Heiress Gone Wild

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  Glad? Relieved? What a crock.

  He’d been appalled by the comparison and frustrated as hell. When a man was burning for a woman, the last thing he wanted to be told by the object of his desire was that he was like a father to her. Hearing that, any red-blooded man would have hauled off and kissed her.

  But he wasn’t any man. He was her guardian. That put what he’d done utterly beyond the pale, and now, he didn’t know whether to laugh at himself for being a humbug or flog himself for violating the trust Billy had placed in him.

  Jonathan paused and leaned against the ship’s railing, breathing deep as he worked to bring his body back under his control.

  All his guardianlike protections, all his lectures to her on proper behavior, and all his reminders to himself of his duty, and yet he’d just become the very thing he was trying to protect her from.

  When he’d seen de la Rosa halfway through her door, it had ignited within him an unmistakably protective rage, but not one borne of any paternal feeling, as his subsequent actions had so ignobly proved.

  When she’d pulled him into her room, he hadn’t even thought to stop her. When she’d railed at him for acting as if he was her father, it had insulted his masculine pride and provoked him beyond bearing. And when he’d pulled her into his arms, he’d tossed his promises to his best friend straight out the window.

  Jonathan stared out to sea, pushing thoughts of Marjorie aside, making his mind go back six weeks, to his final visit to the sanitorium in Denver.

  I never told you before, but I’ve got a daughter.

  The smell of the ocean faded away, replaced by the dry mountain air of Colorado. The rush of the sea breeze was lost in the sound of hacking coughs. The view before him of endless blue water gave way to one of the lungers, their emaciated bodies lying on cots in the doorways of their huts—his friend among them, his face drawn and pale, a blood-spattered towel in his hand.

  The doctors had already told him Billy’s death was imminent; what he had not expected was his friend’s deathbed revelations.

  Her mother’s family was society, top of the tree in Johannesburg. Prettiest woman you ever saw. She had subalterns and the sons of English lords swirling around her like flies around honey. But she chose me. They cast her off for it, you know. Her family.

  Billy had known about Jonathan’s mother—how she had been similarly ostracized and how well Jonathan understood that sort of injustice.

  Marjorie’s been at a finishing school back East, learning to be a lady, but it won’t do her much good without connections. You’ve got those. I want my girl to have the best of everything, all the things I can’t give her, all the things her mother gave up when she married me. Balls, pretty dresses, parties. Society, you know. Marjorie’s like any girl. She wants those things. Promise me she gets ’em.

  Jonathan’s eyes stung. His chest hurt. The memory of pine-scented air made him feel slightly sick. He didn’t want to think of this; he’d spent weeks pushing it away. But now, he made himself remember it, forcing it back to the forefront of his mind, where it needed to be if he was going to keep his word.

  I want her to marry the right sort of man, her mother’s sort, a real gentleman and nothing less. Not some fortune hunter out for the money. And not some dream chaser like me and you. You know what I mean?

  He knew. Propping his forearms on the rail, he bent his head, cradling it in his hands as the last, labored words he’d ever heard his friend say rang in his ears.

  I’ve got no kin. Her mother’s folk won’t take her—my fault. She’s got no one else, so I made you her guardian. Jessop drew it all up. When I’m gone, you’ve got to look after my little girl, take care of her money like you did for me, keep the fortune-hunters away, and see she’s settled proper when the time comes. Promise.

  He’d promised. He’d never considered doing anything else.

  And then, just minutes ago, after knowing the girl less than a week, he’d broken that promise. For lust.

  Slowly, Jonathan lifted his head and straightened away from the rail. He’d let people down in the past, he couldn’t do it again. He’d given Billy his word, and by God, he was going to keep it.

  Even if it killed him.

  If Marjorie had truly been a cursed princess in a fairy tale, her first kiss ought to have freed her, transformed her, changed . . . something. But she soon discovered that in real life, things were a bit different. That kiss, like the necklace, may have brought her an exhilarating sense of feminine power, but in practical terms, it didn’t really amount to much.

  During the evening that followed, Jonathan resumed avoiding her like she had the plague, Lady Stansbury continued to be awful, Baroness Vasiliev remained “seasick” in her cabin, and Marjorie’s first ocean voyage once again became mind-numbingly dull. The following day, no one aboard ship could possibly have been more delighted than she when the misty Irish coastline came into sight.

  Her first view of England, however, proved to be not much of a view at all, for as the Neptune entered the English Channel, it sailed straight into the teeth of a raging, late-spring storm. The rain was coming down in sheets as the steamship moved along the Solent, that part of the Channel between the Isle of Wight and the mainland. It had lightened to a drizzle by the time the Neptune slid into a dock at Southampton Port, only to be replaced by fog so thick the hired carriages transporting passengers from the docks to the railway station crawled along the streets of Southampton at a snail’s pace.

  The dismal weather rather tempered Marjorie’s excitement about arriving for the first time in another country, but at the train station, as Jonathan purchased their passage to London, sent telegrams of their safe arrival to his sister, Mr. Jessop, and Mrs. Forsyte, and secured a porter to transfer their luggage, Lady Stansbury chose to lighten Marjorie’s spirits.

  “This is where I leave you,” the countess said as she paused with Marjorie by the ticket counters while Baroness Vasiliev joined Jonathan in the queue to purchase her own London railway fare.

  “You do not go on to London?” Marjorie asked, trying to look regretful instead of relieved.

  “Bah,” the countess replied, shaking her head. “I’m far too old for all that hustle and bustle. No, I’m going home to Chalton. It’s less than twenty miles from here, very close to Torquil’s ducal seat, you know. Too bad the duke and duchess aren’t in residence. If they were at Ravenwood, you and Mr. Deverill could accompany me.”

  “Yes,” Marjorie murmured. “That is too bad.”

  “When the duchess brings you back to Hampshire, Miss McGann, call on me at Chalton, and we shall have tea.”

  Marjorie, thinking of the travesties that had been committed upon her underclothing and the autocratic orders that had been barked at her during the past six days, decided she’d rather have teeth pulled. “You’re very kind, ma’am,” she said gravely. “Thank you.”

  “Not at all. You’re a sweet child, for an American. Ah, there’s Bates with our tickets, and the porter with our luggage. Not that way, young man,” she barked to the uniformed porter, jabbing her cane in the air to send him and his cart of trunks and suitcases toward the proper platform. “I’m east, not northeast.”

  As the countess, her maid, and the unfortunate porter trundled off, Marjorie heard a chuckle behind her and turned to find Jonathan standing there, billets of fare in his hand and a porter beside him with a cart of luggage. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “Lady Stansbury calling you sweet.”

  Making a face at him, she took the ticket he held out to her and put it in her handbag. “I’ve never been so glad to be rid of anyone in my life. That woman sucks every scrap of joy out of life.”

  “Yes, well, you’ve got your baroness back now, from here to London, at least.”

  “You needn’t sound so unhappy about it. Believe me, if you ever got to know her, you’d enjoy her company as much as I do.”

  He gave her a skeptical look, but he had no chance to reply, for the b
aroness joined them at that moment and suggested they board their train, which was due to depart in half an hour.

  The train was crowded, and because they were late to the platform, their choice of seats was limited, despite being in first class. They did manage to find three seats together, but the other three seats in the compartment were also occupied—one by a crusty old colonel who glared at the baroness from behind his newspaper and gave a pointed harrumph every time her garrulous voice rose above a murmur.

  Jonathan also opened a newspaper, and the baroness soon gave up any attempts at conversation, pulled a book from her traveling case, and offered another one to Marjorie.

  She accepted it with gratitude, glad Lady Stansbury wasn’t there to remind her that women in mourning weren’t supposed to read novels. Sadly, however, even a novel wasn’t sufficient to hold her attention, not with Jonathan sitting right across from her and that kiss still vivid in her mind.

  Every time she looked up, the sight of him only a few feet away brought back those heated moments in her cabin. Even the fact that they were in a crowded train compartment could not stop her from remembering the feel of his strong arms around her and his mouth on hers, and the memory never failed to make her blush, forcing her to retreat once again behind a book she wasn’t reading.

  Thankfully, the weather decided to change as they journeyed away from the coast, and as the mist and rain dissipated, Marjorie was given her first real glimpse of England. Hoping the view outside would prove a better distraction from the man opposite than the baroness’s book, she stared out at the lush green countryside and tried to imagine the wonderful new life ahead of her, a life she’d been dreaming of for three years now.

  She’d been fourteen when her father had struck it rich, but she hadn’t really thought of herself as an heiress, for her plan had been to go west to be with her parent. She’d listened with interest as her friends had talked of their future in this country, of how they would do the season and marry titled peers, but back then, it had all seemed like a romantic story to her and nothing more, for she’d never seen herself as joining them.

  But upon her graduation, her father’s betrayal had transformed her friends’ talk of life in the British aristocracy from a story into a plan. Their descriptions of English country life, with its stately homes, enduring traditions, and deep family loyalties, had appealed strongly to the girl who hadn’t had a real home since she was seven and whose only family member had never been loyal.

  Her friends’ accounts of the London season, with its lavish balls and parties and potential suitors, had sparked excitement in the girl who’d never experienced so much as a speck of romance.

  Marjorie slid another glance at Jonathan, and she was startled to find him watching her above the edge of his newspaper. She could read nothing in his face, but as his gaze lowered to her mouth, she caught her breath and wondered if he was thinking of that kiss. But then, he returned his attention to his newspaper, and Marjorie looked again at the view outside, reminding herself that there was no point to romantic contemplations about Jonathan. The life she wanted, the one to which this very train was carrying her, was in the society he abhorred, and in only two weeks, he was returning to a life she had no desire to share.

  She’d soon be meeting plenty of other handsome men, some of whom would kiss her—at least, she hoped so. She’d find one to love, one who’d want to settle down with her, who’d enjoy the house parties they’d throw and the estate they’d manage and all the London seasons that lay ahead.

  Jonathan might hate that sort of life, but for her, it shimmered ahead like a dazzling paradise, and now that it was three thousand miles closer, she wanted it more than ever. And yet, when she stole another glance at Jonathan across the compartment and thought of his arms around her and his mouth on hers, she had the sinking feeling that none of the men she ever met in the future would ever kiss her like he had.

  Baroness Vasiliev was staying at Thomas’s Hotel, which seemed to be along their route to the duchess’s house, and she accepted Jonathan’s offer to share their taxi from Victoria Station. Upon arriving at the hotel, Jonathan directed bellmen in unloading the baroness’s luggage while she and Marjorie said their farewells.

  “I am sorry I was not a better companion to you during our voyage,” the baroness said. “But the mal de mer had me in its grip . . .”

  Pausing, she pressed a hand to her stomach and gave a shudder as if recalling her weeklong bout of seasickness, and Marjorie had to suppress a smile. No wonder Jonathan thought the woman a fraud, for she wasn’t really that good an actress.

  “It’s all right, Baroness,” Marjorie said gravely. “Seasickness must be awful. And I’m sure we shall see each other here in town. After all,” she went on, watching the other woman closely, “you do know the duchess.”

  “But of course we shall see each other,” the baroness exclaimed, showing no sign of deception. “You do the season, no?”

  “It doesn’t look like it.” Marjorie gave a wistful sigh. “I am supposed to be in mourning.”

  “Bah. You hardly knew your father. The duchess will not be such a . . . what is the word I want? Stickler?”

  “Perhaps the duchess won’t,” Marjorie conceded, sliding a meaningful sideways glance at Jonathan. “But she isn’t the only consideration.”

  The baroness laughed. “Your guardian is a man. I doubt he will gainsay his sister in a matter such as this. And even if he does . . .” She paused to give Marjorie a wink. “He will be gone before long, no? And the duchess lives a very short distance from here. No, no, we will see each other again soon, my young friend.” She turned as Jonathan came up to them. “You shall call upon me tomorrow, Mr. Deverill, yes?”

  “I am happy to do so. Shall we say three o’clock?”

  Marjorie grasped the meaning behind that exchange at once, and after they had returned to their waiting taxi, she couldn’t resist teasing him about it. “Paying her to feign seasickness was a cruel thing to do to me,” she accused, shaking her head.

  “You survived.”

  “So did Lady Stansbury. Lucky for her.”

  That made him grin, but once the taxi merged into traffic, he looked at her, his grin faded, and suddenly, the memory of that kiss was between them in the confined space of the carriage like a tangible thing. As they stared at each other, Marjorie could almost feel his arms around her and his mouth on hers. With no chaperones and no prying eyes and his tawny eyes looking into hers, all the wild, overwhelming sensations he had evoked came over her in a flood, as vivid now as the moment the kiss had happened.

  Heat flooded her body, making her blush, and she looked out the window, forcing herself to say something. “The streets are so crowded here, aren’t they?” Even as she spoke, she grimaced at the inanity of her own remark and the nervous pitch of her voice, but desperate, she persevered. “It’s worse than Manhattan. We’re scarcely moving.”

  “London traffic’s always beastly. Believe me, I know. I grew up here.”

  She drew a breath and looked at him again, glad to have a neutral topic more interesting than the traffic. “How does it feel to be home again?”

  With that question, the tension in the air seemed to dissipate, and he eased into the opposite corner of the taxi, stretching out his long legs as best he could in the confined space. “Odd,” he admitted.

  “It must be, after ten years away.”

  “It’s all very familiar, naturally. Comfortable, too, in a way—rather like putting on one’s favorite pair of old shoes. And yet . . .” He paused and glanced outside, then looked back at her. “It also feels crowded, a bit stifling. Alien, too, like I’ve stepped into the pages of a Jules Verne novel.”

  “And I feel like I’ve stepped into a romantic fairy tale.”

  “Perhaps you have.” The gold lights in his eyes seemed to glint with sudden fire, and Marjorie’s stomach gave a nervous lurch.

  “Tell me about your sisters,” she said, seizing on another topic. �
��Since I’m about to meet at least one of them in very short order, I suppose I ought to learn a bit more about them. What are they like?”

  He hesitated, and she couldn’t help a laugh. “Is it such a hard question?”

  “It is, rather. As you know, I haven’t seen my sisters for ten years, and even before then, I was away at school much of the time when we were growing up.” He considered. “I’m sure they’ve changed a great deal since I went away. They’re both married now, and they both have children. Didn’t Lady Stansbury tell you anything about my sisters?”

  “Not much.” She made a rueful face. “I asked about the duchess, and the entire sewing circle went silent, all of them looking at each other as if they didn’t know what to say. Finally, Mrs. Anstruthur said something about Her Grace being very political and modern in her views, whereupon I saw Mrs. Fulton-Smythe kick her—yes, actually kick her. Mrs. Anstruthur, poor woman, stopped talking and looked embarrassed. Lady Stansbury frowned at me, said she hoped I was not in any way political, and changed the subject.”

  Jonathan laughed, much to her bewilderment. “Irene has always had an independent streak,” he explained, “and it seems to have gotten under the skin of Lady Stansbury and her friends. Irene is a staunch suffragist.”

  “I see.” Marjorie grinned. “I think I like her already.”

  Jonathan’s amusement faded at once. “Don’t follow in her footsteps, please.”

  “Oh?” She straightened in her seat, a bit nettled. “Why not? Because you don’t think women should have the vote?”

  “Women in Idaho got the vote for their state elections ages ago, as have several other Western American states, and despite the dire predictions of most of the men, the world didn’t come crashing down around our ears. No, I only meant that I don’t want you getting arrested.”

  She blinked in surprise. “The duchess got arrested?”