thea’ sounds like a pet’s name.” She sliced a look at Conner. “Which I’ve said before, although some people don’t listen.”
“I listened,” Conner protested. “I just dinnae agree. Besides, you dinnae have to answer to it.” His eyes glinted wickedly. “But you always do.”
She did, blast it. Over the years she’d gotten used to it, and now it was second nature. She sniffed.
The squire chuckled. “I have nicknames for all of my sisters. The oldest we call Teapot because she was obsessed with having tea from the time she was a tiny thing, barely able to walk. And the youngest we call Duckling, as she made a pet of one of the ducks and refused to allow it to sleep out of doors, so it nested at the foot of her bed for years.” Lance turned politely to Conner. “Mr. Douglas, I believe you have siblings as we
ll. Two brothers and a sister, I was told.”
Theodora caught the frozen look on Conner’s face. Oh no. Anna! Theodora turned to Lance. “I’m sure Conner doesn’t wish to discuss his family right now. He’s been away for a while, and surely he’d rather discuss something more interesting like—like the weather or—or—”
“Thea.”
She met Conner’s gaze, his pale blue gaze was warm with appreciation. “It’s all right, lass. I have to get used to it.”
The sadness she saw in his eyes made her own fill with tears.
Lance looked from one to the other, clearly confused. “I’m sorry. Did I misspeak?”
“Of course nae,” Conner said. “Recently, my sister, she—” He stopped, his mouth parted, though no words passed his lips. After a moment, he cleared his throat and said, “She left us.”
“Dear God!” Lance’s face folded with genuine contrition. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me; it was impertinent to mention so personal a topic.”
Conner took a drink of whisky, and Theodora noticed his hand was tight on the glass. After he’d swallowed, he managed a faint smile. “ ’Tis naught. I must get used to saying it aloud. Meanwhile, you’ve enough sisters to fill a crew and sail for India. Tell me, is it madness at your house?”
“At times,” Lance admitted. “Especially at dinner.”
“I daresay that explains why you’re running away, to escape the female chatter that must attend such a household.”
“Ah! You’re out there.” Lance claimed one of Theodora’s hands. “I had many reasons for this adventure, but none of them had to do with running away.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Indeed, I am running to.”
Theodora’s face heated. “Lance, there’s no need for—” She untangled her hand from his.
The squire instantly looked contrite. “I should not have been so forward in front of Mr. Douglas.” He turned his attention back to Conner, allowing Theodora time to collect herself. “So, Mr. Douglas—Conner—what brought you hither? It could not be mere coincidence you stumbled upon us.”