In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL) Page 16

  “Don’t be provoking. I could never cause discomfort to a dumb animal.”

  “Oh, couldn’t you?” Charles murmured. “Anyway, about Hugh.”

  “I discussed him on the train coming down. Didn’t you pay attention?”

  “I have to confess I was not altogether focused on your every word.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, my dear, you talk too much. And you’re too beautiful to make a man pay attention.”

  “That makes no sense at all. If you think I’m beautiful—which is ridiculous, by the way—all the more reason for you to listen to me.” She knew she was blushing again. Damn.

  “Tell me again. I promise to be a good student this time.” He returned to the blanket and folded his hands in expectation, like a proper schoolboy waiting for his lesson.

  Louisa licked her lips nervously. The thought of Hugh always made her nervous. As a child he had tormented her, shutting her into dark closets, pulling her braids, putting insects in her bed—all the usual things little boys did to little girls. But when he got to be a big boy, instead of insects she often found Hugh himself in her bed, trying to persuade her to surrender her virtue. He’d been perfectly wild when she’d tossed said virtue away on Sir Richard Delacourt. He did not understand why she didn’t want to do the same with him until she had held a gun on him.

  “Aunt Grace encouraged Hugh to court me. To keep the fortune in the family, so to speak. After a while, his courting crossed the line. Several lines. I—I did not feel safe. I suppose I thought Sir Richard would marry me and solve my problems.”

  “The swine. Both of them.”

  “Well, to be fair we were all very young, and Hugh was heavily influenced by his mother. If he’d been successful in compromising me, then I could have no objections to the marriage, could I? My brief affair with Sir Richard threw a spanner in the works, and then he did not come up to scratch. He’d met my friend Lady Blanche Calthorpe here at Rosemont, who was richer even than I, and well connected besides. Her father is an earl.” Louisa took a breath. She had not been asked to be a bridesmaid.

  “But I still refused to marry Hugh after Richard wed. No matter what he tried—and failed—to do. After a while, he went back to university and I stayed locked in my room. His efforts recently have been very halfhearted. I think he’s given up, even if his mother hasn’t.”

  “I don’t understand. You say the Westlakes are well-off.”

  Louisa nodded.

  “Then why do they want your money?”

  “Don’t you know, Charles? One can never be too rich. And I think for Grace there is a certain justice in getting back her childhood home through her son and grandchildren. Quite frankly, I’d just as soon sell Rosemont to them and start fresh somewhere else.”

  Give up her home? Where on earth had that idea come from? It must be the wine talking.

  Though why not? It was not as though Louisa had many happy memories of being raised here. She could build a new estate and gather her own collections of paintings and furniture and china. Modern things—she loved the graceful Art Nouveau styles she’d seen in Paris.

  Charles stared at her. “Really? You’d give up the gargoyles? And I don’t mean your Aunt Grace.”

  “Rosemont is just bricks and mortar. I expect the relatives and hangers-on wouldn’t want to move with me, though I’m not sure about Isobel. Grace has put up with her this long, but not always cheerfully. She loathes Americans. And Isobel is . . . Isobel.”

  A flutter within told her she might have accidentally come up with the perfect solution to everything. Hell, she could give Rosemont to Grace—it wasn’t as if Louisa needed the money once she got her little banking difficulty straightened out. “But don’t say anything yet to Grace or Hugh. Let this idea percolate a little.”

  “Louisa.” He was still looking at her intently. “Why would you give up your inheritance? This was your parents’ home.”

  “And they died right out there.” She gestured beyond the rocks. She had not let herself think about her parents drowning on her doorstep all day.

  He reached over and took her hand. “Don’t do anything rash. Rosemont could be a happy home for you, for your children. The past doesn’t have to—”

  He stopped and gave her a twisted smile. “Who am I to lecture you about the past? I’ve got my own demons.”

  Louisa smiled back. “Maybe we should lecture each other. Take turns.”

  “Remember, you’re too beautiful. It’s impossible for me to pay attention to you.”

  “Silly man.” He continued to hold her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. It was comforting, and Louisa wished they could stay in this sheltered spot all afternoon. Just as friends. Good friends. She liked Charles Cooper very much.

  But after a gentle squeeze, he dropped her hand. “I’ll help you pack up. Now that Pirate’s equine equanimity has been restored, we should explore the rest of the estate. You have no specific plans for the afternoon, do you? No sticking Aunt Grace with a knitting needle over tea?”

  “I don’t knit. I’m afraid I don’t possess the usual feminine arts.”

  “You’re feminine enough for me,” Charles said, sweeping up the wrappers from their lunch and returning them to the bag. Louisa was sorry to see him put his gloves back on—there was something very attractive about his broad, warm hands, nicked and scarred though they were.

  He did not have a gentleman’s hands, she realized with a start. Would they give his identity away? Maximillian Norwich was a man of leisure and refinement.

  Louisa much preferred Charles Cooper.

  Chapter

  21

  It had been a near thing after lunch. All Charles had wanted to do was tip Louisa back on the blanket and kiss her senseless.

  Do more.

  He’d never removed trousers from a lady before, but how hard could it be? After all, he undressed himself every night. But he had promised Louisa—promised himself—to avoid unwanted intimacy.

  Well, he wanted it, that was certain. He wondered if she noticed how hard he was as he lifted her on top of Emerald. Charles had held her longer than was strictly necessary, even after she assured him she could mount the horse perfectly well by herself.

  For a long hour, he’d watched her bite into the white flesh of her apple and imagined those teeth somewhere else. Watched her tip her golden head back and swallow her wine. Watched her lick the sticky fruitcake off her fingertips.

  Lunch had been agony. For a man who had been dead to women’s charms for more than a year, he was suddenly—uncomfortably—alive.

  Time to tame the unruly beast within. He had a job to do—to support her against her family. Charles had made the first inroads and would continue to behave as Louisa wanted, though he wasn’t sure she should give up her home so easily. If he possessed an estate like Rosemont, it would pain him to sell it.

  Of course, he’d never own such a place. He’d be lucky to get his old room back at Mrs. Jarvis’s when this was all over.

  What would he do with the rest of his life? For Charles was fairly certain he didn’t want to put a period to his existence now. Funny how one night with a beautiful girl could cheer him up so. He felt almost happy—sexually frustrated, of course, but it was exhilarating riding across Louisa’s property.

  They’d climbed up the beach path and set off to the west over the fields. The landscape spread before them like a gray-green quilt, marked here and there by tenant cottages and hedgerows. Charles’s heart had been in his throat as Louisa had sailed over bushes and fences. She was an excellent horsewoman despite the fact she’d been deprived of riding for so long. He let her get ahead of him, enjoying the view of her flying braid and her occasional backward glances. The sun felt as warm as summer, and Christmas seemed very far off.

  Red-cheeked, Louisa waited for him beneath a copse of trees.
“I am going to take you to the Hermit’s Grotto now. It was a folly of my grandfather’s design. I think truly it started out as an abandoned shepherd’s hut, but he made improvements to it. It’s just over the rise.”

  Charles couldn’t help but laugh when he saw the collection of rocks and stunted trees hard against a small hill. An amazingly ugly gargoyle stood sentry in front of a low opening to a stone and daub outbuilding. There was no door, but a window covered thick with ivy gave a hint to the building’s original purpose.

  “That’s Randolph,” Louisa said, pointing to the winged creature.

  “What was your grandfather’s fascination with gargoyles? They’re everywhere.”

  “I’m not sure. He even put them on his bank building in London. There’s an architectural reason for them, you know—they divert rainwater from running down the building and damaging the mortar. And in medieval times, churches used them to frighten their illiterate congregation. If one didn’t behave, one need only look at the image of evil everywhere and reform. Technically Randolph is a grotesque since he’s not a waterspout.”

  “Very interesting. I never learned that at Harrow.”

  “I didn’t learn anything in school, either. I only went the one year to be ‘finished,’ and it was incredibly insipid. Walking around with books on my head instead of reading them. Whitework. Organizing menus. I ask you.”

  “Sounds gruesome.”

  Louisa clipped him on the arm. “Don’t mock me. I had a governess, but she didn’t know much. I’ve had to educate myself.”

  “Brava.” That might explain her interest in newfangled ideas, Dr. Freud and such.

  “Women should be educated,” she went on. “How can one raise a family when one is ignorant?”

  “Do you want a family?” Charles asked carefully.

  Louisa looked away. “I used to, as all girls do. But I’ve since realized my freedom is more important.”

  “You think women should have the vote.”

  “Of course I do! And we will.”

  “You ladies will just vote for the most handsome face.” She was so easy to tease. He felt the immediate poke of her riding crop to his ribs.

  “Women can already vote in some local elections and serve on boards. We need universal suffrage. The male sex does not hold exclusive rights to intelligence and industry.”

  “No, we do not. I’ve met my share of dunderheads.” What an understatement that was, Charles thought.

  “There. You see.” She looked disappointed that he wouldn’t argue with her.

  “I do see.” She was so lovely, bristling with indignation. Tiny damp curls framed her forehead. Charles longed to test their springiness between his fingers. Instead, he touched Randolph’s spiky granite wing. “What is he guarding?”

  “Nothing much. There’s just a little room inside. We’d have tea parties here when I was little.”

  “We’ve still got some wine left. Why don’t we go in?”

  Charles didn’t wait. He ducked his head below the open entryway. It was dark inside, with a strong scent of damp and earth. A crude hand-hewn table sat in the middle of the low-ceilinged room, with only one dusty chair beside it.

  Louisa trailed a gloved finger on the table’s surface. “Huh. There used to be four chairs here.”

  “Someone has helped themselves.” Charles gave a violent sneeze.

  “I haven’t been out this way in years. It is very different than I remembered. There were cushions. An old rug.”

  “Carted off or rotted away, I expect. Randolph is not a very trustworthy watchdog. Or should I say watchlizard? He does have a reptilian look about him.” He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and dusted off the seat. “Perfect for the princess. I’ll go get the wine.”

  Once outside, Charles took a great gulp of fresh air and went to the tethered horses. There was a little less than half the bottle of burgundy left. No point to bringing it back home.

  When he returned to the little hut, Louisa was not sitting but was peering out the ivy-covered window. “I used to meet Sir Richard here,” she said, her voice dull.

  “If the place holds unpleasant memories for you, we should go.”

  “No. I need to face them. Who I was. What I did.”

  “Louisa, you didn’t do anything that a thousand other curious girls haven’t done. You were lucky there were no consequences, except, of course, for your imprisonment. You’ve suffered enough, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose. I know my problems are nothing to most people’s. I had a roof over my head. Clothes and food. A library.”

  He put his arm around her. “So you could educate yourself. You’ll have to show me your favorite books later.”

  She leaned into him, warm and fragrant with violets, perspiration, and horse. Charles would not have expected the scent to be so arousing. “All right. Do you like to read?”

  “I used to.” It had been a long while since he’d taken pride in besting the other boys at Harrow. He’d not been able to find any solace in books since Africa. Couldn’t afford them anyhow.

  “There are many tempting books at Rosemont.”

  He looked down at her lovely flushed face. “There are many temptations at Rosemont. Starting with you.”

  The wine was forgotten as he kissed her, this time with more tenderness than desperate urgency.

  Though Lord knew he was desperate enough.

  She opened to him, shivering a little in the cool dark of the grotto. This kissing business was getting to be habitual. Charles supposed they should save the affection for when they could be observed, to continue to perpetrate their fraud, but these private exchanges of tongues were far more satisfying.

  Louisa tasted of hope and regret and fruitcake. He was afraid he was going quite, quite mad, for surely hope and regret were not flavors. But her emotions blanketed him in drugging honey. Charles knew her now in a way that would have been inconceivable just yesterday.

  There was no place to toss her down to have his wicked way. The rough table was out of the question—her arse was much too lovely for splinters and grime. They should ride back to the house. Seek the huge bed and pleasure each other until dinnertime.

  He detached with reluctance. He had promised. As a gentleman, he could not compromise her further. If their deception was exposed, she never would live it down. Charles had no doubt that this time, Grace Westlake would have her way, possibly lock up Louisa somewhere far more grim than Rosemont, with real, white-coated gargoyles to keep her confined.

  Sweet Jesus. Maybe he should really marry her. They wouldn’t have to live together, but if he were her legal husband he could protect her from the predations of her family.

  Louisa looked up at him. “Why did you stop?”

  “I stopped because I didn’t want to stop.”

  “Th-thank you. It seems I lose my head around you.”

  As it should be. Charles’s own head was rolling around somewhere in a fantasy land. “Let’s finish off the wine. But not in here—the air’s too close.” The memories too fresh and unpleasant even after all the time passed.

  He led her outside and leaned against Randolph, setting the wineglasses against the gargoyle’s flat head. “You pour. I’m about to sneeze again.” He fished out a handkerchief—monogramed MN—and trumpeted. Her hands shook a little as she filled the tumblers with the last of the garnet liquid.

  Charles took a sip, then put the glass down. “Have you ever thought of marrying? I mean, since you were a naïve young miss with stars in your eyes over that rotter Sir Richard.”

  She shook her head. “Never. I’ll not be bullied by some man.”

  “What if the man was not a bully, someone you could trust to keep you safe?”

  “I’ve never met anyone like that.”

  “Never?” He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smi
le.

  She put her drink down, too. “What are you saying, Charles?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m worried about you. If we made this real”—he waved his arm between them—“then no one could bother you.”

  “Except for you.”

  Damn. She was being logical. What could he expect? This was hardly a romantic proposal.

  “I wouldn’t bother you. We wouldn’t even have to stay together. You could have your independence—I know how important that is to you. But you’d have the protection of my name. Grace couldn’t touch you or your fortune.”

  Her face was very pale. “You’re not joking?”

  “On my honor, I am not.”

  “Is this because of last night? Do you have some ridiculous need to do your duty after—after what we did? I should tell you, I set out to seduce you. Quite deliberately.” She raised her chin and gave him a challenging stare.

  He grinned. “You succeeded. You don’t have to give me an answer now. Perhaps you can arrange things without the drastic step of marrying me or anybody else. But I’m offering my support.”

  “But not your love.”

  Charles didn’t think he had any love to give. But he was awfully fond of Louisa Stratton despite his best intentions to resist her. “You could look upon it as an extension of our current contract. I wouldn’t expect any access to your money, however.” Or your bed. It might kill him, if her relatives didn’t accomplish the job first.

  “I’d be a feme sole anyway, no longer a feme covert. My money belongs to me. The Married Women’s Property Act passed in 1882.”

  “I see you know more about the legalities than I do.”

  “I’ve had to look them up. Though if I married Hugh, I know he’d try to do something tricky.”

  “You are not going to be pressured into marrying Hugh.”

  “I’m not going to be pressured into marrying anybody, including you.” She’d gone from being soft in his arms to prickly. He’d done this all wrong. The idea was so new to him he should have given it more forethought.