The Stranger She Married (Rogue Hearts Series) Read online

  She shuddered. “I don’t wish that either. But please, don’t challenge him to a duel. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “Even a man such as he?”

  She shook her head. “I do not wish anyone to suffer from a gunshot wound. Even him.”

  Her reaction puzzled Cole. A year ago, another woman in a similar situation had been adamant that her honor be satisfied. She had later proven not worth the effort, more’s the pity.

  He froze. Alicia Palmer? As in…?

  No, surely not. Palmer was too common a name to suggest any relationship to an opponent he’d dueled last year.

  “I beg you, Lord Amesbury, do nothing.”

  All night, expressions passed over her face, easily readable, even if he did not fully understand her reasons. He found her refreshing. “You are remarkably forgiving.”

  “Please, my lord. The scandal would ruin me.” She fixed those beautiful, heavily-lashed eyes upon him.

  Only a heartless cad could refuse those eyes. And the social backlash, if others ever suspected she had been deflowered or even caught engaging in any unseemly behavior, would destroy any hope of a good match, a match she confessed she desperately needed.

  “Very well, Miss Palmer. You may trust me to keep your secret.”

  As he gazed down into Alicia Palmer’s face, he had no doubt she would be worth any risk. Her sweet, unspoiled temperament touched him in a place he thought long dead.

  He held out his hand. “Shall we?”

  “My reticule.” She peered into the other room and retrieved a small beaded bag lying on the floor.

  After he escorted her through the crowd to the retiring room, Cole waited outside the door, his tension building. He kept a tight rein on his anger, but it mounted like a raging river trapped behind a dam; rising, building, threatening to shatter the barrier. It took all his self-control to remain there instead of seeking out Mr. Braxton and thrashing him. Once he placed Miss Palmer in the care of others, he planned to have a nice little tête à tête with Mr. Braxton.

  When Miss Palmer emerged, she had perfectly composed herself. Her hair was smoothed back into place and her freshly washed face showed no trace of tears. Careful scrutiny revealed that her gown still showed signs of being crushed, but a casual glance might not discover it. However, a tiny bruise formed around her full, rosebud lips. Worse, her expressive eyes still revealed her terror.

  The volcano of rage threatened to erupt, demanding action. Cole offered her his arm and patted her hand, hoping to give her some measure of comfort. He struggled to keep his touch gentle when lust to enforce his own code of justice left him shaking.

  They found Mrs. Hancock gossiping in a circle of older ladies. “Back already, dear?”

  Miss Palmer tensed, poised to flee. “Ah, we left a bit early.”

  “Captain Hawthorne decided to dance a set in your absence but he asked me to tell you he will return shortly to claim his dance.”

  Elizabeth joined them without her prior escort, glanced wistfully at Lord Amesbury, but turned a bright smile on Alicia. “Robert is here looking for you.”

  Miss Palmer noticeably brightened. “He’s here?”

  A younger gentleman wearing an insolent grin approached Miss Palmer. “Evening, Lissie. Did you save me a dance?”

  Cole frowned in disapproval at the man’s cheekiness but it faded to puzzlement. He knew that young man from somewhere. A vague unease arose.

  When the newcomer’s gaze moved to Cole next to her, he paled visibly. “You!”

  Miss Palmer gasped. “Robert Palmer, where are your manners?”

  Of course. Robert Palmer. From London. Cold dread trickled across his heart as he considered the ramifications.

  Maintaining his cool demeanor, Cole inclined his head. “Good evening, Mr. Palmer.”

  “What are you doing here?” Palmer demanded.

  Cole raised a brow. “Dancing. And you?”

  Palmer took Alicia’s arm. “Come with me, Lissie. We are leaving.”

  “Now see here—” Cole began, but Palmer pinned him with a dangerous glare.

  “Stay away from my cousin. Haven’t you done enough?”

  “Your cousin?” Cole’s gaze darted to Miss Palmer and understanding dawned. He cursed under his breath. He hadn’t been aware Armand Palmer had a sister. Not that he’d bothered to find out. He glanced at Alicia Palmer. The ramifications he’d considered a moment ago took a more serious turn.

  Palmer shot Cole a venomous glare and took the girl by the arm. Anger rolled off his body as he led her out of the ballroom. Wanting desperately to explain, Cole followed them out into the foyer, away from the others.

  After sending Cole a look of apology, Miss Palmer dug in her heels. “Robert, explain yourself.”

  Palmer trembled in rage. “That’s Cole Amesbury.”

  “Yes, we’ve been introduced.” She shook her head, searching Robert Palmer’s face for an explanation.

  In a cold sweat, Cole remained rooted to the floor and waited for the young man’s condemning words, and Miss Palmer’s condemning stare.

  Palmer trembled in rage. He spoke quietly, but every word shot through Cole like bullets fired at close range. “He’s the scoundrel who shot your twin.”

  The disbelief and horror that ravaged Alicia Palmer’s face seared Cole’s very soul.

  She blinked as she struggled with the news. Her eyes locked with Palmer’s. She shook her head. Then she turned her golden-brown eyes to Cole. His guilt must have revealed itself in his expression. Mute and stunned, she stared at him while her face drained of all color.

  Cole’s façade slipped and sweat trickled down his back. He could not explain why her opinion mattered to him so much, this girl he’d only met tonight, but watching her estimation of him shift from shy admiration to utter revulsion left him cold.

  Without any defense for his actions, he waited. He wished she would fly into a rage and scream at him. Anything would be better than that horrified stare.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if there were more to this story than he knew. Had Armand’s injury been more serious than he’d been led to believe? Her reaction declared that Cole’s actions had significantly altered her life. The knowledge that he’d hurt this girl for whom he’d grown to care in so short a time twisted in his gut like a knife.

  Robert tugged on her arm and threw Cole a murderous glare. “Come, Lissie. I’ll take you home.”

  The strength seemed to leave her. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Without another word, she left with Palmer, almost leaning on his arm.

  Cole had the sinking sensation something irreplaceable had been torn from him.

  He remained standing in the empty foyer like a lost child until the clattering of carriage announced the Palmers’ departure. Drawing himself up, Cole retreated to the library where three groups of gentlemen played cards. Ignoring the others, he downed a glass of cherry brandy. Gradually, his courage returned. He cursed his weakness for letting Aunt Livy bully him into coming to this ball. He had come expecting to be perfectly bored, just the same as every other ball and soiree he’d attended since his return to civilization two years ago. What he found had been far more horrifying—himself at his worst.

  What had he done?

  After another bracing drink, he composed himself and left the library. He had an appointment with Mr. Braxton. Not that Braxton knew, of course, but it existed, nonetheless.

  Cole sought out the host and found Lord Sinclair’s wife instead. “Lady Sinclair.”

  She turned to him with the same calculating smile her daughter Catherine wore. “Lord Amesbury. I do hope you are enjoying yourself. May I be of assistance?”

  “I wonder if you’d be kind enough to introduce me to one of your guests. Mr. Braxton.”

  Her practiced smile never faltered. “Of course.” Her gaze focused on someone off to the side. “Why, here he comes now.”

  A slender man in his late forties approached with a slight limp. Cole in
wardly saluted Miss Palmer. She surprised him; he would not have suspected such a sweet-mannered girl to know how to inflict such a personal and effective attack upon a man.

  While Lady Sinclair made the introductions, Cole studied Mr. Braxton shrewdly. The man wore an expensive suit and a family crested ring on his finger. He seemed harmless, respectable, incapable of the violence committed against Alicia Palmer.

  Braxton inclined his head in greeting. “Amesbury … if I remember correctly, your father is the Earl of Tarrington.”

  “You remember correctly.” Cole clenched his fists.

  A light of recognition entered Braxton’s eyes. “Ah, yes, I see the family resemblance. I have had occasion to meet him over the years. I understand his health has not been good of late.”

  “He is convalescing in Bath,” Cole replied tightly. “Sir, might I have a word with you in private?”

  “As it is, I am not feeling well. I have come to make my apologies to our lovely hostess.” He turned to Lady Sinclair. “With regret, my lady.”

  “Then please allow me to escort you to your carriage,” Cole interjected before the hostess could reply. “I insist.”

  A brief flash of alarm crossed Mr. Braxton’s face as he no doubt saw the murderous look that must have been visible in Cole’s eyes.

  Braxton glanced at the hostess who raptly watched their interchange and nodded stiffly. “Of course, my lord.”

  They stepped outside. The cool night air did nothing to cool Cole’s temper. Too bad he couldn’t just pull the man into a dark corner and stick a knife in his ribs. Perhaps that year on Jared’s pirate ship affected Cole more deeply than he realized.

  Mr. Braxton watched him warily. “What can I do for you, Lord Amesbury?”

  Fully aware of his intimidating stature, Cole faced him and folded his arms. The longer the silence lasted, the more Mr. Braxton shifted and glanced around, tugging at his collar.

  “Well?” Braxton finally said.

  “I understand you are considering making an offer for Miss Alicia Palmer,” Cole said at last, letting his voice convey his disapproval.

  Mr. Braxton flinched. “I have not yet decided. She seemed quite proper at first, but flew into a temper and behaved in a manner most unbecoming of a lady.”

  With effort, Cole held on to his rising rage. “Perhaps because you behaved in a manner most unbecoming of a gentleman.”

  “How dare you, sir.” Braxton tried to appear affronted but only managed to look afraid.

  “I saw her running from a room a few moments ago as if the devil were chasing her. You were lying on the floor looking most uncomfortable.”

  In a defensive maneuver, Braxton attempted to collect his courage. “Earl’s son or no, I don’t know who you think you are that you can accuse me of—”

  Cole grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in until their noses almost touched. “I am a dangerous man to cross. I should call you out, but I do not wish to further humiliate Miss Palmer. Know this; if you ever go near her again, or frighten her in any way, I will come back and take great pleasure in whipping you like the cur that you are.” He shook the man a little, just for good measure, his temper straining against its restraints.

  Sweat beaded on Braxton’s face and his breathing became a series of gasps that had nothing to do with Cole’s grip.

  Cole continued, “And if one breath of scandal ever arises in association with her name, regardless of the source, I will rip out your heart with my bare hands. No one will ever find your body.”

  Braxton made a strangled noise.

  “Have I made myself clear?” Cole demanded.

  “Perfectly,” the other man gasped.

  After a slow, dangerous perusal that always left opponents begging for mercy, Cole released him, thinking his year posing as a pirate had not been entirely in vain. Still bristling with unreleased fury, he stalked back into the house to tell his aunt and uncle he’d had enough of tonight’s festivities.

  Just inside the ballroom, standing in a circle of young ladies, Elizabeth Hancock smiled at him. Then her smile faltered.

  His expression must be thunderous. He pulled on his practiced mask and called up a polite smile. Seeing her reminded him of his promise to Alicia Palmer. With perfect civility, he asked Miss Hancock for a dance and she accepted demurely. The girls nearby all either giggled or shot her looks of envy.

  As lovely as a doll, Miss Hancock executed the dance moves perfectly, and said everything expected and proper, but only served to remind him why he avoided such green girls. Despite the aura of grief that surrounded her, Alicia Palmer possessed poise and dignity that remained notably absent in other women of his acquaintance.

  Cole nearly cursed out loud before he caught himself. When did he begin comparing women? The only ones who interested him were lonely young widows who no longer cared about propriety. Miss Palmer was everything he generally avoided; he couldn’t explain what had drawn him to her side in the first place.

  Or why losing her good opinion was so crushing.

  Where the devil were his aunt and uncle? He needed to retreat before he cracked. After returning Miss Hancock to her mother, Cole downed another cherry brandy, fighting to regain his normal bored, amused expression. He failed miserably.

  Uncle Andrew found him then. “Care to have a go at billiards?”

  “I’d rather leave now.”

  Uncle Andrew held his hands up in a gesture of helplessness. “You’ll have to take that up with your Aunt. In the meantime, you can do what I do and enjoy a tactical retreat into the billiards room until it’s safe to come out. Your aunt is dancing and I daren’t interrupt.”

  “Fine.” Cole set his glass on a passing tray.

  “I’m surprised at you, nephew.”

  “Oh?”

  “You actually danced.”

  Cole uttered something between a snort and a laugh. “I did. Twice.”

  Uncle Andrew smirked. “Truly? Twice? Both with the same lady?”

  “No. Two different ladies.”

  “Widows?”

  Did Uncle know him that well? “No, I thought I’d live dangerously and dance with young ladies actively seeking a husband.”

  Andrew chuckled. “You do thrive on danger.”

  “The second was because I promised the first that I’d dance with her friend.”

  After casting him a look of disbelief, Uncle Andrew opened the door to the billiards room. Decorated in dark paneling and rich reds, and smelling faintly of cigar smoke, the billiards room had a decidedly masculine feel. For the moment, they were the only gentlemen using it as a refuge from the ball and its feminine snares.

  Uncle Andrew set up the billiards balls. “Since when do you make such promises?”

  “As you say, I miss the danger of my former life and decided to stir up some.” Cole carefully lined up his shot, took a practice stroke, and neatly sank two balls.

  Alicia Palmer’s face appeared in his mind’s eye. He’d never met a woman with such an unspoiled temperament. She did not possess the studied, flirtatious mannerisms of so many ladies of the beau monde, nor did she seem capable of any deceit. Each emotion, each thought crossed her face unconcealed. Shame-faced, she had declared herself a fortune-hunter. But she did not fit the type; unaffected and artless, she lacked the calculating edge.

  He remembered her in the garden, her mantle of quiet, dignified sorrow, the tears she tried so valiantly to suppress, and her sweet concern for her friend as they danced. Normally, Cole avoided wide-eyed innocents, but something about her drew him the way no one ever had. It touched him deep inside where he thought he no longer had any feeling. It excited him. It frightened him.

  It didn’t matter. When Robert Palmer had told her Cole had shot her twin brother, the horror that overcame her features was more gut-wrenching than the fright she suffered at the hands of Mr. Braxton.

  He banked the next shot and missed. He cursed.

  Uncle Andrew chuckled. “Something has you a bit rat
tled tonight, Cole.”

  “Yes. Interfering busybodies who drag hapless relations to marriage marts,” Cole snarled.

  Andrew chuckled again and positioned his cue stick.

  Cole didn’t care what Alicia Palmer thought of him. She was a self-proclaimed fortune hunter desperate for a husband, and he only liked experienced women seeking a nice, uncomplicated affair. Clearly, they did not belong together.

  The pronouncement did nothing to sweeten his mood.

  The door opened and Aunt Livy’s turbaned head appeared. “Oh, there you are, my love,” she said to Uncle Andrew. She frowned at Cole. “Cole, dear, you ought to be out among the guests, not in here out of circulation.”

  “I danced, Aunt. Twice. With two different young ladies.”

  “I know dear, and you did me proud, but there’s someone to whom I must introduce you.”

  Cole scowled and heaved a sigh. “Another one? Haven’t you done enough?”

  She smiled, unimpressed by his dark mood, curse her. “Oh, no, not nearly enough.”

  Cole indicated the billiards table. “We just started the game. I’ll be out when we’ve finished.”

  She turned an imploring look upon him and smiled. “Please, dear? This is the last one tonight, I promise.”

  Cole rolled his eyes. If this was the last one tonight, then heaven help him tomorrow night. How could he be such a weakling when it came to Aunt Livy? No one else could manipulate him as she did.

  Uncle Andrew chuckled. “I’ll rescue you later, Cole.”

  Cole groaned loudly but offered his arm to his aunt. “If I marry, your purpose in living will vanish. I must resist for the sake of your life.”

  “Fear not. You have three younger brothers. Christian will be easy; he’s so charming, if a bit shy, he may not even need my help. Jared won’t be so difficult once he tires of traipsing across the seven seas. Grant will be the biggest challenge, but then, you know me; I love a good challenge.”

  “Challenge? Hopeless, if you ask me.”

  “I’m a very determined woman.”

  “Utterly ruthless,” he agreed.

  Though he refused to look at her, Aunt Livy’s gaze settled heavily on him as they headed toward the ballroom. “It was kind of you to dance with Miss Palmer, Cole.”