His lightness faded into worry. "Aye?"
"I must tell you something first, before this goes further."
"Ominous words, caitein. What is it?"
"I. . . I meant this to turn out well." "And so it will."
She tried to smile, but couldn't manage it, and stared at her hands instead. "Alex?"
"I saw Damien St. Claire. On my way to meet you. I convinced him to meet me later. I thought to send you to him, but not until after . .. well, afterward. And then I was ill."
She looked up to see his shock. "I was to meet him at an inn on Saturday. And now he must be gone. I am sorry."
He did not look furious, exactly. "And you did not tell me?"
"No." She shook her head. "I wanted to keep you with me. And I did not see the harm. But it was wrong, of course. Selfish."
"Selfish."
"I'm sorry."
"Did he hurt you, Alex? Threaten you? If he—"
"No. I was scared, but he believed me when I acted as if I knew nothing."
Collin sighed, a deep exhalation that ruffled her hair. Then he offered her the last thing she expected: a smile. Strained, at best, but beautiful all the same. "Well, I'd like to strangle you, I suppose, but it's probably an unlucky way to seal a betrothal. And you are still weak."
"Collin?"
"Perhaps he's heard you are sick. He may still be hanging about."
"And perhaps he's heard that I was in the care of a Scotsman named Blackburn."
"Perhaps." He leaned in to kiss her nose. "But you are alive, Alexandra. And he cannot stay hidden forever. Now tell me about this inn."
The warmth in his gaze melted her heart and wet her eyes, so she sat up and buried her face in his shirt, breathing in the scent of her lover and husband. "I am so sorry. But I'll be a better wife than I've been a lover. I promise."
His laugh rumbled through her. "Do not make threats, caitein. Anything better would surely kill me."
Chapter 15
"And the Northumberland parcel? That should pass to a daughter, should it not?"
Collin blinked, trying not to doze, lulled as he was by the droning of the solicitors. Jewels, land, income, furniture. All of it had to be accounted for and documented. All of her wealth and he wanted none of it. Her money would remain hers. It would pass to any children, as would her jewels and land. The furniture . . . Ah, that had proved a sticky question. In the end, the furniture she brought to his home would belong to Collin. He would also be the proud new owner of a coach and four. He'd never owned a carriage before, but he couldn't expect his wife and offspring to travel on horseback and camp beneath the stars. So . . . a coach, some furniture, and a wife.
Still it went on. Collin had no idea what they were speaking of now, but at each utterance of the word children or offspring, a strange flutter buffeted his chest. Children . . . babies . . . Alexandra round and firm and huge with his child. Flutter. Flutter.
It was anticipation, certainly—warm and wonderful. But it was fear also. She was so tiny, how could she possibly carry a child of his? He supposed it was done. His own mother was only two inches taller than Alex, after all, and he'd turned out to be a great brute. And what a mother Alex would be— "You can wake up now. They're gone." He opened his eyes to find the duke smirking down at him, blessedly possessed of two glasses of whisky. "Is it over?"
"Yes. My sister has been successfully broken down into legal parcels and those parcels distributed accordingly. The final papers will be drawn up tomorrow."
Collin gratefully took the offered glass and drank a healthy portion of it.
"You are better off than you let on, Lord Westmore."
"Collin. We are to be brothers, after all."
He waited for a sneer or a barb, but Somerhart merely nodded. "Collin. Well, you must call me Hart then, though I'll ask you not to use any of Alex's nicknames for me."
"Ah, no. Hart it is."
"You're avoiding the question."
"Which question?"
"Does Alex know just how comfortable you are?" "My assets are less than hers."
"Hers are substantial."
Collin shrugged, finishing his whisky with one final gulp.
"You were unusually generous in the marriage contract."
"I will not have Alex or anyone else wondering if I've married her for money."
Hart raised his glass, offering Collin a toast and a quirk of his brow. "It is more than I'd hoped for her, frankly, even before the scandal."
"Surely you jest. Alex had her pick of the damned empire."
"Yes, she is lovely and intelligent and yes, men want her. But she is also an heiress and the daughter of a duke. A prize. Certain men might have been desperate to have her. Men worse than St. Claire." Hart's hand clenched, white knuckles a contrast to the amber liquid in his glass. "I should be shot for not guarding her more closely."
"She was chaperoned, surely?"
"Yes, but by a companion she herself chose. Cousin Merriweather turned out to be a sickly, self-indulgent chaperone, no doubt just as Alex planned. Of course, I was not willing to endure the marriage mart to supervise her personally, and she paid the price for that."
Collin winced, absolutely understanding the man's guilt. The woman had brought him to a very similar place. "Well, as you said, she can be ruthless in her enthusiasm. If she had determined to ruin herself, she would have got to it eventually."
Hart grunted into his glass as he finished his whisky. He did not shatter the glass against the wall this time, only set it firmly on the table beside him and frowned at it.
"Still nothing?"
"No." Collin had spent the past week scouring the countryside for any hint of St. Claire, but the man was gone or well-hidden. There had been several cold campgrounds near the inn where he'd meant to meet Alex though. Apparently St. Claire had grown too wary to show himself in public.
He hadn't been afraid to send a note to Alexandra though, the vicious dog. You have betrayed me, darling bitch. I will not forget this. No explicit threat, but Collin would kill the man all the same, just for the look on Alex's face as she'd read it.
Collin snarled in frustration. "I still have the next week before the wedding. He's gone to ground, but I'll find him if he so much as twitches."
"I should have gone after him myself," Hart murmured. "I did not, because Alex begged me to show mercy. She pled with me, took all the blame on herself. I wanted to kill him, of course, but she . . ."
He shrugged, shoulders eloquent in their self-directed scorn. "When you told me that she'd been used as a pawn, I realized I should never have promised her anything."
"You wanted to protect her."
"Well, I was wrong. I thought it was nothing more than what it appeared—a game of flirtation gone awry. But I looked into it after you came to me, Collin. Asked around. You know that he and your brother were classmates at Harrow."
"Yes. They were supposed to have been friends."
"I think they were, but at some point St. Claire began to resent your brother—his money, his future title . . . something. He lost a great deal of money to him one night and John forgave it, returned his notes to him. St. Claire apparently lost his temper, began raging about disrespect and arrogance and the whole damned system of noble rank."
"When was this?" Collin sat forward, grimly eager to have this mystery of motive solved.
"Years before the duel. Five years ago maybe."
"Could that be it? A stupid argument between two young bucks?" He rubbed his suddenly aching head. "He would risk his life just for revenge against John's kindness to him?"
"It was the only solid thing I could come up with. St. Claire made clear that he did not consider your brother a friend after that incident, though John was obviously the injured party."
"So . . . What? He simply resented his wealth?" Collin shook his head in disgust. Oh, he'd had reason himself to resent many a wealthy man, but he had pride, for God's sake. He had taken his resentment and built himself a business, a life. He'd determined to make his money off the very men who would look down on him for his mother's blood. And now he would marry one of the finest daughters of the realm. Sweet justice indeed, if he wanted it. But he didn't want that, not in his bed.
"A rumor circulated," Hart added, his words carefully spaced.
"About?"
"I couldn't confirm it, but there was talk that St. Claire had taken up cards again . . . and that he lost another fortune to John."
"Just before the duel?"
"Two months."
Collin leaned his head back over the top of the wing chair, stared at the elaborate relief sculpted in the plaster of the ceiling. Cherubs peeked from behind plaster clouds, every tiny curl on their heads accounted for. Cherubs in the library. Oh, Alex would be very disappointed with her new home.
"Collin?"
"I guess . . . I guess that must be it then. St. Claire thought to beat him and regain his pride. And when he was beaten again, he compromised the woman John loved. I wonder if he knew that John would challenge him, or if killing him was just a bonus."
"I'll do everything I can to help find him. And when he's caught, he will be prosecuted."
"I'm not sure anything more can be done. My men in France are watching for his return. I've bribed his solicitor. It's a waiting game."
He glanced to Hart to find the man staring at the ceiling as well. Perhaps the cherubs were functional, a distraction from troubling thoughts.
"Your Grace?"
They both jumped and looked toward the door to find Prescott standing at the threshold, his clothing more lordlike than anything Collin even owned. The man was impeccable, as always, while Collin looked exactly like a man who'd spent a week in the saddle.
"Lady Alexandra has requested—"
Prescott shifted quite abruptly to the left, displaced by an outraged vision in lace and lawn.
"Hart, I don't need to stay in bed anymore. The doctor made quite clear— Collin!" She flew across the room, impossibly alive for a girl only days out of her deathbed.
Collin could not get his knees straight before she was on him, her dressing robe flying apart to reveal the less conservative nightgown beneath. Her warm bottom landed squarely on his lap as he hit his chair with a grunt, but Alex did not grant him a moment's reprieve. "How long have you been here? Why haven't you come
up? I'm dying of boredom, I tell you." She leaned closer and pressed her lips to his ear. "You look in need of a bath, and I do have that debt to repay."
"Your brother is sitting not three feet away," he responded as quietly as he could.
"Your loss," she countered, and bounced to her feet. She flashed Hart a sassy smile and sauntered across the room. "Just what are you boys up to?"
Collin gave his future brother-in-law a wary look, but Hart shrugged back at him and stood.
"We're negotiating your marriage contract, pet. Your assets must be assigned."
"Oh?" The hot wariness in her gaze burned through Collin's skin. "Well, it must be done I suppose."
"I think you'll find your new husband to be the soul of generosity."
"Of course," she answered, but he could see the relief that cooled her eyes.
God, he hated this whole situation. Why couldn't she have been a tavern keeper's daughter or the sister of a squire? Why had he fallen for a princess?
Her hand trailed over the large table, sliding over one of the working drafts of the contract. She stopped and straightened, then leaned in to peer closely at the words. Collin stiffened.
"What's this?"
He felt his jaw clench. He didn't want her to look at the numbers, felt as if his life had been laid bare on those papers, lined up to be judged. She had the right though. Of course she did.
"MacTibbenham?"
Collin cleared his throat, but not before he heard a distinct snort from Hart's direction. "MacTibbenham Collin Blackburn? That's your name?"
"Ah. . ."
Hart coughed, raising a ridiculous commotion.
"I'm not sure if my mother meant to honor the man or shame him, but it seems she was determined to give me his name."
"She certainly was." He watched her closely, but she did not even smirk, much less giggle. "I've never—"
"May I shorten it to Mac? I don't know if I can quite get my tongue around—"
"You may call me Collin."
"All right. Collin." Her lips twitched, lifted.
"I would suggest you hold your laughter or I will be tempted to give our first son his father's name."
She made a good show of feigning absolute terror, and even Collin felt his lips curl into a smile as she begged him not to curse their child with such an unspeakable burden.