The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection (90 page)

Again she fell into a bout of tears. Rather than speak, Alex kept his silence as her question plagued his conscience. What was the difference between Miss Beck’s father betrothing his daughter to rid himself of the responsibility of her care and his own possible consideration of trading a well-placed marriage for a fresh infusion of money into dwindling Hambly coffers?

“Miss Beck,” he said over the noise of her wails, “do listen a moment.” When she quieted slightly, he continued. “You wish to attend university?” At her nod, he asked, “For what course of study?”

“I’m quite handy with numbers,” she said with a sniffle. “I’m sure you’ll think it quite humorous, but I wish to pursue a course of study in mathematics.

Mathematics? Not what he’d expected.

“I wished to be of some help to Papa or Grandfather in their businesses,” Miss Beck continued, “but it appears the only course to freedom now is marriage. Though there’s a risk even then that I might be wed to some fellow who feels I belong in the bedroom and not the boardroom.”

“Ah.” Alex tried not to think about that statement. “Then it’s unlikely you’ll spend much time away from your adventures. A pretty girl like you could be betrothed before sundown if she put her mind to it.”

Miss Beck swiped at an errant tear then tucked the handkerchief into her pocket. “You’re right. I could, couldn’t I?” She paused. “But what if I marry a man only to discover he’s more intent on keeping me home than my father?”

“Perhaps you could find a man whose interests are only financial. An
agreement for a quick marriage and hasty annulment could solve both your problems.”

“Annulment?”

“Yes, it’s done all the time.” He warmed to the topic. Anything to keep her from bursting into tears again. “As long as the husband and wife do not …” He paused to rethink the statement for propriety’s sake. “That is, should the marriage remain unconsummated, then the union could be annulled. Or, at least that is my understanding.”

“I see.” She sat very still, her gaze steady and her nose still pink as the evening sky at sunset. “So if my father does not come to his senses, I could find a man and marry him …” She leaned forward and rested her hands on her knees. “Thank you, Viscount Hambly,” she said abruptly. “You’ve given me much to consider.”

“You’re welcome.” He inched to the edge of the settee. “If my services are no longer needed then …” He cast a sideways glance at the earl’s granddaughter and found her deep in thought. “Yes, well, do have a safe voyage home.”

“Thank you,” she said absently, “you do the same.”

He started to stand, but her voice stopped him.

“Viscount Hambly?”

His momentary hope for escape plummeted. “Yes?”

“You mentioned Leadville. I’ve spent quite a lot of time there over the years. Will you be traveling for business or pleasure?”

Alex exhaled slowly. “Business, I’m afraid.”

She worried with the blackened end of her ribbon then flicked away the burnt pieces littering her skirt, a frown on her face. “Leadville isn’t as awful as all that. It’s not London or even Denver by any stretch, but this time of year it’s quite lovely.”

Lovely or not, Colorado was just another stop on the campaign to see that his family remained solvent and his future remained clear of any further encumbrances. “I’ll be meeting with a group of investors.”

Her gaze collided with his. “Are your investors buying or selling?”

The question surprised him, as did the interest with which it appeared to be asked. “Buying.”

“I follow mining stocks, as well as a few others, and things are going well as far as …” Charlotte shook her head. “I’m sorry. I rarely mention my silly interest in the stock market to anyone.”

“Yes, well, stocks are one thing and actual profits on a mine another. And it’s the mine we’re considering selling.” Alex straightened his cuff. “Production is down while expenses are going up, but the elevation of the property … Sorry. I’m sure you’re not the least bit interested in all this.”

“Go on,” she said.

He slid the ingénue a sideways glance. Had he less sense, Alex might have thought Charlotte Beck was prying him for information. However, what possible use of these facts could she make, her statement regarding the stock market notwithstanding? Besides, an interest in their current conversation meant Charlotte Beck might not revert back to the prior one. And that meant he could make his escape.

“My interest in astronomy is no secret. Thus, I would like nothing better than to offer our property to the consortium of investors considering a location for a new, and quite impressive, observatory.”

“An observatory in Leadville?” She looked away. “That’s nothing I’d expect.”

“Indeed.” He ignored the urge to steer the conversation into safer waters. “The combined elevation and accessibility by railroad, along
with the base of commerce that is already well established, makes the city an easy choice over any other locations in the west.”

“How so?”

Giving to his excitement over the project, Alex told Miss Beck just how well suited the view of the heavens was from the remote mine and even mentioned the possible connection to Roeschlaub and the Goodsell Observatory. After a few minutes, he realized that he appeared to have lost his audience. Only when he ceased speaking did Miss Beck return her attention to him.

“Do continue, Viscount Hambly,” she said.

“No, I’ve kept you long enough. I should be going.”

She looked away, and he froze. Now what?

“Miss Beck?”

Then he heard the sniffle, and his heart sank.

“I should go,” Alex said, knowing he couldn’t leave the woman like this.

“Yes,” she responded softly.

He willed his feet to move, but they refused. Instead, he returned to his place beside her. To his surprise, she turned to him and melted into his arms as her tears once again flowed. “There, there,” he said, trying to deduce exactly what to do next. Awkwardly, he placed his hand on her shoulder and then slid it to the middle of her back to pat her softly. “It can’t possibly be as bad as all that.”

Miss Beck looked up, her long lashes wet and her eyes wide. “You don’t know the half of it,” she managed. “Everything’s ruined.”

“Miss Beck,” he said as she rested her forehead on his shoulder, “the only thing I can see that’s ruined is your bustle and ribbons.” When her soft giggle reached his ears, Alex continued. “And if not being allowed
to parade across a ballroom in hopes of snaring a man is your version of the worst thing that can happen, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

She peered up at him, her face still half-hidden by his coat. “There’s much more to my plan than all that, so I must disagree.”

“Well, of course you disagree. You’re trained to believe this silliness is important. Why, I warrant there are plenty of men who don’t care one whit for all of that nonsense. I certainly don’t.”

This seemed to take her by surprise. “You don’t?”

“No. And neither should you. As I said before, a woman as lovely as you …” He leaned back to lift her head with his forefinger. Somehow his palm slid to cup her jaw. “Should …”

She blinked slowly. “Should?”

His thumb brushed away a tear then rested for a moment on her lips. Insanity beckoned in the form of a strong need to kiss some sense into the weeping female.

“Miss Beck …” He made a valiant attempt—and failed—to look away from her wide green eyes. “I’ve forgotten what I was going to say,” he admitted.

She reached for his lapel. “Something about a woman as lovely as me, I believe.”

Another tear slid down her cheek, and all measure of caution was lost. “Miss Beck,” he said as his palm moved to rest against the nape of her neck, “are you truly asking me to admit that I believe you’re lovely?”

“A lady would never ask such a thing,” she said in a husky whisper.

“Agreed,” he said, “though were you to ask, you
are
quite lovely.”

The corner of her lips turned up in the beginning of a smile. “I am?”

“You know you are.” He curled a tendril of honey-colored hair around his finger. “Though if I were to admit this, I would have to add that you’re also the most irritating,”—he paused and lifted the curl to
touch his cheek—“aggravating,”—the strand fell from his hand to settle back against her shoulder—“impossible,”—Alex moved close enough to inhale the sweet scent of lilacs mixed with the acrid smell of burned fabric—“frustrating woman I’ve ever had the disadvantage of meeting.”

He was close enough to kiss her.

So he did.

Only after he kissed her a second time did he come to his senses.

“I—that is, well … I should be going.” Alex rose, then looked down on the lovely but impossible Miss Beck. “Avoid any further conflagrations, please, for I shall not be present to put them out.”

Thoughts of the kiss they’d just shared followed him out the door and settled somewhere between his addled brain and his heart. A dangerous woman, Miss Beck. Or she would be, if she lived long enough to see adulthood.

Not that Alex intended to find out. He’d just proved that standing too close to the flame, even when it was no longer smoldering, could get a man burned.

As his boots found the front steps, Alex breathed a sigh of relief. Even so, he caught himself glancing back over his shoulder at the room on the southernmost corner of the first floor.

A golden glow still danced across the window panes and silhouetted the figure of the green-eyed girl who watched him leave.

He turned away and stepped into the carriage. As much as he might enjoy getting lost in the starry gaze of those green eyes, Charlotte Beck was the last woman in the world he’d ever wed.

With each turn of the carriage wheel, his vow strengthened and his thoughts turned to safer topics. He and Pembroke would make their way to Colorado in less than one week. The timing was excellent, as Alex had projected another passing of Jacob’s Comet during their week in Leadville.

With his paper on the subject receiving much positive attention in the scientific community, Alex hoped to find additional proof for his theories on the comet before the next international gathering of astronomers in Zurich. The Astronomer Royal had already added him
to the delegation, allowing him to give a presentation that would seal his career with the observatory.

No minor feat for someone his age. Alex grinned. Though the Beck woman thought him old, his colleagues tended to dismiss him for the opposite reason.

“Thank you,” Alex said when the carriage rolled through the gates.

He made quick work of retrieving his papers, stuffing them into his satchel, and then stepped out into the upstairs hall. A servant met him, tears streaming down her face.

“Did you hear the news, sir?” she asked.

“News?” He shook his head and shifted the satchel to his other hand. “No, what news?”

“Your father,” she sobbed. “He’s dead, sir.”

“Dead?” His mouth barely wrapped around the word as he struggled to let it into his heart. As far back as Alex could remember, he’d thought of his father as an old man. With his thick patch of gray hair and the wrinkled features of the ancestors who decorated the walls of the ancestral home at Hampstead Heath, he had always appeared older than the other lads’ fathers. Alex had learned early on to cease comparison and merely think of Father as one who neither aged nor would ever die.

It was folly. And now he was gone.

“What happened?” he managed, but the maid had already fled, leaving him to his questions.

Alex made his way to his mother’s chambers, where he found the countess seated in the chair beside the window. At his entrance, she looked up with a weary expression.

“You’ve heard.”

“So it’s true,” Alex said. “What happened?”

“A quiet end. He took his evening meal at the Spaniards Inn with
great gusto then went home and slept soundly. The maid found him mid-morning. He was already …” She paused to wipe away her tears. “Yes, well, I’m glad he had his night at the Spaniards Inn. It’s fitting.”

“Indeed.” Of all the dining establishments and pubs near the Hambly home, the old pub was indeed his father’s favorite spot to dine. Between those in his employ and those who called him neighbor, Father rarely had to dine alone at the Inn. He was a different man in Hampstead Heath than he was in London, as if he wore the clothes of nobility looser the closer he got to home.

“Do you think he enjoyed himself at the Inn?” his mother asked. “I wonder whether the meal was a good one.”

A ludicrous question to be sure, but grief knew no logic. And for all their differences, no one could claim his mother did not love his father.

“I’m sure it was a fine last meal among friends,” he managed.

Her gaze lifted to meet his stare. “The responsibility as head of the family is now yours.”

The truth, and Alex knew it. Yet he needed his mother to admit the situation. “But I am the spare. Look to your elder son for leadership. Isn’t that what he’s been bred for?”