Marrying the American Heiress: A Victorian Historical Romance (Brides of Scandal Book 2)

by Diana Bold

  “He only had eyes for Lady Natalia.” Emma shrugged, as though Dylan Blake’s inattention had meant nothing to her. In truth, she had been extremely jealous, because Dylan Blake—while hardly the sort of man she’d consider marrying—was exactly the sort of man she could imagine herself falling in love with. Witty and darkly handsome, he was a decorated war hero and had traveled extensively.

  “The whole thing was terribly romantic.” Jane’s eyes lit with pleasure. “I’m so glad the duke allowed Natalia to marry her dashing captain.”

  “Very romantic,” Emma agreed. The star-crossed lovers had married just last week—a hasty private ceremony, followed by a lengthy wedding trip to Scotland—where they apparently hoped to wait out the scandal.

  Emma wondered if Sherburne had loved Lady Natalia. Had his intended bride’s betrayal hurt him?

  Low male voices interrupted Emma’s thoughts. Someone conferred with their footman on the other side of the brocade curtain that gave their box the illusion of privacy.

  “Who could that be?” Jane rose gracefully, pleased as always by the prospect of visitors. The fact that suitors had actually begun to seek Emma out, despite her lack of pedigree, was a testament to Jane’s social clout.

  Jane swept back the curtain and her face went comically blank when she saw who stood on the other side. “Lord Basingstoke.”

  “Good evening, Lady Jane. I’ve come to arrange an introduction between my friend and your lovely companion Miss Marks.”

  Emma turned to see the dark half of the pair she’d spied on earlier. A hint of mischief lurked behind Lord Basingstoke’s smile as he stepped aside to allow another man to enter the box.

  Viscount Sherbourne. As though her interest had summoned him, he stood before her in all his golden glory, a sinfully beautiful man with the face of an angel.

  Jane recovered quickly from her surprise and graced both men with a gentle smile. “Lord Basingstoke, Lord Sherbourne, may I present Miss Emma Marks of New York City?”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lords.” Emma rose and extended her hand. She tried to exude as much grace and dignity as possible. Her father had spent a fortune to ensure her manners and bearing were fit for a queen, but she always worried that those who’d come from generations of wealth and privilege would see through her facade.

  Sherbourne stepped forward. He cut an elegant figure in his finely tailored black evening wear. “The pleasure is mine,” he murmured, his voice clipped, deep, and oh-so British. Taking her gloved hand, he brought it briefly to the lush heat of his finely drawn lips.

  Such an extravagant mouth, on such a harsh and chiseled face.

  As he lifted his head, their gazes caught and held. For a moment, she lost track of time and place. Intelligence and loneliness radiated from the rain-washed depths of his deep blue eyes and convinced her there was far more to this man than even Jane knew.

  As she reluctantly withdrew her hand from Sherbourne’s light grasp, Basingstoke offered her a charming smile. “Are you enjoying your visit, Miss Marks?”

  “I’m enjoying London very much,” she responded truthfully. Unlike New York society, English aristocrats had the ability to appreciate eccentricity, even celebrate it on occasion. Hence their easy acceptance of an American heiress who dressed outrageously and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.

  “I hear you’re quite the traveler,” Basingstoke continued. “Tell us about your journeys. Have you been anywhere fascinating and exotic?”

  “I’ve traveled extensively on the Continent during the past two years.” Emma warmed immediately to the subject and wondered if Basingstoke might be the more interesting of the two after all. “I must admit, however, to being a bit of a history enthusiast, the older and dustier the better. I’d love to visit Egypt, but I haven’t yet had the chance.”

  “What a coincidence.” Again, Basingstoke seemed secretly amused. “Sherbourne is an amateur archaeologist. He’s fascinated by all things Egyptian. In fact, he’s sponsored several expeditions and has an amazing collection of artifacts.”

  She let her gaze drift back to Basingstoke’s friend, unable to contain her sudden excitement. “Have you been to Egypt, Lord Sherbourne? Have you seen the great pyramids and the Sphinx?”

  Something hot and bright flickered in the depths of Sherbourne’s cool eyes, but it disappeared so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it. “I’ve never left England,” he admitted remotely. “My responsibilities don’t allow for frivolities such as travel.”

  Frivolities? She would have been incensed at his judgmental tone, if not for the fact that Basingstoke had mentioned the viscount’s interest in history and artifacts.

  For some reason, Sherbourne seemed embarrassed by what his friend had revealed. As if his pursuit of such things undermined the plain boring demeanor he obviously worked so hard to cultivate.

  What other interesting things lurked beneath that cool perfect exterior?

  As though she hadn’t understood he’d meant to rebuke her, Emma smiled. “Well, no wonder you collect Egyptian artifacts. Everyone needs a little something exotic in their lives. I’d love to see your collection.”

  Jane gasped audibly at Emma’s forward behavior, but Lord Basingstoke merely chuckled and gave her a covert wink. As for Sherburne, he looked slightly stunned. He obviously had no idea what to make of her.

  “I keep my artifacts in the country, at Sherbourne Hall, but perhaps something can be arranged.” Sherbourne took a deep breath, as though girding himself for something unpleasant. “In the meantime, would you allow me to call on you? At your earliest convenience?”

  Emma shared a quick surprised look with Jane. Oh, the poor man. He must need her dowry even more desperately than Jane had implied.

  “Of course, you may call upon me,” Emma replied graciously. “I’d be delighted.”

  “Excellent. You may expect me tomorrow morning.” Bowing stiffly, Sherbourne turned and left their box.

  Basingstoke smiled and shrugged. “What can I say, Miss Marks? He’s an acquired taste.” He started to take his own leave, then seemed to think better of it. Turning, he extended his hand toward Jane. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Lady Jane. You’ve been absent from Society for far too long.”

  Jane stared at his hand, flustered for no apparent reason.

  Basingstoke laughed and produced a single red rose with a quick flick of his wrist.

  Emma had been watching him, but she had no idea how he had accomplished the magical feat.

  “Oh, Julian.” Jane accepted the rose with her heart in her eyes. “It’s beautiful.”

  Julian? Emma couldn’t contain an amused smile when her very proper companion used Lord Basingstoke’s first name. Apparently, the earl’s bad behavior was only one reason Jane wanted Emma to stay away from him.

  As for herself, Emma couldn’t wait for the chance to speak privately with Lord Sherbourne. She knew just the thing to rattle his icy reserve and reveal what lay beneath.

  * * *

  Michael strode briskly toward the theater exit, leaving Basingstoke to follow or not as he chose. He’d come tonight for the express purpose of initiating his courtship with Miss Marks and had no intention of staying for the second act.

  Unfortunately, now that he’d met her, he was more dismayed than ever at the thought of marrying the American chit. She wasn’t what he’d expected.

  “I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Basingstoke commented, out of breath, when he finally caught up to Michael on the bustling street outside. Apparently, he hadn’t yet tired of having fun at Michael’s expense. “I find Miss Marks quite refreshing.”

  Michael threw his friend an exasperated glance. “If you like her so much, why don’t you marry her?”

  Basingstoke chuckled openly. “Because I don’t need her dowry, my friend. And I haven’t any relatives breathing down my neck, insisting I breed an heir. Besides, if I married her, what would you do? There aren’t any other heiresses of her ilk this se
ason.”

  “I’m aware of that. Otherwise, I certainly wouldn’t be considering an American,” Michael snapped.

  “American or not, she’s the most exotically beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.” Basingstoke raised one dark brow, obviously determined to annoy Michael in every possible way. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

  “I prefer my women blonde and biddable,” Michael lied. In truth, Emma Marks had taken his breath away. Her wild dark gypsy beauty had made him think of forbidden dreams and far-off places.

  But marriage? How could he even consider marrying a woman who incited such passion? He’d always imagined himself with an English rose. A quiet unassuming girl who would bear his children and make his life easier.

  Life with a woman like Emma Marks would be anything but easy.

  “Blonde and biddable?” Basingstoke scoffed. “You’d be bored to death in a month.” He shook his head. “If you ask me, I think your brother has the right idea. I don’t intend to wed until I find someone who makes me feel the way Dylan feels about Lady Natalia.”

  Michael gave his friend a disbelieving glance as the earl motioned for his driver to bring up the coach. Lady Natalia. Her loss was still a sore subject. He couldn’t believe Basingstoke had mentioned her.

  Forcing all thoughts of Natalia away, he refocused on what Basingstoke had said. Strange, he’d never thought of Basingstoke as a romantic. “You can’t mean never to marry. What about your title? Surely, you don’t want your wastrel of a brother to inherit it?”

  “I don’t give a damn about my title,” Basingstoke replied with uncharacteristic bitterness. “It’s brought me nothing but misfortune. Ethan is welcome to it, though I doubt he’d want it either.”

  Michael held his tongue, although he found such talk nearly blasphemous. If a man didn’t live for his title—for the honor of his family and his name—then what was there to live for?

  Basingstoke’s luxurious coach arrived, a welcome distraction. They climbed in, and Basingstoke gave a sharp rap on the roof to signal they were ready to leave.

  As the lumbering vehicle bearing Basingstoke’s family crest moved through the crowded streets of Mayfair, Michael settled against the blue velvet cushions and let his thoughts circle back to the beautiful American.

  He’d expected her to be brash and loud, not well spoken and elegant. Even her American accent was charming, a soft drawl very different from the nasal tones he’d found so annoying the few times he’d been forced to deal with American businessmen. And her penchant for history and travel intrigued him more than he was willing to admit. He’d never imagined marrying a woman who shared his interests.

  In fact, Miss Marks was exactly the sort of woman he’d hope to someday find for his mistress—bold, witty, and devastatingly lovely.

  All in all, this meeting had done nothing but add to the sense of impending doom that had been building within him ever since he’d found Lady Natalia in his brother’s arms.

  “I hadn’t realized Lady Jane was Miss Marks’ chaperone,” Basingstoke said unexpectedly, breaking the awkward silence. “I’ve known Jane since we were children. Although never official, there was always an understanding we would wed. I’ve always been ashamed of myself for not proposing after her father died.”

  “I forgot all about that.” Michael offered his friend a sympathetic glance, glad for the distraction. “It’s not your fault the marquess had a gambling problem. No one expected you to marry the girl without a dowry.”

  “You don’t understand. I treated her quite badly, simply walked away and never looked back.” Basingstoke shook his head. “Perhaps I should arrange an anonymous bequest. I don’t want her to have to spend the rest of her life pandering to rich Americans.”

  Michael braced himself as the coach bounced over a deep rut. “Oh, Basingstoke. You’re not the heartless rake you pretend to be.”

  “And you’re not the staid, joyless paragon you pretend either,” Basingstoke retorted. “Come on, old man, admit it. Miss Marks is exactly what you need to make life interesting.”

  “I admit no such thing,” Michael countered, aghast. An interesting wife was the last thing in the world he needed.

  Chapter Two

  Michael strode impatiently up the white marble steps of Miss Marks’ fashionable rented house in Belgrade Square. The imposing Georgian mansion had belonged to Lady Jane’s father, the Marquess of Langton.

  No wonder Basingstoke felt so guilty.

  What was the world coming to, when the daughter of a marquess was forced to rent out her home and relegate herself to the position of companion?

  Grimly, Michael reminded himself he was likely to end up in a similar position if he didn’t manage to wed Miss Marks.

  At his knock, a suitably haughty butler opened the front door. The butler took Michael’s card, then escorted him upstairs to cool his heels in the drawing room. “Miss Marks will be with you shortly, my lord,” the old man announced, with just the barest hint of reproof. “She wasn’t expecting callers this early.”

  Frowning, Michael withdrew a gold watch from his waistcoat pocket. Barely 9:30. Truly an unheard of time to call during the season, when entertainments could easily last until three or four in the morning.

  “I didn’t realize…” His words fell unheeded into the silence of the room. The butler had already slipped away.

  In truth, he had been in such a hurry to settle things with Miss Marks he’d rushed over without a thought for the time. Troubled by this uncharacteristic lapse of manners, he distracted himself by idly inspecting his surroundings.

  The room had recently been redecorated in the Oriental style that was all the rage. It was a perfect nightmare of red velvet and gold leaf, though some of the pieces, such as an exquisite vase from the Ming dynasty and the glorious hand-painted screen in the corner, were authentic.

  This evidence of Miss Marks’ apparently endless wealth brought Michael sharply back to the reason for his visit. The earl still hadn’t forgiven him for losing Lady Natalia and her fortune to Dylan, and the creditors were circling like buzzards scenting a kill.

  Miss Marks and her obscenely large dowry were his only hope.

  A soft rustling sound broke into his despairing thoughts. He composed himself and turned, only to freeze at the sight of his hostess.

  Emma Marks stood in the open doorway, outrageously attired in a deep purple dressing gown. The flowing satin molded indecently to her tall, willowy frame, hugging the gentle swells of her breasts and hips. Michael stared, both appalled and aroused by her brazen appearance.

  “Miss Marks,” he murmured with reproach, “you’re not dressed.”

  She pushed an errant strand of dark hair from her eyes and glanced down at her shocking ensemble with a small shrug. “When my maid awakened me so early, I thought there must be an emergency. I came as soon as I could.”

  Michael clasped his hands behind his back and fought the overwhelming impulse to cross the room and touch her luminous skin, still warm and flushed from sleep. “There’s no emergency. I can come back later, if you prefer.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. “I don’t mind if you stay, as long as you don’t insist that I change.”

  Michael frowned, shocked by the irregularity of her request. “You needn’t change on my account.”

  Her lips twitched. His annoyance grew as he realized she was struggling not to laugh. “Why, thank you, Lord Sherbourne. How unexpectedly open-minded of you.”

  She brushed past him and gestured toward a cozy seating arrangement near the fireplace. The delicate blend of vanilla and roses filled his senses. Wildly seductive, yet surprisingly subtle, given her somewhat flamboyant personality. A tantalizing riot of mahogany curls tumbled down her slim back in a soft cloud. The sleek curves of her bottom were breathtakingly lovely without the disfiguring contours of a bustle.

  “Shall I ring for refreshments?” Miss Marks raised an inquiring brow as she settled prettily on
a baroque sofa of crushed red velvet.

  Michael met her intelligent gaze, stunned once again by the depth behind her beauty. She wasn’t a fool, no silly simpering miss. Suddenly, he wondered what he’d do if she refused him. He hadn’t even considered the possibility until now.

  From all accounts, she liked her unorthodox lifestyle.

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I won’t be staying long.”

  She shifted, and the dark purple fabric revealed every curve of her long elegant legs before it settled in rippling folds that merely hinted at the treasures beneath. His shock over the impropriety of the situation grew when he noticed her small bare feet.

  Suddenly, the erotic picture she presented was too much. He felt as though he were facing an expensive seductive courtesan, not the supposedly chaste young woman he planned to marry.

  Frustrated, Michael asked what he really wanted to know, as heedless as she of the constraints of polite society. “Do you always greet your gentlemen callers in such a charming state of dishabille? Forgive me, but I find this highly irregular.”

  Amusement flickered across her expressively beautiful face. “No, I don’t greet all my gentlemen callers this way. But in any event, I hardly see where that’s any of your concern.”

  With a sigh, he pressed one hand to his pounding temple. Bloody brilliant. He should’ve guessed she would be as immoral as she was beautiful.

  “Quite frankly, the way you’re dressed alarms me. After all, my purpose in coming here today was to propose marriage.”

  Emma stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. Then she made a rueful, disappointed sound and shook her head. “This is your idea of a proposal?”

  Embarrassed heat rose in Michael’s cheeks. He’d made a terrible botch of things. His usual eloquence had deserted him in the face of Miss Marks’ unconventional behavior.

  “It’s actually more of a business proposition,” he clarified lamely.

  “Oh, my.” Her voice was rife with sarcasm. “That’s just what every woman dreams of hearing.”