Catch a Falling Heiress: An American Heiress in London (25 page)

She made for an unoccupied part of the room, and he followed, glad that where she was leading him was where the liquor cabinet was located, for if she brought up the topic he feared she was about to bring up, he was going to need a second glass of port.

She denied his offer to pour her a sherry, and he reached for the port decanter instead, but he’d barely removed the crystal stopper before she spoke.

“Did you approach Miss Holland when she was alone on the terrace?”

He paused a second before answering. “Not exactly.”

“She was out of the drawing room ten minutes, about the same amount of time you were out of the dining room. What happened?”

He could not allow Belinda to think any of this was Linnet’s fault. “Nothing happened,” he said, but he didn’t look at her as he said it. Instead, he kept his attention on his task, but he could feel her gaze boring into him as he poured his port, and her next words told him that though Linnet might be cleared of any wrongdoing, he was not going to escape tonight’s events unscathed.

“I’ve always known you were wild, Jack, wild, daring, and a bit of a hellion,” she said, her voice low beside him. “But in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never known you to lie to me.”

Jack inhaled a sharp breath, feeling the pain of her words like a knife in his chest. “Are you saying I’m like Charles?” he asked, setting aside the decanter and forcing himself to look at her.

“If you’re not, then don’t lie to me. When Miss Holland was outside, did you speak to her?”

“Yes.”

“Her mother went out on the terrace to fetch her, but came back in without her. The girl wasn’t on the terrace, was she? She was with you.”

“It wasn’t some sort of planned rendezvous, if that’s what you’re implying. I’d gone outside for a bit of fresh air, and so had she, and we just happened to . . . encounter each other.”

“Jack!” She glanced around, then back at him. “You cannot detain a young woman when she’s unaccompanied, especially at night, and I shouldn’t even have to tell you that. What happened with Sir Roger? His sudden departure had something to do with you, didn’t it?”

The abrupt shift in the subject was a bit of a relief. “I daresay it did.”

“What happened?”

He told her, and she stared at him in horror. “You carried off a girl—an unmarried girl—over your shoulder in front of two witnesses?” she whispered. “And made her have a picnic with you alone in the countryside? Are you mad?”

He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “That’s quite possible.”

“Did you force your attentions on her as you did in Newport?”

He grimaced, but the question, though brutal, was a fair one. “No.” He swallowed his port in one draught and looked into her eyes. “Neither yesterday, nor tonight.”

“Well, we can be grateful for that, at least. And let us hope Sir Roger and his sister haven’t told all their friends what they witnessed. As for you, this sort of behavior is beyond the pale. It must stop.”

“You’re right, of course. And I take full responsibility for everything that’s happened.”

“As you should. You are a man of the world. She is a young lady and far more innocent than you.”

“I know, I know. It’s just—” He paused, staring helplessly at his sister-in-law. “I want her, Belinda.”

“Your lust,” she said in withering accents, “is not relevant. We are not talking about a cancan dancer or an actress.”

He shook his head, impatient. “No, I know. That’s not what I mean. I mean, I really want her. This isn’t just about doing the honorable thing. It’s much more than that.”

She studied his face for a moment. “I think you mean that. Which is all the more reason,” she added before he could reply, “for you to treat her with the respect she deserves. You will conduct your courtship in an open, honorable fashion, or not at all.”

He nodded, but he couldn’t help a frustrated sigh. “I don’t see how any man can conduct a courtship under these damnable circumstances,” he muttered, running his finger around the inside of his collar in irritation. “It’s maddening, having chaperones hovering about all the time. I ask you, how on earth can two people ever come to know each other well enough to decide if they want to wed when they can’t even have a private conversation?”

For the first time since they’d begun this set-to, Belinda’s expression softened. “People have been courting this way for centuries, Jack.”

“I never thought I would be. I’ve never been very good at being good, I’m afraid.”

“Then you’d better be a quick study, because unless and until she has agreed to marry you, you cannot be alone with her again. Is that understood?”

“Yes, of course. Belinda?” he added as she started to turn away. “I don’t suppose you’d care to offer any advice?”

“If you were any other man, I’d advise you to just be yourself,” she said dryly. “Given your crazy impulses, however, I’m rather afraid of offering that particular advice. All I can say is, keep your head, Jack.”

He nodded, but as he watched her go, he wished she’d told him how on earth he was to keep his head when he felt as if he was losing his mind.

T
HE FOLLOWING DAY,
the men had a very early breakfast and went shooting, returning just before the dressing gong. A full day away from Linnet gave Jack plenty of time to regain his equilibrium and put his priorities in order. He also managed to keep any wayward, lust-filled thoughts of her at bay all through aperitifs and dinner, but after the port, when he walked into the drawing room and saw her, laughing and smiling with the other ladies, all his hard-won efforts went straight to the wall. And a few minutes later, when she came over to him, Jack didn’t know whether to be glad or bolt for the door.

Making a run for it was probably the wiser course, but he hadn’t the will to act on it. The temptation to be near her was too strong to be gainsaid by thoughts of mere self-preservation.

“I saw Lady Trubridge pull you aside last night,” she said, halting beside him. “Did she call you on the carpet for . . . for what happened?”

“A bit,” he admitted, and took a sip of his port.

“I was afraid of that.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said at once. “I’m not. I should be, of course,” he added, “a fact Belinda put to me when she raked me over the coals. But I’m not sorry at all, Linnet.”

She turned her head and met his gaze. “Neither am I.”

Her smile hurt somehow, squeezing his chest, and longing flooded him. He looked away, trying not to think of all the ways he might get her alone, and felt almost relieved to see Hansborough coming their way.

“Hansborough,” he greeted, pasting on his most genial smile. “Come to join the conversation, have you?”

“If I’m not intruding?” His answering smile made it clear he knew he was.

“Of course not,” Jack lied, and gestured to the tray of decanters and glasses on top of the liquor cabinet beside him. “I was just about to offer to pour Miss Holland a drink.”

The viscount’s smile took on a subtle hint of disdain. “Playing footman, are you, Featherstone?”

“Why not?” he countered with a shrug, set down his port, and picked up a glass. “Linnet, what will you have?”

“I’d better not have anything. I adore sherry, but I’ve had one glass already.” She gestured to her empty glass on the table by her mother. “And a girl isn’t supposed to have more than one digestif in an evening. I fear if I had another, my mother would be very disappointed in me.”

Hansborough gave her a beatific smile. “Your consideration and sweetness do you credit, Miss Holland.”

“Sweetness?” Jack’s sound of derision at that nauseating compliment was out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Linnet’s not sweet at all,” he said, and looked at her. “She’s a lioness.”

He was rewarded with a smile.

Hansborough didn’t notice it, for he had transferred his attention to Jack. “Really, Featherstone, I can’t think
Miss Holland
appreciates your comparison. A lioness is a wild, savage, predatory creature. Miss Holland is none of those.”

“Still, he’s right about one thing,” Linnet said, bringing the viscount’s attention back to her. “I’m not the least bit sweet.”

Hansborough glanced down and back up, and Jack read his thoughts like a book. He moved, an involuntary, savage jerk forward, but then he checked himself and stayed where he was. Brawling in the drawing room, he feared, would be the last straw as far as Belinda was concerned.

“I can’t agree, Miss Holland,” Hansborough said at last. “I think you are very sweet. Sweet and golden . . . like honey.”

It was Hansborough’s turn to be rewarded with one of Linnet’s radiant smiles, and Jack’s hand closed around his glass so tightly he was surprised it didn’t break. “So, Linnet,” he said, desperately keeping jealousy in check, “are you certain I can’t tempt you with another sherry?” He gestured to the decanters. “It is your favorite, after all.”

“Miss Holland already refused you once, Featherstone,” Hansborough said, biting inflection beneath the pleasant, well-bred voice. “Must you continue to press her?”

Embarrassment flamed in Linnet’s face at this not-so-subtle reference to Newport, and Jack opened his mouth to return the viscount’s insulting implication with a scathing rejoinder of his own, but Linnet spoke before he could. “On the contrary, Lord Hansborough. Lord Featherstone wasn’t pressing me at all. He was just being courteous. If you gentlemen will pardon me, I must rejoin my mother.”

Hansborough’s mouth tipped politely. “Of course,” he said with a little bow.

Jack bowed as well, and Linnet departed, leaving the two men alone. A moment later, she was cornered by Lord Tufton. “Well done, Hansborough,” he said. “Now she’s deprived us both of her company and left the field wide open for Lord Tufton. Well done.”

He turned away, returning his attention to the decanters, but if he thought the other man would move to another part of the room and leave him in peace, he was mistaken. Hansborough remained where he was, much to Jack’s aggravation.

He started to reach for the port, thinking to refill his glass, but then he changed his mind. If he couldn’t have Linnet, he decided, he could at least have a taste of her. He shoved aside his glass, reached for a fresh one, and picked up the bottle of sherry instead.

“Sherry?” The viscount gave a laugh that to Jack’s admittedly biased ears sounded condescending as hell. “Drinking her favorite cordial to impress her when she’s not even here? You have got it badly, Featherstone.”

Jack smiled, wondering what the viscount would think if he knew the true reason for his choice. “You seem amused, Hansborough,” he said as he set aside the decanter. “Do you have something against Miss Holland’s favorite drink?”

“It’s understandable for her to enjoy sherry. After all, it’s what the ladies drink. But it’s not a fitting drink . . .” He paused a fraction of a second. “For a man.”

Jack gave a laugh at that clumsy attempt to goad him, and he turned with his drink to lean back against the cabinet. “Oh, I don’t know,” he told the viscount, and cast a pointed glance across the room to Linnet, “I developed quite a taste for sherry in Newport.”

Hansborough turned toward him as if pulled by a string. “Let’s take off the gloves, Featherstone.”

“If you like.” Jack straightened and turned as well. “Speak your mind, Hansborough.”

“After your despicable actions, do you think you’ve any chance with her at all?”

Jack swirled the contents of his glass, giving the other man his best amused glance. “Worried, old chap?”

The viscount’s answering look was equally amused. “About you? Hardly. A man who does what you did isn’t fit to be the husband of any lady, much less a glorious creature like Miss Holland. Though I confess, when I learned the gossip of your barbaric conduct in Newport, I was a bit surprised. The Featherstone men are usually much more skilled at seducing wealthy young ladies than that. You’re letting your family name down . . .
old chap
.”

He walked away before Jack could respond, which was just as well. If the other man had said one more thing, there might have been a brawl in Belinda’s drawing room after all, they’d both be sent packing, and Carrington could very well win by default.

No, better to let Hansborough have the last word and think he’d won a victory tonight. As for tomorrow, the viscount had insisted the gloves come off, and Jack decided it was time to show him how painful bare-knuckle fighting could be.

He toasted that decision, swallowed the contents of his glass, and grimaced in aggravation. Sherry tasted so much more luscious on Linnet’s mouth than it did from a glass.

Chapter 14

Linnet felt a desperate need to get away. “Yes, I’m sure,” she murmured, leaning as far back from Tufton’s cigar-laced breath as she could manage without being rude. “And I’m glad your hunting was so enjoyable today, my lord.” She cast a furtive glance around and caught the Duke of Carrington’s eye.

Something pleading in her face must have told him to rescue her, for he responded at once, crossing the room to join them.

“Your Grace,” she greeted with grateful fervor. “Was your grouse hunting successful, too?”

“Indeed it was, Miss Holland. Seventeen birds.”

“Marvelous.” She cast about for a subject that would drive Tufton away. “Tell me more about the latest plans for Irish Home Rule. Do you believe it will come to Ireland or not?”

“To my mind, it’s inevitable. It might even be a good thing for Ireland in the long run.” He smiled, an amiable smile that crinkled up the crow’s-feet at the edges of his eyes. “Don’t tell anyone I’ve said it, Miss Holland, for I should be
persona non grata
among my fellow Tories if they knew I’d breathed such heresy.” He paused and leaned a bit closer. “It shall have to be our secret.”

She smiled back at him. “I shan’t tell on you, I promise. Still, the Unionists will fight it all the way, it seems to me. Could they ever be brought to accept it, do you think?”

“That is the sticky wicket,” he agreed, and the two of them began an in-depth discussion on the ramifications of Home Rule for Ireland. Within fifteen minutes, Tufton wandered off, unable to keep up.

“Thank you,” she said when the marquess was out of earshot. “I owe you a debt for that.”

“You owe me nothing, my dear. I’m happy to drive him away and have you all to myself. But . . .” He paused and tilted his head, studying her, smiling a little. “Your knowledge of British politics has improved markedly in the past few days, I must say.”

“Has it?” She tried to dissemble. “It must be that your lectures have enlightened me—” She broke off as he shook his head, his smile widening.

“My dear child, this pretense of ignorance on your part won’t do. This afternoon, your mother was kind enough to inform me of your three governesses and four years of finishing school. And I understand you studied British politics extensively?”

“I’ve been caught, I see. It’s just that you’ve been so pleased to explain things to me, and I haven’t had the heart to undeceive you.”

“You mean I’ve been rambling on, and you haven’t been able to get a word in,” he said with a show of humor she hadn’t seen from him before. “You’re a very tactful young lady.”

She wrinkled up her nose. “Not always,” she told him. “You haven’t seen my temper.”

They both laughed, and Linnet was reminded again what a nice man he was. That reminder did not make things easier. He still admired her, she knew, and at the end of the house party, he might offer for her a second time, and if she accepted him, her life would be agreeable, filled with purpose, and so pleasantly dull.

She looked past his shoulder and caught sight of Hansborough. He was talking to Lord Trubridge, but he was watching her, and all of a sudden, Linnet felt smothered, hemmed in, trapped by a choice she didn’t trust herself to make. “Thank you again for saving me, Your Grace,” she murmured, “but now, I must return to my mother. If you will excuse me?”

“Of course.” He bowed, and she moved to where her mother stood by the fireplace, talking with Lady Trubridge.

“Mother,” she said, feeling desperate, “I’m going out on the terrace. It’s so hot in here, and I want some air.”

She didn’t miss the two women’s exchange of glances, and then Lady Trubridge looked past her to where Jack was standing on the other side of the room. “Quite understandable, my dear. And since you’ve left the duke on his own, Miss Holland, I believe I shall go and keep him company.”

Linnet knew the marchioness’s reason had little to do with solicitude and a great deal to do with the fact that talking with Carrington gave her a view of the open doorway onto the terrace over the duke’s shoulder. That didn’t bother her, since she had no intention of letting Jack dare her into anything naughty again. She went outside, straight to the railing, where she could look over the moonlit gardens while remaining fully under Lady Trubridge’s protective eye.

What was she going to do? She breathed in, deep, measured breaths. She ought to pick Carrington. He was the sensible choice. Hansborough might offer for her, if she indicated she would welcome such an offer. He was a darker horse than Carrington, more attractive, and yet—

Footsteps behind her had Linnet glancing over her shoulder, and when she saw Jack approaching, she groaned and looked away.

He heard that sound and paused a few feet away. “Do you want me to go?”

She gave him a wry look. “Since you never listen to me anyway, does it matter?”

“I’ll go back in,” he said, “if that’s what you want.”

She sighed. “You make things so much harder when you’re being nice to me.”

That made him grin, and he came to stand beside her, a fully respectable three feet away. “I can be nicer.”

A warm, tingling glow started in her midsection and radiated outward. She ought to tell him to go back in. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Stay, and have your port out here if you like. But know that Lady Trubridge is watching us like a hawk, and I’m not moving from this spot.”

“Fair enough.” He took a sip from his glass. “But I’m not drinking port, Linnet. I’m drinking sherry.”

The warmth in her deepened and spread, and when he lowered his gaze to her mouth, her lips began to tingle, and she remembered with vivid clarity what had happened last night two dozen feet from where they now stood. Her toes curled in her slippers, and she looked back out at the garden, reminding herself of her priorities. “I’m thinking of all the reasons why marrying Carrington would be a splendid decision.”

“Again?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him lean one hip against the stone railing and take a sip from the glass in his hand. “Weren’t you doing this night before last as well?” he asked.

“I’m thinking what an excellent political hostess I’d be. At the center of everything in London, and in the world, too, really.”

“Is that what you want?”

“It would be exciting. I like excitement. I could be like Jennie Jerome.”

“Yes, I daresay Lord Randolph’s resignation and the ruin of his political career proved very exciting for her after all the years she’d spent building it. A myriad of hopes and years of work crushed in a single day.”

“And then there’s Hansborough.” She knew she was treading on dangerous ground with that, but Jack’s comments were flustering her enough that she wanted to needle him in retaliation. “He loves fishing. He even offered to teach me.”

“Well, given your love of excitement, that should prove a most enjoyable outing.”

She felt another pang of uncertainty and scowled at him.

He smiled in response. “Do you really believe going over all the practical considerations again and again will help you decide whom to marry?”

She looked away again. “Isn’t that what people do when making decisions? Go over the considerations?”

“Of course. Because people insist on thinking it will help. But it never does. Practical considerations always prove meaningless in affairs like this.”

She felt a sickening little lurch of dismay in her stomach. If he was right, she was doomed, and she felt impelled to argue the point. “I don’t see how a careful weighing of pros and cons can ever be unhelpful.”

“Because it’s never reassuring, that’s why. It just stirs up self-doubt. You have to go by what you feel is right. If you don’t, you’ll never be happy with the decision you’ve made. Doubt will always linger in the back of your mind. When you do what you’re sure is right, you can’t ever go wrong.”

“I used to believe that, but it isn’t true.” She turned toward him. “I was absolutely sure I loved Conrath, and I was just as sure that he loved me. I had no doubts, no fears at all. And I was so, so wrong.”

He shrugged, took a sip from his glass, and set it down, then he straightened away from the rail. “You made a mistake. It happens to us all.”

“More than one mistake. I was so sure I wanted an American husband because I was convinced all the British ones were just after my dowry. Then came Frederick. Again, I was sure I knew what I was doing. I didn’t love him, but I was positive he loved me, that I could trust him, and that I’d come to love him and our future would be happy. Again, look how wrong I was. And,” she added with a little laugh, “if all that’s not enough to shake a girl’s confidence in her own judgment, there’s what I found out about my father.”

He stiffened. “What about your father?”

“All my life I’ve adored my father. I never had a doubt he loved me and wanted what was best for me. After Conrath, I had no desire to make a transatlantic marriage, but my mother insisted we do a London season anyway. The longer we were here, the more sure I was that my future was back home in New York.”

“And your mother disagreed.”

“Oh, yes. We fought like cats and dogs. But Daddy backed me up, assuring me he was on my side and that I was right to hold out for what I wanted. That night in Newport, I found out it wasn’t my happiness he was thinking of at all. The whole time he was pretending to support me and what I wanted, he was making his own plans with Franklin MacKay for me to marry Davis when we came home. It was never about me or my happiness, it was about him wanting to use me to make a business deal.”

“Hell.” Jack let out his breath, tilting his head back. “Holy hell.”

She couldn’t help a wry smile at his reaction. “Yes, that’s rather how I felt.”

He lowered his head, looking at the ground, and sighed again. “Linnet, I think your father loves you—”

“Oh, yes,” she cut in, the words bitter on her tongue. “Using me to make a profit. That’s love, no doubt about it.”

Jack looked up again, into her face. “Things aren’t always black and white, Linnet. There might be—” He broke off circumstances. “Hell,” he said again. “I’m sorry.”

She waved a hand, for she didn’t want to talk about Daddy. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I no longer trust my feelings to guide me. A sensible decision based on facts is wiser.”

“Why? You’re just as likely to make a mistake over a decision based on facts as you are one made based on your instincts.”

“Mistakes happen, is that what you mean?”

“Yes, and it’s not always a bad thing when they do.” He moved closer, glanced at the doorway, gave a sigh that told her Lady Trubridge was still watching them, and stopped. “Some of my biggest mistakes have led to some of the best things in my life. Kissing you being a prime example.”

Uncertainty twisted her heart with a painful pang. “You don’t know that kissing me was one of the best things of your life,” she said in a fierce whisper. “You can’t possibly know that.”

“But I do know. I know it because I feel it.”

“So I should just trust to my feelings no matter what?” She shook her head. “That’s a very convenient philosophy for you to offer me now, given that just last night I confessed no other man makes me feel the way you do.”

He chuckled suddenly.

“What’s so amusing?”

“You and convenience coupled together. It’s a bit like oil and water, or matches and dynamite.” He must have sensed she still didn’t find that humorous, for he sobered at once. “Do you regret kissing me last night?”

“It’s not that simple. This isn’t just about the glorious feeling you get when someone kisses you.”

“Was it glorious?”

She didn’t answer, and he took another step closer, then glanced at the doorway and stopped again. But he didn’t give up the question. “I know how I felt, and I think you felt it, too. But then, I thought the same thing in Newport, before you cut me down to size, and I’m not taking anything for granted. So answer my question. Last night . . . was it glorious?”

She looked at him, feeling wretched, doubts and desires clawing at her. “You know it was,” she whispered.

“Well, then . . .” He lifted his hands and let them fall with a sound of exasperation. “Then why won’t you marry me? Why are you being so stubborn?”

The word flicked her on the raw. “Is that what I’m being? Stubborn? So it’s stubborn of me, is it, to want to make a considered choice about whom to spend my life with?”

“I don’t know. But I do know this is the second time you’ve stood in my hearing and tried to reason yourself into picking Carrington or Hansborough over me, and it’s getting a bit wearing.”

“Well, pardon me for wearing on you,” she shot back, working to keep her voice low even as she felt her temper giving way. “Pardon me for not being willing to commit my entire future to you based on two kisses and a blueberry muffin.”

“It’s a better basis for making a decision than trying to talk yourself into it. Especially considering that last night you wrapped your arms around my neck and kissed me of your own free will.”

“Sshhh,” she admonished, casting a frantic look at the doorway.