In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL) (14 page)

“You’ll have a lot to fear if you call her an old biddy. She’s only forty-six.” Hugh had been born when Grace was just seventeen, and she was widowed by twenty-one. So much responsibility at such an early age. Louisa supposed that might account for her sour disposition. Louisa’s own youthful antics had not been helpful in sweetening her aunt’s mood, either.

Maybe her aunt really wouldn’t have been such an ogre if she hadn’t been stuck with two wild little children in this gargoyle-infested house, barely more than a child herself. If Grace had had someone to love her, Louisa’s upbringing might have been very different.

Ah, she was allowing sympathetic sentiment to enter the picture. Aunt Grace would not approve—she didn’t have a drop of emotion in her.

“Good luck, Charles. I mean Max.”

He rose from the table and leaned down. “Give us a kiss then for that luck.”

She shut her eyes to that looming presence and lifted her face, expecting a peck on her cheek.

And that was exactly what she got.

Damn.

Chapter

18

W
ith the help of one of the ubiquitous footmen, Charles located Grace Westlake’s suite of rooms. It was in a tower—Rosemont had six of them, all ringed with menacing gargoyles—and Charles was relieved and a little out of breath when he finally reached the top step. No wonder Grace was ill, if she had to make the climb several times a day.

He knocked on a cruciform door and was admitted by a stringy middle-aged woman in a maid’s uniform. Grace was seated on a wing chair in the sunny parlor, her feet up on a tufted cushion. She wore a ruffled peach peignoir and matching slippers, but her face was carefully made up and her hair coiled in a neat chignon—she had not recently risen from her bed. She was a very pretty woman for her age—for any age, really—but had none of the sparky liveliness of her niece.

“That will be all, Perkins. Tell Miss Spruce to bring up the correspondence in an hour, and when dear Dr. Fentress arrives have him sent right up. Do sit down, Mr. Norwich. Or did we decide on Max?”

“We
are
family.” Charles gave her an insincere smile.

“Are we? For the time being at least, though you strike me as a sensible young man. Surely you are giving the information I told you last night serious consideration.”

“Mrs. Westlake. Aunt Grace. It does not matter one iota to me that Louisa was not a virgin. Neither was I. We fell in love, and love overcomes all obstacles, don’t you think?”

Charles was talking out of his rump. He’d never been in love, not even when he was a moonling. Love was a luxury a poor boy like him couldn’t afford.

“I don’t believe in love, Max. Love is for the lower classes. People like us marry for position. Connections. Money.”

He was not surprised she was a snob, even if the family had made its fortune in banking rather than inherited land. It was often the upper-middle stratum who was the worst, anxious to leave behind any trace of the shop. England really was an upside-down place, valuing idleness over honest labor.

“Maybe I’m a rebel,” Charles replied.

“Yes, I understand your upbringing in France was most unusual. Your parents are deceased?”

Charles nodded, trying to remember fictional facts about his French château.

“Lucky for Louisa. I’m sure they would not approve of her.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Charles was becoming very annoyed. “She’s beautiful. She’s rich. Knowing them, they would think I’m the lucky one.”

Grace Westlake’s eyes grew sharp. “I understood from Louisa’s letters you have no need of her money, that you have sufficient assets of your own.”

“That’s right. But a little extra income never hurts.”

“Well then. Perhaps you’ll be amenable to my proposition after all.”

Charles leaned back in his chair and waited to hear her terms. It was lushly padded, devilishly comfortable, and he was exhausted after his misbegotten night. What would Grace Westlake do if he fell asleep as she attempted to bribe him? He struggled to keep his eye open. “Fire away.”

Grace steepled her multi-ringed fingers together. “I don’t expect Louisa told you of her youthful indiscretion before you married. She threw herself at our neighbor, Sir Richard Delacourt. He could do nothing but catch her. He’s just a man, after all, and men have their appetites.”

Charles did not feel obliged to defend all men against the woman’s generalization. In his experience she was, regrettably, more or less accurate. “I was curious as to why he was a dinner guest last night.”

Grace’s cheeks took on the faintest color beneath her maquillage. “Why, he’s our most prominent neighbor, and fences have since been mended. One cannot really blame him for my niece’s impetuosity. I discovered Louisa’s disgrace myself. Fortunately, I hushed it up as best as I could.”

Charles knew she was lying even if her face was a serene mask. “But you punished her.”

“Of course I did! One’s chastity is precious, and since Louisa had relieved herself of it, what was to stop her from engaging in affairs with every male she could get her hands on? Footmen, stableboys, and the like. The girl has no discrimination. None. She’s always been overfamiliar with the servants.” Her lips twisted in disgust.

“So I canceled her presentation, and kept her close to home, hoping she would see the error of her hoydenish ways and repent. I controlled her purse strings, you know, and the staff at Rosemont views me as its legitimate chatelaine. There was no question my rules were to be obeyed. She lived very quietly, fooling us all, when all the time she was planning to run off to France and who knows where else at the first opportunity!”

“She had eight years of quiet living, if I can count correctly. Quite a sentence for a foolish mistake in judgment. She was twenty-five when she left, ma’am.”

“But still a willful child! Hugh and I tried our best to reason with her. As I said last night, he offered her marriage to protect the family’s reputation. Several times. The boy has always had a soft spot for her, though I cannot see why.”

“You forget you are speaking of my wife, Mrs. Westlake.” Charles did not suggest that maybe Hugh had a mother complex, as Louisa’s Dr. Freud was apt to say. Louisa was close enough to her in looks to be her younger twin.

“She doesn’t have to remain your wife, Mr. Norwich. Mr. Baxter and I have discussed a very generous settlement should you come to your senses and renounce her. You may not need the money, but neither do you need an untrustworthy wife who will betray you once she tires of you. She’s—she’s unstable. Volatile. Needy. Even as a little girl she thought she could do just as she pleased without consequences. I blame my brother. He and his American wife spoiled her dreadfully.”

Charles pictured Louisa as a little orphan, pinafored and pigtailed, trying to squeeze an ounce of love out of her aunt. Doomed to failure. Mrs. Westlake was a cool customer.

Frigid.

She must have sensed Charles’s abhorrence and waggled a hand at him. “I’m not a monster, you know. I tried my best; truly I did. Hugh will tell you I never played favorites with the children. He’s still a bit cross with me about that. But I took my responsibilities seriously, even if I was unable to mold Louisa into a proper young lady. She’s incorrigible.”

“And I like her for it.” Charles rose. “I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you, Mrs. Westlake. I have no intention of divorcing Louisa. You’ll have to get used to me. Although I should warn you, I don’t take kindly to your method of getting rid of me.”

“You said yourself extra income was always welcome.”

“I’m not talking about the bribery. Someone came into my room last night and tried to do me harm. What do you know about that?”

Grace Westlake’s rouged mouth fell open. “I? Why, nothing, of course! I assure you I’ve never resorted to violence in my whole life.”

“What, you’ve never spanked a naughty little girl?”

“No, I never did,” Grace said with considerable indignation. “Louisa was isolated when she misbehaved.”

“Locked in her room with bread and water—if that—I imagine. Things are going to change here at Rosemont, Mrs. Westlake. For the better, for they certainly couldn’t be any worse.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“This is Louisa’s house, is it not? Every stick of furniture, every carpet, every painting belongs to her. You are here as her guest, aren’t you? I wouldn’t count on remaining so much longer.”

Louisa’s aunt gripped the arms of her chair but she didn’t get up. “How dare you! If I hadn’t come when my brother and his stupid wife died, Louisa would not be in the enviable position she’s in today! Ask Mr. Baxter—thanks to my wise investments, I’ve quadrupled her fortune!”

“We thank you. But Louisa does not need a guardian now. She has me.”

“And you—a foreign stranger no matter who your parents were—think to swan in here and usurp my authority. Well, it won’t do, young man. Louisa must have some sense of gratitude beneath her ramshackle ways. She won’t allow you to uproot me from my home.”

“We’ll see about that,” Charles said. He might have stepped into the shit with this—Louisa had not told him how she was going to ask her aunt and cousin to leave. But here he was in the dragon’s den, and he might as well make himself useful. Better take the brunt of Grace Westlake’s wrath than have it directed at Louisa.

Charles realized his first impression of a spoiled, carefree rich girl had been very far from the truth. He may have grown up in reduced circumstances, but there had been affection at home while his mother was alive. Louisa had lost all that at the age of four. To be raised by Grace Westlake must have been a withering experience. It was a wonder Louisa was as warmhearted as she was.

“If you’ll excuse me, I believe we are done. And I warn you again, Mrs. Westlake—I will not be a victim to whatever machinations you or your minions decide upon to get rid of me. I’ll be armed, and rest assured I know how to defend myself.”

“You are talking utter nonsense!”

“Am I? Let’s say we’ll all be on our guard here at Rosemont. While we are here.” Charles hoped he’d left no doubt as to which of them was to go.

He left Louisa’s aunt in a state of fury that no artful makeup job could conceal, whistling his way down the winding turret stairs. After only three wrong turns he found Louisa in their sitting room, pacing in front of a roaring fire. Several volumes and a newspaper were scattered on the table, as if she could not find one of them to concentrate on. Her face lit as he entered, causing an odd sensation in his chest. Did she view him as her champion?

She shouldn’t.

“Well? Tell me everything!”

“I’m intact. She offered me money, but I’m afraid I have no specific amount to report of your worth—we never explored that far. She claims to have no knowledge of the little incident last night, and I almost believe her. And—you’d better sit down. You may not like what I have to say.”

Louisa hesitated, then eased gracefully into a corner of the gray sofa. She had changed into a high-necked cream-colored wool walking dress after breakfast, and she looked very pretty. Her cheeks were pink, though her eyes were shadowed from their mutual lack of sleep. She folded her hands in her lap and gazed at him with clear, trusting eyes. She made him want to stand a little taller. Be a lot smarter—he may have tipped her hand too soon.

“Go on.”

“I more or less invited your aunt to leave Rosemont. Told her she wasn’t needed.”

Louisa blinked. “And what did she say to that?”

“She didn’t like the idea much. Said Rosemont was her home and even you would be grateful for all she’d done for you to let her stay.”

She gave a little snort. “Grateful, eh? That’s not a word I would use.” Louisa looked down at her hands, which were knotted tightly, pale as the fabric on which they lay. “Rosemont
was
her girlhood home. I imagine she resented my father when he inherited it from my grandfather. It’s not as if the property was entailed and had to go to the eldest male.”

“How would two families share a house, even one this size?”

“True. I’m sure that’s what my grandpapa was thinking. He expected Grace to marry—which she did, right out of the schoolroom. She had a substantial dowry, even if it didn’t equal Rosemont’s value.”

“What was her husband like? I’ll bet he was glad to die young.” Somehow Charles could not imagine Grace allowing a hair on her head to be disordered. Lovemaking would have been fraught with complications, much too messy for fastidious Grace Westlake.

“I can’t really remember him, but he wasn’t so young. Uncle Harry was a good two decades older than she was—my grandfather didn’t really approve of the match even if Harry’s brother was a viscount, but there’s no stopping Grace when she wants something.”

“Kind of like her niece,” he teased.

Louisa gave him a wobbly smile. “I should call you out for that.”

“Pistols at dawn? There are things I’d much rather do with you at that hour.” The words were out before he had a chance to think. My God, he was flirting. And picturing Louisa in bed, her robe parted, her lovely white body open to his invasion. They had agreed that last night, no matter how superbly satisfying it had been, was a mistake. It would not do for Charles to lust after his employer.

But the horse was already out of the barn. Or, in homage to Louisa, perhaps the automobile was out of the garage. It was difficult to return the genie to the lamp. The toothpaste to the tube. He could think of a thousand metaphors, but it wouldn’t change the attraction he had for her. Louisa was looking delectable indeed, a rosy flush on her face from his words. It would be so easy to lean over and kiss her wide mouth, toy with the little chocolate drop at its corner, seek a friendly war with her warm tongue.

“Charles—,” she warned, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He bent and cradled her cheek. Her skin was soft and pink, as though she bathed in honey and rose petals. Her lips parted in protest and he silenced her with one swift kiss.

It didn’t matter that she was seated and he was standing at an awkward angle, because she was kissing him back despite her initial reluctance. Kissing him with some enthusiasm. Hell, there was no point to being modest—she was eating him right up, her lashes flashing, her hands unknotted and grasping at his jacket. Charles toppled down onto the ugly couch on one knee and took her in his arms. He could not see a ready way to unhook her from her dress, so he just shut his eye and enjoyed her trembling against him, the scent of violets heady. If he had money, he’d see that she always had a nosegay of them, their color deep and lush against her fair skin. He’d cover a bed with the tiny flowers and crush them beneath their bodies as they sought their pleasure.