Collector of Hearts Page 6

  Then he saw her. His eyes seemed to move instinctively to her, like a homing pigeon recognising familiar ground. His head came up and he stared at her for the longest time before she noticed him. Her eyes widened. She made a fuss of hiding behind her horse while a groom examined its hooves. Robert took no time getting to her, practically leaping off his horse in his haste to come to her assistance.

  ‘Ho! Miss Fleming. It looks like you have yourself a problem.’ He bowed. ‘Can I be of help?’

  She didn’t look up at him. ‘No, thank you, Lord Shelton.’

  Robert raised a brow but directed his next question to the young groom. ‘What is it, lad? Lame or a loose shoe?’

  ‘Loose shoe, my lord.’

  ‘Hmm. Terribly bad luck.’ He really did have to make a conscious effort not to grin. This was perfect. ‘I shall have to fetch my curricle and take Miss Fleming home,’ he announced.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ she replied, shaking her head.

  Of course she would say no. He hadn’t expected any other answer. ‘You can’t think to walk home.’ And there went the chin.

  ‘It’s not far.’

  ‘It is at least a mile,’ he replied.

  ‘I am sure it is not.’

  Robert looked at her groom. ‘How far is it, lad?’

  The groom looked at Arabella first before replying, ‘Just over a mile, sir. Maybe a mile and a half.’

  Just then there was an ominous rumble in the distance. They all looked up at the sky. Dark clouds were rolling in from the east.

  Miss Fleming lifted her chin a notch higher. ‘I’ll take a hack.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ It was his turn to shake his head. They looked at each other for a moment while the groom continued to check the horse’s other shoes. Robert patted Galahad’s nose to calm the beast. It pawed the ground, agitated by the upcoming storm. ‘I’d let you ride my horse but he is not trained in side-saddle and may prove a little stubborn.’

  She looked around her as if desperate for another way, her gaze falling on the groom’s small pony.

  ‘You cannot think to ride that poor creature.’

  She sighed. A delightful exhalation of sound. ‘Well, no. The saddle would not fit.’

  ‘And riding bareback through London is not an option.’ He pretended to think on the matter seriously. ‘No. I’m afraid there is no other course. Either you ride with me on Galahad or I return with my curricle.’

  Her brown eyes flashed their annoyance in his direction. ‘I cannot ride with you. What a ridiculous suggestion.’

  ‘The curricle it is then. Only got it last month, you know. It’s a real cracker.’

  She looked around her. ‘I cannot ride in your curricle either, no matter how pretty it is. People will see.’

  ‘People... yes, they are so pesky, aren’t they? I’ll tell you what. I’ll put the top up and give you a blanket. No one will see you. I’ll deliver you home safe and sound before you know it. Your groom can follow with your horse.’

  She eyed him suspiciously. The clouds above them rumbled again, as if impatient for her to make up her mind. Robert smiled. ‘Let me do this good deed. If you do, I may end up with more than a lump of coal for Christmas.’

  She closed her eyes for a moment, no doubt deliberating the evils of his suggestion.

  ‘And you’ll put the top up?’

  He nodded and made the sign of a cross on his heart. To his annoyance, she didn’t look convinced.

  ‘Shall I pinky-swear? Draw blood? Sign a contract? Sign a contract in blood from my pinky?’

  She huffed a little and rolled her eyes in a delightful fashion. ‘Fine! As long as you promise to behave.’

  ‘You certainly make it hard for a man to rescue a damsel in distress.’

  ‘I am not in distress and you cannot blame me for not trusting your motives.’

  ‘I assure you there are only a few members of the ton about at this time of the day and I will do all in my power to keep your reputation intact. Which brings to mind the question, why are you out riding at this hour?’

  She patted her horse. ‘Simply trying to clear my head.’

  Oh, he knew what she meant. Wasn’t he doing the exact same thing? Could it be she was trying to clear her mind... of him?

  He mounted his horse, gave her a bow and raced off in the direction of the nearest gate. His house was only minutes from the park.

  He loved his curricle, but despite its speed he worried that Arabella would no longer be waiting for him when he returned. Perhaps she would take up someone else’s offer of assistance. So he was much relieved to find that she was calmly sitting on a nearby bench waiting for him.

  She did not smile at him, simply got into the curricle as soon as she could, pulling the blanket high and her riding hat low, so that it nearly completely covered her face.

  ‘You’ll ruin your hair,’ he laughed, taking the seat next to her.

  ‘Rather my hair than my reputation.’

  ‘Touché, Miss Fleming.’ Robert flicked the reins and they moved off. He kept the horse to a fairly slow pace even though the traffic was not as chaotic as it would be later when everyone returned for the promenade.

  They travelled to the gate where Robert then turned the curricle onto Park Lane. ‘Did you enjoy the opera last night?’

  She peaked out from the side of her riding hat. ‘Oh yes, particularly the second half.’

  Cheeky chit. ‘Yes, the second half certainly was... entertaining.’

  ‘Lord Shacklesbury joined us. We made quite a merry party.’

  Robert lifted a brow. Was she trying to get a rise out of him? ‘Really? How did I not notice him missing?’

  She touched his arm all too briefly. ‘Was it very lonely without him?’

  Robert looked at her. How was he supposed to answer that? Not honestly in any case. He returned his attention to the ribbons in his hands. ‘I enjoyed it much more without him, truth be known. He talks constantly and asks far too many questions. It is most distracting.’

  ‘He seemed to be quite knowledgeable on many subjects, including the opera.’

  ‘Did he? Then why is he always asking me “what does falsetto mean again?” And, “are they singing in Italian or German?”’

  She gave a tinkling laugh but cut it short as if she hadn’t meant to laugh at all. ‘You give your friend no credit, sir.’

  He shrugged. ‘I only give credit where credit is due.’

  ‘That is harsh, Lord Shelton. Especially as Shacklesbury said not one bad word about you.’

  Robert smiled then. ‘I assume he said no words at all... about me.’

  ‘Touché, Lord Shelton.’ Just the curve of a smile could be seen on her lips from behind her riding hat.

  He longed to rip that stupid-looking hat off her face and see the beauty beneath, judge that smile for himself. Instead, he kept the horses at an even pace.

  After a moment, he couldn’t help but say, ‘I believe my friend may admire your sister.’

  She flashed her eyes at him, most likely wondering what he was playing at, but a moment later she answered. ‘Nonsense. He has been nothing but a sincere gentleman towards her.’

  That seemed honest enough.

  ‘Shacklesbury is as sincere as they come. On that point, at least, you may be assured.’ Why was he promoting Shacklesbury’s cause? He wasn’t even sure there was a cause, as he had not had a chance to find out what the hell he’d been playing at last night.

  From beneath her hat, she studied him. ‘On further acquaintance, this becomes quite obvious,’ she said.

  There were questions in her gaze. Questions he’d probably prefer not to answer. So he distracted her. ‘You must be curious as to why he and I are friends.’

  ‘I would never be so forward as to ask.’

  ‘And yet you are dying to know. I’m afraid I can’t respond on his behalf.’

  ‘Then why are you his friend?’

  If that was not bold, he didn’t know what was
. ‘He stopped me from jumping into the Thames.’

  She looked shocked and rightly so. It was his intention to shock her with the truth.

  ‘Jumping into the Thames? Was it for a dare?’

  He summoned a smile from somewhere. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell me the reason, are you?’

  ‘Not today.’

  ‘Hmm. I think you did that on purpose.’

  If he could have seen her face properly he was sure she would have been pouting.

  Robert brought the curricle to a halt. The groom trotted past with her horse in tow. Miss Fleming rearranged her hat back on top of her head and looked around her. Fat raindrops began to fall.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You brought me to the mews.’

  He jumped down and helped her off.

  ‘Don’t look so surprised, Miss Fleming. I could hardly bring you to your door.’

  ‘No. Of course not. How thoughtful. Thank you, Lord Shelton.’

  He gave her a bow. ‘You’re most welcome.’

  She went to walk away but stopped just short of the gate. The rain was starting in earnest now. It dripped from the brim of her hat and dotted her dark-green riding habit. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He could have stood there all day, just looking at her. What was she waiting for?

  ‘I look forward to our dance, Miss Fleming.’

  She gave the smallest of nods before turning and walking away.

  The rain began to seep through his coat. Why was he still standing there like a love-struck fool? The fool he swore never to be again. He got back in his curricle and drove home at a reckless pace. He thought he had been so clever offering his assistance, playing the chivalrous knight in shining armour. He knew now that what he had done, what he had said, was not the least bit clever.

  ***

  Shacklesbury didn’t seem at all surprised to see Robert in his study. If his so-called friend noticed he was slightly damp and very much annoyed, he never showed it, which annoyed him even more.

  ‘There is no need for grovelling,’ Robert announced. ‘I have already forgiven you.’

  Quinn raised a brow. ‘Forgiven me for what?’

  ‘The opera!’

  ‘The opera? I thought the singing was quite good.’

  ‘You know exactly what I am talking about. Do not be dense.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  Shacklesbury laughed and Robert had to restrain himself from darkening his lights.

  ‘Was it not you who told me to go to her? I did. It was lovely. I enjoyed myself immensely.’

  ‘Enjoyed yourself immensely,’ Robert muttered under his breath. ‘When I said go to her, I meant to talk. I did not mean for you to abandon me for the rest of the evening.’

  Shacklesbury poured two glasses of claret and handed one to Robert. ‘Well then, you should have been more specific.’

  ‘More specific?’ Robert glared at him. Was he joking? Trying to contain his anger, he put down his glass very carefully on the nearest table.

  Quinn’s eyes followed his action.

  ‘Now, now,’ his friend said. ‘It is only fair, after all.’

  Robert’s hand balled into a fist. ‘Only fair?’

  ‘How many times have you left me, abandoned me, for some woman or other? How many—’

  Robert threw his hands up in the air. ‘All right, all right. I get it. It was revenge.’

  ‘No. I simply enjoyed an evening with some lovely ladies. I would like to know Miss Isabelle better. She seems a sweet girl. As does her sister.’

  ‘Ha! Miss Isabelle is sweet but her sister is a... something else entirely.’ Robert returned.

  ‘I cannot seek their company if you are constantly making her and her sister run for the hills. And neither should you.’

  Damn it! Shacklesbury had a point. He hated when he did that.

  ‘Are you still determined to follow through with your ridiculous plan?’

  Robert picked up his glass and drained it. ‘I’ll have you know I rescued Miss Arabella Fleming this very morning from a particularly tricky social dilemma.’ He picked up the decanter of claret to pour himself another drink.

  ‘Did you indeed? Was it a particularly tricky social dilemma that you created?’

  His hand stalled mid-pour. ‘No! I take offence at that, Shacklesbury.’

  ‘Sorry, it is just that you are so good at manipulation.’

  The decanter somehow made it unharmed back on the table. ‘Manip... I beg your pardon, but are you suggesting... are you saying that I—?’

  ‘Yes, I am. I’m perfectly used to you and your ways. It doesn’t mean I like them or approve of them, but you already know that and simply carry on anyway. There was a time when you detested those who manipulated others. And now... now you are the master.’

  Robert turned towards the door. He would not stand here, like an errant schoolboy, and be told off by the likes of Shacklesbury. How dare Quinn compare him to Catherine. For that was exactly what he was doing.

  ‘It’s not too late, you know,’ Quinn said from behind him.

  ***

  Arabella stared at herself in the mirror. Who was this person staring back at her? She had been distracted all afternoon. Ever since the park. Ever since that ride in Shelton’s curricle this morning.

  A part of her disliked that she was now indebted to him for coming to her aid. Another part of her had been thrilled to her bones. What was it about him that confused her so much?

  His actions had been noble. His manners perfect. Which only went to prove that he could behave civilly when he wanted to. It was this side of him she longed to know. Who was the man beneath the facade that was the Collector of Hearts? Or was he simply playing the part of the gentleman for other reasons?

  She wished she didn’t care. She wished she and her sister could simply find nice, affable husbands, but there was something about Shelton. Something that made her consider that a nice affable husband was not for her. She wanted her husband to look at her the way Shelton had this afternoon in the mews while the rain fell about them. She wanted to be adored and loved... passionately. Was that so much to ask?

  ‘Will you stop looking at yourself in the mirror? Doing so will not get you ready in time for the ball.’ Isabelle flitted around the room, scooping up various discarded articles of clothing, which she laid over a chair. She stopped when she saw Arabella was still sitting at the dressing table.

  ‘Whatever is wrong?’

  Arabella looked at her sister via the reflection of the mirror. ‘I don’t know. I am so confused.’

  ‘Shelton,’ Isabelle said as if this was the answer to every problem that plagued her. Perhaps it was true to some extent.

  ‘It is not just him. It is Father’s need to be wherever we are not. It is trying to fit in with the other girls. It is the inevitability of us marrying and having to be parted.’

  Isabelle fell to her knees beside her. ‘Oh, dear heart.’

  ‘I wish we had just stayed at home,’ Arabella cried.

  ‘I know, but we are here now. We must make the best of it. I can’t say what will happen while we are here, but I will tell you this. I will never be far from you.’ She took up her sister’s hands in hers. ‘You are my heart, my sister. We have something that neither husband nor distance can destroy. We are one-half of each other. We always have been and always will be.’

  Arabella sniffed back her tears. ‘You are obviously the smarter half.’

  Isabelle laughed. ‘You ninny. I just recited the words you used to say to me whenever I was scared or unwell.’

  Arabella threw her arms around her sister. ‘I love you, Izzy.’

  ‘And I love you, Bella. Now, let’s find your dancing slippers before Mother leaves without us.’

  Chapter 6

  White’s was full.

  The smell of tobacco was rife and hung in the air like fog above the patrons below. From the comfort of a large armchair, Robert scanned
the decor scattered about the room with a careless eye. Small tables and chairs were set for taking coffee or quiet conversation. Larger tables were for playing chess or a friendly game of whist. The few armchairs and sofas that adorned the room were filled with languorous bodies, either sleeping, reading the paper or partaking of brandy or Scotch.

  Originally, he had sought out company to distract him from his conversation with Shacklesbury, but the company available had not fit the bill. Instead, he’d chosen a chair in the far corner in which to brood.

  He was nothing like Catherine. The fact that Quinn had even alluded to such a comparison was ludicrous in the extreme and damn hurtful. Didn’t his friend understand, after all these years?

  Had becoming the Collector of Hearts changed him so much?

  What was he thinking? Of course it had! He was no longer the naive young man who fancied himself in love all those years ago. The impulsive person who had believed her lies over the truth. The fool who had shot his friend.

  Faulkner’s life was over and yet Catherine had paid no penalty for her part in his death. James had been nothing but a means to an end for her; they both had been. And yet, here he was, still paying for what happened that day.

  Still hurting.

  Still missing James.

  Still guilt-ridden.

  He was man enough to admit he was not averse to a little manipulation when needed, but nothing like what Shacklesbury was currently accusing him of. Of course, Quinn never manipulated, never played the game, and never did anything that wasn’t noble and good. Except, maybe, to remain his friend when it was wildly unpopular to do so.

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. When he opened them, Quinn stood in front of him.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ he said, picking up his glass of Scotch and draining it. Fortification was in order if his friend was about to lecture him in the middle of White’s. ‘If it isn’t the saintly Shacklesbury.’

  ‘I see I hit a raw nerve.’ Quinn moved a chair next to his and sat.

  He simply stared at him.

  Quinn cleared his throat. ‘I apologise for what I said.’

  He raised a brow. Was the mighty Shacklesbury admitting he was wrong? He sat forward in his chair and pinned his friend with a glare. ‘I’m not sure I understand. Are you sorry because you compared me to the most devious bitch in the British Empire, or because your insult was a low blow?’