The Hidden Heiress - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  "So you'd risk your reputation, your position in the parliament, just to have an affair with me? Or, better yet, would you lose your shot at junior lord completely to marry me?"

  His chest throbbed. "I never said anything about marriage. I don't know how I could--"

  "I know. That's why this conversation is over." Abruptly, she pulled her hands away and strode toward the door. But she fiddled with the lock for too long. Marshall pulled her away before she'd worked it open.

  "I demand to know about Cyril. Is he your lover?"

  She struggled to free herself from his grasp. "No, of course not!"

  "Then was he once your lover? If he jilted you--"

  "Don't be foolish," she cried. "It's nothing like that."

  Even as she tried to escape him, Marshall's heart softened for her. He pulled her closer to him, which only made the throbbing in his groin worse. "Is this man trying to hurt you? Do you owe him money?"

  Now silent, she shook her head.

  "Is he blackmailing you? Does he know a secret that you desperately want to keep hidden?" Marshall wanted to shake her, anything to knock some sense into her female brain. "I can help you with him. We can get through this together. Just tell me!"

  "You don't know what you're asking," she growled. "Don't you think I want help? I need all the assistance I can get! But I haven't asked for your help before now for a very good reason. Can't you just accept that?"

  "No." He took a deep breath, finding it difficult to control his temper. "I can't."

  "You are going to have to."

  He reached up to caress her silky hair. "I don't want to lose you because of your stubbornness."

  She twitched her head away from his hand. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Just being stubborn?"

  "No, you're right. There must be more to your reticence than that."

  "Really?" she replied, her eyes wide. "Could it actually be possible?"

  "Of course. I happen to think you're a very intelligent, albeit conniving, woman."

  Isabel pushed him away, her eyes shooting fire. "Just mind your own damn business."

  He stared at her in shock, not moving as he watched her unlatch the door. He had every right to demand information from her. She was practically his employee, living under his roof!

  If only he could shake her out of his mind, he would be a happy man. But whatever foolish thing she did or said, he still wanted her. It was a fire burning deep in his gut, painful and inextinguishable.

  He couldn't stop thinking about the night he'd pinned her to her bed, consequences be damned. Unfortunately, his mind was flooded with images of what happened later. He drove his fingernails into his palms, wishing they were long enough to wound. She still wasn't willing to forgive him for the things he'd said. How might he convce her to see things his way?

  It all made him determined not to let her out of his sight. He refused to give up until she told him what she was up to and how he could protect her from it.

  * * *

  Isabel had her hand on the door to Mrs. Templeton's compartment when two strong hands grabbed her from behind. She gasped, wanting to scream, but not wanting to cause a scene. She would be the one who looked bad, not Marshall.

  They always blamed the help.

  Marshall pulled her back into the next compartment and shut the door.

  She backed away from him. "You're behaving like an animal. Someone on the platform might have seen."

  "I demand to know what's going on, Isabel."

  If she were to tell him the truth, she supposed the first thing she would have to confess would be her real name. The thought made her want to run for the door. Isabel gazed down at the floor, not wanting to meet his angry stare. "Nothing is going on."

  He laughed, and his eyes revealed what he truly thought of her response. "I don't believe that for a second."

  "Why not?"

  "You wouldn't be acting so guilty if you had nothing to hide."

  "No?"

  "No."

  She took another step toward the window. "And what makes you the expert?"

  He just smiled. "You shouldn't be afraid of me. I'm not the one who's acting like a criminal."

  "I am not acting like a criminal."

  "Then tell me what you've been doing with this Cyril. If you're in danger, I deserve to know."

  She covered her face with her hands, wanting to sob until he listened. He couldn't bully her until she told him everything. What did she even know of him? Certainly, he had his own secrets.

  Unfortunately, Marshall was determined to discover everything she kept hidden. He refused to believe her claim that nothing was amiss. Words were cheap.

  Clearly, a different approach was necessary. Isabel left the window, stood in front of him and ran her fingertips down his arm, pinning him with her gaze. "Why are you being so bad-tempered?" she whispered.

  His muscles relaxed beneath her hand. "I'm worried about you."

  "Well, you can stop worrying. I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself." She squeezed his upper arm, tingling all over when she felt him clench his muscles.

  Marshall moved closer, his chest only a hint away from her own. "It's nice to be alone again. I wasn't sure we'd have another opportunity."

  "That's because you were trying to make sure that it never happened again."

  "I was a fool. Did my behavior upset you?"

  She nodded. "Yes, it did. It would have been lonely in the country without you."

  He pulled her hard against him, knocking the breath out of her. "Maybe you'd meet someone at one of my sister-in-law's lavish parties. Would you like that?"

  "No."

  He nodded and ran his hand up and down her back. "I wouldn't like it either. Not since knowing the feel of you in my arms."

  Isabel arched to his touch and shook her head.

  He brushed his lips against her cheek. "Not since knowing your kiss."

  Her entire body tingled.

  Marshall held her lips between his teeth, gently pulling them into his mouth. He made a growling sound as he did it, traveling a fine line between control and chaos.

  Her entire body ached for him, even though she hadn't forgotten how he'd just been arrogantly demanding that she tell him her every secret. It didn't matter. She was in his arms and it was where she wanted to stay. Being with him like that made her feel important, like she really mattered to someone.

  He nibbled her neck. "You make me feel . . . animalistic," he moaned. "I could tear you apart if I'm not careful."

  Common sense warred with her desire as she listened to his words. She should have been frightened by such a comment, but she was all the more aroused. She breathed heavily in his ear. "I need you."

  The moment the words came out of her mouth, she feared that she'd said the wrong thing. But seconds later she knew it was right. He didn't pull away, not even to breathe. Marshall just backed her toward the couch, his fervor increased.

  He pressed her hard against the compartment's long, narrow bench. She felt cushions straining against the back of her knees, even through her petticoats. Slowly, he lowered her back toward the wall. "Isabel, I don't understand what you do to me . . ."

  Her legs gave out and they fell onto the soft bench. Once horizontal, he reached for her skirts.

  But she forgot what his hand was doing when he began seducing her mouth with his lithe tongue, twisting around her own in a passionate game. She returned his kisses heartily, her heart rising to her throat with each movement.

  Marshall glanced down at her exposed petticoats, his eyes fiery. "I'd thought I glimpsed scarlet earlier. I'm pleased to discover that I was correct."

  "Then you'll be even happier when you see my corset," she ventured.

  He groaned. "I'd like to see it now."

  She nodded, but he didn't move to unbutton her bodice. She ached when he lifted her petticoats and she felt his hand on her bare leg.

  "So soft," he said, caressing higher up her leg.

&
nbsp; She felt vulnerable and safe. Too safe. She had to say something, anything but the truth. Else she was afraid she'd confess everything to him. "Show me what I do to you, Marshall."

  He fumbled with the buttons on her bodice, one of them popping off and rolling across the compartment floor. He exposed her lacy camisole and pulled it apart too. She heard a slight ripping sound, but paid it no mind.

  She was in love with him. Gloriously, completely, in love with him.

  A knock on the door sent them scrambling to their feet. Isabel hastily adjusted her clothing. Her cheeks burned at the thought of someone catching them. To imagine what they had just been doing! It was even worse than that night in her bedroom. She would never be able to look Marshall in the eye again. "Who could that be?" she whispered.

  The knock sounded again.

  "Probably my brother," Marshall whispered back, helping her hold together her ripped camisole. "I'm so sorry. I'll replace it."

  Isabel didn't reply to his apology and hoped that her ruining her blouse was the only thing he regretted doing. Then she thought of Edward Templeton and his insulting assumptions whenever they met. "Oh, Marshall . . . he'll know exactly what we've been up to."

  "Just get dressed," Marshall replied. "I'll take care of it."

  She nodded to him, trying to believe in his assurances. But she didn't know how he could convince his brother that their time spent in the compartment, alone, was innocent. It was useless to even try.

  When she'd nearly finished closing her bodice, she realized that she'd lost the button. "My button," she said, searching the floor.

  "Just cover the gap with your hand. If we wait any longer before opening the door, we'll never live it down."

  Isabel nodded again.

  Marshall opened the door with a welcoming smile on his face.

  "Paige!" he said, obviously startled. "I thought it would be--"

  "Easier to open these foolish doors," Isabel finished for him, practically gasping with relief.

  Chapter 11

  Moments later, Isabel was back in the women's compartment, trying not to blush under the observation of Mrs. Templeton.

  "Forgot to get your newspaper?"

  Isabel's entire body froze, while her mind raced to make up a suitable lie. "Yes, I forgot. After walking around all this time, I felt better and forgot what I'd left the compartment to get in the first place."

  "You must be under some sort of stress," Jane replied, "to be so forgetful."

  She thought of Paige running next door to see her uncle. "I suppose Paige running into me on her way to the other compartment also made me forget my purpose."

  Jane pursed her lips. "I would caution you against getting involved with your emloyer, Miss Balfour."

  Isabel met her gaze without looking away, trying not to appear guilty. "By employer, do you mean Mr. Marshall Templeton?" she asked, stalling for time.

  Jane Templeton nodded.

  "I am not involved with Mr. Templeton."

  "Don't lie to me, Miss Balfour. I'm not stupid." She looked at her like she was something unpleasant stuck on the bottom of her boot. "I implore you to take my advice seriously. I am not trying to be cruel or hard."

  "I understand, Mrs. Templeton." Her hands quivered in her lap. "Mr. Templeton and I have certainly struck up a friendship, but nothing else--"

  "You must know that nothing could ever come of it," she continued. "And one cannot give these things away for free, you know."

  Isabel fought the words that were about to come out of her mouth, but her impulsive nature won out. "If there was something going on, what makes you so sure that nothing could come of it?"

  Mrs. Templeton laughed. "Because it's not appropriate. Marshall will marry a woman of his rank."

  "Marshall shall marry whomever he pleases."

  Mrs. Templeton's eyes narrowed in concern. "The woman that will please Marshall will be a woman of quality. Nothing less. I'm quite sorry if he's given you a different impression."

  Isabel took a deep breath and held her lips together to prevent her eyes from burning. She tried not to blink as she replied, "You can be assured that there is nothing between Mr. Templeton and I."

  "I'm glad to hear it," she said, obviously accustomed to reprimanding her dependents. "Though I find your assurance a little difficult to believe."

  "It's true. If there is anything between us, it is mere flirtation."

  "I suppose that's innocent enough."

  Isabel nodded.

  "Just make sure it stays that way." Jane shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "You must understand that I also do not want you setting a poor example for my daughter. I am not telling you these things to hurt you."

  "I understand."

  Mrs. Templeton looked away.

  Isabel stood and retrieved her traveling case from the rack above her head. "If you'll excuse me," she said, "I shall fix my chignon. It was quite windy on the platform."

  Her employer nodded imperiously, not looking at her. "Perhaps you'll also be able to repair your bodice."

  Isabel cringed, not having to look down to know what she was referring to. How could she have forgotten to fix her button? Fool.

  Isabel knew her reply would only make her appear worse and she buried her head in her case, searching for the pins to fix her hair. Jane couldn't be a more effective mood killer.

  Her hands shook as she fixed her hair. Even though reality may have been different from the lie she was living, Mrs. Templeton still made her feel like a peasant. Jane must have practiced her belittling techniques. She certainly had it down to an art.

  She'd managed to make an heiress feel like a beggar.

  But telling Jane she was a ladyship and therefore outranked both Marshall and herself, was unappealing. She'd much rather prove Jane wrong by announcing her engagement to Marshall. You see, Isabel would say, Marshall loves me enough to overlook my position.

  But that wasn't reality. Isabel didn't even know if Marshall loved her.

  Paige finally returned to the compartment and moments later, the train chugged back into motion. Silence pervaded the car, making it all the more difficult to avoid her thoughts.

  Love.

  One more obstacle in the mess that was her life.

  * * *

  "Paige, I'm not going to let you avoid me forever," Isabel said, entering the drawing room.

  When Isabel approached, Paige hung her head lower and continued to work on the scrapbook spread out on the small table front of her.

  "Aren't you going to say anything?" she demanded. After two days in the country house being ignored by everyone, Isabel was no longer concerned with embarrassing Paige mbarr words. She went straight to the point. "You overheard my conversation with your father."

  Paige snipped furiously with a small pair of scissors. "Yes."

  "How much did you hear?"

  "Enough."

  Isabel took a deep breath and approached the table. "And you heard me say something you didn't approve of?"

  She banged on a picture that wouldn't glue to the page. "No."

  "Then what is the problem?" Isabel threw up her hands, glaring down at Paige. "I care about you, Paige. If you're upset with me, I would like to know why. I don't appreciate the silent treatment, and while I haven't told your mother about that prank you played on your uncle and I--"

  The scissors clattered onto the table. "I don't have a problem with you, Miss Balfour!"

  Isabel pulled one of the table's other chairs closer to Paige then sat down. "Then what's wrong?"

  She looked down at her scrapbook. "I didn't believe you when you used to say you weren't involved with my father."

  "But you do now?"

  "I heard your conversation." She slowly turned the page. "There's no doubt in my mind you're innocent."

  "I'm glad you finally know it."

  "I am too, but . . ."

  Isabel waited patiently, the mantel clock ticked loudly in the silence.

  Paige exhaled. Magaz
ine clippings soared across the table. "I'm sorry I treated you poorly."

  "That's all right." She touched Paige's hand and held it even while she flinched. "Though it's wrong to assume things, I understand you were accustomed to your governesses dallying with your father. How were you to know it wasn't a common practice?"

  Paige laughed, her tiny lips trembling. "I should have known that it wasn't a coincidence. My father always helped choose my governesses, probably judging which would be best for his purposes."

  The man had no shame. Isabel shook her head. "That's terrible, Paige."

  "I get so angry at my mother! How could she be so blind?"

  "Maybe she doesn't know how to stop it."

  Paige flipped the scrapbook open to a previous page and ripped out an elementary drawing of Edward. "I hate my father."

  "Paige . . ."

  "I do. I'm never getting married. I don't even like boys."

  Isabel couldn't help but smile. "I felt the same way when I was your age."

  "How do you feel now?"

  She resisted telling her that nothing had changed. The truth was, she hadn't changed her opinion until she met Marshall. No man that had come before him had been able to coax her into marriage. Being a considerable heiress, there had been many offers.

  Isabel scooted closer to Paige. "Though I don't think I'll ever have the opportunity to marry, I no longer detest the idea."

  Sympathy flooded Paige's eyes. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. I believed my father had seduced you and I wanted so much to hate you."

  "I forgive you, Paige. I'm just happy that you're finally on my side. I don't have anyone else."

  Paige accepted her proffered hug and rested her head on Isabel's shoulder. "I don't have anyone either."

  "How can you say that?"

  She pulled away. "Mama and papa are ghosts. They're too busy with their lives to pay any attention to me."

  "Perhaps we shall have to think of a way to get their attention, no?"

  Paige smiled. "You'd do that for me?"

  For the first time Isabel saw her student as she'd never seen her before. "It would be my pleasure."

  * * *

  Marshall watched Isabel leave the house, following at a discreet distance. The sunlight infused her hair, illuminating it in glowing splendor. He shook his head with shame at his thoughts. It was the same way every time he saw her. The moment she was within his view, he could think of nothing but her charms.