Catch a Falling Heiress: An American Heiress in London (15 page)

She shook her head. “No, no. I meant what I said. Your income would be ceded to me, to give to you at my discretion.”

“Or withhold at your whim? Do you think any peer would agree to that?”

“They don’t have to.” She smiled. “Just you.”

“Ah, so I’m being singled out for this honor?”

“I won’t reward your despicable actions with a definite income. If I marry you—which is about as likely as pigs flying, by the way—you’ll get whatever income I decide to give you.”

“I see. So if you deign to marry me, I’ll have to beg, will I?” He shook his head, smiling. “Not bloody likely.”

If she felt any disappointment that he’d taken away her chance to bring him to heel, she didn’t show it. “Good, because even seeing you beg wouldn’t be enough to change my mind about marrying you. And now that you’ve also demonstrated that your assurances about not being a fortune hunter are false, I hope we can end this conversation?”

She moved to step around him, but he blocked her, using his superior size to keep her wedged within the little triangle formed by the tea table, Belinda’s chair, and him. “If I agreed to a provision like that, I wouldn’t be a man, I’d be a worm, and a worm could never win the heart of a woman like you. You are imperious, strong-willed, and—let’s be frank—a bit spoiled. That’s quite all right with me,” he added, overriding her sound of outrage, “for weak, helpless women have never appealed to me. In truth, I admire your strength.”

“Whenever a man says that, it seems like a compliment, but it’s not. It’s an insult.”

He shrugged. “In this case, it’s neither. It’s a fact. If you push me, Linnet, I’ll push back. You dare me, I’ll take it up. Tell me to beg, I’ll laugh and tell you to go to the devil.”

Once again, she tried to go around him, and once again, he prevented her. “What I won’t do,” he went on, “is have my wife doling out an income or withholding it to suit her book. That’s not a marriage, that’s servitude.”

“It is not servitude for a husband to allow his wife control of her own money!”

“Well, not to split hairs,” he said with a look of mock apology, “but it’s not your money, is it? It’s your father’s money. By giving you absolute control of my income, you would control me, and I would never put myself in the position of allowing you that sort of power. If I did, you’d never respect me, and our marriage wouldn’t have a prayer.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” he asked. “You are your father’s daughter. A man you could walk over is a man you could never respect, and any marriage worth its salt has to have respect. And you know that yourself, which is why you’re not serious about this provision. You just wanted to watch me knuckle under.”

“I’m not the one walking over anyone or trying to force anyone,” she shot back. “You are. You took me away from another man against my will and without my consent. I can’t decide if you compromised me on purpose because you were after my fortune, or because you wanted to score off Frederick for some kind of revenge, but either way, you never took a moment to consider my feelings on the matter, and you never gave a thought as to how your actions would affect me and my life.”

“Yes, I took you from him, and yes, I did it on purpose. As to how it would affect you, what I thought was that he was an immoral bastard who was about to take despicable advantage of you. But, I have to be honest and admit that chivalry wasn’t my reason for doing it. But nor was I trying to get your money. Hell, I didn’t even do it because I wanted you for myself. I didn’t. The first time I looked at you, I knew I cut no ice with you. But then, I kissed you, and that kiss changed everything.”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak, and he took advantage of her silence. “That kiss,” he said, closing the last bit of distance between them, “was electric.”

She was staring at him in wide-eyed shock, probably because she thought him a complete cad and deranged to boot, and he might be about to make an ass of himself, but he’d started this little speech and was compelled to finish it. “It was like no kiss I’ve ever had in my life. It was like . . . being hit by a lightning bolt out of a clear blue sky. And I just can’t believe—no matter what you say, no matter how many times you deny it—I just can’t believe that you didn’t feel it, too.”

“I don’t . . .” She paused, rosy color flooding her face. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and she looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

In that moment, any doubts Jack might have had about that kiss and his course were annihilated. She might be offended by the liberties he took and resent him like hell, she might deny it to him, and even deny it to herself, but despite all that, he knew she felt at least a glimmer of what he felt. Relief rose within him—relief and jubilance and pure, manly satisfaction.

“Liar,” he said. “You know just what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t.” She jerked, skittish all of a sudden, and bumped into the table beside her, rattling the tea things. The sound seemed to steady her nerves, for she lifted her chin and scowled at him. “You called me a shrew.”

He grinned. He couldn’t help it, for this shift to a new accusation was a ploy of pure desperation. “No, I likened our situation to the play, which as this conversation illustrates, is proving to be an appropriate analogy.”

“Now that you mention it, you do have some striking similarities to Petruchio, mainly in the area of uncivilized behavior. I assume you intend to employ the same tactics in your courtship that he used in his?”

“Whatever works, Linnet Katherine.”

The pointed use of her middle name earned him that look again, the one that was supposed to send him scurrying away. “Shall you bully me into saying the sun is the moon?” she demanded, folding her arms. “Shall you behave like a cretin, throw me over your shoulder in the midst of dinner, and cart me off to your castle?”

“As to the former, I find the idea of spending my life with a woman who agrees with everything I say to be the dullest prospect imaginable. As to the latter . . .” He paused, his gaze roaming over her face as he savored the delightful notion of hauling her off to Featherstone Gate and into the massive oak bedstead in the master chamber. “It’s tempting, I admit. Once I’ve got you all to myself inside the castle walls, who knows what might happen? I could ravish you all I liked. You might even like it. We cretins do have a certain appeal.”

Her eyes narrowed to absolute slits. “Or just vivid imaginations.”

“Well, yes. That, too.” He smiled, his gaze lighting on her lips. “Would you like to know what I’m imagining right now?”

He heard her breathing quicken. He saw the flush rise in her cheeks and sensed agitation in the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Knowing you, it’s bound to be something vulgar.”

Amid the resentment of those words, he caught something else—a breathless nuance that gave him hope. He leaned down, bending his head close to hers as if to impart a secret. “I’m imagining,” he whispered, “all the ways you might like to be kissed.”

She jerked, and he braced himself for the inevitable slap across the face, or perhaps a hard kick in the shins, but she did neither. Instead, she tilted her head back to meet his gaze, and the glimmer of silver was in her eyes again, but this time, it wasn’t tears. It was the unmistakable glint of battle. “Imagining is all it is, Featherstone. You’ve already proved you’re barbaric enough to take kisses from me, but I didn’t enjoy the first one in the least, and there’s no chance I’d ever enjoy another.”

“That sounds a lot like a dare, Linnet.” He tilted his head, smiling a little. “And I’ve already warned you what happens when you give me a dare.”

“For heaven’s sake, why would I ever want another kiss from you? Your first one was quite enough. It ruined my life, impelled me to matrimony, forced me to move to another country and look for a British husband—”

“Forced?” he scoffed. “Nonsense. I didn’t force you to take the actions you took. You chose that course yourself.”

She moved, reaching for the tea table as if to push it out of her way, but he wasn’t about to let her, not with this accusation of force hanging in the air. He curled his fingers around the edge of the table and leaned on his palm, using his weight to keep her from pushing the table away. “Your father could have found—or should I say, bought?—you an American husband. Some bright young man with promise in one of his city offices who would have jumped at the chance to marry up into the powerful, wealthy Holland family. But you refused. And with the men of your Knickerbocker set no longer available to you—”

“And why?” She stopped pushing and glared at him. “You, that’s why.”

“You deemed British lords the only suitable matrimonial prospects you had left, despite your aversion to our lot. I didn’t force you to that. You chose it. Why?”

She didn’t answer, and he pressed on. “The logical conclusion is that you couldn’t tolerate the idea that otherwise you’d have to marry beneath you.”

“What?” She bristled, hands balling into fists at her sides. “Are you saying I’m a
snob
?”

“I don’t know. But I do know that you chose to come here of your own free will, and I want that fact acknowledged, because I won’t have you throwing accusations of force in my teeth every time you want to gain the upper hand.”

“And I won’t be meek and silent while you insult me and try to control me.”

“Any man who expects you to be meek or silent, my sweet, is delusional.”

“You’re the delusional one if you think I’ll marry you.”

“Better me than the cad you initially chose. And if you still can’t see that, it’s no wonder you need Belinda, because your own judgment in regard to men is sadly lacking.”

She inhaled a sharp breath, telling him that shot might have hit the mark, but she had no time to fire off a reply.

“Well done, Jack,” Belinda said from the doorway. “With such sweet words, what woman could resist you?”

Jack didn’t take his gaze from the woman in front of him. “If I’m to be damned, I’ll be damned as a lion, not as a lamb.”

Linnet made a sound of exasperation and shoved her elbow into his ribs. He allowed himself to be pushed back, enabling her to step around him. “I hope you now understand why I could never marry this man, Lady Trubridge,” she said, as Belinda and her mother came into the room. “He’s insufferable.”

Mrs. Holland gestured to the pair by the tea table. “You see? This is what I have been dealing with.”

Belinda looked at Jack, shaking her head with a sigh, but if he thought he was about to be raked over the coals, he was mistaken. “Miss Holland, I appreciate how insulted you must be by what Jack did. Any respectable young woman would be insulted. Jack knows it, too,” she added, giving him a pointed glance, “and I’m sure he regrets his rash actions in Newport.”

He didn’t regret a thing. In fact, the more he thought about it, the less regret he was inclined to feel, but he decided to keep mum on that topic.

“And,” Belinda went on, returning her attention to the girl, “I’m sure we can all agree that, in hindsight, this fellow Van Hausen was not a suitable match for you.”

“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean I would consider accepting this man in his stead, a man who . . . who . . . did what he—” She broke off, her face going scarlet. “I don’t like him. I don’t even know him. Oh, it’s impossible!”

“I appreciate you prefer not to marry a stranger. But—”

“Wait,” Jack cut in, holding up a hand to stop Belinda as he turned to Linnet. “You’re here to have Belinda introduce you to potential marriage partners. How can marrying a stranger not be what you have in mind?”

“I didn’t come to Lady Trubridge for introductions. I met many gentlemen during my season here, and some of them were kind enough to express deep admiration for me.”

“More than admiration,” Belinda seemed pleased to add. “Miss Holland was the toast of the season. She received six marriage proposals during the time she was here.”

“Only five,” Linnet corrected, and this pretense of modesty about her conquests made Jack feel quite nettled. “I have asked Lady Trubridge to consider these gentlemen, inform me which ones she feels are men of worth and good character, determine if any might still have an interest in me despite the damage you’ve done to my reputation, and approach them on my behalf.”

This scheme had a chance of working, but he tried not to seem worried. “I see. And who are these commendable fellows?”

“The Duke of Carrington, for one,” she began.

“Carrington?” The idea of this temperamental American beauty with stodgy old Carrington was beyond bearing. “You’re twenty-one, and Carrington’s fifty if he’s a day. I’ll wager he’s older than your father. You can’t be serious.”

She smiled as if savoring how appalled he was. “I do not want to marry a complete stranger. I would prefer to marry someone who knows me, someone who has expressed at least some romantic regard for me.”

There were times when the logic of the feminine mind truly surpassed the reasoning ability of mere males. To Jack, this was one of those times. “But you turned Carrington down. You turned all these men down. You’re an intelligent girl, and you must have had sound reasons for refusing them. Why on earth should these men be more appealing to you now than they were before?”

She smiled. “Because they are not you.”

He turned to Belinda, someone he had at least the possibility of reasoning with. “None of those men are the man responsible for her damaged reputation. I am, and honor demands I be the one to make it right. The fact that I am willing to do so will give any other gentlemen—Carrington included—pause before considering Miss Holland as a possible wife. You know that.”

“That is a factor, certainly.” Belinda turned to Linnet. “Lord Featherstone will be expected to right his wrong. That you won’t allow him to do so will be viewed as quite extraordinary.”

“Which is just what her father and I tried to tell her,” Mrs. Holland put in. “But she is just not listening to reason.”

“The decision to marry someone is not always one of reason, Mrs. Holland,” Belinda replied. “And Linnet is right to expect the man who wins her hand to be worthy of it. But that’s just it. A selection of such worthy men, even among those who have admired Miss Holland in the past, may now be hard to come by.”