The Heiress In His Bed

by Tamara Lejeune

  “Did you go off?” he asked, still breathless from his exertions.

  Viola looked at him incredulously. Still flat on his back, he was doing up his trousers. “No,” she said angrily. “How could I? It was beastly! You didn’t even kiss me.”

  “Easily mended.” Chuckling, Julian pulled her down to him. For some reason, she let herself be pulled. For some reason, she allowed him to kiss her. For some reason, her breasts began to tingle as his tongue unfurled in her mouth. For some reason, she found herself kissing him back, the beast. Her traitorous woman’s body didn’t seem to care how badly it had just been treated. She still wanted him. The pleasure that had been denied her in this encounter remained tantalizingly beyond her reach, his to give or not give. Irrationally, she felt he had denied her on purpose, to assert his mastery over her. Her soul rebelled, even as her body responded.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that,” he said in her ear. “You’re the most passionate lover I’ve ever known. Your body might have been made for me. I do believe I’m becoming obsessed. I want you morning, noon, and night.”

  “Is that all I am to you?” she demanded indignantly. “One of your lovers?”

  “Of course not,” he said sharply. “Don’t be silly.”

  “Silly!” she flashed. “I suppose I should be flattered to know that you’ve been thinking about this all day!”

  “Haven’t you?” he said coolly, sitting up.

  “No!”

  “Yes, you have,” he snorted. “You’re just too embarrassed to admit it.”

  “I have not been thinking about this,” she insisted virtuously. “I have been thinking about you. About us. Our life together. Our future, Julian. I have been planning our wedding. Everything on my end is ready for Friday. Did you get the special license?” she asked. She knew instantly by the change in his face that he hadn’t. “You didn’t, did you?” she said, appalled.

  Julian rubbed the back of his neck. “About the license…”

  Viola sprang to her feet. “You might have told me before,” she said bitterly, folding her arms across her breasts protectively. She felt now that he had used her body under false pretenses. The betrayal stung. “I suppose you were too busy to get the special license?”

  “I went to Doctor’s Commons,” Julian answered, “but the clerk gave me a barge-load of nonsense about a waiting period.”

  “You never said anything about a waiting period!”

  “That’s because there’s no such thing,” he said irritably.

  “So you gave up?”

  “No. I went to see my colonel, to ask for his help. Unfortunately, my mother had already been to see him.”

  “Your mother!” Viola exclaimed.

  “Apparently, she doesn’t approve of you,” he said dryly.

  “I can’t imagine why,” Viola said indignantly.

  “Because you’re poor,” he said bitterly. “My mother has always desired a Society wife for me, God knows why.”

  “Your colonel was not able to help?”

  “My mother’s uncle is a very influential man in military circles,” he explained. “I would not want Colonel Fairfax to jeopardize the future of his sons for my sake.”

  “Or mine?” she said bitterly. “What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” he confessed. “I’ll think of something.”

  Without a word, Viola sat down at the makeshift dining table, her mind suddenly full of all the cavils she had dismissed so easily earlier in the day. Could the duchess be right? Naturally, Viola wanted the duchess to be wrong, but had her feelings for this man clouded her judgment?

  “If he has taken the trouble to secure the license, then I know he means to marry you,” the duchess had said. “I was afraid he might have seduced you merely for sport.”

  While hardly a seduction, the feverish coupling he had just subjected her to might well be described as “sport.”

  “I suspect he is using you,” the duchess had said.

  Viola felt quite used at the moment.

  “Does he deserve your trust?” the duchess had asked.

  Suddenly, Viola was not sure.

  When the food arrived, she could not look at Julian as he sat down to his meal. “It’s a matter of influence, Mary,” he told her gently. “Somehow my mother has used her influence to stop me from getting a special license. But I’m not giving up.”

  “I see,” Viola said quietly. “Before, it was a matter of money. Now that I have arranged for you to get the money you need, it has become a matter of influence.”

  Julian put down his fork. He had only been toying with his food anyway. “What do you mean you arranged it?” he demanded. “You persuaded Lady Viola to send me money! Is that it?”

  His blue eyes glowed with fury, but Viola did not care. “I want to marry you,” she said, “and I thought you wanted to marry me. Have I made a mistake, Julian?”

  He looked at her coldly. “Only you can answer that, madam,” he said curtly.

  Viola stared at him. The enormity of the risk she had taken with him sudden struck her full force. She was no longer a virgin. If, as it turned out, her trust in this man had been stupidly misplaced, what was she to do? How could she go on?

  If he knew who I really was, he would marry me in an instant.

  The thought cut her to the quick.

  “I think perhaps I have made a mistake,” she said coldly.

  His face flushed with anger. “Perhaps you’d be happier if Lord Simon had bought you!”

  “What?” said Viola, stung.

  “Think about it, my dear. You would be happily situated in the West End, and I would not owe the Duke of Fanshawe seventeen thousand guineas. Perhaps it’s not too late,” he went on brutally. “Perhaps I could sell you to Lord Simon now. That would solve all my problems, wouldn’t it? God knows I haven’t had a moment’s peace since I met you. Where are you going?” he demanded as she rose from the table.

  “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to,” Viola retorted, “but I am leaving. Good-bye, Mr Devize!”

  Julian groaned. “You can’t leave,” he said, catching her hand. “Don’t leave me.”

  Viola gasped, not with outrage, but because the touch of his hand sent a strong current of foolish desire through her whole body. It was madness to want him now, in the midst of an argument. She had to remind herself that he had done nothing but insult her that evening. First, he had used her body quite selfishly. Then he had revealed that he couldn’t be bothered to get the special license. And he had capped it off by threatening to sell her to Lord Simon. Only a complete idiot would still want him after that. “Do you think you own me?” she asked angrily.

  He tugged her hand until she landed all at once in his lap. Viola hated to be so weak, but there was no helping it. In his arms she instantly felt better. “If you do not mean to marry me, Dev, you should let me go,” she whispered as he began stroking her hair and neck with sure, possessive hands. “I cannot go on like this. I will not be your mistress. If I must give you up for a scoundrel, I will,” she added with more conviction than she actually felt.

  “I am not a scoundrel, Mary,” Julian said firmly. “You should have more faith in me.”

  “I suppose we’ve gone too far to turn back now,” she murmured, allowing herself to be swept up in the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands, the taste of his mouth.

  This time when he took her to bed, he was like a completely different lover. He undressed her slowly. He wanted to take his time with her, going over the firm lines of her body with his mouth and hands, and demanded the same attention from her in return. He wound her up by tiny degrees, until desire mounted almost to mindless desperation, until she was ready to do anything he wanted, however depraved. A single moan of pleasure from his lips filled her with pride and eagerness. She no longer cared about her own pleasure; she wanted only to feel his. Even if the result was pain, she longed to feel him inside her because it was from the final a
ct that he seemed to derive the most pleasure. Long before he even entered her, she was a mumbling fool. She scarcely recognized the person she became as they began to move together.

  “Come with me, love,” he gasped, pulling her hard against him as he felt himself give way. “Come with me,” he urged, and she did, sobbing in his arms, her womb open and tender.

  Julian threw himself down beside her, pleased with his achievement. “We went off together that time,” he said, yawning.

  Viola had never felt so unsure of herself, or so vulnerable. She felt almost as if she were disappearing. Viola was gone, and in her place was a cringing, needy creature that Viola would have scorned to be.

  “Yes,” she said miserably.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Number 32, Lombard Street, was just the sort of dilapidated hole-in-the-wall that Lord Simon expected a conniving weasel like Julian Devize would inhabit. He was surprised by the respectable-looking manservant who answered the door.

  “Captain Devize is not at home, my lord,” Hudson informed him politely.

  “I will wait,” Lord Simon announced, striding into the hall. “Unless of course there are rats,” he added, looking around doubtfully.

  Viola, who was eavesdropping on the landing, ran back to the bedroom, her heart pounding. What in God’s name is he doing here? she wondered. A thousand unhappy notions entered her head.

  Hudson, meanwhile, had assured his lordship that there were no rats. “If the matter is urgent, my lord, you will find Captain Devize at the Exchange.”

  “I can’t be seen in public with the man,” Lord Simon said irritably.

  “I’m afraid the captain keeps rather long hours,” Hudson apologized.

  Lord Simon was disgusted by the inconvenience to himself. “Have you pen and paper? I’ll leave a note for your master. If I’d known he wasn’t here,” he went on as Hudson obliged him, “I should not have bothered to come in person.”

  Hudson watched impassively as Lord Simon marred the page with heavy black scrawl.

  His lordship saw an opportunity for greater mischief as he was taking his leave. “You seem like a good sort of fellow,” he told Hudson. “I’m soon to be married. Why not come and work for me at my house in Green Park? I’ll pay you twice what Devize pays.”

  “Your lordship is very kind,” Hudson replied frostily, “but I could never leave the captain. I have been with him since he was a boy.”

  Lord Simon shrugged; taking Devize’s man had only been an afterthought. Stealing Lady Viola was the important thing.

  Hudson had scarcely closed the door upon the unexpected visitor before Viola had taken possession of the note Lord Simon left behind. “That is for the captain!” he told her sharply.

  Viola looked up from the letter. Hudson had been prepared to snatch the page from her hands, but the expression on her face halted him. In fact, he stumbled back. Her large, dark eyes, in which he had never seen anything but mischief, appeared almost haunted by shock and pain. Her face was white. She looked younger than he had ever seen her look, almost like a bereaved child. In spite of himself, he was moved to feel compassion.

  “Are you quite all right, madam?” he asked, concerned.

  Instantly, Viola was herself again. Hudson decided it must have been a trick of the light. No one looked less like a bereaved child than the young woman his master had so unwisely married. “I’m quite all right, thank you,” she said sharply. “Would you be good enough to summon a hack for me?”

  Hudson was happy to do so, and even more delighted to help bring down the lady’s trunk. This time, when Mrs Devize said good-bye, he had high hopes that she really meant it.

  In less than twenty minutes, Viola was on her way to Gambol House with Cork and Bijou. She arrived there still in the strong grip of the desire to throw things. Resplendent in correct morning dress, Lover greeted her at the front door. “Good morning, my lady. There are some letters for you on the tray in the morning room.”

  Viola frowned. “Letters? No one knows I’m here.”

  “There is a letter from the duke.”

  Viola sighed. “I daresay he’s annoyed with me for leaving Yorkshire.”

  “His grace is on his way back to London, my lady. Miss Mary Andrews is traveling with him.” He paused to study the effect of this information on the lady, but Viola merely shrugged, so he continued. “I believe the Willow Room would be most suitable for her. Would that be satisfactory, my lady?”

  “I suppose so,” Viola said listlessly. “When does my brother arrive?”

  “Friday afternoon, my lady. Alas, not in time for the wedding breakfast.”

  Viola looked grim. “Never mind the wedding breakfast, Lover. The wedding has been canceled.”

  “My lady?”

  “I’m not going to marry Mr Devize, after all,” she explained. “That’s all finished.” Handing off Bijou to Cork, Viola went into the sunny yellow morning room, pulling off her gloves. “I’m sorry to have put you to so much bother for nothing.”

  Lover could scarcely contain his joy. Silently, he blessed the Duchess of Berkshire. Her excellent advice seemed to have done the trick. “Very good, my lady.”

  Viola rounded on him furiously. “In what way is it good, Lover?” she wanted to know. “Have you ever been jilted? Did you enjoy the experience? Because, personally, I find it rather less than good. One might even say it was bad!” To her horror, she felt tears gathering behind the bridge of her arrogant little nose. To stop the humiliating flow, she pressed her fingers to her eyes and flung herself onto the nearest sofa.

  Lover was flabbergasted. “He has jilted you?”

  He did not mean to say it aloud. It just slipped out.

  “That is right, Lover. He has jilted me.”

  At that moment, the front doorbell sounded. Viola groaned. “I’m not at home, Lover,” she said piteously. “Whoever it is, tell them to go jump in the river.”

  Lover hesitated. “If it is the Duchess of Berkshire?”

  Viola shuddered. “Especially her. She will want to gloat! I don’t want to see anyone, Lover. All I want is a large box of chocolates and the latest issues of all the ladies’ publications.”

  “Very good, my lady.” With a bow, Lover withdrew.

  When he returned a few moments later bearing sweets and magazines, Viola had not stirred from the sofa, but she tore into the box of chocolates with renewed vigor. “Who was at the door?” she asked idly as Lover went to adjust the curtains. “The duchess? Her odious son?”

  “No, my lady,” Lover replied. “It was only Sir Arthur Huffington-Effington, his wife, Mrs Huffington-Effington, and their daughter, Miss Huffington-Effington. They left cards. Sir Arthur is one of our Yorkshire M.P.s, my lady.”

  “I know who he is, Lover. I put him in Parliament. How did he know I was here? I was never here before. One begins to feel like a fox trapped in a covert.” Now quite out of sorts, Viola took a bite out of a chocolate, abandoned it, and selected another.

  “I believe your ladyship was kind enough to send Sir Arthur the benefit of your political advice. I posted several letters for your ladyship yesterday.”

  “Of course,” Viola said bitterly. “My letters were in the twopenny post. Therefore, I must be in London. Oh, I hate London! Everyone is soooo clever!”

  “Many of the recipients have already sent a reply,” Lover went on pleasantly, bringing her the tray piled with envelopes.

  The Duke of Fanshawe’s letter was on top. Viola set aside her brother’s letter, assuming correctly that it contained no information which Lover had not already imparted to her, and examined the rest of the letters. “These all appear to be invitations,” she said incredulously. “Why, there must be over thirty of the beastly things.”

  “Thirty-six, my lady. Your ladyship might consider hiring a social secretary. When one is as popular as your ladyship, scheduling conflicts are all too apt to take place.”

  “But I don’t want to go out into Society,” said Viola. �
��Lover, I’ve just been jilted. The last thing I want,” she went on, ripping open an envelope, “is a ridotto, whatever that is.”

  “I believe it is a musical entertainment, my lady,” Lover said helpfully. “It begins with a small concert, and finishes with dancing.”

  Viola shuddered. “Ugh.”

  “Are the chocolates not to your liking, my lady?” asked Lover, noting that she had not taken a second bite out of any.

  “I seem to have lost my appetite,” Viola sighed. “I’m glad you sent the Huffy-Effies away, Lover. They fawn over me in the most sickening manner.”

  There was a slight pause.

  “Then again,” Viola said thoughtfully, “a little fawning might cheer me up.”

  “It is possible, my lady.”

  “And I really ought to make time for our Yorkshire delegates,” said Viola, sitting up straight. “One must smile though one’s heart is breaking, after all.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “I am at home to Parliament, then,” Viola decided, “but no one else is to be admitted under any circumstances.”

  The next two hours passed in a blur as Viola entertained the wives and daughters of the many M.P.s representing the various districts of Yorkshire. Occasionally, the ladies were accompanied by their husbands, but more often than not, the ladies assured Viola that their husbands were much too busy vigorously representing her interests in Parliament to be at leisure on a Wednesday morning. Viola generously gave them the benefit of her advice on a variety of subjects. In return, they paid her the most extravagant compliments they could. At first, Viola basked in the respectful obeisance of her visitors, and she kindly forgave them all for being so dull, so insipid, so mindless, and so badly dressed. But soon the endless bowing and scraping ceased to be delightful, and she was left feeling rather hollow.