The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection (89 page)

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think a gambling loss between my brother and your son is worth all the fuss it’s been given over the years.”

The earl looked away, then slowly returned his gaze to Alex. “Is that what you think this is about? Some foolish wager over ponies?”

The question took Alex aback. “Well, sir, I had heard—”

“Forget what you’ve heard.” The earl slammed his palms against his knees. “There was a time when pride ruled my decisions, and I kept things from innocents who should have been told the full truth. Your father called me a fool for what I did, and I’m here before you now to say he was right.”

Alex shook his head. “I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t follow.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would. Suffice it to say that I wish you to take a message to your father. An apology.” He rose and went to a bedside table to retrieve a letter. “In the event your father did not come, I prepared this.”

Alex extended his hand to take the letter, then met the old man’s stare. “I’ll see that he gets it.”

“Beg his forgiveness for the hasty manner in which it was written and presented,” the earl said. “But with age comes clarity, and I wish not to allow another moment to go by with these words unsaid.”

“I see.”

As the earl rose to say his good-byes, he added, “Thank you, young man, for allowing me to deliver this letter.” He shrugged. “It does not make up for the one that should have been received, but I’ll have to find
another way to repair that.” He chuckled wryly. “Perhaps Edwin will assist me in that endeavor, without his knowledge.”

“Of course.” Alex tried to decide whether the old man had lost his mind or was merely being extremely crafty.

He left not knowing which.

In his haste to leave the Beck home, Alex took the stairs two at a time until he heard what sounded like crying. Curiosity bested his instinct to run, and Alex slowed his descent. With each step lower, the sound increased until he was fairly certain it came from behind the door Miss Beck had recently slammed.

Interesting
. Then he landed on the third step from the bottom and the sound of protesting wood drowned out the whimpering.

Alex quickly moved past the broken step, but the damage was done. Silence reigned, punctuated by a series of soft sniffles. Ignoring good sense, he tucked the envelope into his pocket and rapped on the closed door.

“Miss Beck?” When no response came, he knocked again. “Miss Beck, are you unwell?”

He glanced around, hoping he might catch the attention of a servant, but saw no one. He heard another sniffle followed by a stifled sob and reached for the knob.

Silence. Slowly he drew back his hand. The emergency must have passed. Alex backed away from the door and headed for the exit.

With one foot outside, he heard the wail.

“Oh, for the love of …” Alex reached the library door in long strides and, rather than knock, turned the knob and walked in without invitation.

He found Charlotte Beck with her back to him beside the fireplace, tossing bits of torn paper into a roaring fire. In between tosses, she let out soft sobs.

She obviously hadn’t noticed his presence, so backing silently out of the room was an option. And yet as Alex let his eyes slide slowly down the length of the infuriating woman, he found it impossible to flee.

Miss Beck’s hair had come loose from its pinnings and hung in waves down her back, shimmering with golden highlights. As she moved to throw more paper into the fire, loose curls teased the oversized bow at her waist.

Alex watched the slips of paper float from her fingers into the flames and thought of the report he’d stayed up most of the night rewriting because of her.

And the dented telescope.

And the black eye that was fading far too slowly for comfort.

The Beck woman paused in her efforts and seemed to be gazing at the flames. Slowly she knelt to retrieve a pale blue scroll of rolled fabric and held it at arm’s length. From where he stood, Alex could see a bit of lace and a tangle of ribbons wrapped around it.

“Stupid corset.” Miss Beck lifted the frilly item over her head and threw it into the fire. “Burn,” she said as she reached for the poker and stoked the flames. “Figures the awful thing would be fireproof.”

With a cry akin to a cat being skinned, the earl’s granddaughter
raised the poker and speared the burning corset with the skill of an Olympian. In an instant, the heat in the room became unbearable.

If he needed any proof for calling Charlotte Beck scandalous, it lay before him. In her agitated state, the American was likely to do anything. Someone should intervene. Find a servant or the earl himself to see to her. Failing that, perhaps move her gently away from the inferno and see her resting on the pillow-filled settee until help could be summoned.

Unfortunately, all Alex could do was laugh.

Miss Beck whirled around, an expression of surprise on her tear-stained face. “You!” Her eyes narrowed as Alex continued to chuckle. “How long have you been spying on me, Viscount Hambly?”

“Long enough,” he managed through the laughter. “Are you done roasting corsets or do you have other items to burn?”

“If I had my Worth trousseau, I might throw it all in as well, seeing as how I’ll not have need of it. Not that I was in any hurry to use it.”

“I had no idea you were betrothed,” he said with equal amounts of interest and disappointment.

“Heavens no.” She swiped at her forehead then gave Alex what he figured was her version of an angry glare. “Now if you will do the gentlemanly thing and leave, I would be most appreciative.”

Behind her, a wisp of smoke trailed toward the ceiling. Then came the scent of something other than logs—or a corset—burning.

“Miss Beck,” Alex said, craning his neck to get a better view of the fire, “might a spark have landed on the rug?”

“A spark?” Her angry expression relaxed as she returned her attention to the fireplace.

As soon as Miss Beck presented her back to him, Alex found the source of the smoke—a small but quickly growing fire in the general area of her bustle and the oversized bow that covered it.

Alex hurdled over two ottomans and a tasseled stool to snag a pillow from the settee. Reaching Miss Beck just as the flames began in earnest, he gripped the pillow tightly and took aim at the fire.

Green eyes widened as the first swing made contact. “What
are
you doing?” she demanded as she scooted out of his reach.

Alex easily caught her. “You’re on fire,” he attempted to say, but the words were muzzled by the smoke. “Be still.” He held her with one hand and swatted at the bustle with the other.

Rather than recognize his rescue attempt for what it was, Miss Beck shrieked, attempted to wriggle from his grasp, and finally grabbed the nearest object—thankfully another pillow from the settee—to fend off his blows.

Despite the American’s efforts to the contrary, after three more swats, the emergency was over. Miss Beck’s dress bow would never again see use, but the rest of the feisty female appeared to have emerged from the flames unscathed. Alex dropped the pillow and leaned forward to catch his breath.

“Are you insane?” Miss Beck shouted as she took aim once more with the cushion.

Alex dodged her poor attempt at retribution then wrested the pillow from her and tossed it aside. “Are
you
?” he countered.

“You hit me!” She pointed to her posterior. “On my … well, never mind where, but you accosted me!”

“I did no such thing! Your …” He pointed to the edges of her blackened bow. “That is, you were on fire.”

She sat a moment and stared toward the fire, which still burned far too brightly for a June afternoon. “I’m ruined,” she whispered.

And then the tears fell again.

Alex groaned. Why hadn’t he made good on his exit when he could?
He reached into his pocket and once again offered the sniffling Miss Beck a clean handkerchief. This time she accepted it without comment.

He sat very still, hands in his lap, hoping her waterworks might dry up so he could leave. Instead, her soft crying increased until Miss Beck was sobbing uncontrollably.

“Miss Beck,” he said above the wails. “I do not know how to comfort you.”

“Just go.” She blew her nose on his handkerchief then offered it back to him.

“No, keep it.” Alex moved to the edge of the settee and leaned forward. Before he could stand, the American let out a stifled sob. “All right,” he said as he turned to face her. “What’s wrong? And do not blame your troubles on me. You were crying before you attempted to make a bonfire of your frock.”

Miss Beck reached for the pillow wedged behind her back and held it against her chest. In the golden glow of the fire, her face seemed almost luminescent—all but her nose, which was bright red. Her lip trembled, and once again Alex felt his heart lurch. When she turned her green eyes—thick lashes wet with tears—on him, it was all he could do not to look away.

“You’re right,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “This time you’ve no part in my misery.”

“This time?” He shook his head. “Miss Beck, were you not recently on fire, I might point out the error of your statement. However, I am here, albeit briefly, if you wish to tell me what’s set you off. Should you choose to remain silent and allow me to leave blissfully ignorant of your troubles, I can accommodate that as well.”

“Good.” She crossed her arms over the pillow. “Go ahead and leave.”

“Very well, then.” Alex rose. “Good-bye, Miss Beck. It’s doubtful we’ll see each other again, as I understand you’ll be traveling to New York soon and I shall be off to attend to family business in Leadville in a few weeks, so—”

Charlotte Beck’s wail interrupted his exit and his good wishes for a safe voyage. As he watched the earl’s granddaughter dissolve once again into a fit of sobbing, Alex knew he must either run while he could or sit back down and be a gentleman.

Biting back a complaint, Alex returned to his place on the settee. “All right, Miss Beck. I’ll hear your troubles and offer comfort if I can. Do be brief.”

“Brief?” She shook her head. “What sort of comfort is that?”

Alex shrugged. “Considering our past history …”

Miss Beck sighed. “Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose you
are
partly to blame.”

“I never said—”

Her lip stuck out in what he assumed was some sort of protest, and all words ceased.

“Do continue,” he finally said.

The Beck woman let out a long breath and toyed with the tassels on the pillow for a moment. Then her attention turned to Alex. “I won’t be going to New York after all. Worse, any chance of going to Wellesley in the fall is completely lost.”

“I’m sure your grandfather will be pleased that you’ve chosen to lengthen your stay,” Alex said. He didn’t think he could manage anything more under the steady gaze of those impossibly green eyes.

“Actually,” she said slowly, “my father has called me home.”

“I see.” He paused to think of an appropriate response. “And this has you upset.”

“Upset?” Her voice rose. “Upset? Yes, I’m upset. I studied for weeks with that awful Miss Pence. I walked across rooms with an imaginary egg on my head and wore that torturous contraption, and for what?”

She looked at Alex as if he might actually know the answer. Or, for that matter, understand the question.

“Does he not know the lengths I went to bring this family back into the good graces of London society? Why, I alone made performing in the Wild West show a trend that all the fashionable set is now following.”

Alex nodded. Bringing up his role in her social resurrection seemed imprudent.

“And all Papa can say is that I’ve once again behaved badly and need to come home.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Home? After spending weeks in Paris enduring fittings for a half-dozen trunks full of clothing for my debut that I will now have no reason to wear? And if he’s angry about this, imagine how he will feel when I tell him I wish to choose Wellesley over a husband. Can you feature it?”

This time he shook his head. “No,” he bravely added.

“Exactly.” Miss Beck tossed the pillow in the air, then watched it land on the carpet beside her feet. “Apparently he feels I am in need of greater supervision than I am receiving in London. According to my father, I am to remain with him until he feels I have grown beyond the stage where I will be an embarrassment to the family name. An embarrassment. He actually wrote those words. About me.”

“I see.” The words slipped out, and Alex cringed. “Did he indicate how long that might be?”

“Yes, actually,” she said. “I’m free to leave when I’m either old or married. Not educated, mind you. Oh, no. Given his belief that I am nothing but trouble, he will likely forgo any discussion of my attending
Wellesley and consider nothing but a wedding. At least then I will be someone else’s problem.” Miss Beck eyed him directly. “Have you ever heard of something so awful? Using marriage as a means to an end?”