In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL) (20 page)

Just as she’d promised, a scarce few minutes passed before she was completely mindless, vaulting off the bed and nearly knocking poor Charles off the field. If this was the last time they would do anything like this, Louisa wished he’d been less efficient, but she really could not complain of the decadent, luxurious tremors shooting down to her tethered toes.

She opened her eyes to see him untying the braided cords. “There,” he said, removing the gag and brushing a thumb across her lips. “That should hold you a little while until you can get your next lover. Do be more discriminating in the future—neither Sir Richard Delacourt nor I are appropriate consorts for you. You deserve more.”

“I do?”

He grabbed a pillow to cover his rigid erection. “Enough. You got what you came for. I’m not handing out any more compliments. Now get out and go get dressed. I’m sure Kathleen is skulking about with her ear at the door. As of this minute and forever more, I am simply the man you hired to pretend to be your husband. No more kissing. Anywhere. Let’s behave like a normal society couple—I understand there’s a good reason for separate bedrooms. Pretend to loathe me. That way when you kill me in January you won’t have to simulate grief.”

He sounded so final. Louisa supposed he was right—somehow they had switched roles. Hadn’t she been averse to having a “real” pretend marriage with him? She’d been adamant about displays of unnecessary affection. And now she just wanted to pull him down onto the bed and kiss him.

Anywhere.

Louisa rubbed her wrists. “I’ll meet you downstairs. Shall I have a footman sent up to help you dress?”

Charles snorted.

“I’ll take that as a no.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for your—your kind assistance with my difficulty. I feel much better now.”

“Bully for you. Now scamper off, would you?”

Louisa scampered. She paused in the bathroom long enough to pull the plug out of the tub and pick up the towel that had dropped. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she thought she looked too well tumbled to escape Kathleen’s notice.

And then she heard a muffled, agonized shout. Her name, if she was not mistaken. Poor Charles. She could have helped him with that if only he’d asked.

Chapter

26

A
malevolent undercurrent ran all through the evening from the obligatory predinner drinks in the drawing room to pudding at the table. Charles could find no fault with the food or the German wines, only with the company, which consisted of just the odd assortment of family and Dr. Fentress, who seemed to be a fixture. Even Louisa was subdued—the exuberance she displayed with him was buttoned up fast beneath a high-necked sky-blue satin gown that showed no pulchritude whatsoever. Whether she was avoiding stimulating Hugh or himself he wasn’t sure.

He was beyond stimulated. The taste of Louisa was still on his tongue, and he hadn’t a clue how he was to stick to his resolution for the rest of the month.

No sexual congress. It was imperative he keep his distance, for he couldn’t allow himself to be used in such a way again, no matter how delicious Louisa Stratton was. He had feelings for her that would not be assuaged by the occasional slap and a tickle by her fiat. If she couldn’t see her way to marry him—and really, why should she? He had nothing much to offer an heiress—then he was not going to break his own heart by falling ever deeper under her spell.

Charles was placed next to Isobel again, but thankfully Grace had Hugh and Dr. Fentress for dinner companions tonight. She had given him one brittle smile over her glass of champagne and then ignored him with a steadfastness he could only admire. He avoided Isobel’s wandering hands as best he could and tried to make conversation with an ancient woman who had at one time been Louisa’s father’s and Grace’s governess. Evidently she was past governessing by the time Louisa and Hugh came around but still supported by the family. Perhaps Grace was human after all, though he wouldn’t want to bet the bank at Monte Carlo on it.

Charles gazed around the table. Several leaves had been removed since last night, though the table was set as formally. There was Miss Popham, the retired governess; crusty old Great-Uncle Phillip, who sat at the head of the table tonight; Louisa; Miss Spruce, Grace’s secretary; Dr. Fentress; Grace; Hugh; and the grabby Isobel. One of these people might have hit him on the head last night—except for Hugh, who had not been home—though none of them looked at all capable or dangerous under the chandelier. Of course, Hugh could have instructed one of the servants to get Maximillian Norwich out of the way.

Grace blotted her lips on a linen napkin and rose. “Gentlemen, we ladies are leaving so you may discuss the boring issues of the day that would simply confound the weaker sex. Do join us when you’ve solved the world’s problems.”

So, was Grace Westlake a secret suffragist? Interesting. Louisa rolled her eyes at her aunt’s speech and waved at Charles before she was shepherded out of the room. His thigh finally free of Isobel’s imprecations, he relaxed a fraction in his chair. Hugh raised a finger and a footman sprang to it with the port and walnuts.

Griffith materialized at Charles’s side with a humidor. “Would you care for a cigar, Mr. Norwich?”

Louisa didn’t care for smoking. It was one of her rules. Charles shook his head. The other three gentlemen had no such scruples or orders. Soon the dining room air turned blue with smoke, and Charles realized he’d smell like a chimney anyway.

A sullen Hugh puffed away, and deaf Phillip couldn’t be bothered to make conversation with anyone, so it was up to Dr. Fentress to be amiable. “So, Mr. Norwich, what do you think of Rosemont? I heard you say you explored the property on horseback today.”

“It’s a remarkable place. Were you acquainted with Louisa’s grandfather?”

The doctor nodded. “I set up my practice locally at his invitation. I was fresh out of medical school when George Stratton approached me. His wife was sickly, and he wanted someone he could depend on. He was often in the City, and worried about Louisa being alone here. Oh, that was your Louisa’s grandmother—she was named for her, but you probably know that. I’ve served all the family ever since. I delivered your wife, you know.”

“Did you deliver Mrs. Westlake, too?”

Fentress twitched. It must be rather strange to carry on a quasi-romantic relationship with a woman you pulled from a birth canal. “I did. But not her brother Byron—he was a few years older. Nor young Hugh here, either. Mrs. Westlake resided at Marbury Court then, Viscount Marbury’s estate in Herefordshire. The late Mr. Westlake was the viscount’s brother.”

“Don’t bother with the genealogy lesson, Doctor. Norwich won’t be here long enough to add to the Stratton family tree,” Hugh sneered.

“Oh? Why do you say that, Westlake?” Charles asked mildly.

“You’ll soon tire of Louisa’s antics. Or she’ll tire of you. Dr. Fentress here can tell you she’s not right in the head. Hysterical. Isn’t that right?”

The doctor examined the ruby liquid in his glass. “I shouldn’t like to say without closer observation. Perhaps she’s changed this past year. But there’s no question she was highly strung before she left. Impulsive. She was a great trial to poor Grace. I sometimes had to prescribe medication to make her see reason.”

“You drugged her to shut her up.”

“Now, now, Mr. Norwich. That’s most unfair. Louisa’s manic episodes were a harm to herself and the household. Her aunt only has her best interests at heart. We understand Louisa. You’ve known her, what, a few months? We’ve known her all her life. And you think you’re in love with her. I find love colors one’s perception. One cannot be a reliable witness when one is in love.”

That was certainly true in the doctor’s case, as he let himself be led around by Grace Westlake.

“Love. Bah. The girl’s mad.” Phillip surprised them all by inserting himself in the conversation.

Hugh laughed sourly. “I quite agree, Uncle Phillip.”

“What’s that?” the old man barked.

“I said I agree. Louisa is mad and there’s no such thing as love. Whatever you think you feel for my cousin won’t last, Norwich. You’d be better off accepting my mother’s offer before Louisa breaks your heart.”

Charles was fascinated. It was as if he’d fallen down the rabbit hole like Alice into an alternate reality. These people, who all claimed to know her so well, described a Louisa he didn’t recognize. Yes, she was impulsive, outrageous really, when she begged Charles to relieve her sexual frustration. When she rode off hell for leather across the downs. When she came apart beneath him. But that’s what he liked about her—her honesty. Her energy. Her vulnerability.

But what if he’d got the wrong end of the stick? Charles had to admit he was dazzled by the heiress. Maybe he wasn’t the best judge of character. His experiences in Africa had warped his perspective for months now. Years.

Charles spun a walnut on the tablecloth with a blunt fingertip. “I’ll take my chances, gentlemen. A month with Louisa is as good as a lifetime. We’ll see what the New Year brings.”

“If you live that long. You’d better watch out. Your wife is handy with a pistol.”

Charles looked up with interest. “You sound as if you have reason to know, Westlake.”

“The girl has tried to kill me any number of times. She’s dangerous.”

“It sounds like you did something to earn her wrath.”

“Who knows what sets Louisa off? She’s unbalanced.”

According to Louisa, Hugh had tried to compromise her repeatedly. Too bad Louisa didn’t plug him right between his golden brown eyes. “I expect it will take more than a girl with a gun to kill me. I’ve faced more firepower in Africa than that.”

Charles realized his mistake at once.

Hugh’s eyebrows lifted. “Africa?”

“On safari,” Charles said quickly. “Years ago. Lions.”

“I wasn’t aware they provided lions with guns,” the doctor chortled.

“You’re right. Their teeth and claws are enough to deter any righteous man. But some of the other hunters were inexperienced,” Charles extemporized. “Careless. That’s how I received my injury.”
Oh, shit.
Wasn’t he supposed to have been a boxer? Too late to backtrack now. Maximillian the Great White Hunter popped a walnut into his mouth, hoping to prevent any further faux pas.

“What an interesting life you’ve led,” Dr. Fentress said. “I suppose compared to lions on the savannah, our Louisa is relatively harmless.”

“I’m sure old Max here has already felt her teeth and claws.” Hugh smirked, and Charles controlled his desire to fling the silver bowl of walnuts in his face.

“I have no complaints regarding my marriage,” Charles said, hoping to shut down any further aspersions against Louisa.

“It’s early days yet,” Hugh replied. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Charles stood. “I’ve had quite enough of this male camaraderie. I must warn you, Westlake, if you keep insulting me or my wife, my Christian charity may not extend to allowing you to stay through Christmas. You have no official standing at Rosemont save as Louisa’s childhood tormentor. And when you grew up, you were little better—some might say much worse, trying to importune an innocent girl into your bed.”

Hugh’s face suffused with color. “Rubbish! If Louisa told you that, she was lying. As usual. And anyway, she hasn’t been innocent for years; it’s a wonder she didn’t whelp a litter of bas—”

The rest of his sentence ended as Charles rounded the table and punched Hugh in his aristocratic nose. He tipped backward in his chair and fell with a satisfying thud. The man resembled a turtle on his back, legs kicking frantically to right himself. Charles couldn’t be bothered to see if he succeeded. He closed the dining room door with a flourish and made his way to the drawing room.

Tonight there was no music, just Louisa looking miserable standing alone by the window holding a cup of tepid tea, the other women clustered together on the sofa and chairs.

“Come upstairs with me at once, my love,” he said, holding out an unfortunately blood-spattered hand.

Grace shrieked, but Louisa didn’t blanch or bat an eye. “Of course, Max, darling. If you ladies will excuse me.”

“What have you done?” Louisa whispered as they ran up the staircase.

“Only what needed to be done. Your cousin will not be smelling any roses or anything else for some time.”

Louisa tripped on the step and he caught her. “You
hit
him?”

“I did. I’m sorry if you object, but he was insufferable.”

“He’s always insufferable. If this was another century, he’d be fighting duels left and right.
I
could have happily skewered him any number of times.”

“No duels. No boxing matches, either. Which reminds me, apparently I was on safari somewhere in Africa and some idiot injured my eye.”

This time Louisa stopped still on the stairs and glared at him. “I told my aunt it happened in the boxing ring.”

“I know. I remembered too late to keep the story straight. Lying does not really come naturally to me, I’m afraid.” What about Louisa? Was Hugh right in accusing her? She’d certainly dreamed up Maximillian Norwich with no difficulty. What if everything she’d told him was
her
truth but not
the
truth?

There was that bit of tongue again, as well as scrunched eyebrows on her worried face. “Maybe Aunt Grace will forget.”

“Not bloody likely. Grace does not strike me as someone who glosses over details. Well, I can’t do anything about it now. We can hardly explain that a shell landed a little too close to me for comfort. What would Maximillian Norwich be doing in the middle of a war? Better that I was hunting elephants or some such.”

She staggered on the stairs again. “Never say you would kill a defenseless animal.”

“Oh, certainly not. I much prefer to shoot people, but only if they’re armed and shooting at me. Though you’re a fine one to talk. Where do you think your fur coat and fur muff came from?”

“Charles!”

“Hush. The walls have ears. There may be a footman crouched behind that curtain on the landing. Come on. Let’s lock ourselves in before Hugh comes dashing up the stairs to call me out.” He took Louisa’s elbow and hurried her up the stairs.

Once in their suite, he methodically locked all the doors that led to the corridor, then for good measure shoved furniture against them. Louisa paced before the sitting room fire.

“Kathleen won’t be able to come in.”

“So what? What do you need her for?”

“She—she helps me undress.”

Charles looked at Louisa. Her blue dress had a great many satin buttons running down the back. “I can do that.”

“Oh. We usually talk a bit, too. About the day. She’s my best friend, you know.”

“You’ll have to talk to me instead. Although I know how the day has gone.” Pretty much straight to hell.

“Don’t you think you should wash that hand?”

Charles had forgotten. To Louisa’s credit, she hadn’t fainted dead away when he stormed into the drawing room dripping Hugh Westlake’s blood. He walked through her bedroom to the bath, but not before catching sight of the lacy pink nightgown spread out across the counterpane, placed there by the evil Kathleen in a plot to drive him entirely around the bend. The thought of Louisa in it and out of it was too vexing to contemplate.

Charles scrubbed Hugh away with vicious determination. If he were smart, he’d continue on to his room and bolt the door. But he’d lost his wits sometime in the past two days, and he had buttons to unbutton.