Collector of Hearts Read online

  She had surprised him with her passion. It was better than his wildest expectations. It was the saving grace in an otherwise dismal failure of an evening, but he still had that voice telling him how badly he had behaved.

  He wasn’t looking forward to the inquisition from Quinn that would no doubt transpire in the carriage on the way home, if not before. And he didn’t really know how he would survive the rest of the evening without touching Arabella again.

  Alcohol and lots of it were in order. He entered the glittering ballroom and went in search of an amiable footman with a tray of drinks.

  Chapter 8

  Arabella understood why Quinn had insisted that she feign a headache, dizziness or the plague. Whatever would get them home the quickest—he wanted to put as much distance and as fast as possible between Shelton and herself. In hindsight, that was probably a good idea. With distance there was clarity.

  Clarity enough to know how stupid she had been.

  Her sister dragged her into the room. ‘Well?’ she asked, placing her hands on her hips. ‘I hope I didn’t dance with Lord Barkenson’s awful son for nothing. Tell me everything.’

  Arabella kicked off her shoes. ‘He kept his word. My virtue is intact.’ Just.

  ‘And did you get to know each other better? Are you to be married?’

  Arabella gave a sad laugh. ‘Married? I don’t think so.’ Then a horrifying thought struck her. Perhaps they had not got away with sneaking off after all. ‘Why, did you hear something I should be worried about?’

  Her sister shook her head. ‘No. I was too busy being me and you. It was so confusing. Lucky our gowns were so similar tonight. I hardly think anyone would have noticed that I have tiny pink flowers and you red.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Izzy, truly I am, but it isn’t as though it was my fault. I didn’t want to go, if you recall.’ Arabella sat on the edge of her bed. It was true she had not wanted to go, but at the end she had not wanted to leave him. She could not blame him for the kiss, for she had let him coerce her into it and she had enjoyed it, had wanted more.

  ‘Of course not, dearest. He is no doubt getting an earful from Shacklesbury at this very moment. Poor Quinn was a picture of calm on the outside but his waistcoat was all but ruined from nerves before you returned.’

  She turned towards Isabelle with a raised eyebrow. ‘Poor Quinn, is it?’ Her sister blushed and Arabella found herself smiling. Lord Shacklesbury really had made more than an impression on her dear sister if her dreamy look was anything to go by. ‘I am very thankful that he came to our rescue last night.’ ‘In any case, an earful is just what Shelton deserves.’

  ‘I can only presume it did not go well?’

  She shook her head. ‘I threw a pot at him.’

  Isabelle clapped her hands. ‘Oh, bravo. I hope you hit him.’

  ‘No, unfortunately.’

  Her twin rolled her eyes at her. ‘Not even close?’ She shook her head again. ‘We really must work on your aim, sister.’ Isabelle then showed off by flinging her glove. It landed on a nearby chair, perfectly folded.

  Impressed, she said, ‘Yes, I probably should.’

  Isabelle took off her other glove. ‘Is that all that happened?’

  ‘I asked questions and he answered. Then he asked questions and I answered, but in the end, all it proved was that he is more a mystery to me now than before.’ She realised she was wringing her hands together.

  Her sister really did have superior throwing skills, as her other glove landed on top of the other as she watched.

  ‘And?’

  How to explain what had happened next? ‘And then... and then he asked me to be his mistress.’

  Her sister gasped and slowly lowered herself onto the bed next to her, her eyes as big as Mama’s favourite cake plates. ‘He didn’t!’

  ‘He did.’ Arabella felt her cheeks heat and closed her eyes for a moment.

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘The only thing I could do. I threw the pot at him. And then a trowel and very nearly a pair of scissors.’

  Isabelle frowned, which was a rare thing. ‘And you didn’t hit him with any of them?’

  ‘Violence is not really my forte, as you know, but I was so angry with him I wasn’t really aiming. I just wanted to... throw things at him.’ She sighed and fiddled with her skirts. ‘He called into question my honour, my virtue and my very sanity by such a question. For I would surely have to be insane to agree to his request.’

  Isabelle placed her hands on her hips. ‘I would think so. But it doesn’t make sense. Why would he ask you such a question when he knew the answer would be no and it would ignite your anger?’

  ‘I don’t know, maybe he was playing with me, testing me. Seeing what I was made of, I suppose. I was proud of myself for a minute or so. I walked out of the room and he followed.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  Grimacing, she added, ‘I might also have told him to go jump in the Thames.’

  ‘Oh! Good for you!’ Isabelle applauded again.

  She found herself shaking her head, for she could take no credit for that remark. ‘No, it was here that I came unstuck, you see. I felt bad for having said something so hurtful, even to him. Then he kissed me.’

  ‘He kissed you?’ Her sister stood then and paced in front of the fire. ‘This is bad, very bad. Quinn is going to kill him.’

  Alarm bells went off in Arabella’s head. She stood and stopped her sister in her pacing. ‘I don’t think we should tell Quinn, I mean Shacklesbury. In fact, I don’t think we should tell anyone.’

  Isabelle nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right of course. Your reputation is at stake. No need to stir the pot any more than it is already.’ Isabelle’s eyes widened then. ‘You, you didn’t like it, did you?’

  Arabella hung her head. Shame had taken over her cheeks and she could never lie to her twin. ‘I did, far too much I’m afraid. I know it is appalling of me... considering who he is, but it was my first real kiss.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Maybe she did understand. Maybe she, too, was waiting for her first real kiss.

  ‘He said I kissed like I was born French. Not quite sure what he meant but it sounded good at the time. Now, I just feel duped. He said he doesn’t believe in love. Can you imagine? Not loving anyone or letting anyone love you in return? Such a lonely thing to say, don’t you think?’

  ‘Well, it does make things very convenient for him, doesn’t it? The Collector of Hearts would not be so successful if he fell in love with every one of his conquests. Nor would he want to encourage those who fall for his charms to also fall in love with him.’

  Isabelle was right. It did make things convenient. ‘Oh, Izzy, I got myself caught up in his game. I said I wouldn’t fall for his tricks and then I did. I am so stupid.’

  ‘You are not stupid.’ Isabelle’s expression was compassionate, sisterly, loving. The sister she could always depend upon to be on her side. She guided Arabella back to the bed and placed her arm around her to give her a quick squeeze.

  Arabella took Isabelle’s hands in hers. ‘I fell for the oldest trick in the book.’

  ‘I’ve always wondered what that was … What is it, exactly?’

  Arabella looked up at her twin. ‘Sad puppy dog eyes. Just the hint of a sad past and I crumbled like the walls of Jericho. He is a wretch. I won’t let him do that to me again.’

  Isabelle patted her hand. ‘I should say not. You were lucky to come out unscathed this time. We can’t risk it again.’

  ‘I know, but other than hiding away for the rest of the season, I don’t know how I will be able to avoid him for long.’

  ‘This would not have happened if only Papa had been present to protect us. Mama’s medication makes her unreliable. I do wish she would stop taking it.’

  ‘The doctor said it would steady her nerves but more often than not her nerves are worse. And as for Papa, I’m afraid we can’t depend on him for anything. Besides, it would only end in
a duel and Papa is a very bad shot.’

  They both sighed in unison.

  She turned to her sister. ‘It’s hopeless, isn’t it?’

  ‘Nothing is ever hopeless unless we let it,’ Isabelle assured her with a yawn. ‘We will think of a plan. Surely something will come to us.’

  Arabella lay awake long after Isabelle had fallen asleep. Usually, she took such comfort in being near her sister, but tonight she wanted to be on her own. To work through what had happened tonight and sort out her varied feelings towards Shelton.

  She got out of bed and put her dressing gown on, padding over to the window seat. She tucked her feet up under her dressing gown to keep them warm. Frost clung in the corners of the glass pane in tiny crystalline patterns, but she could still see the wet and glistening road beneath her window.

  Shelton was dark and shadowy like the street below. He was moonlight on slick cobbles, pretty to look at but just waiting to trip you up. He could be charm and disrespect at the same time. He flickered between the two like a candle’s flame in a draft.

  Was he so good that he could fake what she had seen in his eyes? He had tried to hide it from her but she had seen it. Felt it. It was like this man, this frivolous, reckless man, was hiding a great hurt. No one contemplates jumping into the Thames over a trifle. It must have been something truly devastating.

  She longed to question Quinn, to find out what happened that day. She returned to bed. Turning over, she blew out the candle and drew the covers up, closing her eyes.

  Tomorrow.

  Her tossing and turning woke Isabelle several times during the night, which her sister then took pains to complain about. The girls could have had their own rooms, there were plenty in the house, but they were so used to sleeping together that to sleep in separate rooms was not even considered.

  She could not shake off the strange feelings that seemed to have taken over her body. She kept thinking about Robert’s lips and how good they had felt against her skin, against her own lips, on the tops of her breasts. His eyes had reflected his desire for her and knowing that sent currents of warmth through her whole body and made her toes curl into the sheets.

  Prior to meeting Robert, she had never given her body much thought, beyond what colour and fabric to encase it in, but now she thought of her body in a whole new way. It intrigued and distressed her.

  He intrigued and distressed her too.

  The fact he had chosen to let her see a speck of vulnerability was a glimpse into the bizarre workings of his notorious character. She was sure he was so much more than just the Collector of Hearts. It was this man behind the facade that she longed to know.

  ***

  Shacklesbury was ushered into the breakfast room where Robert was moaning over a cup of tea.

  ‘Well, your bloodshot eyes tell the story, although you look well enough.’ Quinn took great pleasure in laughing at him as he joined the table and accepted a cup of coffee from Finch, Shelton’s butler.

  ‘If you do not cease and desist with that cackling I will be forced to shoot you,’ Robert said. His friend only laughed louder. ‘And not just in the arm. So kindly shut up!’

  ‘I’m here to get your side of the story.’

  ‘Coffee, my lord?’

  ‘Ah, no thank you, Finch. Have you any runny eggs and hot greasy bacon available?’

  ‘I’m sure I could arrange something, my lord. Would you like me to fetch you some, my lord?’

  ‘Why not? You don’t mind, do you, Shelton?’

  He summoned up a cynical smile for he knew what his friend was about, trying to make him feel sicker, and replied, ‘Of course not. I may even offer you a side dish of my own making.’

  Quinn only laughed again. ‘In that case, it is most fortuitous for you that I have already eaten. I take it that come morning, playing “what does a Scotsman wear under his kilt” with a bottle of Scotch was not such a grand idea?’

  ‘Neither was indulging in too much “Frenchman’s Folly”.’ He sipped his tea with a grateful sigh. ‘I will never drink champagne again.’

  ‘Ah yes, well we’ve all thought that at one time or other, but you know what they say about putting the Scots and the French in the same room, don’t you?’

  He smiled slightly. ‘Add an Irishman in the room and you have the makings of a rebellion.’

  Quinn nodded. ‘I take it there is more than one rebellion going on in your stomach this morning, not to mention the battle going on in your head. You know you should never mix your drinks.’

  He closed his eyes for a moment, as he was feeling woeful and Quinn was just making it worse. As if he didn’t already feel like a wrung-out rag, his so-called friend announced far too cheerfully that he had organised to take the Fleming sisters out for a ride in the park.

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘I am sure there would be room for one more. Give you a chance to apologise and get in good with Lady Tremaine.’

  ‘Why on earth would I want to do that?’ This was the day he was suffering considerably for thinking that getting drunk would avoid Quinn’s question time last night. It had worked marvellously at the time but now, come morning, he wished he had chosen the inquisition over the drink. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been in this position before, just not because of a mere slip of a girl, and that was what really annoyed him.

  ‘You can be charming when you put your mind to it.’

  ‘Why would I want to impress Lady Tremaine? It is not as though I am courting her daughter. In fact, it’s not like you are courting her daughter either.’ Robert sat back in his chair and regarded his friend with a raised brow. ‘Or are you? That is what you’re doing with Miss Isabelle, isn’t it? Courting her?’

  Quinn frowned. ‘Surely you are not going to sit there and tell me you have not been affected by Arabella. Your crapulent state only proves otherwise. After last night, I thought—’

  ‘I’ll not lie, she does affect me. She makes my blood race like no other before her but I am not emotionally involved, you should know me better than that.’ He hated himself for the lie. Quinn looked disappointed. Actually, he looked downright grim. What did his friend expect? That he was going to marry the chit?

  Quinn stood abruptly and Robert groaned inwardly. His friend was peeved with him, yet again.

  ‘Is that why you got drunk then, Shelton, because you aren’t emotionally involved? You’re amazing, you know that? I should have known you had your own reasons for letting her off last night. I truly thought, that is to say, I honestly hoped … Oh, what does it matter?’ Quinn pushed his chair in, scraping it mercilessly across the floor so it vibrated through Robert’s skull. ‘If that’s the way of it then I’m afraid I must insist that you abandon your pursuit, or whatever you have called it in your mind, of Miss Arabella Fleming.’

  Robert’s head flung up, causing the room to spin. ‘What?’

  ‘I want you to stop.’

  ‘Stop? You’re joking, aren’t you?’ The look Quinn gave him assured him he was not joking. He thumped his fist on the table so hard it made his cutlery dance. ‘No! Absolutely not! I can’t... I bloody won’t. And as for why I got drunk, it was because …’

  Why the hell did he get drunk? Because he didn’t want to answer Quinn’s questions? That was only half of the reason. It was because he’d wanted to stay unemotionally involved, that’s why. And because Arabella had made him feel. For the first time in close to seven years, he had actually felt guilt over his actions. ‘It was because I damn well felt like it,’ Robert finished, knowing how pathetic that sounded. ‘It is far too late for me to abandon the game now.’

  Quinn’s shoulders slumped and he shook his head. ‘You and your bloody stupid game. When will you grow up? If you are truly my friend, you will do this for me. Give her up,’ he insisted. ‘Look elsewhere. Get yourself in twenty duels, I don’t care, just leave Arabella be.’

  Robert’s temples throbbed and the pain was now triumphantly playing a victory march across the fr
ont of his skull, all cannons blazing. Quinn had never used their friendship as leverage to get his own way. Never. This was beyond reason. Stop? Right, when she was beginning to warm to him? Shacklesbury must have taken leave of his senses.

  ‘Are you serious?’ Robert asked, bemused. Quinn wouldn’t dare issue an ultimatum like that, not to him.

  ‘I have never been more serious in my life. Do what’s right or don’t do it, at least not with Arabella. If you have any loyalty to me, to our friendship, you will do this—for me.’ Quinn walked stiffly to the door, where he stood, apparently, waiting for him to decide between duty to his friend and his duty to his demons.

  Robert stared coolly at the man who had always been there for him. Quinn did not flinch under his angry gaze.

  ‘You will convey my apologies?’ he finally said, although it was a fight to get the words out in a calm and cordial manner. If it had been anyone else he would have laughed them out the room and told them to go to hell. But it was Quinn asking, calling on a friendship that meant everything to him. He couldn’t believe he would do this to him. At that moment, he hated Quinn for the very same reasons that he loved him.

  ‘Of course. Thank you.’ Quinn left the breakfast room, no doubt understanding his welcome had been well worn this morning.

  Robert slouched in his chair, sulking as he stared at his teacup. Inside him, the battle was raging, and he knew not how to settle it. How could he cope with not seeing her, not touching her, not kissing her? Especially after last night?

  Bloody hell! What other choice could he possibly have made? Quinn may as well have asked him to give up food or air. This was not going to be an easy thing to deal with. He should jump right back into the saddle and ride on to the next woman, but for some reason, the idea did not appeal to him. In fact, it repulsed him. He picked up his tea and brought it to his lips but he couldn’t drink it. Arabella’s lovely face flashed before him, overwhelming him.