Once an Heiress (12 page)

He’d seen her attraction to him plain as day across her features. He’d seen lust often enough to recognize its various symptoms — the parted lips, the dewy gaze, the slight flush to her cheeks.

But there was something else there, as well, the admiration he’d noted from their previous meeting. It was as though she actually believed him to be a worthy human being.

Now that she seemed to be truly ripe for the plucking — earning himself both her sizable dowry and Ghita for his mistress — he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

In spite of her sometimes-brusque manner, Miss Bachman was an eminently decent woman. She would hate him forever if she found out his true designs on her. She ought to marry someone worthy of not just her fortune, but her goodness, as well.

And that certainly wasn’t he.

Drat.

Ethan climbed into the carriage behind Quillan and Ghita. Quillan rapped the roof twice with his walking stick and the carriage lurched forward to convey the trio to Vauxhall Gardens.

In the opposite seat, Ghita wore a satisfied smile as she gazed out at the passing streetscape, her hand anchored around Quillan’s. She’d become demanding of late, insisting Quillan spend virtually every evening with her, even as she seemed to anticipate moving into Ethan’s protection.

The only motivation Ethan could think of to account for her behavior was the imminent birth of Quillan’s first child. When his friend began making noises about spending time with his expanding family, Ghita suddenly developed an overwhelming desire to go out every evening.

The three people in the carriage all had stakes in Ethan’s marriage to Lily. Miss Bachman herself was responsive to his attentions. It was all coming together so nicely.

And he felt absolutely sick about it.

Ghita rapped him on the knee with her fan. “Why do you sulk so?” Her eyes cut to Quillan. “He broods like a little boy denied a sweet.” Returning her gaze to Ethan, her plump lips turned up in a teasing smile. “Let’s talk of something happy to cheer you up. How is your Miss Bachman? Have you seen her?”

Ethan frowned, reluctant to discuss Lily with Quillan’s mistress. “I have seen her, in fact. Twice this week.”

“Courting like a proper swain, then?” Quillan asked. He took a pull on a silver flask and returned it to his coat pocket. “You’ve been very tight-lipped about this whole thing. Tell us something about your intended. What barbs has she thrown your way? Have her other suitors challenged you to a duel yet?”

A bitter taste settled on Ethan’s tongue as he recalled his two serendipitous meetings with Miss Bachman. While she had been a touch frosty with him on the first occasion, she’d quickly warmed to her subject and even sought his advice. And the second meeting, he’d caught her following him around like a silly schoolgirl. He smiled inwardly as he remembered the surprised dismay on her face when she realized she’d been found out, and the delicious response they’d both experienced when he’d tended her scraped hand. None of that was for public consumption.

“She is planning a school.” That seemed the most innocuous subject to discuss.

Quillan frowned, the corners of his mouth vanishing into his great jowls. “What kind of a school?”

“A charity school for disadvantaged young women. I believe the aim is to train them for the gentler trades — governesses, ladies’ companions, and the like.”

For a moment, Ghita only stared at him. Then she waved her hand in that flamboyant, dismissive gesture of hers. “Every tonnish lady has a cause. It’s fashionable these days to care.”

Quillan nodded in agreement. “Even Lady Umberton sits on the ladies’ committee at church, and you know the only soul she cares about is her own.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened in frustration. “You misunderstand, both of you. Miss Bachman is actually creating this school from scratch. She’s overseeing everything — ” He ticked off points on his fingers. “The purchase of the property, the hiring of the headmistress and staff, the subjects the students will be taught, everything! She’s doing it all.”

Quillan eyed him thoughtfully. “You’ll have to put an end to that. Twouldn’t be at all the thing for your viscountess to be seen fraternizing so much with the dreks.”

Ghita laid a hand on her lover’s arm. “No, no, Quillan, he must leave her to it.” The smile she turned on Ethan had a mean-spirited edge to it. “Let her work herself to death at her fashionable charity. She won’t have time for anything else.” The look she gave him conveyed multiple layers of meaning. He knew she meant that if Lily was busy with her school, she wouldn’t notice that her husband was otherwise occupied with his mistress.

Ethan stared frankly at the fiery Italian. She was physical perfection incarnate — large eyes, willowy limbs, and a figure that hearkened back to Botticelli’s Venus. But there was something else there he had never noticed before — something hard and icy that soundly countered the effect of every one of her feminine attributes. For the first time since meeting the woman, Ethan looked at her and felt no physical response whatsoever.

A shout of confusion sounded from the driver’s box, and the carriage suddenly lurched to a halt.

“What the devil?” Quillan began turning toward the door; the carriage rocked with his movements.

“Allow me.” Ghita leaned out the window and looked up the road. From his own rear-facing position, Ethan couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation.

“The carriage in front of us has stopped,” Ghita reported. “A lady comes out. Now she’s helping another. That one looks like there’s something wrong. I think she’s sick.” Her voice rang with delight, entertained by the spectacle of another’s discomfort.

Quillan exhaled an impatient sigh. “Well, can we get around them?”

Ethan scowled at his inconsiderate friends. “Maybe they are in need of assistance.” He started to rise.

Ghita opened the door and hopped down, tossing propriety to the wind. “I’ll go. Your glowering face would make them think you’d come to kill them.” She shut the carriage door and vanished into the gloom.

• • •

Mrs. Bachman clutched Lily’s right hand with both of her own in a vice grip and howled in pain. Lily ran her other hand across her mother’s back. Beneath her palm, she felt the spasming muscles bunch and twitch.

She made a shushing sound. “It’s all right, Mama.”

Lily had nearly jumped out of her skin when her mother had stopped mid-sentence and yowled just a moment ago for the driver to stop.

When her back spasmed, sitting was an excruciating exercise, so Lily had quickly helped her down from the carriage. She needed laudanum and bed, but neither were close to hand. They were nearly a mile from home.

The footman clambered down from his seat on the back of the coach, his brow creased in concern. “What’s happened, miss?”

“Mrs. Bachman’s back is complaining. She needs her medicine.”

Another spasm rippled across her mother’s back; Mrs. Bachman twisted in agony and cried out. Tears pricked Lily’s eyes. Rarely had she felt so helpless.

She glanced up and down the walk. Pedestrians passed by with barely a second glance, and those were the nicely dressed ones. Lily well knew they were prime targets for the seedy elements who came out to play when the sun went down in London. They had to get off the street before they were robbed, or worse. “I’m sorry, Mama, but we have to get back into the carriage now.”

Mrs. Bachman protested weakly. “The ball … ”

Hot anger flashed across Lily’s cheeks. Even now, her mother was more worried about Lily’s marital prospects, with no thought for their safety. “Hang the ball!”

An elegantly dressed lady stepped into the light of the street lamp in which they stood. She regarded them with large eyes and smiled kindly. “You are in distress, madam?” Her voice carried a heavy Italian accent.

Mrs. Bachman struggled to straighten, her breath coming in shallow pants. “No, everything’s fi — ow!”

Lily staggered a step as her mother fell against her. “My mother’s in pain. It’s her back.”

The Italian lady tut-tutted and laid a delicate hand on Mrs. Bachman’s shoulder. “My dear woman, what can I do to be of assistance?”

Mrs. Bachman’s eyes turned on Lily, her face a grimacing mask. “Perhaps a ride to the ball — ”

“No!” Lily insisted. “I’m not going. I’ve quite decided, so do stop arguing.” Their footman hovered close to hand, nearly jigging with anxiety. Lily nodded to him. “Help me get her back into the carriage.”

Finally, Mrs. Bachman’s shoulders slumped in resignation as the footman pried one of her hands off Lily to lend his own assistance and the trio started back to the carriage. “Very well. I suppose you can jot a note to Lady Ainsley’s once we’re home, so Mr. Bachman doesn’t fret over us.”

The Italian lady straightened, her attention trained on Lily. “Are you, perhaps, Miss Bachman?”

“I am,” Lily affirmed. She continued guiding Mrs. Bachman to the awaiting vehicle, the woman a half-ignored presence behind her.

She heard a throaty laugh. “But that is too wonderful!” The lady clapped her gloved hands together. Lily glanced over her shoulder. The woman followed a step behind. Lily smelled her perfume, an exotic floral scent. “I have heard much about you,” she continued. “I am so happy to meet you at the last. You should come with me.” She waved her other hand toward the carriage behind theirs. “Lord Umberton will be happy to offer you a ride.”

Mrs. Bachman paused with her foot on the step. “Are you Lady Umberton?” she asked breathlessly, ever awed by persons with titles attached to their names.

The woman’s eyes widened, and then a slow smile spread across her lovely face. “Lady Umberton, yes.”

To Lily’s ears, it almost sounded as though Lady Umberton was trying the name on for size, but then she dismissed the notion as a quirk of the woman’s accent. She’d never met the Countess of Umberton, only seen her from afar at huge gatherings last season. Memory painted Umberton’s wife as fuller-figured, and she didn’t recall hearing she was Italian. Allowing for the fact that she ignored three-quarters of what anyone told her about the
haut ton
and scoffed at the rest, it was entirely possible she
had
heard mention of Lady Umberton’s nationality and forgotten it again.

Mrs. Bachman pinned Lily beneath a fierce gaze. “You must go,” she hissed. “It’s a sign from Providence.”

Lily snorted. “It’s not at all miraculous that another carriage on our route would also be headed toward the same destination. It’s logical.”

Another spasm threw Mrs. Bachman off balance. The footman’s support kept her from falling. When the spasm passed, she rounded on Lily, her cheeks in high color and her eyes flashing. “Now you listen to me! I am your mother and I refuse to be dismissed. For years, you have behaved as though Mr. Bachman is the only parent you have to answer to. Well, I won’t stand for it another moment — not one more. I shall not be ignored!” She pointed at Lady Umberton. “This kind lady has offered to take you to the ball, and I demand you get into that carriage at once.”

Lily blinked, stunned at her mother’s vehemence. It crossed her mind to rejoin, but then she looked at the amused expression on Lady Umberton’s face. She would not sink to arguing with her mother on a public street, in front of an aristocrat who had actually offered assistance.

“All right,” she grumbled. Turning to Lady Umberton, she bent her neck. “Thank you, my lady. I accept your kind offer.”

She saw her mother settled into the seat, and instructed the footman to convey Lily’s order for medication and rest to Mrs. Bachman’s maid. Though her mother’s face was still contorted in pain, her anguish seemed somewhat eased by Lily’s promise to attend the ball and make the best of it. She patted Lily’s hand. “Such a good girl.” The footman closed the carriage door and hopped to his place on the back, giving the word for the driver to head for home.

Lady Umberton touched Lily’s elbow. “Come now. Let’s away.” She laughed again as she started toward her own conveyance, Lily following in her wake. The sound was musical and rich, and altogether mystifying. What on earth was so funny?

• • •

Ghita’s laughter rolled down the darkened street. A moment later, the carriage door opened, and the female herself appeared. She smiled shrewdly at Ethan as she climbed into the carriage. “I have brought you something.” Resuming her place next to Quillan, she gestured to someone outside the carriage, whose identity was hidden from Ethan by the door. “Yes, yes, come in.” Turning to the gentlemen, she explained, “We have a passenger.”

A slippered foot and the skirts of a satin gown appeared, followed an instant later by the remainder of the newcomer.

The shock on Lily Bachman’s face when she caught sight of him surely mirrored his own. Then he snapped his jaw shut and moved over to make room for her on the seat beside him. His lips compressed into a hard line as that statuesque assortment of impossible curves settled into the squabs. He shot a glare at Ghita; she caught his eye and, without a scrap of shame, winked.

As the carriage shifted and started forward, Lily straightened, pulling her arms close to her side, obviously attempting to maintain space between them in the coach’s tight confines. In doing so, however, she pressed her ample breasts further together, boosting them out of the low neckline of her gown, revealing even more creamy flesh.

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut and stifled the groan rising in his throat. It was a test. Somehow, some way, this was a test of his resolve. He must not look at Lily Bachman’s sumptuous breasts. He must not
think
about them. Or how they felt pressed against him when they’d kissed. Or how they would look gloriously bare. In his bed.

Damn.

He pressed himself as far into his own corner as he could without climbing the walls.

Lily nodded to Quillan. “Thank you for your assistance, Lord Umberton.” She related the circumstances that led to her parting ways with her mother. When she came to Ghita’s involvement, the other woman cut into the narrative.

“And so I am thinking, since we are all going to the same place, why not take Miss Bachman ourselves?” Ghita smirked, triumph blazing in her eyes. She had delivered Lily into Ethan’s hands, to further his suit.