Catch a Falling Heiress: An American Heiress in London (20 page)

Linnet stopped eating, for there was a nuance in his demeanor—a shadow across his face and a bitter tinge to his voice—that belied his amusement. “What do you mean?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate. “What examples?”

He was silent for a moment, eating his sandwich, but at last he said, “My brother Charles could gain any amount of feminine attention just by walking into a room.”

“That’s not such a terrible thing.” Linnet wriggled on the blanket, uncomfortable. “Is it?”

He slanted her a knowing look. “Why, because you have the same gift when it comes to men?”

She shook her head, and yet even as she made that gesture, she couldn’t really deny it, not beneath that perceptive gaze of his. “No . . . I mean, yes, sort of . . . but I’m not . . . it isn’t . . .” She stopped, terribly embarrassed. “You may be right that I have a lot of pride,” she burst out at last, “but that particular trait is not something I’m proud of.”

“I realize that.”

His voice was gentle, but she felt compelled to explain. “It’s just that as a girl, I was plain as plain could be, and yes, some girls were mean and called me a rabbit. Now, because I was very, very fortunate, now I’m pretty, but I am not any different, not on the inside. Some men look at me and decide they want me, but they don’t know me.”

He nodded. “And when we met, you put me in that category, of course. Why wouldn’t you?”

“Few men see past my face, or my money, or my powerful family. They don’t—” She broke off, waving a hand beside her cheek, groping for words to explain. “They don’t see me,
me,
Linnet. They see Ephraim Holland’s daughter, or the Holland heiress, or the pretty blonde with the blue, blue eyes.”

He smiled a little. “Well, in defense of my sex, it’s pretty hard to get past your eyes, Linnet. They look at a chap and hit him square on. It’s rather like being coshed with a cricket bat. I know that’s how it felt when you first looked in my direction.”

She bit her lip. “You’re better with compliments than you think.”

“That’s not a compliment. That’s just a fact, like the sun coming up in the east or a compass needle pointing north. But I know what you mean, and I can safely say that your speech proves beyond any doubt—not that any proof was needed—that although you may flummox every member of the opposite sex when you walk into a room, you are not the least bit like my brother. He was not only aware of his magnetic attraction, he enjoyed using it at every opportunity.”

“He was a flirt, you mean?”

Jack shook his head. “It was far more potent than flirtation. Charles could ensnare a woman’s heart with nothing more than a few minutes of conversation, and he could break it, too, without sparing a second for regret. That’s not a talent I ever possessed.”

Linnet looked at him, at his devil-may-care face and his dark, dark eyes, and she didn’t believe him. She thought of his kiss and how he could recognize the taste of sherry on her mouth. “I daresay you’ve broken a few hearts in your life,” she said faintly.

“But not on purpose. Not for amusement. Not just because I could. Winning a woman is work. At least, it ought to be. But for Charles?” He shook his head. “It was never work. It was easy as winking.”

“No wonder he became a fortune hunter, then.”

“Yes. A dubious profession, to be sure, but a lucrative one. My father was the same. Both of them married rich women for their money, and both of them proceeded to ignore their marriage vows to a legendary degree. I know you think I’m a fortune hunter, too, and though I could say time and again that I’m not, it wouldn’t do a bit of good at easing your doubts. But I can at least say this: To my father and my brother, women were toys, amusing little things to be picked up and played with and put down again with never a thought. I’ve had my share of women, Linnet, I can’t deny it, but I’ve never thought of a woman, any woman, as a toy. And as wild as I’ve been, as madcap as I can be, I’ve never committed a dishonorable act against a woman in my life.” He paused, his eyes steady and unwavering as they looked into hers. “At least, not until Newport.

“I can’t explain to you why I did it,” he rushed on, as if afraid she was going to ask, “and I shall never be able to do so. But what I can do, if you’ll let me, is prove my character.”

She swallowed hard. “I have to let you,” she whispered. “We called a truce.”

“So we did. And given our new spirit of cooperation and peace . . .” He paused and leaned closer. “I should very much like to kiss you again, Lioness.”

She felt a jolt of apprehension and anticipation, and it took her a moment to remember which of those emotions ought to be dictating her actions. When he leaned even closer, she flattened her palm against his chest to keep him at bay. “Didn’t you just say you wanted to prove your character to me?”

“Well, yes, but—” He broke off with a sigh and sat back. “Oh, very well. I suppose kissing you would be a bit hypocritical right after that little speech. I ought to have kissed you first, dash it. After softening you up with blueberry muffins, I had the perfect opportunity, too.”

She objected with a scoffing sound. “That’s an insufferable presumption on your part.”

“Still, it’s too late for regrets now, I suppose,” he went on, blithely ignoring her protest, “and since the sun’s going down, I’d best take you back to the house. Besides,” he added as he stood up and reached out his free hand to help her to her feet, “I’m sure Sir Roger or his sister has already gone to Belinda with tales of my barbaric conduct. I’ve no doubt she’s wearing out the carpet right now and cursing my name. Either that, or she’s searching Nick’s gun cabinets for a pistol with which to shoot me.”

His glass was still in his hand, and as she watched him swirl the contents and down the last swallow, she reminded herself that it was his kiss that had plunged her entire life into chaos, but she couldn’t help wondering if he had kissed her just now what champagne on his mouth would have tasted like.

Chapter 11

Jack’s prediction that Belinda would pounce on him the moment they arrived back at the house proved unfounded. Nicholas had arrived home from America, and Jack guessed that might perhaps have diverted his sister-in-law’s attention, for he was able to gain his room, have a bath and a shave, and change into evening clothes, all without having to face Belinda’s wrath. But when Jack joined the other guests gathering in the drawing room for aperitifs before dinner, he soon discovered he was not to escape unscathed.

Belinda cornered him before he’d even poured his port. “Sir Roger and his sister have left Honeywood,” she murmured, halting beside where he stood at the liquor cabinet.

“Indeed?” He was not facing her straight on, for if he had been, she’d have seen the smile that tweaked his mouth at that news before he could hide it. As it was, he managed to pour his drink and savor the departure of one of his competitors without being caught out. “But they’ve just arrived.”

“They departed on the evening train for London. He tried to pretend it was a matter of business, but I don’t believe that for a moment.”

“No?” Drink in hand, he strove to don an expression of mild curiosity as he turned toward her, but Belinda, with her razor-sharp perceptions, always saw through pretenses of that kind.

She studied his face for two seconds, then gave a nod, as if some suspicion lurking in her mind had now been confirmed. “You had something to do with his leaving, didn’t you?”

She didn’t know, he realized, and he thanked heaven that Sir Roger and his sister seemed to possess the rare quality of discretion. “My dear Belinda, I’m barely acquainted with Sir Roger. What have I to do with his business matters?”

“When I pressed him about staying, he said something curious. He said there was no point in remaining, for it had been made clear to him that any courtship of Miss Holland would require him to engage in conduct beneath the dignity of a gentleman, and he wanted no part of it. What does that mean?”

It meant Sir Roger didn’t have the guts to step up and prevent a rival from throwing a woman over his shoulder and making off with her. But Jack couldn’t enlighten Belinda on that point, and he chose his words with care. “Miss Holland had an engagement for tea with me, remember? Perhaps Sir Roger took umbrage to the fact. And if he has removed himself from consideration for her hand, I shall not mourn his departure.”

If he thought his words would put an end to the discussion, he was mistaken. Belinda’s blue eyes studied him even more intently than before. “What did you do, Jack?”

At that moment, a distraction arrived and saved him from having to admit any culpability, at least for now. “Nick,” he said with heartfelt relief, looking past Belinda’s shoulder to the blond-haired man coming across the drawing room to greet him. “Back from America, I see.”

“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Belinda murmured, bringing his attention back to her as her husband paused beside them. “We’ll talk more about this later.”

“In trouble with my wife, are you?” Nicholas asked, as Belinda moved off to converse with other guests.

“I always seem to be in trouble with your wife. I am a Featherstone, after all.” He moved aside to give Nicholas access to the liquor. “It’s good to see you. How was the inquest?”

“Uneventful. A matter purely of routine. Nothing we need to be concerned with now. It’s truly over.”

“Good. You just arrived from Dover, I take it?”

“Actually, no. I landed at Liverpool a few days ago.”

“Liverpool? But why not come through Dover? Much easier to reach Kent that way.”

Drink in hand, Nick turned toward him. “Not if one decides to make a stop in Norfolk along the way.”

“Ah.” Jack took a sip of his port. “And how is Stuart?”

“Content with the outcome. Relieved it’s over. Grateful to us all. But he’s also a bit puzzled.”

“Oh? What puzzles him?”

“He wondered why he learned of Van Hausen’s suicide from the newspapers and not from us. I thought you intended to write to him?”

“I did write to him. I composed a letter that very night—” Jack broke off with a groan, slapping a palm to his forehead. “Hells bells, I forgot to post it. It’s probably still in my dispatch case.”

“Really, Jack.” Nick shook his head with a sigh. “How could you forget a thing like that?”

“I’ve been rather pressed with other matters, in case you hadn’t heard. Still, that’s no excuse. He should have learned the news from me. I shall write tomorrow and express my apologies. I have to write to him anyway about another matter.”

“Write if you like, but there’s no need for apologies with Stuart, you know that. And I was able to elucidate any points the papers missed or got wrong. He does want to see you, though, and Denys and James as well, to express his gratitude.”

Jack shook his head. “He owes me no such sentiments. I was glad to do it. We all were. I hope you assured him of that.”

“I did. But he was adamant, and since Belinda’s giving this house party already, I’ve invited all of them, and Edie, too, of course, to join us here afterward. They’ll be arriving late next week.”

Jack was pleased by this news, for it would give him time to discuss Holland’s offer with Stuart in person without having to journey to Norfolk and perhaps abandon Linnet to the machinations of his rivals. “Excellent. I wish I’d had time to call on him when I returned, but as it was . . .” He paused, giving his friend a rueful look.

“Yes, you’ve been quite busy, I know. The American gossip rags are filled with stories of you and the girl. I daresay every scandal-ridden American is grateful you’ve succeeded in diverting the attentions of
Town Topics
from their troubles.”

Jack grimaced. “Linnet’s father is beside himself, I’m sure. And you must have been inundated with questions as well.”

“Pressed at every turn, I’m afraid. The American reporters . . .” Nick paused, rolling his eyes. “They’re even more relentless than ours.”

“What story did you offer?”

“I said I was not privy to any details of your courtship of Miss Holland.” Nick took a sip of port. “How’s that proceeding, by the way?”

“I’ll win her over,” he said with far more assurance than he felt. “These other chaps haven’t got a chance.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Linnet and her mother entered the drawing room, and the moment they did, several of the other single men present began to gravitate toward the doorway.

“Odd,” Nick drawled beside him, watching men swarm Linnet like bees to honey. “Those other chaps don’t seem to see the situation the same way you do.”

T
HE TRUTH
OF
Nick’s assessment was demonstrated to Jack with tiresome frequency during the course of the evening. The dinner gong sounded before he had the chance to speak to Linnet at all, and he was not, worse luck, seated anywhere close to her at the table. The distance was not so great that he couldn’t see her, however. Across the table and five chairs down, she was well within his line of vision, and he found that fact something of a consolation, at least for the first few minutes.

Her hair, piled high atop her head, gleamed like molten gold, and the candlelight of the dining room lit her pale skin with a luminous glow. She seemed even more beautiful now than she had that afternoon, but any enjoyment he might have taken in the view evaporated once the meal began, for she turned her attention to Lord Hansborough, the man seated beside her, which meant that whenever Jack looked her way, his view was most often the nape of her neck and a bit of her profile.

The fact that she seemed to find Hansborough such a fascinating dinner companion did nothing to rouse Jack’s spirits, especially since her penchant for fashionable Parisian evening frocks with daring, low-cut necklines had not gone unnoticed by the viscount. His gaze dropped to her bosom with aggravating frequency, a fact that made Jack want to snarl every time he saw it happen, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

After dinner, when the ladies had gone through, and the port was passed, he had the opportunity to take the measure of Hansborough, as well as his other rivals. He talked little, choosing instead to listen and observe. He was well aware that with Linnet, a man couldn’t take anything for granted, of course, but after about ten minutes over the port, he was able to form several conclusions.

Carrington, despite being three decades older than Linnet, was still a handsome fellow and quite fit. But he was also every bit as dull as Jack remembered, and as he droned on and on about Cecil’s obvious superiority to Gladstone as a prime minister, Jack concluded that it was the duke’s inability to make interesting conversation that must have done for him with Linnet the first time around. Watching Carrington, he decided he’d have to put in a word with the fellow about her abject ignorance of the British political system, or something along that line. An hour or two of this, and she just might decide she didn’t want to hear it for the rest of her life.

Jack turned his attention to Lord Tufton. Most British girls, he thought as he studied the marquess down the table, would consider Tufton quite an attractive fellow, but Linnet, thank heaven, was an American, and American girls placed a great deal more emphasis on white teeth and fresh breath than did their British counterparts. As he watched the cigar smoke swirl around Tufton’s head, he rather hoped the marquess tried stealing a kiss from Linnet in the next day or two. That might be enough to do him in.

And then there was Hansborough. In the viscount, he knew he had a dangerous rival. Other than a predilection for gazing at Linnet’s bosom more often than her face, Hansborough didn’t seem to possess any weaknesses that might work to Jack’s advantage. The other man was, unfortunately, handsome, urbane, and intelligent—all qualities that appealed to women. Still, it was early days yet, and every man had weaknesses.

“You’re terribly quiet, Jack.”

Hearing Nick say his name roused him from his contemplations, and he turned to his friend, but a cough from the doorway gave him no chance to respond.

All the men turned toward the entrance to the dining room, where a stout, middle-aged woman in black stood with a baby in her arms.

“Oh, I say,” Hansborough murmured, sounding rather shocked by this domestic invasion into such a masculine enclave, and a quick glance around told Jack the other men were just as surprised. The only exception was Nick, who smiled at once at the sight of his son.

“Ah, Nanny Brown,” he greeted her, standing up. “So Colin’s awake, is he?”

“Yes, my lord. Begging your pardon, but you did say if he woke up, you wanted to see him straightaway.”

“So I did. Forgive me, gentlemen,” Nicholas added to the men at the table as he moved to the doorway and took his son from the nanny’s arms. “But I’ve been away for several weeks, and since I returned, I’ve had no chance to see my son.”

“What he really means, gentlemen,” Jack said, pushing back his chair, “is that he’s had no chance to show him off.”

Most of the men laughed at that, but it didn’t escape his notice as he stood up and circled the table that Hansborough wasn’t laughing.

He paused behind Nick, studying the baby over his friend’s shoulder. “Ah, now it’s clear why he’s so proud,” he told the men around the table. “The boy’s quite bonny. That fact is due to his mother, of course, as we can all attest.”

“I’d object to that,” Nick said amid another round of laughter. “But it’s true. He’s got my wife’s dark hair and blue eyes.” He paused to lift the baby in his hands, turning him so that the other men could have a look. “Which means he’s ripping gorgeous, as you can see.”

Being held up for display must not have agreed with Colin, for he let out a wail of protest, wriggled violently, and started to cry. Nicholas resumed cradling him at once, but the damage seemed to be done, for Colin would not be placated. His feet kicked, his fists flailed, and his wails grew louder.

“Really, Trubridge,” Hansborough said, his voice loud enough to carry over the baby’s crying, “can the nanny not take him away until we’ve at least had our port?”

There was distinct annoyance in the viscount’s voice that caught Jack’s attention even over Colin’s lusty wails, and when he looked in that direction, there was no mistaking the viscount’s pained expression.

Jack studied the other man’s disapproving face for a moment, considering possibilities, then he looked at Colin again and decided he’d have to pull Nanny Brown aside sometime soon for a little chat.

“
I
T’S VITAL THAT
Salisbury keep a conservative government in power, for if Gladstone’s Liberals ever get back in, it will spell chaos. Do you see, Miss Holland?”

“Oh, yes,” she murmured with perhaps too much fervor. “I do, indeed, Your Grace.”

She raised a gloved hand to her mouth, hoping to hide the yawn that refused to be suppressed. She glanced past the duke as he continued on about former Prime Minister Gladstone, and at once she caught sight of Jack, who was watching her from the other side of the room with a grin on his face. She forced her yawn away, snatched her hand down, and returned her attention to the duke, pasting an expression of rapturous attention on her face.