The Hidden Heiress - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  She appeared to be surprised. Why would his question shock her? Perhaps it was something else. After hesitating a few tension-filled moments, Isabel frowned and said, "One of my cousin's recently passed away."

  "I'm terribly sorry to hear that." Marshall pushed the heavy, mahogany chair closer to her. "How did it happen? Was it unexpected?"

  "Quite unexpected . . ." Isabel stared into space. It was doubtful she even realized she hadn't answered his entire question.

  "Does this have something to do with Cyril?"

  "No," she quickly replied. A little too quickly.

  As usual, the thought that Cyril was a former lover of hers made him queasy. He leaned back in the chair and it creaked in protest. "I'm sorry I asked."

  "It was a strange question. How could Cyril be involved? Does he look like a murderer to you?" she demanded, her voice oddly high-pitched.

  "Of course not. I meant nothing like that."

  Isabel's gaze jumped around the library. She pushed back her chair. "I really should get to bed."

  He couldn't agree more. Unfortunately, she probably didn't agree that they should go to that place together. Marshall rose to his feet. "Shall I walk you to your bedroom?"

  "Please don't," she replied. "I wouldn't want anyone to think anything amiss."

  It was too late for that.

  Isabel hurried out of the library without once looking back.

  Marshall stared out the open door, determining one thing for certain; by the end of the ball, she would be his.

  Chapter 12

  Isabel was floating.

  She entered the ballroom bedecked in scarlet, from low-cut bodice and cinched waist to black velvet piping circling the hem of her magnificently full skirt. Her raven hair was arranged in elaborate curls, all pinned strategically at the base of her neck.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man watch her, his mouth hanging wide open. She knew her dress would garner notice. That was the idea.

  She had a plan for everyone that evening. Marshall wasn't excluded. He would see how far from a simple, dull governess she was, even before she told him the truth. Though after tonight, she wouldn't have to tell him. He'd know.

  She spun around, a precarious feeling tickling her senses. In the corner, a man watched her. A pirate. He wore a flowing black cape and dark eye patch. His lips turned up in a scurrilous leer as he beckoned her over.

  Mesmerized, Isabel started to glide across the parquet floor. She didn't even question his demand. And why would she? He was just the man she'd been dying to see.

  "Marshall," she whispered when she reached his side.

  He shook his head. "Who is Marshall? I am Captain Marco."

  A spark of excitement started deep within her stomach. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Captain Marco. From across the room, I had mistaken you for someone else."

  He ran his middle finger across one, paint-darkened eyebrow. "But how could you? I am one of a kind."

  "I can see that."

  "Would you like to join me for the next waltz, Miss--"

  "Your highness," she replied imperiously. "I am the Queen of Hearts."

  "But of course!" he gasped. "I should have known."

  "Why is that?"

  "Because you've stolen my heart already." He offered her his arm.

  She grasped it. "Is it safe for you to be here? I wouldn't want you to be captured by the authorities."

  He laughed and threw his head back with force. "I run from no man."

  She wished she could claim the same, yet the dangerous element to her plan excited her as much as it troubled her. She squeezed Marshall's arm and gazed up into his dark eyes. "And what if I have someone to fear. Will you protect me too?"

  Marshall's eyes were filled with desire. "From anything. I will never leave your side."

  "Then let's waltz."

  They slipped into the energetic melee. She danced with him; the feel of his body intimately close reminded her of the night in her bedroom. His cape swirled around their dancing bodies, pulling her in like a seductive web. Two emotions, desire and fear battled for acknowledgement in her befuddled brain. She forced them both away. It was her night. She would not allow memories, good or bad, to steal it from her.

  All she had was the present. Her desperate plan to take her life back and her impulsive plan to give a little girl her parents. She couldn't fail. But that would come later.

  At that delightful, perfect moment, all she could see was Marshall.

  Captain Marco.

  * * *

  Isabel fit so well in his arms, Marshall knew she was meant to be there.

  He spun her around the shiny dance floor, oblivious to all around them. The meek governess was gone, if she had ever existed in the first place. Isabel was sophisticated and splendid, making all the rest of the female guests look like poor imitations.

  The dance ended and he hooked his arm around hers. "Would your highness care for a glass of champagne?"

  "Oh, my. You are quite gentlemanly for an offensive pirate," she replied, her eyelashes fluttered with each word.

  "Offensive pirate? I apologize and put myself at your mercy. Shall I retrieve my spare eye patch and cover the other eye as well? You will have to guide me around the ballroom, but at least I will be unable leer at your beauty, as I am wont to do." He bowed. "If that is what offends you."

  Isabel covered a laugh with her well-sculpted hand, flushing when a man noticed Marshall's silly posturing. "No. If you were blinded, I should not like it if you were to reach for my hand and seize upon something else entirely."

  "I think you should like it very much." He grinned. "Nevertheless, I can assure you that I would know the difference."

  She glanced away.

  Memories of her soft breast made his hand tingle. He pulled at his tight, white cravat. "I think refreshments are definitely in order."

  He walked behind her as they squeezed through a narrow path between some plants brought in from the garden and the hired band. His gaze dropped to her tiny waist. He marveled at its seductive appeal. What he wouldn't gie to wrap his arms around it at that moment.

  Then they were in the open again, in front of the door leading to the parlor. A man passed them to enter through the archway first.

  Isabel stopped. Her eyes were watery as they peeked through the scarlet mask.

  "What's wrong?"

  "N-nothing," she stuttered. She fanned herself and took a step backward. "I don't feel like a refreshment after all."

  He placed his hand on her arm. "I hate to disagree with a lady, but it looks like you need it."

  "I just need to sit down."

  Marshall watched her. He wondered what had brought on the sudden exhaustion. Had he said anything wrong? No, they'd been silent when she'd stopped moving. Again, he was suspicious.

  Isabel turned away. "Would you mind terribly if I found a chair and waited for you there?"

  "Of course not. I should have suggested it."

  She bit her bottom lip. "Thank you, Marshall."

  "Captain Marco, you mean," he replied, with a gallant swish of his cape. "You mistake me for someone else, your highness."

  Her luminous eyes revealed nothing of what was in her mind. "Yes, I suppose I did."

  Marshall kissed her hand before hurrying to retrieve two glasses of champagne. He worked quickly, having been struck with the odd fear that when he returned, Isabel would be gone.

  * * *

  Isabel's head spun. Cyril had passed only a few feet in front of her. If he had turned--

  She stared into the parlor Marshall had disappeared into and, with a heavy heart, hurried into the next room.

  There was no time for hesitation.

  She rushed to the cloakroom. The party was well underway. Few people would be arriving or leaving at that hour. It was unlikely she'd be interrupted.

  The maid waited by the door, chatting with the butler. She turned to Isabel when she approached. "Are you leaving, madam? Would you like me to re
trieve your cloak?"

  "No, thank you. I merely forgot something in the pocket."

  She entered the room casually, as though she had all the time in the world. But the moment she shut the door, she leapt into action. She removed the small piece of fabric from her purse and held it up to the many cloaks, wraps, and capes.

  Nothing seemed to match. She pushed another few coats down the bar and focused on anything red. Isabel sighed. She was getting nowhere.

  She heard voices outside the room, echoing in the high-ceilinged hall. They were coming closer. She stepped between two heavy fur coats and hid behind them, her back pressed against the wall. Quickly, she slid more of the coats over to where she stood.

  * * *

  "Don't, Cyril!"

  Isabel caught her breath. Her eyes widened even though all she could see was bushy, brown fur. She held down her full skirt, making sure the hem didn't peek out from under the row of coats.

  "I mean it. Someone will see us," the woman continued. "We should have gone to a room. Just because no one was watching the cloak room . . ."

  A little moan and rustling clothing indicated she'd been silenced by a kiss. Poor Bethany. Cyril had never let a girlfriend get in the way of his good time.

  Her cousin laughed in conquest. "I'm so glad I was invited to this party. I was surprised Templeton even remembered me."

  "I would have been desolate had you not made it."

  More rustling clothing. "Don't try to flatter me with pretty words. Your figure speaks for itself."

  It was silent again and Isabel felt her face heat up. They wouldn't do anything in the cloakroom. Surely her cousin had a little more class.

  The door opened. Was the woman escaping?

  "You're a bastard, Cyril!" was the next thing she heard.

  Isabel gasped and held her breath until she was sure no one had heard her. Good thing the other people in the room were too wrapped up in their own reactions to hear anything else.

  "Bethany, I thought you were dancing with Lord Bryant," ril said.

  It was Bethany then. How could Bethany have gotten into Woodland Manor? Isabel certainly hadn't penned her name on the invitation.

  "And you thought you'd take the opportunity to play scavenger hunt with Miss Stanley in the cloak room," she said.

  "I think we should return to the party before we are missed," Miss Stanley said.

  "That's the last thing you have to worry about," Bethany replied, on the verge of hysterics.

  There was movement in the room and soon the footsteps were less audible. "Yes, let's go," Cyril said. "We can discuss this later."

  The door shut behind them.

  Isabel stood there, hidden behind the coats, breathing heavily through her nose. She couldn't move. They might come back. What if they had forgotten something, dropped something? Fur tickled her nose and perspiration beaded on her forehead, but she waited.

  Finally, she forced herself to move. She climbed through the coats into the center of the room. Still gripping the tiny swatch of fabric, she forced herself to compare it to a few more coats. Nothing.

  Isabel closed her eyes tight, her stomach churned violently. Her plan had failed. It was foolish of her to believe she'd be able to prove anything with a torn piece of fabric. Good thing she had an alternate plan.

  Her heart beat faster with each breath. The alternate plan was much more dangerous, a much riskier bid for freedom. When the masquerade finished at midnight and everyone removed their masks, Isabel would too. And she'd make sure Cyril saw her. Her enemies wouldn't be able to resist the bait. They would finally know where their quarry was hiding. But there was still something they wouldn't know.

  * * *

  "Where have you been?"

  Isabel smiled. "Did you miss me?"

  Marshall made an indignant sound beneath his breath. The eye not covered by an eye patch narrowed cynically. "It was a little disconcerting to return with two glasses of champagne and find no one to share it with."

  Isabel smelled the alcohol on his breath and frowned. "I suppose you drank them both?"

  "To begin with." He grabbed her arm and pulled her closer to him, his white linen shirt tightened over his muscles. He hauled her to where their bodies would be shielded by two large plants. "So where were you?"

  "I was freshening up in my room."

  Marshall laughed without humor. "No, you weren't."

  "Why are you subjecting me to an inquisition?" Isabel caressed his arm and grinned. "I'm back now. Why don't we enjoy ourselves?"

  "You weren't in your bedroom. I looked there."

  "Did you do that before or after you drank a quarter bottle of whisky?"

  "Before." He peered around one of the plants. "You were watching someone just now."

  She yanked her arm out of his grip. "Don't be absurd."

  "Don't lie, Isabel. You're acting suspicious again. Just like in the park."

  "Yes, I remember that incident," she said. She heard the Blue Danube strike up and wished she were dancing among the other revelers. "But this time you've confronted me instead of simply following me around. Why the new approach, Marshall?"

  He reached up to his neck to adjust the cravat that wasn't there. "You can trust that I wholeheartedly wish this weren't necessary. Unfortunately, your actions signify there's something going on beyond what you're telling me."

  "I don't see why it's any of your concern."

  "I've made it my concern." He sighed. "I'm not out to persecute you. I'm sure I'll understand whatever it is you've been doing once you explain yourself."

  Isabel's heart pounded in her chest. She touched his large hands, slipping her fingers into their clasp. "I promise to explain everything soon, Marshall. Just let us enjoy this party. Tomorrow will be here soon enough."

  His nostrils flared a little when he took a deep, frustrated breath, then he exhaled with obvious resignation. "Tomorrow. I want an explanation."

  "Of course--"

  "Promise me."

  She supposed it was well past the time that she should have come clean. If she proved which of her cousins were responsible by the end of the night, then he most certainly would receive the truth. Isabel smiled optimistically. "I promise."

  His smile was at odds with his uncharacteristic costume. "Shall we dance?"

  * * *

  A game of charades was underway when Isabel and Marshall entered the parlor. Though everyone still wore their masks, it seemed they'd broken through the pretense of secrecy. Isabel recognized a few of the personages. Thankfully, since she'd never been a social butterfly, none of them knew her.

  Jane and Paige sat together but weren't playing. Paige leaned back on the chaise and frowned while her mother laughed with Lady Tremaine.

  Isabel approached them and sat on the other end of the chaise.

  Marshall stood behind her.

  "Paige, are you ready to play?" she whispered.

  "Yes," she replied, sitting a little straighter. "I'm ready."

  "When this game finishes then."

  Isabel felt Marshall's hands on her shoulders. She trembled at his touch. Jane looked at them for a moment, then looked away with raised eyebrows. Mrs. Templeton would like her even less when she put her on the spot.

  Finally, the game was over. "What shall we play next?" someone asked.

  "Why don't we play Who's Who?" Isabel suggested.

  Lady Tremaine nodded. "I'm familiar with that game. It's the one with the questions, correct?"

  Isabel nodded.

  "Let's play it then. Who are our teams?"

  "I think Paige would probably like to play," Isabel said, knowing she was pushing it. "Why don't you play with Mrs. Templeton, Paige?"

  Jane smiled wanly at Lady Tremaine. "The governess."

  "Yes, mama, I would like to play," Paige added in a sad little voice.

  "Of course we'll play, sweeting," her mother said. As if she had a choice at that point. Jane shot Isabel a nasty look while the other players paired
up.

  "This sounds like fun," Marshall said, squeezing her shoulders. "Would you be my partner?"

  All eyes on her, all she could say was, "Yes."

  They passed out small pieces of paper on which to write their responses. Lady Tremaine was the questioner and Mr. Reed, a well-known rake, was the scorekeeper.

  "The first question is this: where did your partner grow up?"

  After everyone had finished writing, Jane replied, "In this house."

  Marshall replied, "In Cheshire."

  Delighted, Isabel showed her paper. It was a match. Good thing she'd remembered her lie.

  Behind her, Marshall hummed with satisfaction. "We are going to win."

  Of course, Jane had also answered the question correctly.

  The next few questions were all easy. Even Jane knew such basics about her daughter. Most of the couples got through without any mistakes. Still, Isabel's heart beat a little faster with each of Marshall's correct responses. He had been listening to her.

  Lady Tremaine grinned. "Don't be lulled into a false sense of security," she said. "Now come the difficult questions."

  Marshall's hand caressed Isabel's back. "I'm not worried."

  "Who does your partner most admire?"

  "Her father," Jane replied.

  Paige laughed hysterically and lifted up her paper to reveal her true response. Queen Victoria.

  Jane shrugged.

  Marshall ran his fingers down her arm and said, "Miss Balfour most admires her mother."

  Isabel's eyes filled with tears. She simply nodded and showed her writing.

  Marshall bent over to her ear, his hot breath sent shivers down her spine. "I told you we would win."

  Though Isabel smiled, it was difficult to rejoice when Paige's experiment was turning out just the way they'd expected. She should have been glad of it, but instead, she wished Jane could have proved them wrong.

  Lady Tremaine went on to the next question. "What is your partner's favorite food?"

  Jane didn't have to think about that one. "joice vorite food is mince pie."

  Paige shook her head, disappointment etched in her features. "Not only is it not my favorite food, I hate mince pie."