Collector of Hearts Read online

  Lady Shacklesbury broke the uncomfortable silence by turning to chatter on about her trip to town with Lady Tremaine and the table soon went back to normal; well, sort of. Arabella looked fit to cry and he felt like shedding a tear or two himself. Isabelle stared at him with an expression he would never have thought possible from her. Accusing? Disappointed? It made him shift in his seat.

  When the women all left the men to their port, Robert knew he was in for the Spanish Inquisition and he didn’t have to wait long.

  ‘Well?’ Quinn stood, hands on hips in front of him.

  ‘Well, what?’ Robert tried to keep his features blank. No need to give them more ammunition than they already had.

  ‘What is going on between you and my daughter?’ Tremaine’s strange beet-coloured complexion was unchanged.

  Robert made sure he made eye contact with Tremaine. ‘Not what you think.’

  ‘If it is not what I think, then what the hell is it, Shelton?’

  ‘We are friends. We were sharing a private joke, that’s all.’ Robert poured himself a drink. God, he wished the glasses were bigger.

  ‘Friends? What kind of a fool do you think I am?’ Tremaine’s hands were fisted at his sides.

  Robert sighed and looked to Shacklesbury. ‘Would you care to explain to Lord Tremaine why it is I am friends with Arabella?’

  Quinn blinked and then frowned before turning to Tremaine. ‘I warned him off, sir. I told him he must not be anything more than friends with Arabella. That our friendship depended upon it. We made an agreement.’

  ‘And you believe he has not broken your agreement?’

  Robert sat on the edge of the table in as much of a casual pose as he could muster, holding Quinn’s stare.

  ‘Yes. I believe him,’ Quinn finally replied.

  Tremaine remained unconvinced. ‘If you’ve had her, you will marry her.’ He pointed his finger in Robert’s face.

  ‘What, no challenge at dawn, just in case?’ Robert asked in a bored tone.

  Quinn gasped. ‘Robert!’

  He put his hands up in surrender. That was a low blow. ‘Sorry, forgot he was going to be your father-in-law.’

  ‘A challenge would be just what you’d want. It’s how you get out of everything isn’t it, Shelton?’

  Snowden jumped into the fray before it got out of hand. ‘Lord Tremaine, I believe he said he has not compromised your daughter. We must for now assume he is telling the truth. He would not jeopardise his friendship with Shacklesbury, I assure you.’

  Tremaine looked John’s way and then unclenched his fists.

  ‘Yes, Lord Snowden, you’re right, but you’ll forgive me for not quite believing his story. Friends indeed!’ Tremaine stalked from the room.

  John turned back to face Robert, his arms folded across his chest.

  ‘What?’ Both men glared down at him. ‘I haven’t, I swear!’

  ‘Then what was all the staring into each other’s eyes business?’ John asked.

  ‘As you said earlier, John, just because I can’t have her doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate her pretty face and a rather lovely cleavage,’ Robert replied.

  Quinn looked at John then for an explanation. ‘I didn’t say that exactly. We were discussing marriage.’

  ‘And why would you talk about marriage?’ Quinn demanded.

  ‘Because it just bloody well came up,’ John’s voice matched Quinn’s in decibels.

  ‘Why would he need to discuss it unless he bloody well needed to?’

  John and Quinn were now nose to nose. ‘I don’t know. Ask him!’

  Robert stood and separated the pair. ‘Ah, I believe you’re both supposed to be angry with me, not each other?’

  ‘Shut up!’ they both said in unison and Robert stepped away.

  ‘You know, this would have been more beneficial had I actually engaged in bed-sport with her, but since I haven’t, don’t you think this is all a little premature?’

  John was the first to back down from the glaring competition. ‘You’re right, Shelton.’ John sat down at one of the dining room chairs.

  Quinn tugged at his waistcoat. ‘Sorry, John.’

  John waved his apology off. ‘No need, Quinn.’ Then they all remained where they were, awkwardly not looking at each other for a minute.

  ‘Well, if that is the end of all the excitement, I’m for an early night. In my bed. Alone. Very, very alone.’

  Robert left the room and neither Quinn nor John tried to stop him. And although the problem seemed to have been resolved for now, he was left with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and he didn’t like it.

  The verbal scuffle with Tremaine didn’t worry him, he’d done the outraged father confrontation many times, but he didn’t like Quinn and John arguing because of him. It was just wrong. Slowly he walked up to his room and closed the door, contemplating whether he should pack up and leave for London at first light.

  But how would that look? Not good in anyone’s eyes. Tremaine would feel as if he had been proved right, Quinn may never speak to him again, and he would be leaving Arabella to the mercy of the rest of the household. He couldn’t in all good conscience do that to her.

  Sitting in a chair by the fire, he watched the flames dance while he drank straight from the brandy bottle. Neither the warmth from the hearth nor the heat of the brandy down his throat improved his mood. Deep down he knew he had no choice.

  He decided to stay.

  Chapter 15

  This was torture. The parlour was overheated and uncomfortable and as much as Arabella tried to focus on the book in her lap, the words kept blurring together. It wasn’t as though everyone was bombarding her with confronting questions; it was much worse than that. They were pretending everything was normal, when it most definitely was not; like dinner had not happened, when it most definitely had.

  Her father had charged into the room, dismissing her completely, to take to a chair and brood. Quinn and John entered a few minutes later, all smiles and inane comments about the weather and plans for the picnic tomorrow.

  Robert was not with them.

  Her heart slumped and tears burned behind her eyes. He had abandoned her to the whispers, to the glances from behind a fan or pair of cards. That was the worst thing of all. Did he truly not care? In his absence all their attention fell on her, however well they tried to hide it.

  She wanted to ask where he was, but thought better of it. It was more prudent to stay silent. She glanced around the room. Her mother looked confused, Isabelle’s expression clearly showed her concern, and Lady Shacklesbury and Amy were whispering frantically in the corner by the fire.

  Arabella could stand no more. She rose from her chair. Everyone looked at her like she was about to make some grand confession. ‘If I may be excused, I’m going to bed.’

  Eyebrows rose and heads nodded. Isabelle followed her, catching up by the time she got to the top of the stairs.

  ‘Please don’t fret, Bella. Everything will be back to rights tomorrow. Will you be all right?’

  ‘No. They all think I am Shelton’s lover, his... whore.’ Her throat closed around the last word.

  Isabelle’s expression turned quite pale. ‘No, they don’t.’ She put her hand on Arabella’s shoulder.

  ‘Please, don’t make this worse.’ Arabella pushed the door to her room open and threw herself onto the bed. Her sister followed, sitting primly on the end of the bed, smoothing Arabella’s hair as she moaned her distress into the comforter.

  ‘If nothing has happened and Shelton says the same, I am sure everything will be forgotten by tomorrow.’

  Arabella turned onto her back, looking up at the canary-yellow canopy of the bed and decided she hated the happy colour. ‘But something has happened!’ Misery flowed through her like a river of poison and she wished for a swift end to this pain.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Isabelle sounded shocked, as well she might by such a statement.

  Arabella turned her head and found her
sister, eyes wide and mouth open.

  ‘I’ve fallen in love with him, with the Collector of Hearts! How could I be so stupid? I love him, Izzy, and I don’t know how it happened or even when. Oh, what a fool I am.’

  Isabelle closed her mouth and chewed on her lip for a moment. ‘Oh, dear. And Shelton? Does he love you in return?’

  ‘He doesn’t even acknowledge it as a word, let alone think he can be in it. I am doomed, doomed to be in love with him forever. I will never be happy again.’ She blinked back her tears, determined not to let them fall, not over him.

  Isabelle stroked Arabella’s hair. ‘Have you told him?’

  ‘No! The last thing I need is for him to laugh in my face.’

  ‘How do you know he will laugh? Everyone seems to think he is in love with you, and it is you who do not want him.’

  Arabella sniffed, hugged her pillow. ‘They do?’

  ‘Quinn says he has never seen Robert so distracted. That he would have replaced you in his thoughts long before now under normal circumstances.’ Isabelle tried to encourage her with a smile. ‘All is not lost, Bella. We shall come up with a brilliant and cunning plan to catch the Collector at his own game.’

  Arabella highly doubted her sister’s optimistic view. After all, Robert had said he had never lost a conquest. And yet … he had not won her. She and Isabelle sat in silence for a few moments. Arabella weighed up her options. She didn’t have many but what she did have was determination and a heart full of love. The game was not over, not by a long shot. Maybe she could at least give her sister’s plan the benefit of the doubt. Wasn’t it worth the risk of trying? She leapt up and hugged her sister. ‘How shall I ever function without you?’

  Isabelle’s smile was full of relief. ‘Don’t you see? You will never be without me. I am part of you and you of me. Shall I call for some warm milk or a hot chocolate?’ she asked.

  ‘No, thank you.’ Arabella kissed her sister softly on the cheek.

  ‘I should have known,’ Isabelle whispered to her. ‘You are my dear heart. How could you not be in love when I am?’

  Arabella gave a sad little laugh. How indeed! They had always done everything together; why not fall in love as well?

  ***

  A note slipped under his door this morning informed him Arabella was in the garden in the middle of the maze. Robert wondered if it was some kind of trap at first, but went anyway. He had spent most of the night worrying about her and hoping she wasn’t mad at him for leaving her to the face the perils of the parlour on her own. He would have gladly faced them for her, but he knew his presence would only have made things worse.

  She was there, waiting. Her face lifted to the sun, her eyes closed. She looked beautiful and fragile, like an autumn leaf tenuously holding on; waiting, waiting for the breeze to carry her away. It was evident she had been upset; the slight puffiness around her eyes told him all. It killed him to see her like this and he was the cause.

  ‘Hello,’ he said as he came closer. She turned to him, her eyes shining and so melancholy. His heart started to pound. How could she be so lovely and so sad at the same time?

  She moved over on the bench to make a space for him, a small frown between her brows. ‘Are you all right? You look tired?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ He actually had a terrible hangover but it was nothing less than he deserved. In all this, her first concern was for him. He sat down. ‘Did they give you a difficult time last night?’

  She shrugged. ‘Not really, but it was almost as bad as if they had. Silence can be just as punishing as shouting. And you?’

  ‘The Shacklesbury inquisition. Your father wanted to punch me. Quinn and John quarrelled over me and then I left. And all over what? The fact we were looking at each other during dinner? It’s ridiculous.’ He took her hand in his. ‘We did nothing wrong. Don’t let them make you think we did.’

  Her eyes searched his. ‘What about the stream?’

  ‘What about it? We spent a lovely morning splashing water at each other and looking at clouds.’

  A small sigh escaped her lips. ‘We did a bit more than that,’ she reminded him.

  ‘So we kissed. We’ve kissed before. Besides, no one else but us knows what happened yesterday. We were chaperoned the whole time.’

  ‘What did you threaten the poor groom with? And what if he talks?’

  The concern between her brows bothered him. He smiled, wanting to reassure her. ‘I paid him handsomely and he knows the consequence of loose lips.’

  She stood then and paced in a circle. ‘I can’t do it.’

  He remained sitting although he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and comfort her. Kiss away her frown. ‘Do what?’

  ‘Play this game with you. There is too much at risk. Quinn and Isabelle—’

  ‘Try to understand. If you do not act the same towards me and me towards you, there will be more speculation than ever. We must carry on as normal. So no more of this dreary face, Bella. I want only to see sunshine and smiles from now on.’

  He reached out, took her hand and kissed her palm, softly, lingering at the centre. He wanted to replace her palm with her lips. To kiss her and have her respond in that way that set his blood on fire.

  ‘Robert?’

  He kissed her wrist. ‘Yes, my lady?’

  ‘Will you be going to the picnic today?’

  He looked up and gave her a smile. ‘Of course. Shall I escort you?’ He kept her gaze.

  ‘It wouldn’t be wise. To give you attention would be folly, surely?’

  ‘It would give them all something to twitter about.’

  ‘That is precisely the problem.’

  He reached up and touched her face. ‘It will be fine. You will be fine.’

  He could see she wanted to believe him but still doubt shadowed the depths of her eyes ‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’ He dug into his pocket and pulled out some ribbons. ‘For you.’

  She looked down at the rainbow of ribbons. ‘An apology gift for leaving me to the hounds last night?’

  Already she knew him too well. ‘Of a sort.’ He didn’t know why he gave them to her. Perhaps it was because this was what he did when he felt bad over something. He’d bought his mother a whole hothouse to be constructed at the estate when he had maimed the son of her dear friend Lady Ashbury in a duel a few years back. It was the only way he knew how to make things better.

  ‘Amy told me you have a mother who lives at your country estate and never leaves. Why is that?’

  Had she been reading his thoughts, to mention his mother? ‘You say that like you can’t believe I have a mother.’

  ‘Of course I believe you have a mother, and most likely even a father.’

  He picked a few leaves off the hedge beside him. ‘I did have a father once, if one can use that term so loosely.’

  ‘You didn’t like your father?’

  ‘I might have, had he not hated me. You see, I was the spare, and he’d spent many years grooming my brother Thomas to shine brightly upon the Shelton throne. Unfortunately for my father, and me, Thomas got a chill, took to his bed and died at the grand old age of twelve.’

  She put down the ribbons and took his hand in hers. ‘I’m so sorry about your brother. You must miss him terribly.’

  He hadn’t thought about Thomas in years. Sometimes his memory would be triggered by something like an atlas. Thomas had loved them and had dreamt of sailing off to far-off lands. Places he hadn’t lived to visit.

  ‘I do, yes. I’d been largely ignored by my father up until Thomas’s death. He cared little what I did. Suddenly, I was the sole focus of a man tormented by the death of the son he had loved and raised. I was a poor imitation in his eyes. Never strong enough, never fast enough to learn.’

  ‘But surely he understood you were just a child?’

  ‘He understood that I was not Thomas and therefore not good enough. Mother did her best to protect me from his wild and reckless tantrums, his mad methods of preparing me t
o be a marquis. She could only do so much. On my mother’s insistence I was eventually sent to school, and it was a relief to be away from him.

  ‘When he realised I could not be moulded into the image of Thomas, he pretended I didn’t exist again. Abandoned as a lost cause, a discarded project of no more interest to him. He would not let me enter his study, I was not to talk to him, and he became a shell of the man I had feared for so long. I think somewhere along the way he lost his mind—to grief, maybe. Or perhaps he simply gave up. I was never his son, not in his eyes.’

  He had envied his brother for the attention given him by their father when he was younger. Thomas had never been chastised in front of the servants or their mother. That was a special gift, just for him. The last words his father spoke to him were, ‘Damn you to hell.’

  ‘Oh, Robert.’

  He hated that look of pity in her eyes. ‘I should not have told you.’

  She squeezed his hand tightly. ‘Yes, yes you should. This is what I need to know.’

  He raised a brow. ‘That I was never good enough for my father?’

  She pursed her lips in annoyance. ‘No, of course not. I mean there are things in your past that have made you the man you are today. Telling me enables me to understand you better.’

  ‘Oh, well, what a wonderful specimen I am then. Is this part of your “get to know me” scheme? Weeding out my painful past?’

  ‘Must you turn everything sideways? The Collector of Hearts didn’t just emerge from nowhere. Something must have happened to make you think of us the way you do.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Women.’

  Oh, she had no idea of the evil mistress who had formed him. He smiled. He liked it when she thought she was on to something. ‘In which way do I think of women, in your opinion?’

  ‘I don’t know. I have yet to figure that out.’

  ‘Ha, my mother would like you.’

  Arabella crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Would she? And how would you introduce me to your mother?’

  ‘I wouldn’t. There is little chance of you ever meeting my mother.’

  ‘Humour me. What would you say?’