Seducing the Heiress (38 page)

 

Her
heart overflowed. Arun’s charitable, forgiving nature was one of the things
she’d always treasured about him. She clutched his smooth fingers, desperately
needing his friendship. “I must confess, it is not quite a love match for
Ratcliffe.”

 

“No? But I am certain it is so. The eyes do not lie. The way he
looked at you revealed all to me.”

 

She shook her head, afraid to believe it.
“I don’t doubt he cares for me, at least a little. But that isn’t love. In
truth, it’s my rich dowry he needs.”

 

Arun drew back, steepling his hands
together in a
contemplative pose. “Then it is my duty
to help you uncover the truth. I know the very way to put your Ratcliffe to the
test.”

 

 

“I vow, I shall never recover from another day such as this one,”
Edith Crompton told her husband that evening, while brushing her hair with hard
strokes. “Never as long as I live!”

 

George came to stand behind her in the
boudoir. Their gazes clashed in the mirror. He looked infuriatingly
content.

 

He bent down to kiss her neck. “Now, darling, it isn’t the end of
the world. Portia will be a viscountess. After speaking at length to Ratcliffe,
I rather suspect they will be happy together.”

 

Edith slammed down the
hairbrush and swiveled on the stool to face him. “Happy! She was supposed to be
the Duchess of Albright. Our grandson would have been duke someday.”

 

A scowl
deepened the wrinkles on his weathered brow. “Albright. I’d always had my doubts
about the fellow. If I’d known that he’d tossed his pregnant mistress out into
the street, or that he would act with such treachery in the duel, I’d never have
let you talk me into approving the match.” Walking back and forth, George shook
his head in disgust. “Portia deserves far better than such a man, duke or
not.”

 

He had always favored their eldest, a fact that Edith had exploited on
occasion. Getting nowhere now, she changed her attack. “Perhaps you would as
soon have her wed that Hindu prince of hers. It was
you
who let him into
this house, wasn’t it?”

 

“Certainly. I saw no reason why our daughter
shouldn’t visit with an old friend.”

 

“He’s a filthy
native, that’s why! It’s a wonder his presence didn’t taint us in front of
society. And right on the heels of that dreadful scandal when Portia ran off
with Ratcliffe.”

 

“Everything has turned out remarkably well,” he said
sternly. “Portia will marry Ratcliffe. The matter is settled. I will hear no
more about it from you.”

 

Edith knew from his reddened face that his temper
was on the verge of exploding. Yet she couldn’t resist one final dig. “Then I
suppose
this
is what you had in mind when we came to London—Portia
betrothed to a rogue who is beyond the pale!”

 

He slammed his palm down on the
dressing table, making the bottles and jars rattle. “Enough! These ambitions are
yours, not mine. If you cannot bide your tongue, we will all go straight back to
India, and damn your infernal matchmaking!”

 

Edith compressed her lips. She
had pushed him too far. Nothing made her quail more than to think of returning
to that heathen land. It was here in the rarefied culture of England that she
had always aspired to be, a respected member of society. She had craved it ever
since she had been a girl laboring for a living, watching and learning, studying
her betters, planning the day when she would become one of them. And she was not
content to be just a hanger-on at the fringes, someone accepted only because of
her money.

 

No, she wanted her daughters to take her to the very pinnacle of
the ton.

 

Leashing her frustration, she peered into the mirror and plucked out
a stray gray hair among her thick russet tresses. All was not lost. Portia may
have made a less than illustrious choice, but there was still Lindsey and
Blythe.

 

 

 

Just after luncheon the following day, Portia stood in
the middle of her bedchamber and gripped a letter. A footman had just delivered
it, and she had run straight up here to read the missive. Her disbelieving gaze
skimmed the bold black script again:

 

 

 

My dear
Portia,

 

 

In light of recent events, I must hereby grant you a
release from your consent to our nuptials. Pray know that you will always have a
place in my heart.

 

 

Ratcliffe

 

 

 

Her legs gave way and
she sank onto the edge of the bed. Despair pervaded every part of her soul.
Arun’s plan had failed spectacularly. He had promised to call on Ratcliffe today
and offer him a treasure trove of jewels worth far more than her dowry.

 

In
exchange, Ratcliffe would have to agree to give up Portia. If he refused to do
so, as Arun predicted, she would know that Ratcliffe loved her more than any
amount of wealth.

 

But apparently he had accepted Arun’s offer.

 

She
squeezed her eyes shut to hold back a hot rush of tears. Dear God, she had
allowed herself to hope. She had taken heart from Arun’s confidence that
Ratcliffe loved her dearly. She had gone to sleep with a smile on her face and
awakened with eager anticipation.

 

Instead, Ratcliffe had chosen the jewels
over her. And then he dared to write that she would always have a place in his
heart.

 

Blast him!

 

In sudden anger, she dashed her tears away. All of
their closeness had been merely a sham—at least for him.
After all they’d shared, did the coward think he could fob her off with a
hastily scrawled note?

 

By heaven, she wouldn’t allow it.

 

 

Standing in
the open doorway of his town house, Colin scowled down at the street. He watched
as Arun climbed into the gold-trimmed coach, the door held by a burly guard with
a scimitar at his side. Two other men staggered under the weight of a massive
trunk, which they hoisted into another coach behind the maharajah’s. Their
turbans and flowing turquoise-blue garments garnered attention from all the
neighbors, several of whom stood unabashedly gawking on the foot
pavement.

 

The damn fool had a bigger retinue than the Prince Regent
himself.

 

Arun would be able to give Portia the life she deserved. With him,
she would never want for anything, and her every whim would be fulfilled. And
the damnable thing was, he seemed a decent enough chap, grave and polite even as
he’d offered Colin a bloody fortune to relinquish Portia into his
keeping.

 

Colin hadn’t bothered to tell him about the letter he’d already
written to her. Let the fool find out on his own that his bribe had been
unnecessary.

 

He slammed the door shut and turned to see that his own three
motley servants had gathered behind him in the foyer.

 

“Cor!” Bane said in
awe, trotting to the window to press his nose to the glass. “Was all them jewels
real?”

 

“Yes, and good riddance to them.”

 

“But . . . who was that
foreigner?” Hannah asked in confusion. She rested her hands on her pregnant
belly, and Tudge had his arm around her waist. “Why did he bring you a huge
trunk full of jewels?”

 

“He wanted to trade them for
Portia. In exchange for her hand in marriage.” Raking his fingers through his
hair, Colin paced back and forth. He focused on rage as a means of keeping the
powerful ache inside him at bay. “You can be damned sure I told him exactly
where he could stick them.”

 

“Ye might ’ave a predicament,” Tudge
commented.

 

“What the devil does that mean?”

 

Tudge exchanged a glance with
Hannah, and there seemed to be a silent communication between them. The two of
them had been rather close lately, doing little things for each other, Tudge
carrying heavy pails of water for her, while she cooked his favorite dishes.
Colin had even had to duck out of the kitchen one evening when he had happened
upon them kissing. It was a pitiful day when his own romantic life paled beside
that of his servants.

 

Hannah’s eyes widened and she looked at Colin. “That
letter, my lord. The one you had Mr. Tudge deliver to Miss Crompton’s house a
short while ago.”

 

“Ye broke off yer engagement,” Tudge added, as if Colin
would have already forgotten the contents.

 

He had wrestled with his
conscience for half the night. By the morning, he had come to the daunting,
inescapable conclusion that he had no right to separate her from the man she
loved. Arun was alive, he was here, and she had always intended to marry him. So
Colin had forced himself to pen the note to Portia, releasing her from their
betrothal.

 

He lapsed into a fantasy where she hastened here to tell him that
he was wrong, that she loved him so much she couldn’t bear to live without him.
In the next moment, he cursed himself for a fool.

 

Realizing his servants were
watching him expectantly, he snapped, “What about the blasted letter?”

 

“It’s quite simple,” Hannah said. “If Miss Crompton knew
that man was intending to offer you jewels, she’s sure to think you were
bribed
into ending the engagement.”

 

The pain of that cut into him. Had
Arun really told her he was coming here today with his infamous offer? What if
he never revealed that Colin had refused the jewels? For the rest of her life,
Portia would believe he had been bought off, rather than having performed a
selfless act of sacrifice.

 

“Look!” Bane said, still peering out the
window.

 

Paying the boy no heed, Colin slashed his hand downward. “Let her
think what she will. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

 

“Bah,” Hannah said. “Does
she even know how much you love her?”

 

“An’ don’t deny ye do,” Tudge added.
“Ye been a grouch an’ we ain’t ’ad a moment o’ peace around ’ere.”

 

Damn it,
they were right. He ought to go see Portia. He’d grovel at her feet if it meant
winning her back. Because the prospect of losing her forever made him want to
throw back his head and howl.

 

Bane tugged on Colin’s coat. “Yer
lordship.”

 

“What is it?” he snapped.

 

By way of answer, the boy opened the
front door. Portia stood on the stoop, her hand raised to knock.

 

Colin’s
heart thumped in powerful strokes. He stood frozen, certain he must be
hallucinating. She was a vision of beauty, her dainty features accentuated by a
straw bonnet with a ribbon tied beneath her chin, and her luscious curves hugged
by a bronze-hued pelisse.

 

She glanced over her shoulder. “Was that Arun’s
coach I just saw driving off?”

 

Colin had to cudgel his brain into speaking.
“Yes.”

 

Her blue eyes grew enormous. “Then . . . you wrote
to me before you saw him. You didn’t accept the jewels
just now, did you?”

 

“Hell, no! Do you truly think I would take a bribe in
exchange for you?”

 

“Of course not. I never wanted to think that at
all.
”

 

Portia experienced a relief so vast it made her knees weak. He
made her fears and worries seem so ridiculous. How could she have doubted him
even for one instant?

 

She knew the answer to that. Because she was so afraid
to find out that he didn’t love her as tremendously and completely as she loved
him.

 

Ratcliffe stared at her Transfixed, his gaze naked with a yearning that
took her breath away. How heartening to know he hadn’t been paid off, after all.
He must have relinquished her of his own accord—because he thought she preferred
Arun.

 

She couldn’t let him go on holding that mistaken
impression.

 

Stepping forward, she placed her hand on his arm, taking pleaure
in the strength of his muscles. “Invite me inside, Ratcliffe.”

 

He seemed to
snap out of his reverie. “As you wish.”

 

He allowed her to pass, and she
entered the foyer to find herself facing an audience. Hannah Wilton and Orson
Tudge stood beaming, while Bane threw his arms around her. Pleased to see him
looking so well, she hugged him tightly in return.

 

“You should offer to take
her bonnet and wrap,” Hannah said in a loud whisper.

 

“Oh.” Bane scratched his
mop of dark hair and looked up at her. “Er . . . may I take yer things,
miss?”

 

“Why, thank you.”

 

Ratcliffe helped her slip out of the pelisse, and
the brush of his fingers sent frissons of excitement over her
skin. She removed her bonnet and then patted her hair,
nervous and wanting to look perfect. Then Ratcliffe whisked her down the
corridor and into a rather shabby drawing room. He closed the door, and they
stood staring at each other.

 

He was so tall and handsome, so perfect in her
eyes. It seemed impossible that she had ever scorned him, impossible that she
had once believed him to be an incorrigible rogue. Now he had become the most
important person in her life, and a rush of emotion squeezed her
throat.