The Hidden Heiress - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  "Yes," she replied.

  "I'd call it aroused."

  She made an attempt to reach the door, but he was blocking it by the time she reached it. "Don't. Paige will be back at any moment."

  "I'll be finished by then."

  "Finished with what?" she groaned. "Don't answer that. Paige could be listening outside the door!"

  "Why would she do that?" he laughed.

  "She might be listening to discover if we have a relationship."

  "Then perhaps we should stop talking."

  He pulled her hard against his body and seized her lips with his mouth. She gasped into his mouth, her eyes wide open, searching the room. What if Paige came back? What if Mrs. Templeton came up to check on them? What if?

  Her eyes drifted closed as he seduced her with his lips. It suddenly seemed as though all of their differences could be easily conquered. He teased her with his tongue and made her ache to feel his hands on her body. She pushed him against the door so that it would be difficult to open from the other side.

  He moaned in delight. She pressed harder.

  His heavy hands massaged her neck, tickling the wisps of hair that curled at the base of her chignon. She lost herself in the aches of pleasure that accompanied every movement of his large fingers. She tried not to focus on the other parts of her body that would appreciate such devoted attention.

  She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. But when he pressed his groin against her, it was too much. She gripped a clump of dark hair and pulled.

  Marshall growled. "What are you doing to me?"

  "I'm sorry," she ventured.

  "Oh no, don't be sorry," he said and pushed her against the table.

  He leaned against her, his weight pleasingly erotic.

  Her heart beat faster. "The door," she gasped.

  Marshall pulled them to their feet, his face flushed. "Someone's at the door?"

  "No," she replied. "But I felt safer when we were against it."

  "Or maybe you felt naughtier when we were against it."

  She stepped toward the connecting door. "Paige, you can come back now!"

  Marshall's eyes increased to the size of huge pools. "How could you do that? I'm indecent."

  She looked back at him. "I was afraid of what might happen next."

  Marshall looked at the door when the handle started turning. He jumped into one of the chairs and pushed his knees under the table.

  Paige came into the room and smiled. "Are you joining us for our lesson?"

  "I suppose I am," he admitted.

  Isabel laughed, unsure when Marshall had gone from being a risk to her purity to a risk to her heart.

  * * *

  "What shall we do tonight?"

  Paige looked at Isabel and frowned. "If I know you, we're going to study."

  Isabel laughed. "No, not tonight."

  Her student's eyes went wide. "No studying? Impossible."

  Isabel opened the schoolroom door. "Your parents went to the opera, so I felt you deserved a treat too. Perhaps we could sit in the drawing room? We could play cards or work on your scrapbook."

  Paige grimaced as she followed her out into the hallway. "No, I hate that scrapbook. My mother makes me do it."

  Isabel led the way down the stairs. "Then no scrapbook."

  She heard heavy footsteps in the hall just as they got to the last landing. Had the Templeton's returned? Disappointment filled her.

  Luck was on her side. It was Marshall.

  Marshall said, "I thought I would keep the two of you company."

  "Paige, can you get me the playing cards? I left them on my dressing table."

  Paige grimaced, then walked out of the room.

  Isabel turned back to Marshall. "You shouldn't be here. First you followed me to the park, then you brought me the flowers, and now you're--"

  "Spending the night in my own house?"

  "This isn't proper, Mr. Templeton."

  "Proper, proper, proper! You're always saying that it's not proper. When will it be proper?"

  She sighed, exasperated. "I'm not the one who makes these rules."

  "Who in heaven does?"

  "You should leave," she said.

  Marshall smiled. "That's too bad because I'm staying. And we both know you want me to."

  "I do, but . . ."

  "Then it's settled," he said, sitting down on the horsehair sofa. "I don't understand what you're so up in arms about. I enjoy being in your company. Is that so wrong?"

  Isabel shook her head, trying to ignore him just as she tried not to notice his dark blue coat and the way it draped his muscular upper body. She might have come up with another reason why he couldn't stay, but Paige returned too soon.

  "Are you staying, Uncle?" she asked, offering Isabel a pointed look of distaste.

  "Of course, Paige. Would I disappoint you?" He settled into and prepared to stay awhile. "Don't tell me you're going to play cards."

  Paige ran her fingers along the edge of the cards. "Why not? I know how to play all the games."

  "Never mind that," he said, standing up and moving toward the door. "We should play something more exciting. Like hide and seek."

  Paige dropped the cards on a side table. "Could we, Miss Balfour?"

  It wasn't surprising that Marshall wanted to play something so childish. Isabel sighed. "I suppose."

  Paige clapped her hands with glee and ran up to Marshall. "Can I hide first?"

  "Of course." He winked at Isabel when his niece turned her back. "I'll count to twenty while you find somewhere to hide. Then we'll come looking for you."

  "You'll never find me!" she exclaimed, then urried out of the room.

  Isabel stared at the empty doorframe. "She took to the idea rather quickly."

  "I knew she would." He took a step toward her, smiling secretively.

  "Shouldn't you be counting?"

  "I'm counting up here," he said, pointing to his forehead. "Besides, if we give her a little extra time, what's the harm?"

  "It's not . . . she . . ." With a flourish, she grabbed the playing cards and fanned them out in front of her. "Pick any card."

  Marshall's fair eyebrows arched toward the ceiling. "You want me to pick a card?"

  "Yes, any one you like." She smiled. Her chest puffed out as she tried to stifle a laugh. "I shall tell you your fortune."

  "I would like that very much." His hand hovered over the cards. "Now, which shall I choose?"

  Isabel's heartbeat increased the closer Marshall leaned. It wasn't possible he could hear it . . . was it?

  Finally, after pulling a card from the center, Marshall straightened his back. He looked down at his card and laughed. "The Queen of Hearts. What can you divine from that?"

  "Perhaps you will win the heart of a Queen."

  "Perhaps? I need a little more to go on than that."

  Isabel leaned back and tried to put a little distance between them. Though she'd managed to build iron walls around her heart, Marshall was positively magnetic. She shuffled the cards. "I would say the Queen of Hearts represents a woman who has her choice of many suitors. You've picked her card, so your destinies are intertwined. You shall win her heart above all others."

  "That sounds about right." His cocky smile lit up the room. "But I don't like a woman who is too flirtatious. I wouldn't want to be the last in a long line of beaus."

  "I'm sure you would stand out among any group."

  "Is that right?"

  As if he didn't know. Isabel broke eye contact, then hurried toward the hall. "I think we should start to search for Paige."

  "Of course," he replied, following her.

  She didn't look back. She didn't need to see his shrewd smirk to know it was there. "Where should we look first?

  "Why not start here?" He opened a cabinet door as soon as he entered the hall and leaned over to peek inside. "No one in here."

  They checked the rest of the hallway, the closet, and the cloakroom. Isabel jumped
every time he came near her. After a while, she wondered if he was doing it on purpose. The thought made her jump even higher the next time she sensed him behind her.

  "There," Marshall said when they were finished with those areas. "We've eliminated quite a few good hiding spots."

  "If I were to hide, I would hide in the cloakroom, behind the coats."

  "Perhaps we can hide together when it's our turn. Imagine what Paige would think of that."

  She shook her head. "I don't think she'd like it."

  "I know why you wouldn't want to hide with me," he said, giving her the look that by now she had grown used to.

  She wondered if she should even ask, knowing that his response would engender either a blush or a strong impulse to run away. "Why wouldn't I want to hide with you?"

  "Because, my dear Isabel, it would be improper." His eyes widened. "Pardon me, may I call you Isabel?"

  He was trying to challenge her; put her on the spot. "I would be delighted if you would call me Isabel, if I, of course, may call you Marshall?"

  He sidled closer to her. "Then it's done."

  Isabel rejoiced. He hadn't gotten the prissy reaction he'd expected. She could be unpredictable too. "Where shall we look next, Marshall?"

  Marshall gazed and the ceiling and said, "I bet she's hiding in your bedroom."

  "Your constant innuendoes are becoming tired."

  He leered at her as if he knew his presence made her shiver with both fear and delight. "You've become quite the woman of the world, haven't you, Isabel?"

  And he, obviously, was hoping to have been the cause. She turned away to escape his knowing stare. "I've never claimed to misunderstand your quips, only that I wasn't intereed."

  "Of course you weren't," he said, his face the picture of innocence. "Each time you've returned my kisses, I've known you were just trying to be polite."

  Glad he couldn't see her expression, Isabel pressed her lips together and tried not to smile. "My mother raised me to be a lady."

  Marshall circled her. When he came to stand in front of her, he was frowning. "When did your mother die?"

  "Two years ago," she said, speaking the truth. "It was a riding accident."

  "You had a stable?"

  Isabel searched her mind for an appropriate answer. "Well, no. She was visiting an old friend."

  "That's horrible." He placed his hand on her arm, affectionately squeezing her wrist. "Do you miss her?"

  "Of course, but . . ."

  "She was distant." Marshall nodded with understanding. "So were my parents. I would have thought things would be different for someone in your circumstances, without all the nurses and nannies."

  Once again, she'd put her foot in her mouth. The less information the better. She took a deep breath. "It wasn't."

  "How much longer must you be in mourning for your father?" he asked. "Not that black isn't flattering on you."

  Suddenly, she wanted to throw caution to the wind. She had worn mourning attire for a long time when her parents actually had passed away. She looked down at his large hand and replied, "I will stop in one week."

  "Then I look forward to seeing some color in your wardrobe." He placed his other hand on her other shoulder, right above her hidden wound. "Though I don't know how you could appear more beautiful than you are right now."

  "Marshall . . ." Her gaze locked with his, and she saw understanding too, in the depths of his eyes. He cared about her. He was her friend, her only ally.

  She spotted movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see Paige in one of the doorways, glaring at them.

  Isabel's heart shot into her throat. "Paige, why did you leave your hiding place?"

  "I grew tired of waiting. I couldn't stay there all night."

  Marshall shook his head. "I have to hand it to you, Paige. That was an incredible hiding place. Miss Balfour and I were baffled as to where you were."

  Paige frowned and backed away. "Perhaps that's because you never looked."

  "Paige!" Isabel called out as her student ran out of the room, but Paige didn't stop. "Now she has even more reason to hate me."

  "If Paige has decided to hate you, she doesn't need reasons," he replied.

  "I don't understand why she's so difficult."

  "Neither do I."

  "I think I should go to bed too."

  "Alone?"

  "Marshall!" she exclaimed.

  "It's just a jest, Isabel." He ran his fingers down her arm. It made her hair stand on end, even with the barrier of her bodice sleeve. "How I love to say your name without being reprimanded."

  She shivered, wishing there were other things he loved too. From the glint in his eyes, perhaps there were. She slipped out of his grasp. "Goodnight, Marshall."

  Chapter 9

  Isabel sunk into her feather mattress. The long day slipped away the moment her body hit the sheets. Marshall was probably getting into bed at the same moment. If she was lucky, he was thinking about her. She hoped he remembered their genial night together, even though it was cut short. Perhaps he even wondered, as she did, what would have happened if Paige hadn't interrupted them.

  Paige fanned herself with one hand, pushed her blanket to the end of the bed and wondered why her room felt a little too warm.

  A light knock on the door made her gasp. She was half scared, half hoping, that it was Marshall. She grabbed the covers from the end of the bed and pulled them up to her chin. "Who's there?"

  "It's only me. Paige."

  Isabel lit a candle then scrambled out of bed, searching the room for her dressing gown. She was sure she'd left it on the back of the high-back slipper chair in the corner where she t every night, but the chair was empty.

  She went to the door clad in her chemise, then opened it a crack to look into the hallway. "What's wrong?"

  Paige, also dressed for bed, leaned closer. "May I come in? I had a nightmare."

  Surprised the girl would come to her after her latest tantrum, she let her in. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "Yes, but don't shut the door."

  Paige leaned on the foot of the four-poster. "The dream felt so real, Miss Balfour. A ghost was chasing me through this very house."

  Isabel rubbed the chill from her bare arms. "That certainly sounds scary."

  "It was," she said. "I still feel jumpy."

  "But it was merely a dream. Ghosts don't exist."

  Paige shook her head and continued to look into every shadow. "I don't know about that."

  Isabel went to the bell rope. "Perhaps we should ring for some warm milk."

  "I don't like warm milk."

  "I'm trying to help you, Paige," she replied.

  "This was more than a dream. It was almost as though--" She froze, staring into the upper corner of the bedroom.

  Isabel followed her gaze. "What? What are you looking at?"

  Paige backed away and asked, "You didn't see anything move up there just a moment ago?"

  "Of course not!" Chills crept up her spine. She looked at her charge with new eyes. She'd always been a difficult child, but Isabel had never considered the possibility she might not be "all there."

  "Look!" She pointed at the ceiling as she backed toward the open door. "Just like the dream."

  Isabel looked to where she pointed then back at her. "Calm down, Paige. There's nothing there."

  Paige let out an ear-splitting scream. "Nooooo!"

  Isabel chased Paige into the hall. "Stop this nonsense."

  She screamed again, louder and longer.

  Footsteps pounded on the stairs. Marshall barreled toward them, his shirt open to his waist. "What happened?"

  Isabel shook her head. "Paige had a nightmare. She's gone batty."

  The butler, roused from his slumber, wandered toward them. "I heard a noise, sir. Is everything--"

  "Everything is fine," Marshall interrupted. He shared a look with Isabel as she hid herself behind the door. "Go back to sleep and let everyone know it was only a night
mare."

  Paige watched the butler leave, then ran into Isabel's bedroom. "It's up there. In the corner," in the same hysterical voice as before.

  Marshall followed his niece and entered into the pool of warm light in her bedroom. "You've had a bad dream, Paige. There's nothing in that corner but air."

  "Please, can you look closer?"

  He took another few steps into her room. "No. Nothing at all. You can go back to sleep, secure in your safety."

  "Thank you, uncle!" Paige exclaimed, her tone no longer afraid. She turned and ran into the hallway, slamming the door after her.

  Marshall went after her immediately. He tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. He waited a moment, then tried again, more violently that time. Still, the door did not move. "Damn."

  "It's stuck, isn't it?" Isabel scowled at the closed door. "She did this on purpose."

  Marshall didn't reply. He was staring at the door, silent and still. "Paige has just gotten herself into a world of trouble."

  "I can't imagine why she would do such a thing."

  "It's a childish prank," Marshall said in a quiet tone. "She has no idea of the consequences of her actions."

  "Yes, it's quite foolish of her." Her gaze fell to her thin, lacy chemise. She searched for something to wrap around her body. "Mr. and Mrs. Templeton will punish her severely."

  Marshall turned to face her. "Those weren't the kind of consequences I meant."

  Isabel seized a bed sheet, her entire body tingling now that he was looking at her. She wrapped the sheet tightly around her body.

  Marshall continued, "Did she steal your wrapper as well?"

  "It looks that way," she replied. Then, unable to stand still, she hurried past him and pulled at the door. It was definitely stuckp>

  Behind her, Marshall said, "It's no use. You're stuck with me. There's no escaping."

  She turned, pressed her back against the immovable door and laughed. "I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Templeton will be home soon."

  He shook his head. "I don't think so."

  Isabel gripped bunches of the sheet in her hands and wished she could be calm like Marshall. "Surely, there's some way to open that door."

  Marshall grinned. "There isn't. Give up, my dear. We might as well make the best of this."

  She felt the hard wood dig into her back. "What do you mean by that?