Samantha James (17 page)

Heather’s breath caught. Wonderingly she raised her eyes to Victoria’s. “That was you?”

“It was, love.”

“But…Papa is not wicked.”

Victoria gave a breathless laugh. “Oh, but he was far from pleased—and far from pleasant—when my father forced him to wed me. And for quite some while, I was convinced your father didn’t love me. And I’d convinced myself I
didn’t love him, either. We had a time of it, he and I. So you see, the course of true love is not always straight and true.”

“True love?” Heather’s eyes darkened. She couldn’t tell Mama of all that had passed between her and Damien. Mama would have been shocked.

Her lips thinned. “There’s no such thing, Mama. Not for me. Never for me.”

“Don’t say that, Heather. Sometimes, just when you think all is lost, a flicker of hope flutters to life. Perhaps Mr. Lewis is meant for you. Perhaps he’s not. Why, another man might well enter your life tomorrow—”

“No.”

Victoria’s heart bled along with her daughter’s. “Love, you cannot be certain—”

“I can.” Her head bowed low. “It’s different for me, Mama.
I’m
different.” The words emerged haltingly, so low Victoria had to strain to hear. “Other people…they don’t see
me
…they see this.” She gestured to her knee.

Heather’s despair rent Victoria in two. She clasped Heather’s hand within hers. “Don’t lose heart, love. Don’t
ever
lose heart. Not yet. You’re too young to be so—so old.”

She squeezed Heather’s fingers. “Heather, I’ve just had a marvelous idea. Your father and I had planned to take Bea to London the latter part of next week. We thought we’d spend a month or so. Heather, please come with us,” she entreated.

Heather smiled slightly. “I fear I’d be terrible company.”

“Oh, Heather, please! We can shop and attend
the theater…you’ve always loved the theater. And I’ve just had a letter from my friend Sophie. She and her youngest sister, Paige, will be in London as well. Do you remember Paige? She’s of an age with you. I believe the two of you met several years ago—and got along quite famously, as I recall.”

Heather nodded. “She was very sweet. It was just after she married”—her brow furrowed—“a Navy officer, I believe.”

“Yes, the very same! Sophie writes that Paige has been rather lonely, since her husband is at sea for the next half year. Heather, please come! We could have such a grand time, the lot of us.”

Heather considered. Oddly, the idea did sound tempting. She wasn’t overly fond of London, but she’d been feeling so restless lately…. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “There’s Lockhaven to consider—”

“Oh, pooh! Now you sound like your father. Lockhaven will still be standing when you return, I promise you.”

“But I must see about engaging another estate manager—”

“Spencer can see to both estates. I’ll speak to your father about it.” She reached up and touched her hair. “There are times when memories tend to overwhelm us,” she added softly. “Heather, a change of scenery would do you a world of good right now. Please say yes.”

Heather sighed. It seemed Mama had a ready answer no matter her protest. And perhaps she was right. Perhaps a change was what she needed….

Her decision made, she lifted her chin and took a deep breath. “You’re right, Mama. I—I’ll accompany you to London.”

The Earl of Deverell’s London residence was an impressive sight, stately and grand. Four stories tall, the entire facade was made of red Georgian brick with dozens of high, mullioned windows. Curling tendrils of ivy and roses twined around the iron gate that separated the dwelling from the street below.

Giles had purchased the mansion some ten years earlier, since their father, a family man from the earliest days of his marriage, had spent nearly all his time in Yorkshire, and so had never maintained a London residence.

When Damien had left Lockhaven, he’d ridden at a breakneck pace for London. Deliberately he kept thoughts of Heather at bay. She muddled his brain and pulled his heart in every direction; he was half afraid to put a name to the emotions roiling in his chest. It was better this way, he told himself.

Better for whom?
scoffed a voice in his head.
Not for her. And certainly not for you
.

But at least his thirst for vengeance had been renewed. He’d been perilously close to losing sight of why he’d gone there in the first place. If he hadn’t found his mother’s jewel case, he might have lost his head completely, and put aside his quest to find James Elliot.

A day later, Damien’s carriage stopped before a small building built of gray stone near Portman Square. Inside was the office of Cameron Lindsey.

Behind his desk, Cameron glanced through the draperies. He gave a nod of admiration as he spied a glossy ruby-colored coach led by four plumed and prancing black stallions. There was a gold crest emblazoned on the door, declaring its owner to be one who held both wealth and considerable rank, but it was one he didn’t recognize.

It rolled to a halt before his door. Curious now, he swiveled his chair around and gave the coach-and-four his full attention.

A footman opened the door. A tall, powerful figure leaped out, splendidly garbed in the height of fashion, from the jaunty angle of his top hat to the tip of gleaming black boots.

Cameron’s eyes widened. He was on his feet and at the door in a heartbeat. He ushered the newcomer inside with a faint bow.

“Lord Deverell, this is a most unexpected visit. I planned to leave tomorrow to meet you in Willoughby.”

Damien was brief and to the point. “Then it’s
good that I came directly to London from Lockhaven.”

Cameron waved the earl to the chair across from his desk. With his thumb he indicated the coach-and-four waiting on the street. “Ah, forgive my presumption, but are you certain you wish to make your presence so conspicuous?”

Before he’d left for Lockhaven, they’d met at obscure places, in the dark, for Damien had wanted none to know of his return to England. Damien’s smile held no mirth. “Precisely the point, Cameron.”

Bushy gray brows shot up. “My lord?”

“Be patient, Cameron. First, tell me how things fare here in London. Has there been any change? Any sign of Elliot?”

Cameron shook his head. “He’s still hidden deep as a mole, my lord.” He fell silent for a moment. “Indeed, I’ve considered tendering my resignation, for it occurs to me you might be better served by another investigator.”

“Not quite yet, Cameron. You’ve done a fine job. I think it’s merely a matter of biding our time a bit longer.”

Leaning forward, Damien briefly told him of his time at Lockhaven. Though he did not hide his involvement with her, he did not reveal the extent of their intimacy. He ended with the discovery of his mother’s jewel case.

Cameron stroked his chin. “Odd,” he murmured. “Very odd. But I think you’re right. It merely solidifies our belief that there’s some connection between Elliot and your family.” He
glanced across at Damien. “What about the girl? She pretends to know nothing about Elliot, I take it?”

Damien’s nod was terse. “Both her parents were killed in the carriage accident, or so she says.”

“Do you believe her?”

“Yes.” His response was a long time in coming. Where Heather was concerned, he couldn’t be objective anymore. His heart and mind were hopelessly entwined with one another, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t separate the two.

“I was at Lockhaven nearly six weeks, Cameron. I’ve discovered I cannot be so patient after all. Elliot deliberately sought out Giles at Tremayne House. So here’s what I’d like to do. I take it you’ve been discreet in your inquiries about Elliot’s whereabouts?”

“Yes.” Cameron was beginning to catch on. “Perhaps too discreet, my lord.”

“My thoughts exactly. Let it be known that someone is looking for him, Cameron. Let it be known that
I’m
looking for him.” His eyes narrowed. “If he wanted Giles, it’s possible he may want me—the last of the Tremaynes. Perhaps we can flush him out yet.”

“So you propose to make your presence known in London, then.”

“Yes. If London is all agog about the arrival of the Earl of Deverell, so much the better.”

Cameron’s expression was thoughtfully intent. “It may very well work, my lord. It may indeed.”

“Hold that thought, Cameron.” He slapped his gloves on his knees. “It seems Elliot has no intention of seeking out his daughter. But perhaps”—he smiled thinly—“perhaps he’ll come to me.”

Heather awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside her window. Since her arrival in London, she had been blessedly lazy, sleeping late, often spending the afternoons reading, sometimes going to tea or shopping with Mama and Bea, or attending the occasional garden party. Last night they had gone to the opera; Heather had leaned forward raptly in her box, for she found the music simply divine. Her days had been filled with trivial things, but it felt surprisingly good to unburden herself so. She strived very hard not to think of Damien—of that last terrible scene—and for the most part she succeeded. But occasionally thoughts of him intruded into her mind.

They were ruthlessly chased aside.

On this particular morning, Heather sat in her room at the Graysons’ townhouse. Bonnets and shawls and dainty slippers were scattered on the floor. Box upon box lay stacked upon the carpet. The bed, and even the chairs, were piled high with gowns of every color and fabric. There were crisp muslin day dresses, pastel morning frocks, brightly hued evening gowns. Bea flitted from one to the other, like a butterfly from flower to flower.

“I was far too extravagant.” Heather made the pronouncement with a rueful shake of her head.
“I confess, I cannot think what came over me. I shall never be able to wear all this, never in a hundred years.”

Bea plucked an elegant lavender evening gown from the pile. “Heather, you must wear this to Lady Seton’s ball tomorrow night,” she declared, eyes shining. “It’ll be simply gorgeous with your dark hair. And this color—I just love it!—will bring out the purple in your eyes.”

Heather bit her lip. “Actually,” she murmured, “I’m not certain yet if I’ll be attending.”

Bea and Paige, the youngest sister of Mama’s dearest friend Sophie, stared at her, their mouths agape. Paige was sweet and demure, small of stature, with gorgeous chestnut hair. Heather had come to value her company—and her friendship—much in the few short weeks she’d been in London. It was Paige who voiced their horror aloud.

“Heather, you must! Lady Seton’s balls are divine. And it’s
the
event of the year. Everyone who is anyone will be there! Why, I vow you’ll never see such jewels and finery as you’ll see tomorrow night. It’s grand fun just to—to stand back and watch everyone!”

Bea gazed at her imploringly. “Heather, please go. You rarely get out in the country. And after all”—she spread her arms wide—“this is London! Besides,” she added, an impish gleam in her eyes, “Mama and Papa will be disappointed if you don’t go.”

This was true, Heather admitted. She’d enjoyed the opera and the theater, and the informal gatherings at the homes of Mama and Papa’s
friends. But a ball was a different story altogether….

Bea jammed her hands on her hips. “Heather, I see here at least
two
ball gowns. You can’t let them go to waste!”

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “I suppose you’re right, Bea.”

“So you’ll go?”

“Yes. Yes, love, if I must.”

Bea squealed and clapped her hands. “Oh, Heather, you’ll have such fun!” She turned to Paige. “Do you think the Earl of Deverell will be there?”

Paige pursed her lips. “I should imagine.”

Heather tipped her head to the side and glanced at Paige. “Who is the Earl of Deverell?”

Before Paige could say a word, Bea interrupted, her features animated. “He’s only been in London a short while, but he’s all the rage, Heather.”

“It’s true,” Paige added. “Everyone’s talking about him. I heard Lady Churchill gushing about him to Sophie at tea just yesterday afternoon. She told how she’s never seen a man move quite like him—with the grace of a panther. Yes, those were her exact words, I believe! She said he has only to enter a room and his presence is such that he commands every eye turn upon him with awe.”

“Especially the ladies,” Bea giggled.

Heather raised a mildly reproving brow.

Paige chuckled. “’Tis said he’s wickedly attractive—why, one look from those piercing gray eyes and all the ladies swoon.”

Gray eyes? Heather couldn’t help it. Her heart lurched.

“Indeed,” she said crisply. “He must be very young, then, if this is the first Society has taken notice of him.”

“Thirtyish, I believe I heard it said.” This came from Paige.

“Indeed! One cannot help but wonder, then, where he’s been hiding all these years.”

Paige was a font of knowledge. “Oh, he’s been gone from England a good many years—where, I can’t recall. He inherited the earldom on the death of his elder brother and has only now returned.”

Bea sank down on the only vacant spot on the bed. Her expression had gone all dreamy-eyed. “’Tis said that he’s quite the handsomest man in London.”

Heather shot her a warning glance. She couldn’t help but remember how Bea had thought Damien the handsomest man in all England.

“Though of course he’s undoubtedly too old for me,” Bea hastened to add. “Still”—she sighed wistfully—“I do wish I could attend. You’ll tell me about it, won’t you, Heather? Every last detail?”

Heather’s eyes softened. She rose and dropped a kiss on Bea’s forehead. “I daresay you’ll attend more than your share of balls next year, love. No doubt Lady Seton’s balls will be grander than ever.” She smiled. “And then you’ll be the one telling me all about it.”

If the truth be told, it was Bea who was far
more excited than Heather as she dressed the following evening. Bea poured scented rose oil into her bath and picked tiny, white roses from the garden for the maid to weave into her hair.

Soon she was ready for the dress. She’d let Bea choose it, and Bea had laid out the lavender gown she’d admired so the day before. The maid hooked her into the gown, and at last she was ready.

Bea clasped her hands before her. “Heather,” she breathed. “Oh, Heather, you look like a fairy princess.”

Heather laughed lightly. “Then I fear you need spectacles, m’dear.”

“Go look.” Bea pushed her gently toward the cheval glass in the corner. Gathering her courage, Heather raised her head, and then she could only stare.

It was beautiful.
She
was beautiful. Her sable hair was twisted high on her crown, entwined with the roses. Delicate, flounced lace sleeves fell away from the tight, formfitting bodice. Bea was right; the pale lavender set off the luminous color of her skin and brought out the deep violet of her eyes. But the neckline was cut scandalously deep and daring. Her shoulders and nearly half of her breasts were completely exposed.

Her hand fluttered upward. “I didn’t realize it was quite so low. I—I feel half naked.”

“That’s because it’s a ball gown, goose.” Bea struck a pose, hands on her hips, her chest thrust out. “Gentlemen love it,” she added, but the sparkle in her eyes was at complete odds with her low, throaty tone.

“Oh, you!” Heather swatted at her playfully, then gathered her skirts in one hand, her cane in the other.

Bea accompanied her to the landing, then suddenly charged down the stairs in a most unladylike manner. “Stand aside,” she yelled. “She’s coming.”

Miles and Victoria glanced up from where they stood in the entrance hall. At the bottom of the stairs, Bea waited. When Heather placed her slipper on the last step, Bea bowed low, then swept an arm high in an exaggerated flourish. Heather felt a laugh gurgle in her throat.

One look at Papa’s face robbed her of the inclination.

He stepped up to her and took both hands in his. “Poppet,” he said simply, “you are exquisite.”

Victoria couldn’t say a word. She was too choked up. Tears misted her eyes.

All at once Heather felt like crying as well. Much as she loved Mama and Papa, she wished Damien could have seen her as she was tonight. If only
he
had been waiting at the foot of the stairs….

The Seton mansion was ablaze with lights when the carriage drew up. A footman ushered them inside, where they were soon greeted by Lady Seton, a tall, blond woman of perhaps forty, dressed in a vibrant pink gown. Heather stood beside Mama, feeling rather nervous and wondering if she shouldn’t have stayed home after all. Lady Seton and Victoria exchanged
familiar greetings; then Miles kissed the gloved hand she presented.

“Annabelle, you remember my ward, Heather Duval?”

Lady Seton turned to her. “Heather, yes, of course! Why, I swear you were surely a child when I last saw you.”

Heather dipped a brief curtsey. “It’s been some while since I last visited London.”

Victoria spoke up. “Yes, she takes after Miles, I’m afraid. Heather very much prefers country life”—she slipped her arm through Miles’s and leaned her head against his shoulder—“not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

Lady Seton wagged a finger. “None of that, now. I swear, you and Miles are the only couple I know who are still as much in love as you were when you first married.” She gave a high-pitched laugh. “Tis as unfashionable now as it was then!”

A pang shot through Heather. Never had she envied Mama and Papa as she did now. She wanted what they had. The love they shared—and were unashamed to show before the world. Her heart cried out at the injustice, for that was something she would never have….