To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Adrienne Basso

  “It looks like he might be gaining,” Trevor declared.

  “Then he still can win.”

  “It all depends on how he runs the final stretch.”

  Meredith bit her lip as she saw the pack approaching the finish line. One horse, a sturdy looking black, was clearly in the lead, but Rascal was next and moving up with impressive speed.

  Meredith grabbed Trevor by the arm and squeezed, her nervous excitement escalating as the crowd set up a cheer.

  “We won!” She turned to him, laughing with delight. “How marvelous! We won!”

  “So we did.”

  “I never knew it would be so rousing,” she yelled to be heard above the shouting. “This is wonderful.”

  “Winning always is.” The marquess reached into the basket he had carried from the carriage and pulled out a bottled wrapped in a white napkin. Holding it under his arm, he rummaged with his other hand for the goblets.

  “Can I help?”

  “Hold these.”

  Meredith obediently accepted the glasses. She watched with undisguised glee as Trevor expertly popped the cork on the champagne bottle. Her laughter bubbled over as the foam spilled down the side of the bottle.

  “Steady,” Trevor cautioned as he filled each goblet. With a smile, he handed her one. “To Rascal.”

  They clinked glasses, then sipped. The wine slid down her throat, the effervescence delightfully tickling her nostrils. “Delicious.”

  Trevor took another sip. “’Tis refreshing, though I prefer my champagne served a bit colder.”

  Meredith rolled a mouthful around on her tongue, then swallowed. “We are celebrating Rascal’s win. It tastes like ambrosia.”

  “Victory is always sweet.” His gaze was intense, yet oddly tender. “Yet never more so than when it is shared.”

  That look sent a funny little flutter to her stomach that she deliberately ignored. She marveled anew at how her husband’s mercurial moods could have such a strong hold on her emotions.

  And she wondered again why he bothered, when he claimed to be devoid of feeling for her. Was it simply something he could not control? A man of his experience, his reputation, had no doubt been with scores of other women. By his own admission, he was a rogue and a womanizer. Was this heat and invitation he seemed to be casting her way such a part of him that he did it without thinking? Without considering who she was? Or was it more?

  The crowd let out another loud cheer, breaking into Meredith’s musings. She looked onto the course and saw Rascal being brought before the crowd. It seemed as though everyone wanted to celebrate the stallion’s victory.

  “Thank you for bringing me today,” Meredith said. “I cannot remember the last time I had so much fun.”

  “It feels good to scream and shout, does it not?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her heart tugged oddly. “Tell me, whom do you favor to win the next race?”

  By the end of the afternoon, Meredith’s reticule was weighed down with pound notes and coins. She had wagered, and won, on each race. Never again would she so forcefully criticize her brothers for their gambling indulgences, for she now understood how exhilarating the experience could be.

  The crowd had begun to thin as everyone made their way home. While Trevor stopped for a moment to receive congratulations from a group of high-spirited young men, Meredith proceeded to the carriage. It had been a glorious afternoon. The tip of her nose felt a bit tight, for without her parasol she had nothing but the poke bonnet to shield her face from the sun.

  She imagined her nose must be pink, perhaps even red, but it did not matter. Nothing could spoil her delight and enjoyment of the day.

  The marquess’s carriage was easy to identify among the many coaches sequestered in the area. Its sporty yellow wheels stood out among the more somber black conveniences. Deciding she had had enough exposure to the sun already, Meredith moved to wait in the shade.

  As she did, she noticed something in the carriage seat. How strange, I am fairly certain we left nothing behind. Curious, Meredith took a step forward. Then another. Her heart began a thunderous pounding when she realized what is was—or rather, what it had been.

  Her parasol. That colorful bit of silk and lace that had mysteriously disappeared just before the first race began was now wedged on the carriage seat at an obscene angle. It fluttered gently in the slight breeze, jagged edges of fabric and lace hanging disjointedly from the exposed frame.

  Meredith’s stomach clenched in a knot and her vision blurred as a wave of cold fear washed over her. Someone had savagely and violently ripped the parasol to shreds, then deliberately left it here for her to find.

  “Harper mentioned you were looking for me earlier. Is there something we need to discuss?”

  Trevor looked up as his father sauntered into his private sitting room. He shuffled the papers crowding the table where he sat, more for effect than organization. He had been trying to read them for over an hour, with little success. The profits of his country estate were the last thing on his mind.

  Upon returning home from the racecourse, Meredith had gone to her room to rest. After her initial outburst of distress, she had said nothing else about her mangled parasol, dismissing the notion as a childish prank.

  Trevor did not know if that was a good or bad sign. He only knew the sight of such a personal article of Meredith’s viciously destroyed nearly beyond recognition disturbed him greatly, enough so that he welcomed an opportunity to discuss the incident with his father. The marquess’s lips twitched. Fear made strange allies.

  “I am glad to see you,” Trevor said. “Please, sit down.”

  “You are glad to see me?” The older man hesitated. “I never thought I’d hear you say those words unless there was a gun pointed at your chest.” The duke pulled up a chair and sat facing him across the table. “What is wrong?”

  “ ’Tis Meredith. I took her to a horse race this afternoon, and she had a most unsettling experience.”

  “Did you run into one of your mistresses?” The duke snorted. “A wife can find that to be a rather lowering occurrence.”

  Why must he always think the worst of me? Though he wanted nothing more than to hotly refute the statement, Trevor held his tongue. He had been a less than perfect husband thus far. The duke’s scorn was not entirely misplaced.

  “Not that it is any of your business, sir, but I have given up my mistresses.”

  “Frequenting the brothels, then? Whores can be less tedious in the long run, yet even the best houses have women who carry diseases. I hope you are careful.”

  “I have not set foot inside a brothel in years.” Trevor sighed. It appeared this conversation was going to be far more difficult than he feared. “ ’Tis only because of my concern for my wife that I will allow you to insult me, sir. Yet I warn you even I have limits.”

  “All right, all right. We shall save the discussion of your flaws for another time.” The duke tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. “What happened to Meredith?”

  Thankfully the older man listened attentively while Trevor described the incident.

  “Horse racing attracts all sorts of characters,” the duke said. “This could be the jealous reaction of a rival owner whose horse lost to yours, or a disgruntled gambler who placed a wager on one of the animals that Rascal beat. Or it could just be some youthful mischief.”

  Trevor shook his head. He had already considered and discarded many of the same possibilities. “There was something very deliberate about this act, something almost personal. It was as if this individual wanted to taunt Meredith, to specifically frighten her.”

  “Did he succeed?”

  “Though she insists otherwise, I believe she was frightened. Very frightened.”

  The duke clucked his disapproval. “She is a stubborn woman, with a will of iron. It would take a great deal to rattle Lady Meredith.”

  Trevor could find no words to protest. “Though I have tried very hard to be logical about all of this, I cannot
shake aside the feeling she is in danger.”

  “Danger?” The duke did not appear to put much stock in that theory. “Are you certain? I think it might be something else entirely. When you speak of her, you have the look of a possessive man—or a smitten boy. I cannot decide which.”

  “ ’Tis neither,” Trevor insisted adamantly. Perhaps too adamantly. Tempering his tone, he continued, “I am concerned my wife may very well be facing some sort of threat to her person.”

  The duke’s gaze told Trevor his father was not convinced. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Trevor leaned forward eagerly. He had given this much thought. “I believe it would be wise to hire some men to keep an eye on her, to make sure she comes to no harm.”

  “I suppose that could be arranged.” The duke rubbed his chin. “It might also be a good idea to tell Harper, so he can alert the other male servants. Best to have all eyes alert to the possibility of any mishaps.”

  The marquess let out a breath of relief. Life went so much smoother when his father was in agreement with him. “That is a good suggestion. I also think we should not tell Meredith about this just yet. There is no need to frighten her more, especially if it all comes to nothing.”

  The duke grimaced. “You realize, of course, there are some places where these bodyguards cannot go without attracting considerable attention. We plan to attend the theater tomorrow evening. Since you are so worried, it might be wise for you to join us.”

  Trevor considered the request carefully. “I shall arrive at the family box before the curtain rises.”

  “I am sure it will be a delightful surprise for Meredith.”

  Trevor nodded. Yes, of a certainty it would be a surprise, yet he was unwilling to speculate if his wife would think it was delightful.

  Fifteen

  The three tiers of private boxes where the wealthy and nobility sat during a theater performance were crowded and noisy. The Marquess of Dardington, occupying one of them, stirred uneasily in his chair. Though velvet padded, he found it firm and uncomfortable against his back.

  Trevor glanced down into the pit, where the orange girls were selling fruit and running about trying to avoid being grabbed or pinched by the worst of the boisterous, rowdy dandies, and grimaced. His unease at the moment was not caused solely by his chair. This colorful assortment of onlookers, people ranging from the lowest to highest social order had taken on an almost sinister character—for any one of them could be intending to cause his wife physical or mental pain.

  His gut knotted at the very idea. That someone should harm her, hurt her, frighten her, brought forth an almost overwhelming impulse to shield and care for her. How ironic that he had now willingly cast himself in the role of Meredith’s protector, a role he took most seriously.

  A movement off to the side caught his attention and Trevor saw her then, walking through the curtain of the box clutching the Duke of Warwick’s arm. The sight of these two, appearing so natural and unconcerned, eased a lingering worry Trevor had not realized existed.

  Meredith looked exceedingly beautiful dressed in a gown of shimmering gold silk that matched the color of her hair. It was cut daringly low over the bosom, exposing a good deal of cleavage. Resting gracefully around her neck was a sparkling necklace of diamonds that looked oddly familiar.

  Trevor stood politely as they entered the box. She noticed him before the duke did, and her whole body seemed to tense.

  “Trevor, my goodness, this is a surprise. Your father did not mention you would be joining us this evening.”

  Her hand reached up to her throat and she clutched at the necklace nervously. The action brought his attention again to the gems she wore, and he suddenly remembered it had belonged to his mother . . . and then later to his wife. His first wife.

  The marquess braced himself for the reaction to set in that would surely result from seeing Meredith wearing something that had once graced Lavinia’s slender neck. Yet it did not come. Perhaps the unresolved issues between them no longer seemed so pressing or difficult now that Meredith’s safety was his prime concern.

  There was no time to answer his wife’s greeting, for another party entered, two ladies and a gentleman. Trevor assumed they had stopped on their way to their own seats, but soon realized they had been invited to share the duke’s box.

  He caught a glimpse of the man’s face. Julian Wingate! What the devil was he doing here? Trevor scowled, then felt Wingate eyeing him up and down, all the while looking rather perturbed. He spared Trevor the briefest of nods before turning away.

  Apparently Wingate felt the same flash of annoyance at discovering Trevor’s unexpected presence at the theater. The marquess almost smiled. At least they were well matched in their disregard of each other.

  “I do not believe you have met the ladies, my lord,” Meredith said. “They have recently arrived in town to partake of the entertainment of the Season, so I suggested they join us. May I present Miss Harriet Sainthill and her sister Miss Elizabeth. Miss Harriet is engaged to Mr. Wingate.”

  “Ladies,” he said, bowing elegantly, though his actions were automatic and routine. His mind was trying to decipher this ever growing puzzle.

  Wingate’s fiancée? When had she and Meredith become such close friends? Or was it Wingate who shared that honor with his wife? Trevor seethed at the very idea.

  The younger girl, a dainty blond who looked fresh and unspoiled, graciously curtsied to him. She addressed him demurely, sounding sweet and soft-spoken as she exclaimed her delight at attending the performance.

  “It was very kind of Lady Meredith to include us this evening,” Harriet, the older sister, was saying, “though I would expect nothing less from such a dear friend of my sister-in-law. She speaks often and glowingly of your wife. ’Tis my understanding they have been friends for many years.”

  Trevor’s head turned in surprise. So that was the connection. He wondered briefly who this dear friend was and if Meredith had ever mentioned her to him.

  “Have I rendered you speechless, Lord Dardington?”

  Trevor glanced down. The others had drifted to the opposite side of the box, but Harriet had stayed by his side. He smiled. The dazzling beauty of the younger sister had made Harriet nearly invisible when they first entered the box. If not for the fact she was Wingate’s fiancee, he most likely would not have given her a second glance.

  Yet as he took a moment to observe her now, Trevor noticed the keen glint of shrewd intelligence in her eyes, which were a lovely shade of hazel. They were ringed by long, dark-colored lashes. Her skin was smooth, her cheekbones high, her nose pert with an upturn at the end. She had none of the breathtaking beauty of her sister, but she was attractive in a more unusual way.

  And that astute gaze indicated a forthright honesty and strong mind. Trevor immediately decided she was too good for a man the likes of Julian Wingate.

  “Forgive my inattentiveness. I fear I was woolgathering.” He leaned close, then raised her gloved hand to his lips. To her credit, she neither simpered nor fluttered at the gesture. “ ’Tis a delight to meet you, Miss Sainthill. Wingate is indeed a fortunate man to have such a dazzling beauty for his future wife.”

  She pulled her hand away. Though she refrained, he had a strong feeling she wanted to roll her eyes at him. In disgust. Apparently it took far more than idle flattery and pretty words to impress Miss Harriet.

  Everyone settled into their seats. Trevor kept himself deliberately apart from the others, determined to keep his eyes focused on the stage, or on the pit below filled with people. The main purpose of his presence here this evening was to see to Meredith’s safety. He felt it only prudent to be on guard against trouble before it occurred, so he could be prepared.

  However, throughout the first act, Trevor’s vigilance yielded no tangible results except for a painful crick in his neck. He was therefore very glad when the chandeliers were lowered and the candles lit for intermission.

  Everyone stood and stretched, pr
eparing to head downstairs for some refreshment and fresh air. Only the marquess remained seated.

  “Will you join us, my lord?” Harriet asked.

  “Thank you, no. I believe I’ll stay here.”

  Trevor turned his attention back to the now empty stage. Once he heard them all shuffle out, he rotated his aching shoulders and slowly rolled his head, trying to ease some of the stiffness.

  “Does it hurt a great deal, my lord?”

  Startled, Trevor turned and saw a slender, feminine hand resting on his shoulder.

  “I have told you before not to address me as my lord, Meredith.”

  “Whatever you desire, Trevor.”

  She had leaned down and whispered her reply into his ear. Her breasts pressed against his back, the soft swells causing an immediate ache and discomfort in another part of his body.

  Before he could reprimand her, she began a gentle massage of his shoulders. He tensed against her touch, but she only pressed down harder, digging into the knotted muscles.

  Some time during the performance Meredith had removed her gloves. Her bare fingers worked diligently and with surprising skill. Trevor’s eyelids lowered as the ache began to lessen.

  “Is that helping?”

  “Yes.” A sigh of pleasure escaped his lips. “Though I do believe the best results of a massage are achieved against bare flesh.”

  Her hands stilled for an instant, then resumed their magical work. “I would encourage you to remove your coat and shirt, but I fear you would quickly comply. And that sort of activity is best left for the privacy of our chambers.”

  The marquess’s eyes snapped open. He had not meant to make such a suggestive comment about bare flesh. Or had he? It seemed more often than not his famous control was sadly lacking when it came to his extraordinary wife.

  Desire, sharp and liquid, spread through him. Desire he could not allow.

  He turned and she smiled. “You seem to be in less discomfort,” Meredith said. She moved to the chair directly behind his. “I am so glad I could make you feel better.”