In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL)

by Maggie Robinson

  Grace steepled her multi-ringed fingers together. “I don’t expect Louisa told you of her youthful indiscretion before you married. She threw herself at our neighbor, Sir Richard Delacourt. He could do nothing but catch her. He’s just a man, after all, and men have their appetites.”

  Charles did not feel obliged to defend all men against the woman’s generalization. In his experience she was, regrettably, more or less accurate. “I was curious as to why he was a dinner guest last night.”

  Grace’s cheeks took on the faintest color beneath her maquillage. “Why, he’s our most prominent neighbor, and fences have since been mended. One cannot really blame him for my niece’s impetuosity. I discovered Louisa’s disgrace myself. Fortunately, I hushed it up as best as I could.”

  Charles knew she was lying even if her face was a serene mask. “But you punished her.”

  “Of course I did! One’s chastity is precious, and since Louisa had relieved herself of it, what was to stop her from engaging in affairs with every male she could get her hands on? Footmen, stableboys, and the like. The girl has no discrimination. None. She’s always been overfamiliar with the servants.” Her lips twisted in disgust.

  “So I canceled her presentation, and kept her close to home, hoping she would see the error of her hoydenish ways and repent. I controlled her purse strings, you know, and the staff at Rosemont views me as its legitimate chatelaine. There was no question my rules were to be obeyed. She lived very quietly, fooling us all, when all the time she was planning to run off to France and who knows where else at the first opportunity!”

  “She had eight years of quiet living, if I can count correctly. Quite a sentence for a foolish mistake in judgment. She was twenty-five when she left, ma’am.”

  “But still a willful child! Hugh and I tried our best to reason with her. As I said last night, he offered her marriage to protect the family’s reputation. Several times. The boy has always had a soft spot for her, though I cannot see why.”

  “You forget you are speaking of my wife, Mrs. Westlake.” Charles did not suggest that maybe Hugh had a mother complex, as Louisa’s Dr. Freud was apt to say. Louisa was close enough to her in looks to be her younger twin.

  “She doesn’t have to remain your wife, Mr. Norwich. Mr. Baxter and I have discussed a very generous settlement should you come to your senses and renounce her. You may not need the money, but neither do you need an untrustworthy wife who will betray you once she tires of you. She’s—she’s unstable. Volatile. Needy. Even as a little girl she thought she could do just as she pleased without consequences. I blame my brother. He and his American wife spoiled her dreadfully.”

  Charles pictured Louisa as a little orphan, pinafored and pigtailed, trying to squeeze an ounce of love out of her aunt. Doomed to failure. Mrs. Westlake was a cool customer.

  Frigid.

  She must have sensed Charles’s abhorrence and waggled a hand at him. “I’m not a monster, you know. I tried my best; truly I did. Hugh will tell you I never played favorites with the children. He’s still a bit cross with me about that. But I took my responsibilities seriously, even if I was unable to mold Louisa into a proper young lady. She’s incorrigible.”

  “And I like her for it.” Charles rose. “I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you, Mrs. Westlake. I have no intention of divorcing Louisa. You’ll have to get used to me. Although I should warn you, I don’t take kindly to your method of getting rid of me.”

  “You said yourself extra income was always welcome.”

  “I’m not talking about the bribery. Someone came into my room last night and tried to do me harm. What do you know about that?”

  Grace Westlake’s rouged mouth fell open. “I? Why, nothing, of course! I assure you I’ve never resorted to violence in my whole life.”

  “What, you’ve never spanked a naughty little girl?”

  “No, I never did,” Grace said with considerable indignation. “Louisa was isolated when she misbehaved.”

  “Locked in her room with bread and water—if that—I imagine. Things are going to change here at Rosemont, Mrs. Westlake. For the better, for they certainly couldn’t be any worse.”

  “W-what do you mean?”

  “This is Louisa’s house, is it not? Every stick of furniture, every carpet, every painting belongs to her. You are here as her guest, aren’t you? I wouldn’t count on remaining so much longer.”

  Louisa’s aunt gripped the arms of her chair but she didn’t get up. “How dare you! If I hadn’t come when my brother and his stupid wife died, Louisa would not be in the enviable position she’s in today! Ask Mr. Baxter—thanks to my wise investments, I’ve quadrupled her fortune!”

  “We thank you. But Louisa does not need a guardian now. She has me.”

  “And you—a foreign stranger no matter who your parents were—think to swan in here and usurp my authority. Well, it won’t do, young man. Louisa must have some sense of gratitude beneath her ramshackle ways. She won’t allow you to uproot me from my home.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Charles said. He might have stepped into the shit with this—Louisa had not told him how she was going to ask her aunt and cousin to leave. But here he was in the dragon’s den, and he might as well make himself useful. Better take the brunt of Grace Westlake’s wrath than have it directed at Louisa.

  Charles realized his first impression of a spoiled, carefree rich girl had been very far from the truth. He may have grown up in reduced circumstances, but there had been affection at home while his mother was alive. Louisa had lost all that at the age of four. To be raised by Grace Westlake must have been a withering experience. It was a wonder Louisa was as warmhearted as she was.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I believe we are done. And I warn you again, Mrs. Westlake—I will not be a victim to whatever machinations you or your minions decide upon to get rid of me. I’ll be armed, and rest assured I know how to defend myself.”

  “You are talking utter nonsense!”

  “Am I? Let’s say we’ll all be on our guard here at Rosemont. While we are here.” Charles hoped he’d left no doubt as to which of them was to go.

  He left Louisa’s aunt in a state of fury that no artful makeup job could conceal, whistling his way down the winding turret stairs. After only three wrong turns he found Louisa in their sitting room, pacing in front of a roaring fire. Several volumes and a newspaper were scattered on the table, as if she could not find one of them to concentrate on. Her face lit as he entered, causing an odd sensation in his chest. Did she view him as her champion?

  She shouldn’t.

  “Well? Tell me everything!”

  “I’m intact. She offered me money, but I’m afraid I have no specific amount to report of your worth—we never explored that far. She claims to have no knowledge of the little incident last night, and I almost believe her. And—you’d better sit down. You may not like what I have to say.”

  Louisa hesitated, then eased gracefully into a corner of the gray sofa. She had changed into a high-necked cream-colored wool walking dress after breakfast, and she looked very pretty. Her cheeks were pink, though her eyes were shadowed from their mutual lack of sleep. She folded her hands in her lap and gazed at him with clear, trusting eyes. She made him want to stand a little taller. Be a lot smarter—he may have tipped her hand too soon.

  “Go on.”

  “I more or less invited your aunt to leave Rosemont. Told her she wasn’t needed.”

  Louisa blinked. “And what did she say to that?”

  “She didn’t like the idea much. Said Rosemont was her home and even you would be grateful for all she’d done for you to let her stay.”

  She gave a little snort. “Grateful, eh? That’s not a word I would use.” Louisa looked down at her hands, which were knotted tightly, pale as the fabric on which they lay. “Rosemont was her girlhood home. I imagine she resented
my father when he inherited it from my grandfather. It’s not as if the property was entailed and had to go to the eldest male.”

  “How would two families share a house, even one this size?”

  “True. I’m sure that’s what my grandpapa was thinking. He expected Grace to marry—which she did, right out of the schoolroom. She had a substantial dowry, even if it didn’t equal Rosemont’s value.”

  “What was her husband like? I’ll bet he was glad to die young.” Somehow Charles could not imagine Grace allowing a hair on her head to be disordered. Lovemaking would have been fraught with complications, much too messy for fastidious Grace Westlake.

  “I can’t really remember him, but he wasn’t so young. Uncle Harry was a good two decades older than she was—my grandfather didn’t really approve of the match even if Harry’s brother was a viscount, but there’s no stopping Grace when she wants something.”

  “Kind of like her niece,” he teased.

  Louisa gave him a wobbly smile. “I should call you out for that.”

  “Pistols at dawn? There are things I’d much rather do with you at that hour.” The words were out before he had a chance to think. My God, he was flirting. And picturing Louisa in bed, her robe parted, her lovely white body open to his invasion. They had agreed that last night, no matter how superbly satisfying it had been, was a mistake. It would not do for Charles to lust after his employer.

  But the horse was already out of the barn. Or, in homage to Louisa, perhaps the automobile was out of the garage. It was difficult to return the genie to the lamp. The toothpaste to the tube. He could think of a thousand metaphors, but it wouldn’t change the attraction he had for her. Louisa was looking delectable indeed, a rosy flush on her face from his words. It would be so easy to lean over and kiss her wide mouth, toy with the little chocolate drop at its corner, seek a friendly war with her warm tongue.

  “Charles—,” she warned, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He bent and cradled her cheek. Her skin was soft and pink, as though she bathed in honey and rose petals. Her lips parted in protest and he silenced her with one swift kiss.

  It didn’t matter that she was seated and he was standing at an awkward angle, because she was kissing him back despite her initial reluctance. Kissing him with some enthusiasm. Hell, there was no point to being modest—she was eating him right up, her lashes flashing, her hands unknotted and grasping at his jacket. Charles toppled down onto the ugly couch on one knee and took her in his arms. He could not see a ready way to unhook her from her dress, so he just shut his eye and enjoyed her trembling against him, the scent of violets heady. If he had money, he’d see that she always had a nosegay of them, their color deep and lush against her fair skin. He’d cover a bed with the tiny flowers and crush them beneath their bodies as they sought their pleasure.

  Charles was getting carried away, plain and simple. And he didn’t much care where he wound up as long as Louisa was somewhere within reach.

  Chapter

  19

  This was not supposed to be happening. They had agreed last night—this morning—to put the brakes on any further intimacy. It was just that she was so tired, so anxious, so unsettled to be back “home” where someone was trying to frighten her, and Charles was so . . . so—oh, words failed as he kissed her, the satin of his black eye patch smooth against her temple, his fingers disarranging her hair as he held her close.

  Kathleen would be annoyed, both at the ruination of the chignon and the wicked kiss. Somehow her maid had gotten it into her head that Charles was not a good influence on Louisa, and she was right. All those lonely years, Louisa held herself apart from passion, and look what one night with him had done to her. She was ready to go back to the bedroom and take up where they’d left off.

  The fine wool of her dress itched against her neck and every lace of her corset was a taunt. Louisa was hot all over. Breathless. Well, what could she expect when the captain covered her lips with such skill?

  It didn’t seem like he was thinking of his unhappy past, or thinking anything at all. Louisa resolved to do the same. She’d just concentrate on the little licks, the sweep of tongue against tongue, the taste of Charles’s toothpaste. The rough pads of his fingertips as they tickled her cheekbones. The breadth of his chest as she pressed against it. The warmth and strength of him. Louisa felt . . . safe.

  She opened her eyes. Charles’s vivid blue eye stared back at her. She could fall into its depths, plummet right beneath his skin. Never leave. But what did she know about him, really? Only what he’d chosen to tell her, and that all might be false, according to Kathleen as she’d ratted Louisa’s hair up this morning. Designed to garner him sympathy—a poor boy who’d pulled himself up by his bootstraps. Who’d suffered unimaginably in wartime. She pulled back a little, and he sensed the kiss had wandered off course.

  The loss of his lips on hers caused her heart to stutter. He sat back on the couch, his breathing ragged. “Sorry I overstepped my bounds again. You really must stop being so kissable.”

  “I can’t seem to help it around you,” Louisa said grudgingly. “Thank you for dealing with my aunt. I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject about her leaving with her, and now you have. She won’t go, of course.”

  “How can she stay if you want her out? Can’t you call a constable or something?”

  “It’s not that easy. People here are loyal to her. I get on well with Cook and Griffith, but Mrs. Lang the housekeeper is Aunt Grace’s creature. It wouldn’t be much fun trying to run Rosemont with the staff against me.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Louisa. Fire them. Don’t you know a thousand people are standing on the breadlines wanting to take their place? This is your house. Your money supports it.”

  He was cross with her, rightfully so. She was a coward. But she couldn’t shake the helplessness she felt in Grace’s long shadow.

  “I have to talk to Mr. Baxter.”

  “Fire him, too. He’s in your aunt’s pocket. The doctor—the lot of them. She wanted that fellow Fentress to divulge your medical history to me. For God’s sake, isn’t that illegal? Even if I were really your husband, he owes his allegiance to you.”

  She sighed. “I know you’re right, Charles. It all seemed so clear when I was in France. But now that I’m back . . .” She trailed off. What was the matter with her? She had tasted freedom this past year. Surely she didn’t want to go back to being under her aunt’s thumb. Or worse, run away again from her rightful responsibilities.

  Charles got off the couch and walked to the window. Louisa couldn’t help but notice he had to adjust the fit of his trousers. Even in his annoyance with her, she stimulated him. That was rather satisfying—maybe she wasn’t so powerless after all.

  “You need someone to help you. Someone who knows more than I do. Why don’t you ask Mrs. Evensong to recommend a good solicitor? Confide in her. She might come up with a plan to get rid of your aunt. The woman is renowned for fixing problems, isn’t she?”

  “Charles! What a brilliant idea! I shall write to her at once.”

  “And then we are going for a ride. Not in the blasted car but on a good, solid horse.”

  Captain Cooper would look delicious in tight riding breeches, his muscled thighs encased in fawnskin. And fresh air would be a welcome change. “We’ll miss luncheon.”

  “Get your friend the cook to pack us something. It’s not too cold out for a quick picnic.”

  Louisa wasn’t so sure about that. The wind blew off the Channel at a brisk clip, but perhaps they could ride in the other direction to the Hermit’s Grotto. There had never been a real hermit, but her grandfather had renovated an ancient hut into an elaborate faux cave, guarded by its own gargoyles, which she’d enjoyed exploring as a child with Hugh and their governess. And then, of course, with Sir Richard. Best not to think of that.

  But now that the idea was lodged in her mind, she saw
the horses tethered outside, the sheltering walls of the little building, the sturdy wooden furniture within. Louisa wondered what had become of the carpets and pillows—probably all riddled with mildew and mold. She’d have a saddle blanket, though—

  Damn. Charles Cooper was doing it to her again, insinuating himself in her fevered imagination. What had happened to her good intentions? She’d kept herself chaste for nine very long years. Granted, it had almost been easy, as she had been basically locked up at Rosemont. Last year on the Continent she may have done a few cork-brained things, but she never broke her self-imposed celibacy.

  She wasn’t a prisoner now, except to her own lust. And there was Charles Cooper, tall and tantalizing, gazing out the leaded window at the white-capped waves. He was as fascinated by his view as she was of hers. Really, she could look at him all day—looking was not touching now, was it?

  “Give me an hour.” That should be time enough to notify Cook, get Kathleen to repair and redress her, and dash off a letter to Mrs. Evensong about the oddities at her bank. She would even invite the woman to inspect Rosemont, as she’d been keenly interested in the property and all its annoying inhabitants when they had met. “I’ll meet you in the stable block. You’ll find your way there on your own?”

  Charles turned to her. “I thought we were going to stick together. I’m your bodyguard, remember?”

  Louisa had almost forgotten. “No one will dare attempt anything in broad daylight. It’s the nights we need to be worried about.”

  “Aye, that we do.” There was something in his voice that told her he had quite another worry other than being hit on the head. She felt her cheeks warm—she’d never blushed so much in her life as she had around Captain Cooper.

  “An hour,” she repeated, then shut herself in her parents’ bedroom and rang for Kathleen.

  * * *

  The stable block was, as Charles expected, top-notch. A large brick complex, it also housed the Daimler at one end, with the chauffeur’s apartment above it. He received a brief nod from Robertson from the open bay as the man attacked the car with a chamois cloth as if his life depended upon it. There was vacant space beside it for Louisa’s car when it was returned after its repair. Charles could only hope it would take a good long while for the mechanic in London to secure the necessary parts. He was not ready to turn his life over to Louisa just yet. Several carriages in various styles and sizes were also parked, ready for their next outing.