Chapter 11
The dance the next evening was more akin to a ball than June had let on.
The Earl and Countess of Windermere had invited a mix of local gentry, neighboring landowners, and their families. The assembly could in no way be described as a “crush,” thankfully, but the manor ballroom was still at least two-thirds full, which was more than the duke had been expecting.
The attendees were dressed in their finest, with ladies in ballgowns of silk and satin and gentlemen in fine tailcoats and glowing white cravats.
“You cut a fine figure in that skirt, my boy.” Sir Montague sidled up beside Cameron.
“They’re called kilts,” he replied, a little testily.
“Oh, I know, I know,” the baronet said cheerfully. “Merely chaffing you. Wore one myself once. A Scottish friend insisted I borrow one and try it out while on a visit. Very airy, very roomy. I rather enjoyed it.”
The baronet stepped back and looked the duke up and down, then shook his head. “The ladies must love it.”
“What’s that?” Cameron said, rather stiffly.
The baronet waved a hand. “Oh, all of this. The red hair, the kilt.” He leaned forward. “The belt buckle.”
A wide leather belt adorned with the Tulloch family crest cinched Cameron’s waist.
“‘Tis my family crest.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Sir Montague said. “And a fine crest it is, too. Draws the eye right in.” He chuckled. “I’m saying you’re a fine specimen of manhood, Tulloch. I’m paying you a compliment.” He nudged the duke in the side and Cameron forced a smile.
“I thank ye then for the compliment.”
“Gads, and they say the English can’t take a joke.” Sir Montague shook his head. “Now, how fares it with you and the lady?”
“The lady?” Cameron’s back went rigid. He was not in the mood for any of Montague’s ribald teasing.
“The lady June, the countess. I understand she had an accident yesterday that could have been quite serious. You’re to be given credit for rescuing the poor lady.” To Cameron’s surprise, the baronet did look sincerely concerned. Perhaps the man was not simply an empty-headed rake after all. But then, even a rake could have feelings.
“Ye should ask the lady how she fares, not me,” Cameron said.
“An excellent idea,” Sir Montague agreed. “And I plan to. If the lady makes an appearance.”
June had not appeared at dinner the night before. Or at breakfast that morning. Or anytime during the day.
“Miss Pembroke looks lovely this evening, doesn’t she? Why, that red satin is quite stunning on her,” Sir Montague said. He had pulled a quizzing glass from somewhere and now was holding it to his eye as he observed the ladies around them.
“Aye, she looks verra nice,” Cameron said. He didn’t give a fig about how Miss Pembroke looked. He was there for one reason and one reason alone–in the hope that June would come down this evening. “As does her mother,” he said, pointedly, hoping the baronet would take the hint.
“Her mother is a fine-looking lady, to be sure,” the baronet murmured, still holding up his quizzing glass and eying Miss Pembroke who stood beside her mother as she smiled and talked to a young man over by the refreshment table. “Charming, quite charming.”
Cameron rolled his eyes. The baronet clearly had his eye on the young debutante. Montague was at least thirty years older than the girl. But such imbalanced matches were made all of the time, almost always in the man’s favor.
Miss Pembroke might stand to benefit, too, of course. From what Mrs. Pembroke had suggested the family was not a wealthy one. At least Cameron felt confident Montague would see the two ladies well-situated.
“If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I see Mrs. Pembroke taking a seat by herself over there. I believe I’ll go and speak to the gracious lady while her daughter dances,” the baronet said.
Cameron suspected he knew precisely what the baronet planned to speak with her about but said nothing. It was none of his concern.
A few moments later, he observed the baronet escorting the matron onto the dance floor for a waltz. Mrs. Pembroke broke into peals of heartfelt laughter at something the baronet had said.
He wondered if the baronet’s engagement to Miss Pembroke would be announced by the end of the house party.
“You’re looking very dashing this evening, Your Grace.”
A hand brushed his arm and Cameron looked down to see Horatia Fairchild smiling up at him.
“Thank ye,” he said tightly.
“It’s customary for a gentleman to return a compliment when he’s been given one,” Horatia prodded gently. She smiled and waited, clearly expecting to be praised.
Cameron looked at her. The petite, dark-haired woman was undeniably beautiful. Curvaceous where June was slender, Horatia filled out the emerald green gown she wore perfectly.
There were many ways he might have flattered her. Many things he might have said.
But she deserved none of them.
“How are yer children, Lady Fairchild?” he asked bluntly. “I understand ye have… what is it now? Four of them?”
“That’s right,” Horatia said, still looking serene. “Four blessings.”
“Ye were married to the earl’s elder brother, were ye not? Yet he died… when was it now? Might ye remind me of the year?”
Her face tightened. “I’ve been a widow now for over ten years, Your Grace.”
“Yet yer youngest bairn is how old, milady?”
She looked back at him from dark brown eyes and slowly understanding seemed to dawn.
“I believe I’ll bid you good evening, Your Grace,” she said slowly.
“A fine idea, Lady Fairchild,” he agreed. “Ye won’t find any compliments to yer liking here.”
She gave him a withering smile and moved away quickly.
“Oh, dear. Just what did you say to Horatia?”
His heart quickened. It was June.
She was wearing a wispy muslin gown that was light and airy, all pale pink and silver. It might have seemed too young on another woman. But not on June. The ethereal style suited her.
“That was not the sort of smile one wants to receive from Horatia,” she explained as she came to stand near his elbow.
“Oh?”
“No, that was what I like to call her ‘death stare.’”
Cameron smiled. “Yet I’m still livin’, as ye can plainly see.”
“And very glad I am of that fact,” June said. “You survived.”
“She’s not so fierce as that. Not once one removes her claws.”
“And did you?” June asked curiously. “Remove her claws? You’ll have to tell me how.”
Cameron looked at her. “She shouldna be here at all, June, and well ye must know it.”
Slowly she nodded. “How did you find out?”
“The baronet. He’s verra well-informed.”
“Sir Montague?” June seemed surprised. “Here I thought John hardly knew the man.”
“Your husband is a fool to have invited his mistress in such company,” Cameron said frankly. “It could damage not only his reputation but yers as well.”
“I believe John thinks he can get away with whatever he likes while at Windermere,” June said quietly. “He usually does.”
“Aye, well, that’s about to change.”
“What do you mean?”
Cameron glanced out over the dance floor to where couples were gliding across the floor to the first strains of a waltz.
“Dance with me,” he said abruptly.
With a bow, he extended his hand to her.
For a moment, she hesitated. Then she placed her hand in his.
Together they stepped onto the polished parquet floor and joined the dancers.
Perhaps he should not have chosen a waltz, he thought belatedly, as his right hand slipped behind June”s back just below her shoulder blade. His fingers rested lightly against the fabric of her gown. He could feel the heat of her skin beneath.
His left hand intertwined with her right, holding her small, slender one in a firm grip.
For a few moments, they simply danced. Moving through the movements of the waltz as around them the other dancers faded into the background.
“Now will you tell me please what you meant.”
Her words broke the spell.
“I spoke with yer husband yesterday.”
He felt her tense up.
“There’s nothing to fear, lo–” He stopped. “There’s nothing to fear, lass.” He had nearly said another word. One which had come close to rolling off his tongue, so natural had the impulse been. “Ye need not look so frightened.”
She stumbled. He covered the movement expertly with his own.
“I’m not frightened.” But her eyes were wide, like a doe running from a hunter. “Please, continue.”
“Verra well. Yer husband understandably wished to know what had happened at the lake.” Cameron hesitated. He knew this part would alarm her. But if he failed to mention it now and Windermere brought it up in private with his wife, it could complicate things. “It seems a servant saw us.”
“What do you mean?” she whispered, her pretty face beginning to flush.
“No, not then,” he said quickly. “Earlier. Ye see, when I pulled ye from the lake ye were not breathing. I dinna know if you canna recall it but I pressed my lips to yers and…” He hesitated.
Her face was curious. “Yes?”
“Well, I blew air into ye.” He felt a little embarrassed. “I ken it may sound strange…”
“But it worked.” She shook her head in amazement. “You truly did that? For me?”
“It was the work of a moment,” he said awkwardly. “Dinna fash over it. ‘Twas nothing.”
“It wasn’t quite nothing, for you saved my life,” she said. “And a servant saw that?” And only that was the implication.
“Aye, they saw us when we were in the rowboat.” And not on the beach.
But it came to Cameron’s mind now just how reckless that kiss had been. If the servant had lingered out of curiosity… But clearly they had gone back to the manor straightaway.
Still, if they had not, it would not have been the earl’s reputation on the line but June’s.
Just a few days earlier, he would have been thrilled by such a turn of events. Now he only longed to shield and protect her.
As a true husband would do.
“I still don’t see how this changes anything,” June murmured. “But I appreciate your telling me. In case John should bring it up.” She paled. “I’m sure he was very angry.”
“The man should have been nothing but grateful,” Cameron said with annoyance. “But aye, he was angry. At first.”
“At first?”
“Aye, well, as we happened to be conversing I decided it was best to lay things out plainly for yer husband. Save some time.”
“Oh, dear,” she said faintly. “Just what did you say?”
“All ye need to know is that he willna be laying his hands on ye again. Not if he values his life. Do ye ken?”
“Yes, I understand.” She bit her lip. “You did not have to do that for me. I’m sure John was very upset.”
Cameron started to lose his temper. “I dinna give a damn for your husband’s anger, June. The man is a foul adulterer and a coward.”
“Yes, but… you speak of a duel as if it is nothing, Cameron. When you might lose your own life.”
There it was.
Cameron stared at her in disbelief. “Ye think I would hesitate to lay down my life for ye? For any woman in peril?”
“Would you…” Her voice was very low. “Would you truly do so for any woman? Or just for me?”
“I wouldna stand by while any woman was injured. But the truth is…” He thought for a moment. “The truth is I’m more eager to do so for yer sake, aye.”
“Oh, Cameron.” Her eyes were misty. “Why?”
“Ye know very well why,” he said, his voice reverting to a grimness.
“I do,” she whispered. “Oh, I think I do.” She put her head down for a moment. When she lifted it, her expression was sad. “It’s hard, isn’t it, Cameron? It feels so unfair. And it’s all my fault. I put us in this position. I can never express to you how truly sorry I am for it. So very sorry.”
He longed to sweep her tightly into his arms then and comfort her. To smother her apology with kisses, to move his mouth over every inch of her as he told her to stop her apologizing.
“It’s all right, lass,” he said instead, a little awkwardly. “Ye didna receive the letter.” He sighed, then quoted, “The best laid schemes o” mice an” men, gang aft a-gley.”
“They certainly do,” she said softly.
“Ye’ve more than paid the price, in any case,” he said gently. “Dinna ever feel guilt or shame for what ye did. Ye were trying to protect our bairn.”
The word passed over his tongue and immediately filled him with sorrow. Their bairn. His and June’s.
He looked down at her. “What happened to it? Ye didna tell me precisely.” He had assumed the babe had died in childbirth. Or come too early. Such things were the most common. But there could have been an illness, he supposed, or…
June, he suddenly realized, was hesitating. Hesitating much too long over her answer.
He frowned. “What is it?”
“Oh, Cameron,” she whispered.
The waltz ended.