The Missing Heir

by Ranstrom, Gail

  Mr. Dewberry lunged at her in a flying tackle, driving them both to the ground and rolling away from the thundering coach. Grace heard a woman scream and men shouting. Someone lifted her to her feet and then helped Mr. Dewberry to his. She could not catch her breath as she looked after the coach, now disappearing around a corner.

  Snippets of conversation stuck in her mind. “Lucky to be alive, miss.” “Deuced drivers ought to watch where they’re going.”

  And Mr. Dewberry. “You could’ve been killed, Mrs. Forbush!”

  The crowd disbursed with the conclusion that it had all been an unfortunate accident. But Grace wasn’t so certain. Was it too coincidental after the other night outside the Two Sevens? Could Adam have been right? Could she have been the target?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Grace sank into her bath with a contented sigh. The muscles in her stomach and thighs relaxed in the heated water, and the new bruise on her hip from Mr. Dewberry’s rescue throbbed with a dull ache. But she couldn’t dawdle long. She’d forgone dinner for this little luxury, so she intended to make the most of it. She pushed questions about the “accident” from her mind. If she thought about that for long, it would her drive her mad. Everyone had been so certain it was an accident that she felt foolish suspecting more. After all, who could possibly want her dead?

  As she let the jasmine-scented water relax and soothe her, she opened her new book. Skipping ahead to the chapter on discerning your husband’s particular pleasures, she read between the lines. The advice was general, of necessity. She managed to gather that she should take note of anything she did or said that elicited a desired reaction, then make use of those details at unexpected times to increase her husband’s happiness. She put the little book aside and closed her eyes, thinking back to the night before.

  She recalled standing in the library, unfastening the hooks of her gown. Adam had seemed quite distracted when she’d rested her hands on her breasts. And when she’d let her gown slip to the floor, his breathing had grown deeper. Thus, Adam must like seeing her undress. Perhaps the little delay had sharpened his desire for more. Or seeing her touch herself where his hands had so recently been had made him eager to touch her again. And he’d liked her garters enough to leave them on after all other traces of clothing were gone.

  But how could she use that? She could scarcely start to undress every time she wanted to charm him. Oh, but perhaps there were more subtle ways to remind him of that incident. Ways that might even make her look more worldly and experienced. Yes, she would have to brazen out the incident last night as if it were a common occurrence.

  After spending years practicing ways to distance men from her, to appear untouchable through her reputation and cool manner, Grace found that she wanted to pull Adam closer. Now that they were lovers…she would practice new skills.

  She began by touching her earlobe, then sliding her hand slowly down her soap-slick skin until it touched her breast. Still sensitive from Adam’s attentions last night, the aureole and nipple beaded into a hard little button. Yes, Adam had liked that, too. And so had she.

  She picked up the book and turned the page and read that a husband is sometimes pleasantly diverted when his wife is playfully naughty. Naughty! Grace chuckled. What, precisely, would that entail? She’d never been naughty a single day in her life—until last night. But she was determined to learn.

  Adam paced the library. He’d hurried home to join Grace and Dianthe for dinner, only to find that Dianthe had left early to go to a musicale at the Aubervilles’ and Grace was supping in her room. He prayed he hadn’t been too hard on her last night. Had he known…he could have spared her some of the discomfort, and he would not have used her so unrelentingly.

  He’d taken a tray to his own room, bathed, shaved and changed for the evening out. Actually, he’d been relieved to avoid the dinner table. He didn’t want his first encounter with Grace after their intimacies to be in the presence of others. He hoped she would talk to him about her past. Specifically, how the bloody hell she could still have been a virgin.

  In pursuit of an answer to that question, after leaving Major Taylor in his stupor, he’d gone to his uncle’s doctor’s office, where he’d gleaned two very interesting tidbits. One, that Basil Forbush had been in excellent health for a man his age until the week before his death. And two, that he had not complained of inability to perform satisfactorily as a husband.

  And yet Grace had unquestionably been virgin. Had she refused to receive her husband? Or had Basil been impotent and too embarrassed to confide in his doctor? Whatever the reason for her virginal state, Grace had clearly wanted to deceive him about it.

  Should he confront her? Demand answers? Even if doing so would alert her that her deception had failed? But what if there was a more insidious reason for her deception? One that she couldn’t risk him finding out about? One that might have to do with the death of his uncle?

  When he’d asked the doctor if he suspected foul play in the death of his uncle, the doctor had shrugged. “I did at first, but some poisons are hard to trace and mimic the symptoms of other ailments. Your uncle was sixty and five. It is not unheard of for men of that age to fall ill to a malady from which they do not recover.”

  An inadequate visit in all respects. He’d hoped to find a simple, clear answer and he’d only grown more suspicious. Until he could be reasonably certain that Grace was not responsible for his uncle’s death, he would have to be very careful—vigilant. It would be foolhardy to become her lover, and Adam was no fool.

  The library door opened and Grace glided in, a soft blush staining her cheeks. She had dressed in a copper-colored gown of muslin trimmed in satin that made her skin glow and her dark eyes sparkle. The cut was unlike the one that she wore last night and he found himself trying to determine where the hooks were hidden.

  She turned to close the doors, affording him a glimpse of the graceful curve of her neck and spine. Blood rushed to his groin.

  “Good evening, Adam,” she said as smoothly as if they’d last seen each other at afternoon tea.

  “Grace,” he acknowledged. She might want to ignore her virginity, but he wasn’t about to let her ignore last night. He gave her a wolfish smile. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Like the dead,” she said as she passed him on her way to the sherry bottle. An exotic scent that was both floral and spicy, trailed in her wake, as did her little half smile. Very provocative. And there was a difference in the way she moved, as if she were more aware of her own body. She certainly knew how to give the impression of a woman of the world. He’d have to give her that.

  She poured herself a sherry and walked back toward him, raising her glass as she came. When she was near enough, she touched the rim of her glass to his. “To Dr. Hawthorne’s sleeping remedy.”

  He grinned in spite of himself. He was going to have to remind himself constantly to be on guard. Resisting Grace was not going to be easy.

  Grace allowed Adam to take her cloak as she tried to hear snips of conversation. The crowd at Belmonde’s was buzzing with excitement and she wondered what could cause such a stir.

  She heard the names “Morgan” and “Lord Grayson” but she couldn’t sort out the rest. A crowd was gathering near one of the private side rooms where patrons could wager each other. She took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and wandered in that direction. Adam had been stopped by an old friend and signaled that he’d be along momentarily.

  She edged through the doorway and skimmed the perimeter of the room until she had a clear view of a table at which Lord Geoffrey and Lord Grayson were seated. The two men faced each other and the contrast between them was startling. Morgan appeared cool and hard-eyed. Grayson, on the other hand, was flushed and a fine sheen coated his face. He was staring intently at his cards and sitting forward in his chair. A single glance said that the man was playing for deep stakes, certainly more than he should have wagered.

  Lord Geoffrey, on the other hand,
was sitting back in his chair, looking relaxed and almost bored as he waited for a response from Lord Grayson. He folded his hand and lay it, facedown, on the table in front of him and glanced up at her. Although his expression did not change, Grace perceived a subtle difference in his bearing, a small spike of interest. Had his investigator reported that she had sold some jewelry? Had he marked her absence last night and wondered if she had been unable to come up with the funds to wager? She would have to reassure him once this little tableau was over.

  Slowly, Lord Grayson pushed his remaining pile of counters across the green baize cloth to the center of the table. Grace couldn’t tell what game they were playing, but the rest was evident. Grayson had just wagered everything he had left on his hand.

  The crowd pressed forward to witness the conclusion and Grace’s view was blocked. Drats! Whatever the wager, it was sufficiently large to tempt Lord Geoffrey to not leave it to chance. She’d watched as he folded his hand and placed it on the table, and she hadn’t seen any signs of cheating or sleight of hand. But she could have missed something before she’d arrived, or after the crowd had blocked her view.

  A collective gasp filled the room, followed by exclamations of disbelief and amazement. The crowd began to disburse until only a few men remained. Grace held her breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

  Lord Grayson pushed back from the table and narrowed his eyes at Lord Geoffrey. “You cheated, damn you. How’d you do it?”

  Still looking bored, Lord Geoffrey gathered the cards into a single pile and held them out to Lord Grayson. “Have them examined, Grayson. How many witnesses did we have? Did anyone cry foul? You cannot blame me for your folly.”

  “But I’m ruined!”

  Lord Geoffrey offered the deck to the room monitor, who hurried off, ostensibly to check for marked cards or any other trick that might have given him the advantage. He turned back to Lord Grayson and shrugged. “You should have thought of that before you made the wager.”

  “You cannot mean to…”

  “Hold you to your word? But of course I do. You’d have taken my wager in a trice.”

  “I have a family, damn it all. What about them?”

  Grace thought of Mr. Talbot and wondered if he had made such a plea when he’d wagered his fortune and his sister away. But Lord Geoffrey’s reply told how useless that would have been.

  “It is their misfortune to have a fool for a husband and father.”

  Grayson’s friends, gathered behind his chair, began to grumble at the insult. Lord Geoffrey pushed his chair back from the table and stood, apparently bored with the scene. Before he could turn away, Lord Grayson stood, too, and delivered a challenge.

  Utter silence filled the room. Grayson must have concluded that his debt would be canceled if Lord Geoffrey were dead. To her shame, she realized that Laura Talbot, too, would be freed by such an eventuality.

  A long moment passed as Lord Geoffrey studied Lord Grayson’s face, as if trying to decide the degree of determination there.

  He sighed. “Very well, Grayson. If you will have it no other way?”

  “Call the wager void.”

  A dark smile curved Lord Geoffrey’s mouth. “Not a chance.”

  “Name your second, sir.”

  Lord Geoffrey looked in her direction and, for a moment, she was absurdly afraid that he would name her.

  “Hawthorne,” he said.

  She whirled to find that Adam had come up behind her. A sense of relief washed through her and she felt instantly calmer. He placed his hand on her back almost possessively. He looked reluctant and she sensed he would beg off.

  “Come now, Hawthorne,” Lord Geoffrey cajoled. “You needn’t defend me, just attend the details, stand at my back and make certain my pistol’s loaded.”

  “Very well,” he conceded, but Grace could tell he was not comfortable with the duty.

  Lord Grayson nodded to Adam and left the room, leaving his friends and Adam to follow.

  Adam took Grace’s hand and shot a quick glance at Lord Geoffrey. “I will be back as soon as we settle on the details, Grace. Meantime, stay here.”

  “Adam,” she began, about to tell him that she could manage herself quite well, but the look in his eyes stopped her. She nodded.

  The room was empty then, but for her and Lord Geoffrey. He sat again and gestured her to take Lord Grayson’s vacated chair.

  “I am astonished at your calm, Lord Geoffrey,” she said. “A man has just declared his intention to kill you. Are you not disturbed by that?”

  “He’s not the first, and I am willing to wager he will not be the last.”

  “Have you considered a change in occupations?”

  He barely blinked, but turned the conversation abruptly, as if she’d said nothing. “How nice to see you again, Mrs. Forbush. When you did not appear last night, I feared you had grown weary of hells.”

  She sipped her champagne. “Not at all, Lord Geoffrey. I had pressing matters at home.”

  He smiled. “Yes, I gathered.” He lifted his wineglass and toasted her. “You’ve cost me money this time, my dear.”

  “Another wager?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “And you lost? How diverting. Would you mind telling me what the wager was?”

  “Who you would take as your next lover now that Barrington is a thing of the past.”

  She was stunned. Although she had been aware of the rumors concerning her “discreet liaisons,” she hadn’t been aware it was a subject for wagers. Embarrassment warred with curiosity. Curiosity won. “But how has that cost you money, sir?”

  “Hawthorne. I was betting on someone else.”

  Panic began to rise. Had it been so obvious? “What makes you think Mr. Hawthorne and I are lovers?”

  A slow grin warmed his features. “I could tell the moment he entered the room. A man has a certain look when he has…known a woman. And the way he touched you. Proprietary, m’dear.”

  She struggled with that for a moment, wanting to deny it, but unable to resist his open honesty. “And who did you place your money on?”

  “Me.”

  Grace coughed and put her champagne glass on the table to prevent it from spilling. She laughed. “You? But we scarcely know each other.”

  He tapped a hundred pound counter in front of him. “Allow me to speak frankly, Mrs. Forbush.”

  “Could I prevent you?”

  “I have been sensing that you have something more than a casual interest in me. I am not certain what that might be, or why, but thought you might take up with disreputable men as long as you were taking up disreputable pursuits.”

  Oh, dear. She hadn’t realized she’d been so obvious in her interest. At least he had not guessed why. “I think you are a very out-of-the ordinary man. I admire your composure in a crisis. I thought I could learn from you.”

  The room monitor came back and gave them a nod. Apparently the deck of cards had passed inspection. He took up his station at a discreet distance.

  Lord Geoffrey turned back to her. “So you were looking for a tutor, not a lover?”

  Grace looked down into her champagne. Were she and Adam lovers? He hadn’t mentioned anything in the coach, nor had he done anything but hint at last night. Perhaps the encounter had meant less to him than it had to her. And it might be useful for Lord Geoffrey to think there was still a chance. “A single grain of sand does not constitute a mountain, Lord Geoffrey.”

  Now Lord Geoffrey laughed. “Was it an audition, Mrs. Forbush? Are you still casting for the role?”

  She studied him over the rim of her glass. He was teasing. She was sure of it. Sure enough to call his bluff? Not quite. It was her turn to change the subject. “Do you know briscola?” she asked.

  “Quite well,” he said, signaling for a new deck of cards.

  Leaving nothing to chance, Adam had Mr. Dewberry bring the coach around before fetching Grace from the tables. When he handed her into the coach, Mr. Dewberry sta
rted off at a slow pace, just as he’d instructed. He wondered why Grace hadn’t told him about the attempt on her life this afternoon.

  When Dewberry had let that little piece of information slip earlier, he’d been aghast. How could Grace forget to mention such a thing? Most women would take to their beds in vapors after nearly being run down by a coach. If not for Eddy Clark, he’d begin to think Grace had been the target all along. Unless…had his enemy sent him a warning by attacking Grace? Or was there some reason even Grace didn’t know that someone would want her out of the way? Carter had warned that she had enemies.

  Frowning, Grace turned to him and said, “What was that about, Adam—rushing me into the coach like that? Are you still concerned about that thief the other night?”

  “I’d think you’d be a little more concerned, given the attempt on your life this afternoon.”

  “What attempt? Oh! Do you mean the coach that nearly ran me down? Heavens! That was my fault for stepping into the street without looking.”

  “Dewberry says it looked deliberate to him.”

  “Pish! He has become overprotective since the thief attacked us. I swear, ’tis coincidence. Now it will be years before anything happens again.”

  He hoped to hell it would be. The odds of someone wanting him and Grace dead at the same time were staggering. Still, there were rather too many accidents for coincidence. “Promise you will be more careful from now on. And promise you will take Dewberry with you everywhere.”

  She gave him a curious look. “Do you really think that is necessary?”

  He gave her a grim nod. “At least for the next several weeks.”

  “Very well. But there is something else I am more concerned about.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Adam, please explain how the duel will be done.”

  “Are you worried for Lord Geoffrey?” he asked, annoyed by the little stab of jealousy that twisted inside him.

  “No. Yes. Well, of course I would not want either Lord Geoffrey or Lord Grayson to come to harm.”

  Adam laughed. “Someone could die because of it. I’d call that trouble. I did, however, take steps to limit the possible consequences.”