An Heiress at Heart

by Jennifer Delamere

  She lingered at the door, as though unsure whether to enter. Her hair was down, loose and flowing. The high lace collar of her nightdress was just visible above her tightly sashed dressing gown. The draft from the hallway caused his candle to flicker and throw shadows across her lovely face, which only seemed to lend her an air of mystery.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Geoffrey said, as though in answer to her unstated question. He gestured toward the bookshelves. “I thought some reading might help.”

  “I seem to have found myself in the same predicament,” she said with a rueful smile.

  “And what has kept you awake, I wonder?” he asked, knowing too well why he was here. He had not been able to get her out of his thoughts.

  “My mind was so full after our conversation this evening that sleep seemed quite out of the question.”

  “Was it?” he said, unable to hide his surprise. “Must have been all those tedious details I related at dinner.”

  “Please do not apologize. I enjoyed it very much.” She took a small step forward and said haltingly, “I want you to know how happy I am that you have come to visit.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” he said.

  “And isn’t it strange that we should meet here, like this?”

  “Yes.” Geoffrey set his candlestick on a small reading table, largely because he knew his shaking hand would give him away if he kept holding it. To be alone with Ria like this had such an unreal quality that he thought perhaps he had drifted off to sleep and was now in the middle of an exquisite dream. He took a deep breath. “Well, we’ll just get our books and be on our way.”

  She laughed softly. “Are you worried for my reputation?”

  “Of course.”

  He could just make out the corners of her mouth as they lifted into a smile. “Perhaps it is your reputation we should be concerned about,” she said, her voice lightly teasing. “It is unseemly, sir, to be seen without your coat and cravat. What would James say?”

  Only then did Geoffrey realize how disheveled he must look, wearing only his trousers and a loose-fitting shirt. He was in stocking feet, too, having left his boots in his room so as to make no sound as he descended the stairs to the library. He reached up to close the opening at his shirt collar, feeling foolishly self-conscious as he did so. “I really must apologize for—”

  His words died on his lips as her eyes met his. The look she gave him held such love and longing that he knew in an instant what he had only dared hope was true.

  Geoffrey had always done the right thing, the proper thing. Especially where women were concerned. His attempts at courtship with Lucinda were proof of that. But his soul had always cried out to find a love that was deep and true—a love that was nothing short of the melding of two minds and two hearts. He had never been able to give this hope a voice or a name, having no idea how he would even recognize it. Now, as he looked at Ria, he knew with absolute certainty what it was.

  In two strides he was across the room. He took her in his arms and she looked up at him. Something like fear tangled with the yearning in her eyes. He could not bear to see it, so he did the only thing that would stop him from looking at her. He kissed her.

  Her lips were as full and soft as he remembered. She returned his kiss with an eager boldness that almost made him take an involuntary step back. But he soon gave himself over to the pleasure of it and took her fully into his arms. Her hands came up and gently grasped his head, her fingers working through his hair. After a time, her lips moved away from his mouth and began to caress his cheeks. At last her head came to rest on his shoulder, and she gave a deep sigh of contentment. They stood wrapped in each other’s arms for what seemed like an eternity. Dear Lord, how could this be? No matter what the law decreed, holding her like this was so right.

  A dangerous idea began to form in Geoffrey’s mind, growing swiftly until he felt that nothing else mattered. “Ria,” he murmured, his voice tender. “Dearest Ria. You must marry me.”

  Chapter 34

  The sound of Ria’s name brought Lizzie back to her senses and made her fully and shamefully aware of what she was doing. She could not remain like this, lost in Geoffrey’s embrace, no matter how badly she wanted it.

  She removed her hands from Geoffrey’s shoulders, but he continued to hold her close. “Don’t move, my love. This is where you belong.” He let out a deep breath. “Always.”

  “Geoffrey, we cannot—”

  He cut off her objection with a brief, warm kiss. “We can, and we will. We can get married in Europe. It is legal there.”

  “But your title… your responsibilities…” A dreadful realization began to settle on her of the mischief she had unwittingly inspired. “You will be ruined.”

  He took her face in his hands, his dark eyes burning into hers. “Do you love me?” His voice was fierce, possessive.

  She longed to say yes, she did love him with all her heart, could easily picture giving herself to him completely. Her eyes stung with the knowledge that in doing so she would, in the midst of all her lies, be speaking the absolute truth. But how could she?

  A desperate thought came upon her that if she did marry Geoffrey and they ran away to Europe, at least they would be far from England, far from Freddie’s threat. It was so tempting to think it could be that simple. But it wasn’t.

  She could not marry him as Ria, and not only because of the shame and scandal it would bring upon him. It would be a travesty of the legal bond, because she would be lying about her identity. Far worse, she would be wrongly entering into a church sacrament, making a false vow in a holy place… she would not be guilty of that, despite all the terrible things she had done. They would not truly be married. She could not bring such a thing upon Geoffrey.

  But neither could she confess to him who she truly was. She had determined that she could not do it. The specter of Freddie and what he might do always loomed over everything.

  She managed, in spite of every impulse to do the opposite, to pull away. She took a few steps back and said quietly, “Love cannot be the deciding factor here.” She gave a bitter, hiccupy sort of laugh. “You must be amazed to hear those words coming from me.”

  “I do not wish to begin another discussion of love versus duty,” Geoffrey insisted. “I want only to talk about us. The duty we have to our own hearts.”

  How sad, Lizzie thought, that they should be taking different sides of that argument now. She was giving up all she held dear because of duty to her family—to keep Tom safe, and to keep scandal and shame from the Thornboroughs.

  It was too dangerous to be here with him, in the soft candlelight, discussing love and the future as though both were available to them. If she had truly been Ria, she might have done it. She knew the law regarding in-laws was unreasonable. But she was not Ria. She could only spend her life pretending to be Ria, and accept that she could never have this man.

  Another thought, far less welcome, entered Lizzie’s mind. It was the bitter memory of what had happened the last time a man had promised to take her to Europe and marry her. “You may feel differently about all this in the morning,” she said, and she meant it. She knew Geoffrey might be sincere now, as they held each other in the moonlight. It was easy for their love to seem like the only important thing in the world. But he could easily have a change of heart once he viewed their situation in the cold light of day. “I must go,” she said. “Someone may find us here, and that would be unpardonable.” She turned for the door.

  “Wait!” Geoffrey said. “You cannot leave now. There is more to be said, surely. Ria?”

  “We have said too much already.” And with those words she fled the room.

  *

  Geoffrey paced for hours in the library, thinking about what had transpired between him and Ria. He knew what he must do. He would take Ria to Europe and marry her there. The scandal in England was unavoidable, but people of high reputation had been agitating for years to change the particular law that now stood between them.
Geoffrey decided that once he and Ria were wed, he would join this cause and use whatever influence and resources he could muster in an effort to get the law repealed. If this was not successful, he and Ria might have to stay in Europe indefinitely. But they would be together.

  He would press his suit until she agreed. He knew without a doubt that this was what he wanted. He only hoped there was enough of the younger, impulsive Ria left in the mature woman to take such a step.

  She wanted this, too; he knew it, despite her objections. Every time they were together, he knew she, too, felt the undeniable bond between them. And how could she have kissed him the way she had if she did not love him?

  His candle had burned out long ago, but now the room was beginning to grow even darker. He walked to one of the large windows and pulled back the curtain. The moon had set, and the night was shifting to the flat darkness that blanketed the landscape just before dawn. With the coming of the day, others would be waking. The servants would be slipping into rooms to rebuild the banked fires. Each passing minute would increase the likelihood of his meeting one of those servants in the hall. If he did, they would wonder why he was up so early, wandering the house in such a state of undress.

  He found another candle near the fireplace and lighted it so that he could make his way back to his room. As he did so, Ria’s small book of poetry caught his eye once more. From the moment she’d entered the room, she had so captivated his thoughts that he’d forgotten all about it. He picked it up. He would return it to her at breakfast. In the meantime, it would be one way to keep some part of her close until he saw her again.

  He did not encounter anyone in the hall. He breathed a sigh of relief as he closed his own door behind him. He had not been in bed long before a manservant came in to tend the fire. As soon as he was alone again, Geoffrey got out of bed. To pass the time before his valet arrived to help him dress for breakfast, Geoffrey sat by the fire and opened the book he had brought back from the library. Why was Ria so drawn to these poems?

  Something fluttered to the floor as he began to turn the pages. He looked down to see a letter, a square of white lying in sharp contrast to the dark hearth rug. He reached down and picked it up. Although he was not an astute judge of handwriting, it looked as though the address had been written by a man’s hand. Geoffrey stared, disbelieving, at the name on the envelope.

  The letter was addressed to Lizzie Poole.

  An old man in Hyde Park had called Ria by that name, he remembered uncomfortably.

  He set the book aside and unfolded the letter.

  The handwriting was rough. The writer was inexperienced with pen and ink; there were thick blotches all over the paper from a poorly trimmed pen. But the words jumped off the page with crystal clarity.

  My dearest Lizzie…

  … you don’t know the heartache I’ve been through…

  … I have an inkling you were too taken by Ria’s stories…

  I’ll come back…

  Your loving,

  Tom

  Geoffrey gripped the letter so tightly that it crumpled between his fingers. He might have tried to tell himself there must be some other reason she had a letter addressed to Lizzie Poole, except for one very important line:

  Too taken by Ria’s stories.

  It would appear this woman had plied Ria for a myriad of details of her life and remembered them well, to the end that she’d been able to pass for Ria. It seemed too fantastic to believe, but somehow she had done it. Where was Ria in all this? And where was Edward? What else had this Lizzie Poole lied about?

  He barely restrained himself from throwing the letter into the flames. If only it could be that easy. If burning the letter could erase the truth it contained, Geoffrey knew he would do it in a heartbeat. Anything for her. And that was his downfall. He was ensnared by a woman as surely as any fool ever was.

  From the moment he’d seen her, he’d been captivated. She had drawn him in with her beauty, her warmth, her fiery independence. She had seemed, ironically, so genuine compared to so many women he knew. And whenever she was near him, when she was in his arms…

  He stood up and began pacing the room, his mind assaulted by questions.

  Why was she here? What could she possibly be after? Money was the obvious motive for such a scheme. After all, she had taken up Ria’s position in society, accepted Ria’s inheritance. She might even have asked for a widow’s dower eventually. And yet last night she had refused his offer of marriage, which would have made her very rich. Of course, their “marriage” would have been a complete farce, since she was not Ria. She had to have known that.

  Did she wish to bring disgrace to the family? If so, what possible reason could she have? If she had run away with him, she could have brought plenty of scandal to both their families. More than anything Ria and Edward had done. And yet, again, she had refused him. Did she have particular reasons for remaining in England?

  And who was this Tom? Her lover? Her husband? How many men had she had?

  To whom had he opened his heart, his very soul?

  Hightower’s words came back to him with a raw ugliness that made his blood run cold: “A blond lady she was, with amazing violet-blue eyes that could snare you from fifty yards… And when a lady is willing…”

  Geoffrey slammed the letter on the table and took a step back, staring at it with disgust. There could not be three people in the world who looked like Ria. Had the woman he’d fallen in love with been Hightower’s mistress? The thought filled Geoffrey with a revulsion so solid and physical he thought he might literally retch from it.

  He wanted to race to her room, kick down the door, and demand an explanation. But he held himself in check, telling himself it would do no good to put the house in an uproar before he could get the truth from her. He would undoubtedly see her again at breakfast. He had time for a brisk walk before then, and he needed it. He needed to clear his head and regain his self-control before confronting her. Jealousy, rage, and self-recrimination were fighting for control of his heart and mind, threatening to drive him mad.

  And in the center, like the eye of the hurricane, stood Ria.

  No. Not Ria. Lizzie.

  Chapter 35

  When Lizzie entered the breakfast room, Geoffrey greeted her with chilly politeness that made her immediately wary. Had last night’s ardor cooled so quickly, as she’d feared it would? She returned his greeting with equal mildness, hoping his aloof manner was due to the presence of the servants. She was too nervous to look at him directly, too afraid that she would see what she was sensing, that he had already regretted all he had said. From the corner of her eye she detected a faint blush, barely perceptible above the line of his side whiskers. Clearly he was agitated.

  They sat alone at the table.

  “How odd that Grandmamma has not come down to breakfast,” Lizzie said, trying to keep her discomfort from showing in her voice. Lady Thornborough’s presence might have helped reduce some of the awkward tension.

  “She has sent word that she will be spending the morning in her room.”

  Geoffrey’s voice—indeed, his whole manner—was overly restrained.

  “Oh dear,” Lizzie said. “I hope she is not ill.” She did not think Lady Thornborough was ever ill, but in her nervousness she said the first thing that popped into her head.

  “It is an early cold, I expect. James once told me she usually catches cold around the time of the first frost.” He set down his fork and looked at her directly for the first time since she’d been seated. “Perhaps you recall this, too, given your excellent memory?”

  Startled, she met his hard gaze. Whatever she had expected to see—tenderness, regret, or guilt, she saw none of these things. She saw only a tightly banked anger. She cleared her throat, which was suddenly far too dry. “Of course,” she managed. “Grandmamma’s early colds. I had forgotten.”

  His eyes narrowed, and Lizzie’s confusion increased. Her seemingly innocuous words had, if anything, increased
his anger.

  The butler set down Lizzie’s plate and filled her teacup. She took a sip of her tea, wishing for the thousandth time that Ria had preferred coffee in the morning. She could have used its stimulating power to brace her.

  Breakfast became an agony, trying to make polite conversation as the servants came and went, when all the while she could see Geoffrey seething beneath his stiff exterior.

  When it was finally over, Geoffrey said, “Will you be so good as to take a walk with me?”

  “Yes,” she said with brightness she did not feel, “I shall be delighted.” She knew they needed to have it out, to discuss matters more fully and reasonably. Even so, there was still so much she could not tell Geoffrey, much as she longed to. She was oppressed under the weight of all the lies she could not leave behind.

  The morning mist was dense as they made their way down a narrow lane that led away from the house. It shrouded the pastures that lay on either side of the hedgerows, leaving Lizzie with the impression that she and Geoffrey were entering their own private cocoon.

  They were far from prying eyes or ears that could overhear their conversation. Yet Geoffrey did not speak. He walked beside her, his mouth set in a hard line. Here it was, then. The reconsideration in the hard light of day, just as she had anticipated. It was heartbreaking, no matter that it was for the best; Lizzie would foolishly have him still wish for their marriage, even if it could never happen. Perhaps he did not love her after all. Perhaps it had been only a temporary infatuation. One whose folly he now saw too clearly.

  They continued in silence for some time. Why would he not speak? Finally she ventured, “I believe we ought to discuss what happened. You’re angry, as you have every right to be. You probably think I have betrayed Edward.”

  He laughed, but it was a coarse and humorless sound. “You have betrayed more people than Edward.” He turned then, and took her by the arms. His face was inches from hers, as it had been only hours ago. But this was no lover’s embrace. He was finally releasing the pent-up emotions she had glimpsed at breakfast. Anger and revulsion now seemed to roll off him in equal measure. “What is your game exactly?”