The Heiress In His Bed

by Tamara Lejeune

  “Of course not,” Lucy said quickly. “I would be afraid to be alone with your brother, but I could never be afraid of you. You are nothing like him, I know.”

  “My brother?” Alex said sharply. “I did not know you were acquainted with Julian.”

  “I was just dancing with him,” said Lucy, shuddering.

  “I did not know he was here. Has he done something to offend you?”

  Lucy shook her head rapidly. To her relief, Alex did not press her for a better answer.

  “But you are not afraid of me?”

  “Oh, no,” she assured him.

  “Because we are such good friends?”

  “Yes,” she said gratefully.

  Alex found a door in one corner of the room. It too was locked. “If I were to tell you that you look amazingly well tonight, would we still be friends?”

  Lucy sighed. “Please don’t tease me! You know perfectly well my hair was not this color last week, or even three days ago. To confess the truth, Miss Andrews did this to me.”

  “Did it hurt?” he inquired gravely.

  “No,” she answered seriously. “She squeezed lemons over my head and locked me on the roof for four hours in the hot sun. It did hurt a bit when she plucked my eyebrows,” she added, frowning in remembrance. “And she threatened to give me a false bosom and pierce my ears! Once she gets going, she’s rather like the Mongol Horde.”

  Alex hooted with laughter. “You absolutely should not ever tell your beauty secrets to a prospective suitor, Miss Rampling,” he told her.

  Lucy laughed. “I believe I can safely promise you that I won’t, Mr Devize.”

  “I’m afraid you just did, Miss Rampling,” he said, standing before her.

  Lucy stared at him in dismay. “Mr Devize…”

  “If I were to kiss you now, would we still be friends, do you think?” he asked softly.

  Lucy was stiff as a board as he took her in his arms and kissed her. His lips were warm and demanding, but Lucy was too shocked to respond. Her lack of response only seemed to encourage him. Groaning deep in the back of his throat, he tried to coax her lips apart with his devilish tongue. Lucy pushed him away, saying, “Please, don’t! I told you I could not marry you. We are in your sister’s house, for heaven’s sake! There are people downstairs dancing!”

  “I could not help it, Lucy,” he said. “The thought of you marrying anyone else is enough to drive me mad.”

  “Mr Devize, we must find a way out of here,” Lucy said firmly.

  Alex sighed. After a moment, he pushed open the window and looked out. “The drainpipe looks sturdy. Shall I try it?”

  “Wait! I have an idea,” said Lucy, taking out her handkerchief. Unfolding it, she slid it under the door beneath the keyhole. “Have you got a pencil?”

  “Of course,” Alex answered, giving her his pencil. “How else would I scribble my name on the dance cards of eager young ladies?”

  He watched as Lucy used the pencil to push the key out of the lock. As she had hoped, the key landed neatly on her handkerchief, and she was able to drag it under the door and into the room. “There!” she said triumphantly, picking it up.

  “Where did you learn that neat little trick?” he asked admiringly.

  “At school in London,” Lucy answered, unlocking the door. “Some of the girls would sneak out at night to meet their beaux.”

  “I remember.” Stepping out into the hall, he signaled that the coast was clear.

  “You were not my beau,” Lucy protested as they tiptoed toward the stairs.

  “You went to Vauxhall Gardens to meet me,” he insisted.

  “To meet you! No, indeed! Miss Archer was engaged to your friend Mr Brooks, if you recall. When I agreed to go with her, I didn’t even know you would be there.”

  “Nonsense. It was completely by design—my design.”

  Lucy bit her lip. “Do you think we should tell Lady Cheviot?” she asked him abruptly. “About Miss Shipley, I mean? She must be found.”

  “I’ll find Miss Shipley,” he said. “Don’t bother Perdita in the middle of a ball—she’ll go frantic. You’d better get back to the dancing, before you are missed,” he added. “Lucy?”

  “Yes, Mr Devize?”

  “We are still friends, I hope?”

  For a moment, he thought she might refuse. He held his breath.

  “Of course,” she said. “But I do not want our friendship to change. I should hate to lose you, Mr Devize. As a friend, I mean.”

  “You won’t,” he promised.

  Upon returning to the ballroom, Lucy was instantly pounced upon by her partner for the supper dance. “There you are!” cried Mr Ambrose. “I knew you’d gone to the ladies’ retiring room, but every girl I asked said you weren’t there. Jealous cats!”

  “Have you seen Lord Cheviot?” Perdita demanded of every servant she passed in the hall. “Have you seen Mr Devize? Have you seen Mr Julian?”

  No one, it seemed, had seen anyone. The supper dance was beginning, and neither Mrs Chisholm nor Miss Chisholm had a partner. Lucy Rampling, of course, had a partner.

  Finally, one of the footman offered her a tidbit of information. He had seen Lord Cheviot depart the ballroom to speak to Miss Shipley in the hall. “Something must have happened with the children,” Perdita breathed.

  Panicking, she ran up to the nursery, equally prepared for either tragedy or vexation.

  But all was peaceful in the nursery. Henry and Elizabeth were snug in their beds, sleeping like angels. Even Hannah, who had been teething, was sound asleep in her cradle, snuggling her favorite toy rabbit. The nurse was snoring in her rocking chair, and Perdita did not have the heart to wake her.

  Miss Shipley’s bedroom was nearby. Perdita knocked on it softly. “Miss Shipley?” she called through the door as she tried the knob.

  In response, she heard an odd, secretive rustling sound.

  “Miss Shipley!” she called rattling the doorknob.

  “Perdita!”

  Behind the door, Perdita’s husband was on his knees, speaking into the keyhole. “Oh, thank God! I was afraid it might be one of the servants. You know how they like to talk.”

  Perdita was shocked. Lord Cheviot had never before given her a reason to worry about him. Never before had he made secretive, rustling sounds at her from behind a locked door. “What are you doing in Miss Shipley’s room?” she asked coldly.

  “That beast Henry locked us in,” he explained. “Darling, can you find the key and let us out? It should be on the floor. I’m afraid poor Miss Shipley knocked it out of the lock before I could get my handkerchief underneath it.”

  Like an automaton, Perdita found the key and unlocked the door. Lord Cheviot got up from his knees to embrace his wife. Over his shoulder, Perdita had an excellent view of Miss Shipley’s bed. Miss Shipley was reclining on it like an odalisque, patting the yawn on her thin lips. Her brown bombazine gown was open at the neck, and, as Perdita watched, she calmly sat up and tied her garter. Even with her hair down and her spectacles off, Miss Shipley was not an attractive woman, and the smug satisfaction on her plain, sallow face did not help matters.

  “Tony, how could you?” Perdita cried, pushing him away.

  Lord Cheviot gaped at his wife in confusion. Well past forty, he was a tall, spare, plain-looking man with just a touch of gray in his hair. A look of horror slowly spread across his face. “Perdy! You can’t possibly think that I…That Miss Shipley…Look here, damn it!”

  Perdita’s duty was clear. She was first and foremost on this evening a hostess. Without hesitation, she disentangled herself from her scoundrel of a husband and locked him back in the room with the governess. Then, with a clear conscience, she went back down to her guests, a brilliant smile on her handsome face.

  The supper dance was nearly over when a servant tapped Lucy on the shoulder.

  “I beg your pardon, miss, but there’s a messenger for you from Gambol Hall.”

  “Something must have happened
to Mama,” cried Lucy. Quickly, she apologized to her partner and followed the servant out of the house and down the steps to the lone horseman waiting on the drive.

  “Mr Julian!” Lucy exclaimed in surprise.

  “Your mother’s had a bit of an accident,” said Julian. “Come. I’ll take you to her.”

  Without another word, he reached down and hauled her in front of him across the saddle.

  Turning his mount, he rode off into the night.

  Watching from the front steps, Alex could not believe his eyes.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Only after Cornelius and Lucy had departed for Cross Mere did Viola judge it safe to unlock Lady Caroline’s door. Lady Caroline was sitting in the window seat, dour and silent. It had been days since she had a drink. She eyed Viola warily as the latter brought in the supper tray and set it down on the table. Bijou trailed into the room after her and made a beeline for Lady Caroline’s skirts, her tail wagging in a silent plea for attention.

  “Good evening, Lady Caroline,” Viola said brightly.

  “Lucy should not go to a ball without her mama,” Lady Caroline sulked, nudging the bichon away with her foot. “It is most improper.”

  “Nonsense,” Viola laughed sunnily. “There is nothing improper in a lady attending a ball in the company of her brother. I do it quite often, and, I can assure you, Lady Caroline, that I never, ever do anything improper. Shall we dine together?” she went on pleasantly. “Cook has left us a little cold chicken and a plum tart.”

  Seating herself, she took Bijou onto her lap and began to make the tea.

  After supper, the two ladies played cards. Lady Caroline insisted on playing deep, and, by the time she fell asleep, she owed Viola almost seventy pounds. Viola put her to bed gently, then locked her in for the night. She called to Bijou, but the little dog scampered down the hall and disappeared into Lucy’s room. As Viola passed her own room, she saw that the long windows that opened onto the balcony were standing wide. The curtains floated on air, and a chill breeze sent shivers down her spine.

  The full moon hung like a disc of silver in the night sky, and Viola stopped to look at it, wondering how Lucy was faring at the ball.

  If she fails, it will not be my fault, she thought virtuously as she closed the window.

  Julian watched her from the shadows. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she did not notice him sitting in a chair beside the fire. She turned to leave, calling to Bijou.

  “I don’t think she knows her name,” he said, making her jump.

  For a long moment they stared at each other. The look in his eyes made Viola shiver, and she ran for the door. Instantly, he sprang from the chair to catch her.

  “Where do you think you’re going, my girl?” he said roughly.

  There was possession in his tone. Viola’s knees went weak, and she struggled to keep her mind from falling under the spell of physical attraction.

  “What are you d-doing here?” she stammered, hardly able to speak.

  “I came to congratulate you, of course,” he answered, his lips almost touching her ear.

  “What for?” Viola asked warily.

  “I heard you eloped with Mr Rampling,” he answered.

  Viola’s eyes opened wide. “What?”

  “Are you married or not?” he demanded. “I want to hear it from your own lips, traitor.”

  “What?” she breathed, anger giving her a false sense of strength. “You know perfectly well I can never marry, thanks to you. What would I tell the poor fool?” she added bitterly. “No man would ever marry me knowing the truth, and I would not lie for the sake of getting a husband. You’ve ruined me, Mr Devize. Perhaps I should be congratulating you.”

  “At least you understand that, my love,” he said, pulling her sharply against him. The endearment was like a savage bite rather than a caress. “A man has a right to expect chastity in his bride and loyalty in his wife. You are not fit to be married.”

  “I am unfit,” she agreed, trembling, “and it was your doing.”

  “I remember,” he said, turning her around to unfasten her gown. Viola tensed as his hand brushed aside her hair, but to her shame, she seemed helpless to stop him, or even to protest. “I enjoyed ruining you,” he whispered against her neck.

  Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled the strings of her gown.

  “I didn’t do it alone,” he added.

  “No,” she admitted brokenly.

  “Tell me,” he said conversationally as he slowly caressed her shoulders and throat, “if you don’t have another fool waiting in the wings, why did you leave me? Satisfy my curiosity.”

  His lips touched the nape of her neck. He had used their time together well, learning exactly how to caress her to achieve the most passionate response. As he kissed her neck, his hands expertly kneaded the soft flesh at the very base of her spine. Viola bit her lip savagely, but a whimper betrayed her.

  “You know perfectly well why I left you!” she snapped, humiliated that, in spite of everything, her body still responded to him. “You promised me marriage, but, instead, you made me your mistress. I don’t take kindly to being deceived!”

  “I tried to get the license,” he growled. “You should have had more faith in me.”

  “On the contrary,” she answered, “I had too much! But no matter! I am better off now.”

  “Indeed! Do you like your new position as a nurse-companion?”

  “Obviously, I do,” she snapped.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said.

  Turning her to face him, he bent his face to hers.

  In the next moment, she was kissing him back hungrily, in the grip of senseless, wild longing. With a groan, he bore her unresisting to the bed, and they fell on it together, clasped in each other’s arms. Viola surrendered completely as his mouth burned its way down the length of her body. She had dressed simply, knowing that she would have no maid to help her, and he had little difficulty with her clothing. In a trice, she was naked. Mutely, she offered herself to him, guiding his hand to her loins, her head thrown back, her eyes squeezed shut as she willed him to drive her mad. His slightest touch caused her to murmur helplessly. She cried out as violent pleasure overtook her, arching her back as his fingers worked their magic.

  It was not enough. She wanted more. Whether pleasurable or painful, she wanted him inside her. That alone was proof that he still desired her beyond all reason. With her body, she could make him realize that he was not tired of her, that he had been a fool to ever think of getting rid of her. A shared passion could make everything right.

  Julian’s instinct was to take his own pleasure at once, to use her quickly and brutally. To that end, he swiftly unbuttoned his trousers. His desire for her could not have been more evident. Viola looked up at him, her face flushed with triumph. “It is not over between us, Dev,” she panted, twining her legs around him. “You cannot live without me. It will be over when I say it’s over. You are powerless. Admit it.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” he advised her. Standing up, he forced his erection back into his trousers. “May I remind you, madam, you’re the one who is naked, not I?”

  Viola raised herself on her elbows, frowning. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  Fully dressed, he leaned across her naked body, planting his hands on either side of her. “I’m not doing anything,” he said, smiling. “You don’t deserve it.”

  Viola hastily snatched her dress and used it to cover herself. “I hate you,” she snapped, trying to escape from the bed.

  Julian chuckled. “That explains why you keep throwing yourself at me.”

  Wrath kindled in her eyes. “It is you who pursued me here,” she pointed out coldly. “It is you who broke into this house. It is you who stripped me.”

  “I was only looking for my ring,” he explained, moving away from the bed. “I assumed you must have it concealed on your person somewhere. As it turns out, you do not.”

  Too pro
ud to ask him to turn around, Viola stood up defiantly and dressed in front of him.

  “Your ring?” she said, frowning as she struggled to tighten the laces of her gown. “What ring?”

  “How quickly we forget,” Julian scoffed. “You may recall, madam, I bought an engagement ring. As we are no longer engaged, naturally I want it back.”

  “I threw it away,” she informed him. “It reminded me of you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You expect me to believe that you threw away a ring worth ten thousand guineas?”

  “It was ugly,” Viola explained.

  “Ugly?” he roared. “I got the exact ring you wanted! A six-carat bloody emerald!”

  “Cut!” Viola shrieked. “I wanted an emerald cut, not an emerald. I hate emeralds. You have to listen all the way to the end of the sentence, you know,” she added scathingly. “Otherwise, you might miss some essential information.”

  “Why, you ungrateful little baggage!” he said.

  “Should I be grateful to you? You used me. You seduced me!” she accused him.

  “I seduced you?” he repeated incredulously. “If anything, you seduced me. You were more than willing to grant me a preview of my wedding night, as I recall.”

  “I was deceived,” Viola spat.

  “No,” he argued. “I was deceived. You made me believe that you loved me.”

  “No! You made me believe that you loved me.” Her loosened dress slipped down over her full breasts, and angrily she pulled it back up.

  “I think it is you who cannot live without me, madam,” he declared. “You are powerless. It will be over when I say it’s over!”

  “No! It will be over when I say it is over.”

  “Well?” he snapped. “Is it over?”

  “It certainly is!” said Viola.

  “No, it isn’t,” he said harshly. Taking hold of her dress, he yanked it down to her knees.

  “Yes, it is,” Viola shouted, pulling up her dress. “I just said so!”

  “Well, I’m starting it up again!” he yelled. Plunging both hands into her hair, he kissed her hard on the mouth. They ended up in a tangle on the rug.