The Hidden Heiress - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  "What do you think I mean?" His gaze traveled down the length of her body, then up again. "What would you like it to mean?"

  She trembled. "I should hope it means . . ."

  "What?" He took a step toward her.

  She darted away from the corner, keeping her back toward the outer wall of the room. "I should hope it means that we're going to handle this like proper adults."

  He took another step and placed his hand against his lips. "Hmm. . . I'm sorry to report that I don't know how that would work. You see, I may be an adult, but I am certainly not proper."

  "Stop it, Marshall! Stay right where you are."

  He laughed. "I'm not going to attack you, my dear. What do you think I am, some sort of wild beast?"

  She started to nod, then realized the foolishness of her response. "Just, please keep your distance."

  He brought his feet together in a display worthy of a soldier and stopped. "An unusual request, but granted."

  Isabel looked at him standing still in the center of the room. Marshall's gaze was steady, eyes sparkling in the candlelight. The way he watched her turned her legs into two unsteady, useless supports. Her stomach churned and her lower body tingled with suppressed energy. His gaze was so . . . fervent.

  She supposed she couldn't tell him to stop looking at her. Could she?

  "Stop that!" she finally screamed.

  "What?"

  "Looking at me like that."

  His mouth was upturned at the corners as though he were holding back laughter. "How exactly am I looking at you?"

  "As though you want to rip my clothes off."

  He took a step toward her. "You're not wearing any."

  "Stop moving!"

  This time, he didn't listen. He continued to make his way across the room.

  Isabel jumped away from the wall when he was only a few feet away. She almost tripped over a forgotten boot in her haste to get away. "Please, Marshall, why are you doing this?"

  "Doing what, Isabel?" He placed his hands on his hips. "I really don't understand what you're implying. I would like to speak to you and it's dreadfully uncomfortable to have to shout across the room."

  "No," she stuttered, pulling her sheet higher on her body, "that's not what you're doing."

  "Why not at least give me the chance to prove myself?"

  Her eyes widened with disbelief. "Because if I am right, it will then be too late."

  Regardless of her words, he continued to approach her.

  Isabel backed up again and hit something solid. Her chest clenched when she sensed what she had backed into, but she didn't want to believe it before she knew for sure.

  She turned her head just enough to see that the obstruction blocking her way was the bed. "Hell."

  Marshall smiled. He didn't even comment on her choice of words. "Is this where you were headed?"

  She shook her head so hard that she thought she heard her brain rattle. "No."

  He took his final step and was at last in reaching distance. "But here we are."

  She met his ardent gaze and felt her entire body cease its proper functioning. He was unspeakably handsome. She'd never seen anyone more attractive in all her days. Why, why, didn't she have more will power? Turning him away should have been a simple matter, easily carried out.

  "That sheet is very flattering on you."

  Her cheeks burned. "It was not meant to be a fashion statement."

  "I like it."

  "Is that what you wanted to discuss?"

  Even though he adn't touched her, his body exuded sensuality, automatically drawing her in. It probably wasn't even intentional. Marshall smiled. "What do you think should be done to Paige? Do you think she should be punished?"

  "Of course she should be punished. She has done a very naughty thing."

  "I think she did me a favor."

  Her legs shook.

  "She did us a favor."

  With her bottom pressed against the bed, her legs gave out. She fell onto the cushioned mattress. Marshall loomed large in her vision as he placed a hand on either side of her and lowered himself.

  Driven by forces beyond her control, the momentum of her body sent her into a sitting position, meeting him halfway. His lips were then only inches away. Isabel traced their outline with her gaze, remembering how they felt pressed against hers in the garden.

  She wanted nothing more than to feel it again. Finally realizing, at that moment, how much she'd always wanted it.

  Marshall kissed her.

  Isabel sunk into his arms, delighting in the feel of his lips. He kissed her gently, as slowly as he'd chased her across her bedroom. Her full lips danced against his perfectly, her chest throbbed with every movement.

  Slowly, she felt herself fall against the bed, his hard body pressed against her. He kissed her mouth, never once leaving it. And when he pulled away for a breath, his eyes were glistening with scorching surrender.

  Isabel pressed her lower body against his hard mass of muscle and found a moment's relief for her aching body.

  With a muted growl, Marshall covered her with his body. He lavished her neck with kisses, holding her arms above her head with one arm.

  Isabel wriggled to free herself from the sheet that strangled her with its confining tautness. She cried out in frustration. It was no use.

  "Do you require any assistance?" Marshall asked, his voice deeper than usual.

  She nodded.

  Quickly finding the end of the sheet--as though he'd been paying attention to it all along--he held it and rolled her down the bed. Finally she was free, her thin chemise revealed to his hungry gaze.

  Marshall seized upon her immediately, tearing at the sheer material. "I want to taste every inch of you."

  Isabel caught her breath, warmth growing between her thighs. She reached for him and he pressed his chest against hers. He started kissing her again, but this time, he didn't stay at her mouth.

  The heat grew as he made a trail of kisses from her lips to her neck. He gently kissed the hollow in her neck, his short blonde hair messy and spiky. She pulled it hard, snapping his neck back.

  He gazed up at her. "Is that what you like?"

  Heat enveloped her body when he pulled at her chemise. Then she moaned her approval as his lips moved down her neck to her shoulder. She felt a slight tingle when he kissed her there, just once before he stopped.

  He held himself above her with his thick, strong arms and asked, "What is this scar?"

  Isabel's mouth fell open. "Scar?"

  "On your shoulder." He pressed it gently. "Does it hurt?"

  "No, of course not," she replied, gritting her teeth at the slight pain. "It's old."

  "But where did it--"

  Isabel separated her knees, wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed. "Marshall, I don't want to talk about that right now. It's insignificant. A childhood scar."

  He smiled. "I was worried, Isabel. But if you say it's nothing . . ."

  She nodded.

  He ran kisses down the center of her body, making moist spots on the chiffon of her night rail. He stayed at her bellybutton for a moment, circling it with his tongue. Then, she was filled with a confusing kind of disappointment when his trail of kisses moved up her body, back to her face.

  With his weight on one arm, he cupped her breast while gently biting her neck. She arched against him, reveling in the sensations. Never had a man known her so intimately. Never had she imagined she would allow it.

  "Oh, Marshall!"

  Marshall slowly lift the hem of her gown.

  Isabel's stomach heaved. She squeezed her eyes together.

  "What's wrong?" Marshall gasped, his breath short.

  She scrambled to cover herself, tears welling in her eyes. "I don't know. I can't do this."

  "What?"

  "We have to stop."

  "But . . . I thought . . ."

  The tears spilled onto her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Marshall. I know what you thought, but I didn't k
now . . . I didn't think . . ."

  He pushed himself off her and stood beside the bed, gazing down at her. She couldn't help but look below his waist. He had already lost more of his amour, if his trousers were any indication.

  Marshall offered her one last look, an anguished expression of base need. Then he turned on his heel and banged his fist against the stuck door. This time, when he yanked on the door, it opened.

  Isabel pulled the sheet back toward her. She hovered beneath it, regret weighing down on her chest. She was disgustingly weak. All he had to do was snap his fingers. A few stolen kisses were one thing, but to allow such liberties with one's body . . . it was shameful.

  Tears flowed freely down her face, and she forced herself out of bed. She'd left the candle on the table by the window. It was too close to the curtains to leave it burning all night. Thoughts of waking up the next morning and facing Marshall added a sudden hiccup to her cries. At least she would have all night to compose herself. For some reason, she didn't think it would be enough.

  The door to the hall opened slowly, a dark shadow hovered at the entrance. "Can I come in?"

  Isabel nodded, her legs suddenly weak. She swayed against the wooden post of her bed, hitting it with her thigh. "Funny you should ask after what just happened."

  Marshall's face was flushed. "I just ran to my room, but before I was there for a minute, I ran right back."

  Her gaze on his feet, Isabel sniffed rudely, no handkerchief in sight.

  Marshall pulled her into his arms without saying another word. He held her quietly for a few moments. Then he said, "I'm so sorry, Isabel."

  She rested her head on his shoulder but didn't reply.

  "I'm a rake. A complete buffoon."

  Isabel hiccupped again, her forehead hot to the touch. "You can't shoulder all of the blame."

  "Of course I can. I should have known better."

  "As should I."

  With impassioned force, Marshall held her at an arm's length. "It is my responsibility to protect your honor. I failed you this evening and I'm sorry."

  The last thing she wanted was his apology. If only he wasn't too stupid to see it. Isabel pushed him away. "Don't think of it any longer."

  Marshall sighed with resignation. "Shall I put you to bed?"

  Though she knew it wasn't what he meant, his arms beckoned her like shelter during a storm. Her lack of control shattered her illusion of security. As before, all he had to do was ask. Isabel stalled, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

  "Actually, I probably shouldn't stay any longer," he interrupted.

  Obviously, he didn't know what he wanted any more than she did. She leaned toward him and asked, "Why is that, Marshall?"

  He shook his head, his expression contorted in pain. "I didn't mean that, Isabel. I'll stay . . . if you want me to."

  She grabbed fistfuls of her chemise, wrinkling the delicate material. "I want to know what you want, once and for all."

  "That all depends on you."

  "I can't tell you to stay, Marshall!" She shut her eyes and squeezed them tight. "It's bad enough that I have no self-control to stop things from going further than a kiss. I can't make a decision that will risk everything."

  He grimaced. "What exactly are you afraid of losing?"

  "You don't understand anything, do you?" She thought of all the ways in which getting close to her would hurt him. The closer they became, the more she had to deceive him. But of course he didn't understand. He didn't know.

  Then she thought of the other thing that she didn't like t remember. At least that, she was more than willing to explain. She wasn't a Rotten Row prima donna available to the dandy with the most blunt. She covered her breasts with her hands. "It's not so much what I might lose, but what I'll never gain."

  Marshall paced, his footsteps loud on the paneled floor. "I can't do anything about that."

  She stared at him, not wanting to blink and let fresh tears spill down her cheeks. "You're only limited by your assumptions."

  "I can't marry you, Isabel."

  "And I can't offer you everything I possess without you giving me something in return."

  He spun toward her. "I suppose I was under the mistaken impression that the pleasure would be mutual."

  She pressed back against the end of the bed. "I didn't mean to suggest that it wouldn't be."

  "Then why are you treating it as a damned bargaining chip?" His boots squeaked across the floor, each footfall louder than the last. "I thought what we had was something more than yet another bid for marriage."

  "Don't insult me, Marshall. You're not the only one who is confused. On my behalf, I thought we had something that was more than yet another weekend of sport."

  He wiped his brow with the end of his shirt, leaving damp marks on its crisp surface. "It was something more than sport, Isabel. But it was not an engagement."

  "Then please explain it to me."

  "I don't understand you." He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her closer to him, but still kept her away from his heart. "I never spoke of marriage. Did you think you could convince me to change my mind once I was wrapped around your little finger?"

  Her eyes finally overflowed. Unbeknownst to him, he was putting painful pressure on her gunshot wound. She couldn't take both the emotional and the physical in one night. She slapped his hands away. "The simple truth is, I never had a plan at all."

  He stared down at the hands she'd forcefully removed from her body. "So that's it then?"

  She swallowed, the effort disorienting and painful. "Yes. That's it."

  Marshall stormed down the hallway, each of his footsteps echoing like a gunshot.

  * * *

  Isabel took only one step into the morning room before being frozen in her tracks. "Marshall."

  He looked up from the table, his fork poised in mid-air. He dropped his silverware and pushed his chair away from the table. "Don't mind me. I was just leaving."

  She hurried in and picked a plate off the sideboard to keep her hands busy. "You haven't even finished your breakfast. Please stay."

  He shook his head. "I have some business I need to attend to."

  "That can't wait the extra few minutes?"

  "No."

  "Oh. Then I'm sorry that I've kept you." She deposited her plate on the table, taking special care not to meet his eyes.

  He crossed the room, passing behind her chair so fast that she felt a whoosh of air. "This was your decision, Isabel. You wanted it to be this way."

  "I didn't realize that 'this way' would be so uncomfortable," she replied.

  "Uncomfortable. Is that what you call it?"

  "Well--"

  "Don't worry. I shall do everything in my power to make sure you never feel that way again."

  She turned to glare at him over the high back of the dining room chair. "You are determined to misunderstand everything I say!"

  He buttoned his coat with shaking hands. "I think I have a firm grasp of your feelings for me."

  "And what of your feelings for me?"

  "As you've told me many times before, they are not very proper." He gave a flamboyant bow. "I've suddenly decided to work on my manners."

  Isabel started to shake. She held one hand with the other and turned back to her breakfast.

  * * *

  Marshall stomped down the hall, his mind racing at an absurdly fast rate. How did she make him feel so low? He kicked a cleaning bucket out of his path, sending a downstairs ma. Howcurrying.

  When he thought about how she'd consumed his thoughts for weeks, it was such a waste. If she was only able to see his him as a husband, she must not think very highly of him. Husbands did not shower one with affection. Husbands spent every night at the club, drinking and playing billiards.

  He didn't want to leave Isabel at home to play billiards!

  He threw open the door to the study, smiling when it crashed into the wall.

  Edward jumped to his feet. "What the hell is wrong with yo
u?"

  "That damn woman! Why didn't I listen to you?"

  "Why don't you ever listen to me?" Edward threw the papers he held in his hand onto the desk and approached him. "What happened now?"

  "Nothing." He fell into one of the chair, then placed his head in his hands. "She's just so . . . vexing."

  "I thought she meant nothing to you."

  With remorse, he stared into the fireplace. "That's not completely true."

  Edward moved into his line of vision. "Not completely or not at all?"

  "That's not important right now."

  "What is important, Marshall?" Edward shook his head and came to sit on the arm of Marshall's chair. "Listen, I'm taking the family to Woodland Manor. I think you should stay."

  Separating him from Isabel. Of all the ways he'd thought to fix the situation, he'd never thought of leaving her. Marshall stared at the fire, getting lost in the crackling flames. "I suppose you're right, but--"

  "I am right." He placed his hand on Marshall's back, just like he would have before he married Jane. "With some distance, you'll return to your senses."

  * * *

  "Miss Balfour, my husband and I have taken our time deciding what we would do now that the season is over."

  Isabel stood in front of Jane Templeton, knowing there were a multitude of things she could wish to speak to her about. Post-season plans were among the least intimidating. She released the breath she'd been holding. "Yes."

  "After much thought and discussion, we've decided to go to the country house. It's so nice to get away at this time of year."

  Isabel nodded.

  Mrs. Templeton adjusted the skirt of her expensive, Parisian dress. "We would like it if you would come with us to continue teaching Paige."

  "In what part of the country is the house?"

  "Manchester," she replied simply. "Your position will be much the same. Do you ride?"

  "Yes."

  Her eyes widened. "Wonderful. You will be able to take advantage of the stable. I think you'll have a lovely time."

  "Of course, I'll come with you, Mrs. Templeton," she replied, as though she had another choice.

  "I should also mention that Mr. Templeton will not be joining us," Jane added.