The Earl's American Heiress (HQR Historical)

by Carol Arens

  “There is a very good reason for keeping you away from that place. I promise it won’t remain a secret forever. I’ve asked you to believe I’m acting for the best—more than once. Now I’m doing it again.” He stroked her bottom lip with his thumb, wanting desperately to put his mouth on the spot. “I do ask your pardon for carrying you away and behaving like a heathen.”

  “I can accept that you believe you are acting for the best. But as for behaving like a heathen?” She sighed, placing her hand on his heart. “I think I’ll need to give it more review.”

  “What kind of review?”

  “Oh, I should call it a demonstration, more than that.”

  “Does this demonstration involve pillaging a kiss?”

  “Not at first, but if the heathen proves to be strong and diligent in his perseverance, it could result in a bit of pillaging.”

  “How would said heathen go about this without offending the lady?”

  “He could steal into her chamber and forcefully remove whatever clothing was not strictly needed for warmth. At that point she would not likely find it amiss to be tossed over the heathen’s shoulder and carried off to his lair.”

  “To be pillaged?”

  “A lady would hope.”

  “Barbarian that I am, I’ll not wait for the cover of dark to begin my ravishment of you.”

  He plucked the pins from her hair and tossed them someplace where they hit with little pinging sounds. Winding his hands in her hair he tugged her face down to his, looting the booty of her lips, plundering where he wished.

  “Heath the Heathen,” she whispered into the sweat-dampened hair at his temple.

  It was so very private with the drapes drawn in the carriage, as if they jostled along in a world of their own where nothing could intrude.

  Nothing but—

  “Drat Parliament,” he said, his breath coming hot and fast. He set her off his lap. “I’ll have Creed take you home after he drops me at the blamed place.”

  Clementine laughed low in her throat. She shifted her weight and climbed back on his lap, this time straddling him.

  “I’ve instructed him otherwise.”

  “You intended to waylay me from the beginning.”

  “I did not.” She rose up, cupped his face in her hands and came down upon him in a long kiss. “I meant to talk to you, but then I was distracted by an uncivilized rogue and quite lost my wits.”

  “Is what you have to say something we can talk of later?”

  “I fear we’ll have to since in the moment I can’t recall what it was.”

  In the end he had no idea how many times they circled the streets of Mayfair, but by the time Creed stopped the carriage in front of the town house stairs, the sun was slipping behind the horizon.

  They’d have barely enough time to straighten their appearances before dinner was served.

  Chapter Fourteen

  At dinner Clementine stared past flower arrangements and candelabras at Heath sitting at the far end of the table.

  Having been so close to him all afternoon and being able to touch him as she wished and as often, this distance seemed vast although it was only feet.

  Grandfather sat on her right and Olivia on her left.

  Her heart warmed as she watched their faces while they ate and chatted. In only a short time the four of them and small Victor had become family.

  She did not know how it happened but a bond of belonging joined them one to another—and it was wonderful.

  If only her cousin was here. Madeline’s presence would make the circle complete.

  “And the fear is he will begin kidnapping children from other areas,” Olivia said.

  Evidently the conversation had taken a dark turn while she counted her blessings.

  “One source believes he will begin abducting whole groups of children.”

  That comment must have startled Heath because he dropped his spoon into his soup.

  “What source is that, sister?”

  “I wouldn’t know, but it was written in the newspaper and so it must be true.”

  “Just because you read something does not make it so. Think of it...” Heath cast a glance at each person sitting at the table. “Trying to snatch several children away from their guardians with everyone screaming and carrying on? It’s hard—would be hard, it seems to me, to get one of them away. In my opinion taking several children makes no sense.”

  “It makes no sense to take even one child. What can he possibly want with a baby?” Clementine asked.

  “Perhaps he sells them,” Grandfather said. “Some men will do anything for a profit.”

  “What if the Abductor is not even a man?” Heath pointed out. “No one has actually seen him.”

  “Slademore’s guards have seen him. They reported to the newspaper that the Abductor is a man—an exceptionally stealthy man. Some are beginning to say he’s not actually a man and that his black coach has no driver.”

  One corner of Heath’s mouth ticked up. That was an odd reaction. No doubt the turtle soup had given him gas.

  “He must be a demon to take orphans!” Clementine looked at Heath when she spoke. “Especially the ones who have been fortunate enough to be taken in by the baron. The kidnapper has no scruples.”

  As she expected he did not look pleased at the mention of Slademore. One could only imagine there was a long-standing problem between the men.

  However, in the few conversations she’d had with the baron, he had never said anything amiss about Heath.

  “This whole thing makes me want to strap a holster around my hip and carry a weapon on my person. Isn’t that what they do in America?” Olivia asked.

  “It’s not something you see every day,” Grandfather explained. “Especially in the cities. But I haven’t lived all my life in polite society so I have seen it.”

  “Victor will not be pleased to hear that it is uncommon.”

  “Oh, but cowboys almost always do,” Clementine added. “He needn’t despair.”

  “Perhaps I should wed a cowboy, then, so he can protect us from that evil...” Olivia pursed her lips. “I find I cannot come up with a word bad enough to describe the Abductor.”

  “Fiend,” Clementine suggested because she could think of many words. She was not sure she would ever get over the sweet baby being kidnapped from Slademore House. “Wretch, viper, monster, hellhound!”

  “Yes!” Olivia exclaimed. “Hellhound is the very word.”

  “I say we turn the conversation to more pleasant talk.” Heath addressed his comment to Clementine more than anyone else. “Did not Lady Guthrie host a flower show today?”

  “I would not know.” She had to look at her lap, pretend interest in a fold of her napkin. If she did not she feared everyone would see her thoughts, know where she had been and what she had been doing. “I was occupied with other business today.”

  “Olivia and I attended,” Grandfather said. “We spent a few lovely hours admiring the posies, did we not, my dear?”

  “We did, actually. I cannot recall when I’ve enjoyed flowers as much as I did today.”

  There was a lull in the conversation while everyone sipped soup, each one to their own thoughts.

  “Clemmie, my love,” Grandfather said, breaking a silence that was not at all uncomfortable the way some tended to be. “I’ve had news from the Pinkerton man.”

  “What?” She coughed on her soup. Grandfather reached around to pat her on the back. “Please let it be good news!”

  “I can’t say whether it is or is not. But Madeline was traced to the docks in New York, where she boarded a ship.”

  “Bound where? Was she alone?”

  “It’s a bit of a mystery. The investigator didn’t see her, but he did speak with a ticket agent who remembered her. It’s no surprise he would.” Gra
ndfather nodded at Heath and Olivia. “Madeline is quite unforgettable. He also recalls that a man was involved in some way—but all that was somewhat foggy. She did, however, purchase only one ticket.”

  “To where?” Clementine gripped her spoon tight. Joy, dread and hope crashed inside her like croquet balls being slammed by mallets.

  “Why, to here!” Grandfather grinned. “Where else would she come but to the bosom of her family?”

  * * *

  “I wonder.” Heath rolled onto his back, catching his breath. “Which one of us is the heathen?”

  Clementine turned on the mattress and trailed one finger down his chest.

  “It’s you. Did you not carry me from my room to yours slung over your shoulder?”

  He caught a strand of crimson hair, trailed the end of it across his nose in order to better take in the scent, which was not so much perfumed as fresh. It had to be a natural fragrance that was her own.

  “You must admit you did nearly leap up there.”

  “That was your imagination. I could not possibly jump so high.”

  She settled into the crook of his shoulder.

  “Do you recall that earlier in the day I wanted to discuss something with you?”

  “My mind has been preoccupied with...” He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “With other things, but I vaguely remember.”

  “I need for you to pay attention now because this is important to me.”

  “I hope you are not trying to convince me to allow—”

  “It has to do with the estate in Derbyshire.”

  That was not what he had expected her to say, although he did not know what he had expected other than an attempt to convince him to let her return to Slademore House.

  “What to do with it?”

  “Our visit there was so short I didn’t have time to see it all. But how many bedrooms does it have?”

  “Sixteen, not counting the servants’ quarters.”

  “Oh, good. It should suit nicely.”

  “For what?” He stared hard at the carved bedpost. He was supposed to be paying attention to what she said, not the curve of her neck or how sweetly round her earlobes were with tumbled red hair tucked behind them.

  She smiled. He knew he would give her anything she asked—almost. “I want to open a shelter for street urchins there. Give them food and an education, show them what it means to be loved.”

  Stunned to silence, he simply stared at her.

  “I will not be told it is impossible, that a countess would not do such a thing. I am going to do it. If the baron can, so can I.”

  She sat up again and folded her arms across her middle.

  “You ought to say something or else I will think you disapprove. And if you do we will have a great row—a greater one than fine society has ever seen.”

  Indeed, her skin was beginning to flush pink all over.

  The sight was enough to make him want to hold back his answer a bit longer. Then again, it was not an answer she wanted so much as affirmation.

  “Let’s do it.”

  “Good, then.” She snuggled back down under the blanket and lay one arm across his chest, hugged him tight. “Will we need to prepare the rooms or can we bring some of the children with us when Parliament is dismissed?”

  “We’ll bring them.”

  If it was possible to love another person more than he loved Clementine Cavill, he could not imagine how. He didn’t know a way to even express what he was feeling in the moment.

  No doubt she would have the words he needed, but he was at a loss.

  “I believe that the Good Lord sent me a perfect woman. I love you, Clementine.”

  The sun was peeking through the window before he finished demonstrating just how much.

  * * *

  The next night, Clementine was exhausted. She ought to be sleeping but her mind would not allow it. Heath suffered no such problem. He lay beside her, his breathing slow and regular.

  She’d had an exhausting day purchasing a few of the things needed in order to make a home for her rescued children.

  While it sounded a simple thing to say she would pluck them from the streets—not like the Abductor did, but in the open with the full consent of lawyers and magistrates—it was not quite so easy.

  They would need bedding, clothing, books and toys.

  And education! It seemed she would fulfill her calling after all. She would no longer teach in a formal classroom, but when she thought about it, this was better.

  She had far more to teach her charges than letters and numbers. She would show them how to respect themselves and others. She would teach them how to love, because it might have been lacking in their lives.

  Oh, she would teach love but she would also give it.

  They would learn what it was like to have a mother. Not that she could remember what it was like, but she’d had one once and knew in her heart that she had been cherished by her.

  Who would they be? Sweet little girls? Mischievous little boys? Scholars and tricksters?

  With sleep elusive, she got out of bed and put on her robe.

  Tonight, she and Heath shared her chamber, so she curled up in her chair beside the window and gazed out.

  Fog crept slowly across the garden, its white, wispy fingers searching out corners and obscuring the fountain and shrubbery. The top of a tree was still visible across the way. So was Grandfather’s window, where a lamp softly glowed.

  He must be up late worried about Madeline crossing the Atlantic Ocean alone. It was not as though she was traveling first class like Clementine and Grandfather had done. Coming over with no money and no chaperone would be a different experience altogether.

  A frightening one.

  For all the upheaval she had undergone, Clementine had never been alone through any of it. She had gone from the security of Grandfather’s watchful eye to the shelter of her husband’s home.

  Sitting here listening to Heath’s even breathing, wrapped in warmth from the fire’s glow, she felt utterly surrounded and protected.

  Beyond the walls of Fencroft House, fog would be hiding criminals going about their business. Only streets away, children, possibly ones she already counted as hers, would be huddled in doorways, shivering and frightened of rats and of evildoers who scavenged in the darkness.

  They would be keeping one ear open for the worst of them all.

  The Abductor.

  The doll Grandfather had given her sat in her frilly clothes on the chair across from her. She snatched it up and hugged it to her. She gazed into the blue marbled eyes, wondering what had become of the baby taken from Slademore House.

  How was it that law enforcement had not been able to apprehend the criminal?

  Surely someone ought to be able to do it! She had entertained the thought that Heath might be trying to, given his sudden disappearances in the night, his bumps and bruises.

  It was but one explanation for his odd absences. There could easily be other reasons. Not that she was ever likely to know, since he steadfastly refused to confide in her.

  She trailed her fingers over the porcelain head of the doll and wrapped the edge of her robe over it, imagining she was protecting one of the helpless children in the fog.

  “There you are. No bad man can see you now.”

  All of a sudden her hand clenched in the fabric of the robe.

  Under the cloth no one would know whether the doll was a real child or not.

  Perhaps she was the “someone” who ought to do something to bring the Abductor to justice.

  It was a risky thing to do but how could she possibly sit here in her cozy room with the nice fire and her warm husband when young lives were at stake?

  A little voice reminded her that she ought to tell Heath what she was going to do. Perhaps he could he
lp.

  But no. He would only refuse to let her get involved. If he thought that going to Slademore House in a carriage during broad daylight was too risky, he would never approve of this.

  Nor would Grandfather. The truth was, no sensible person would encourage her to take the risk.

  Which did not mean that the next time Heath went out in the night she was not going out, as well.

  * * *

  Clementine was far too busy to attend a tea party. Too preoccupied, as well.

  Three nights had passed since she decided to pose as a wretched mother giving her child to Slademore House, and still Heath had not gone out in the night.

  Olivia was not keen on attending Lady Guthrie’s tea, either, but she’d explained that one did not refuse an invitation issued by the duchess.

  So this afternoon found the pair of them being ushered into the duchess’s presence along with six other young ladies all honored with the same summons.

  One of them, Clementine was nearly certain, was one of the women who had been gossiping in the hallway on the night of her ball.

  Lady Guthrie greeted Clementine and Olivia last but with genuine warmth.

  “We’ll take refreshment in the sunroom since the fog is relentless today. I do wish we would finally have a spot of sunshine.”

  The sunroom was lovely, lush with small trees and shrubs. It reminded Clementine of the conservatory at home.

  Beside a window two tables were set, each with tea and a tower of pastries.

  Lady Guthrie indicated that Clementine and Olivia, along with one other lady, should sit with her while the others sat down at the other table.

  “My dear Lady Fencroft,” the duchess said with a smile. “You look lovely. Marriage greatly agrees with you.”

  “Not so much as it does my brother,” Olivia added, making Lady Guthrie grin and the women at both tables laugh. Except for the one. She was openly frowning.

  “I thought it would. I had no qualms about the union whatsoever. Glenda, is there not enough sugar in your tea? You look rather sour.”