The Heiress (9 page)

For a moment tears came to her eyes, but by force of will she made them retreat. There wasn't a person on earth who understood how she felt. After all, who was going to have sympathy for the richest woman in England? No one, that's who. Even as a child when she cried, some undergardener would say, “Use gold to wipe away the tears.” Never had there been anyone in her life who was there only because he wanted to be. Because she'd never been allowed off these grounds, every person she'd ever met had been paid by her father to be there.

For years she'd been introduced to people and watched their eyes change. So many times young men had come to the house and, not knowing who she was, looked at her in speculation, either their eyes roaming her body or they'd dismissed her according to their taste. But when they'd heard she was the legendary Maidenhall heiress—oh yes, she was not so isolated that she'd never heard that—their eyes changed. Interested eyes turned to fawning. Disinterested eyes became alert. Never once had Axia not seen the change in the eyes. Or in the manner and voice. Sometimes people were rude to her to show they didn't care. When she was a child, a few people that she'd just met told her they weren't going to allow her to treat them badly, as though it were a
foregone conclusion that she would be a monster. She'd had a teacher whose favorite expression was, “Your father's money doesn't allow you to—”

“My father's money doesn't allow me freedom,” she said aloud.
The freedom to walk through a village fair and watch a puppet show, the freedom to have someone like or dislike me according to who I am.

“The right to have a normal marriage,” she whispered and had to swallow tears. Any man who would imprison his only child so that the mystery of her would enhance her worth was not going to waste her on a strong, healthy husband. She wasn't sure what was wrong with Gregory Bolingbrooke, but she knew something was. Every time she asked one of her father's emissaries what her betrothed was like, the man's eyes skidded to one side. It was her guess that he was mad. Or evil. Or diseased. Or maybe all three. Whatever he was, his father was willing to pay Perkin Maidenhall a fortune to bring the Maidenhall heiress into the family, with the stipulation, of course, that upon Perkin's death his daughter was to inherit everything.

Of course, Axia knew her father better than other people did. It wouldn't surprise her to hear that her father had sold everything just before he died and buried all the proceeds where no one could find them. Maybe he wouldn't be able to take it with him, but he could prevent others from getting it. And Axia knew better than anyone that he loved to lock his possessions away.

So now, tomorrow, she was to start on the greatest adventure she was ever going to have in her life. She had no illusions
that her life as the wife of Gregory Bolingbrooke would be any freer than her life had been so far. At least her father allowed her painting and drawing materials. What if her husband—or his father who seemed to control everything—believed that women should sew and pray and nothing else?

“Aaaargh!” Axia said, again beating her fists against the bed. So far she'd done well. She'd arranged to escape being the Maidenhall heiress for the entire journey. Oh, in the last day, the men and women on the estate had taken delight in not opening doors for her; the cook had chased her out of the kitchen, and one of the servants had snapped at her to get out of the way, but nothing really awful had happened. No, they were just pleased to be able to pretend that she was an “ordinary” person.

But in Axia's eyes she
was
ordinary. “Ordinary as a weed in a flower patch,” Frances had said once when they were children. “And just as strong,” Axia said before she pushed Frances backward into a newly manured flowerbed.

“Ordinary,” she said aloud now. “Ordinary, but not free.”

So, she thought, what would an ordinary person do now? She would apologize to James Montgomery and get on his good side is what she thought. Her immediate response to that thought was,
I'd rather eat dirt
.

Her nails bit into her hands at the memory of how he'd looked at the beautiful Frances. Yesterday he'd been looking at her, Axia, with interest, and the next day he was swooning over the rich Frances.

As for what he did afterward, Axia refused to remember. The many snickers she'd heard throughout the estate might have
something to do with why she'd been hiding, er, resting in her room most of today.

“Damn him!” she said aloud. He never even asked, just assumed she was jealous, spiteful, and … and was capable of
murder!

The tears returned, but she made herself sit up and clear her eyes. Just in front of her was an embroidered plaque,
Carpe diem
. Seize the day. It was her motto. Take everything you could get from every day. Take the sunshine; take the raspberry tart off the windowsill; steal a kiss if you could; stay up all night and let the next day take care of itself. Tode said such a motto was going to get her into trouble someday, but Axia had laughed and said, “I hope so. Just so I am not bored.”

Trouble is what I want,
she thought now, then giggled at a thought. “I ought to show up on Gregory's doorstep pregnant.
That
would break the contract.” She stopped smiling and grimaced. “Or at least prevent me from having a madman's mad baby.”

Abruptly, she realized it had grown dark, and no one had come in to light her candles. She realized that this night people were showing the Maidenhall heiress that they were just as good as she was.

Frowning, feeling sorry for herself, Axia got off the bed, rearranged her clothing, combed her hair, and started to leave the room. On impulse, she turned back and snatched a pretty little embroidered cap off the wooden stand on the table under the window. It was the only thing she possessed that had belonged to her mother: several layers of dark blue silk embroidered all over with fantastic beasts such as dragons
and unicorns and griffins. As a child Axia had spent hours contemplating the cap, and now it was her most precious possession. She rarely wore it and only when she needed comfort—which she did now.

Outside it was a cool spring evening, but the budding trees made the air fragrant. If she wouldn't miss any of the people from the estate, she'd miss her garden, she thought as she ran across the grounds, securely pinning her mother's cap onto her thick hair. Because most of the staff were inside having their supper, Axia had nearly all the garden to herself.

Walking along the north wall, farthest from the house, she noticed the top of one of the walls had been damaged and the guarding spikes were missing. As she made a mental note to tell someone to fix it, she saw fresh cuts on the overhanging branch of an oak tree. Puzzled for a moment, she wondered what the gardeners had been doing to create such marks.

“That's how he got in,” she said in wonder, then looked to see if anyone had heard her. No one was about. She could see now that he'd thrown a rope over the branch and swung up and over. Simple when you knew how to do it.

Axia didn't hesitate but lifted her skirts and ran for the nearest garden shed to get a length of rope. Fifteen minutes later, after very little struggle, she was over the wall.

For a moment, Axia leaned back against the bricks, still warm from the day's sun and looked about her. In the growing dark, she could see across fields to houses, to pastures. She could see people—strangers, people who were not paid by her father—walking down lanes. Her heart was pounding, and she almost grabbed the rope to swing back inside the safety
of the walls.

But her fear soon turned to curiosity when she heard voices around the corner of the wall to her left. Slowly, tiptoeing so as not to make noise, she crept around the wall to see three tents there, one of them flying a flag of three gold leopards.

“Maybe if I shoved a barrel of sugar down his throat, that would sweeten his temper,” she heard a man say, and Axia flattened herself but not before she saw that they were the two men who'd been with
him
. That man who'd—She was
not
going to remember that!

“With or without the barrel?” the other man said.

“With. Staves and all. Wide end first.”

Who were they talking about, Axia wondered. Whose temper needed sweetening? Not
hers?
Please, not her. But no, the first man had said
he
.

“Something set him off,” the second man said, and he had a nice, pleasant voice. He sounded older than the other man.

“Couldn't be the heiress. What a beauty. Sweet tempered, gentle, shy. No wonder her father kept her hidden away.”

Axia's fingers were biting into the rough brick behind her.

“I think it's more the other one who's bothering him,” the second man said.

The first man snorted. “The pretty little one. It's true she has a bosom to make a man weep, but a man would be insane to take on a temper like hers. Ah, there he is. Hide.”

Axia's eyes were so wide they hurt. A bosom to make a man weep? Was this
her
bosom? Was she the “other one”? She looked down as though seeing her own chest for the first time. She
did
have a great deal of trouble sleeping on her stomach.
But she wasn't sure how she compared to women in the world at large.

It was nearly full dark now, but Axia's eyes were adjusting. She saw the slim boy, one of the guards her father had hired, slip out of the tent with the leopard pennant and hurry away toward the road leading into the village. And a moment later she saw
him
leave the tent and disappear into the darkness.

Overwhelmed with curiosity, Axia ran toward the tent quickly and silently. What was this man like? she wondered as she quietly slipped inside. There was only one candle lit, and it made shadows inside the tent, which was disappointingly empty: a folding table, a folding camp chair, and in the back, a bed of sorts, more a pallet with coarse linen sheets and a wool blanket than a real bed. His clothes were lying across a big leather trunk, and she could not resist looking at them, touching the fine velvets and the satins. Without a doubt in her mind, she knew her father had not paid anyone enough to buy clothes like these. Unbidden, the thought came to her: courting clothes. Clothes made to entice an heiress.

In disgust, she dropped a velvet sleeve, then heard a noise, and he was
there,
entering through the open flap. Instantly, Axia blew out the candle.

“Who is it?” he asked, his voice menacing, and she could see the outline of the sword in his hand.

Would he murder her for trespassing? She gulped. “It's me,” she said, her voice a high falsetto out of fear.

“Oh,” he said flatly. “Get your clothes off and lie down. I will be there in a minute.”

Axia's jaw dropped nearly to her knees. Who did he think
she was?

Frowning into the darkness, he said, “You are the girl Smith sent, aren't you?” Between the darkness and all that he'd had to drink, he was having difficulty concentrating.

“Y-yes,” she squeaked. Better that than the girl he had raged at this morning.

“Good! Then take off your clothes and light that candle. I like to see what I am paying for.”

Ah, now Axia understood.
My goodness. Paying.
He thought she was a—

“Light the candle, I said,” he barked out.

“No!” Axia snapped back, then caught herself. “Can't, my lord.” She kept her voice slightly higher.

“And why can't you light the candle?” He sounded bored.

Axia's mind raced. “Ugly, sir. I am very, very ugly. Smallpox. Really hideous.”

She could feel his revulsion. “But,” she said suggestively (at least she hoped it was suggestive), “I have been told I have a bosom to make a man weep.”

At that he gave a little laugh. “I guess I'll have to find out, won't I?” he said, then took a step toward her.

Now what? Axia thought. Reveal herself? If he hit her in public, what would he do to her in private? And heavens, what would he do if she did
not
reveal herself?

Carpe diem,
she suddenly thought. Seize the day.

He was standing in front of her, but the tent was so dark she could only feel his presence but not see him. She could smell his breath, soft and masculine. And, she realized with a bit of shock, he was more than a little drunk.

“Well?” he said as though expecting her to do something.

But what?
Axia wondered.
Throw all my clothes off and …
“I am a virgin, my lord,” she said.

“You're a what?”

“Yes,” she said more positively, “I am a virgin. Well, anyway, that's what I'm very good at pretending.”

She could feel him frowning, so she put out a hand and touched the tip of her finger to his hard chest. “Surely, my lord,” she whispered, “there's a virgin you'd like to touch. One with a bosom to make a man weep.”

He hesitated, but then he said softly, “Yes, there is,” and the way he said it made Axia's heart leap. Now she could return to her bedchamber and feel that a man had really and truly desired
her
.

But as she stepped forward, the man did the most extraordinary thing: he reached out and put his hand on her left breast. Axia was too shocked to speak. But then she wouldn't have been able to anyway because he bent down and kissed her half-open mouth.

His kiss was soft, gentle, and when he started to pull away, she leaned toward him.

“You are an excellent actress,” he whispered, one hand still on her breast, the other on her neck and moving up to caress her cheek. “I would think you'd never been kissed before.”

“I haven't, so will you teach me?”

Jamie didn't answer before he kissed her again.

To be touched, Axia thought. How utterly divine just to be touched. By her father's orders, no one, male or female, was allowed to touch her: must keep the heiress healthy. Only
Tode touched her but only in private and then only her hand or his fingertips on her cheek.