The Elusive Heiress (8 page)

The lawyer shook his head.

‘No, I thought not.’ Kate’s lip curled. ‘And what of the body? Has he produced it for inspection?’

Mr Hilton consulted his papers. ‘He says that Miss Nixon’s mortal remains have not been recovered as of yet.’

‘I see.’ Kate let out a scornful laugh. ‘No witnesses and no body. How very convenient!’

‘You present a clever case, ma’am.’

Kate flicked at wary glance at his lordship.

‘There is no question that Sullivan would benefit from my cousin’s death,’ Randal continued in the same cool tones. ‘However, although he is a greedy man, he is not a fool and I hardly think he would claim that Kitty was dead unless he had reason to believe it true.’

‘I agree, my lord,’ Mr Hilton chimed in. ‘To attempt such a deception would be fruitless. The instant Miss Nixon reappeared he would be exposed as a liar and his reputation damaged beyond repair.’

Kate bit down hard on her tongue. She longed to shout out that the Sullivans had never intended Kitty to be seen again. They had plotted murder!

‘It may be that he does think me dead.’ Kate decided it could do no harm to concede this point. ‘I did leave in extreme haste without furnishing any explanation.’

‘But why should you act in such a rash manner, my dear young lady?’ exclaimed Mr Hilton in a shocked voice.

Kate began to explain how matters had stood. ‘In the end, sir, I began to feel so very uncomfortable at Ballyhad House that I simply had to get away.’

Randal eyed her pure profile thoughtfully.

She didn’t sound as if she was lying. In fact, he would have sworn to her sincerity. And yet…

‘You spoke of Gerald having no proof. Can you offer us any proof, ma’am, that you are the person you claim to be?’ he asked as soon as Kate finished speaking.

Although she had been expecting this question, Kate’s pulse still gave a little flicker of alarm.

‘Of course,’ she responded coolly, inwardly grateful for the years of training which enabled her to keep her voice level and her hands perfectly steady as she opened the knitted silk reticule she had brought with her.

Withdrawing a slightly crumpled letter she lent forward and laid it on the desk in front of Mr Hilton. ‘This is for you, sir, from my Mama. You may compare the handwriting to her earlier missives if you wish.’

Mr Hilton picked it up rather gingerly and breaking open the wafer perused it carefully before handing it over to Randal.

‘The content tells us nothing.’ A small frown creased Lord Redesmere’s dark brows. ‘However, the hand does appear to be that of Mrs Nixon.’

‘Mrs Ashe, if you please,’ Kate reminded him crisply, relief welling up in her.

Thank heavens Kitty had been right! She had promised them that her handwriting was virtually identical to her mother’s when she had offered to make a fresh copy of Lydia’s letter for Kate to use.

‘Mama insisted on writing a formal letter of introduction. She didn’t want anyone to think us backward in the proper civilities. I can remember exactly what it said for I helped her to compose it,’ Kitty had told them earnestly.

The original letter, which Kitty had taken to keeping on her person after finding evidence that the Sullivans were prying into her belongings, had been stowed in the pocket of her cloak, but it had not survived their mutual immersion in the river. The ink had run adding to the water stains and everyone in the Gillman Players agreed that Kate could not offer such a sorry object as a credential to Messrs. Hilton, Tyler and Dibbs, particularly as to do so might arouse the very suspicions they were trying to avoid.

‘This is scarcely conclusive. Do you have any official papers?’ Lord Redesmere laid the letter back on the desk.

‘Not on me, no. My uncle insisted on taking my certificate of American citizenship into his care. He said he would keep it safe for me.’ Kate shrugged lightly, praying that they wouldn’t guess how tension was knotting her stomach. She could feel Crawford watching her like a hawk.

‘Why didn’t you ask for it back?’

‘I was scared of him! Why else do you think I ran away?’ Kate glared at him. What was the matter with the man? He must have a heart of stone!

‘I see.’ Apparently unimpressed by her plight, his lordship flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his immaculate sleeve. ‘In that case, can you offer us any other proof?’

Kate’s temper slipped its tight leash.

In a swift gesture she pointed to the gold locket which she wore around her neck. ‘I suppose I also forged these,’ she snapped, flicking it open to reveal two miniature portraits.

With a slow deliberation Randal raised his quizzing glass and proceeded to stare intently at the locket lying upon her creamy bosom.

Her cheeks flushing, Kate reached up to undo the chain, meaning to hand the locket to him, but in her agitated haste her fingers fumbled the task.

‘Allow me.’ Before she could frame a protest, he rose swiftly to his feet and came to her aid.

She had washed her hair with jasmine. He could smell the delicate sweetness as he gently moved the heavy, shining ringlets aside. How soft they felt, like the finest silk!

A quiver of unexpected pleasure shot through Kate at the touch of his warm hands, quenching her anger. She sat very still, acutely consciously of his strong, well-muscled thighs brushing against her shoulders. To her horror, she suddenly realised that she wanted to turn round and clasp him in her arms.

‘Please bend your head forward a little.’

In a daze Kate obeyed the quiet command and felt his fingers move to the clasp. Her heart began to thump. She knew she ought to have more sense, but it made no difference.

Randal undid the clasp and the chain fell away. For an instant he remained motionless staring down at the tender curve of her bare nape. Mastering the crazy impulse to press a kiss upon her satiny skin, he turned away and sat down again.

The locket had fallen into her lap. With an effort, Kate pulled herself together and picked it up. Avoiding his gaze, she held it out to Randal. ‘My father gave this to my mother on their wedding day. I believe it originally belonged to his mother.’

Her hand was trembling. Why? Was it guilt, or had she too felt something at his touch? And why should that particular thought please him so much?

Randal sternly quelled his irrational speculations and took the locket. He stared down at the twin portraits. Charmingly executed in watercolours, they depicted a young man and woman clad in the styles of some twenty years ago.

Silently, he handed the locket over to the lawyer.

‘Mama commissioned a travelling artist to paint them soon after their arrival in Massachusetts. Do you recognise my father, sir?’ Kate asked, fixing her great dark eyes on Alan Hilton’s face.

‘Indeed. The likeness is excellent.’ The lawyer paused. ‘That is to say, I recognise this as an accurate portrayal of Mr Charles Nixon.’ He shifted uneasily in his seat. ‘The locket is also known to me. I was present when Mr Charles received it from his father. However, my dear young lady, in itself this locket does not prove that Charles Nixon was your father.’

‘Oh come, sir!’ Kate gave him her most charming smile. ‘Is it likely that an impostor would possess such a family heirloom? And what about Mama’s letter? How do you account for that?’ She shook her head coquettishly, setting her sable curls dancing. ‘Surely, it is more logical to accept that this sorry confusion has arisen solely because my uncle made a mistake?’

‘Are you claiming that Gerald allowed optimism to cloud his judgement when you vanished?’ Randal demanded.

Kate reluctantly turned to face him. How she wished she only had to deal with Mr Hilton! The lawyer might be cautious, but she sensed a growing sympathy behind his dry manner.

‘I cannot think of any other explanation, my lord.’ Kate opened her eyes wide in an expression of limpid innocence and smiled at him sweetly.

Randal stared back at her. Hellfire, why did she have to be so damned attractive! It made it difficult to think!

‘Perhaps our first reaction was too hasty,’ Mr Hilton murmured, giving a dry little cough.

Kate flashed him a look of gratitude. ‘Oh I am relieved to hear you say so, Mr Hilton! It is dreadful to be thought a liar!’

Whipping out a lace-trimmed handkerchief from her reticule, Kate applied it dextrously to the corners of her eyes and gave an artistic little sniff. ‘You cannot imagine how upset and worried I have been,’ she sighed, risking a tiny sob.

‘Pray do not disturb yourself, my dear young lady,’ Mr Hilton squeaked, his voice rising in alarm.

Risking a peep over the edge of her handkerchief, Kate saw him leap gallantly to his feet. ‘Let me procure you a restorative.’

Satisfied that he had fallen for her damsel in distress ploy, Kate was about to refuse his offer and press home her advantage when Lord Redesmere forestalled her.

‘A glass of sherry would be an excellent notion, Alan. I shall keep Miss…Nixon company while you fetch it.’

Somewhat offended at the assumption that he meant to act as his own errand boy, Mr Hilton almost failed to note the accompanying slight jerk of his lordship’s fair head.

‘Ah yes. Of course.’ Belatedly realising that his client wanted a chance to speak to the girl in private Mr Hilton edged towards the door. ‘I…I don’t know if we have anything to suit a lady’s palate so I may be a few moments.’

Kate stared at his retreating back and had to struggle not to curse.

‘Yes, I know. Very shabby of him to abandon you like that.’ Randal’s tone held mock sympathy. ‘Still, you can take comfort from the fact that his desertion has proved a miraculous cure for your tears.’

Realising that her unguarded expression had betrayed her, Kate returned her handkerchief to her reticule. ‘I cannot imagine what you mean,’ she said primly.

Randal grinned. ‘What, no protests, ma’am? Not even a complaint at being left alone with me?’

Kate’s black brows winged upwards in haughty disdain. ‘I believe my virtue to be safe, sir,’ she said coolly, indicating the door which Mr Hilton had carefully left open as convention demanded.

Randal’s grin broadened. Blister it, but he couldn’t help admiring her panache!

‘Since you have engineered our privacy I assume you have something you wish to say to me?’

He nodded, his smile fading. ‘We appear to have reached a stalemate. I don’t believe you are Kitty Nixon, but I can’t prove it. Nor can I explain whence you got that letter and locket…unless you stole them of course.’

Ignoring the gasp of indignation which greeted this remark, Randal continued calmly. ‘It is equally obvious that you aren’t going to give up your claim without a fight. Therefore, the only logical way forward is to organise further investigations.’

He paused, giving her the opportunity to comment, but, somewhat to his surprise, she merely nodded agreement.

‘If necessary Alan can contact Mrs Ashe in due course, but I do not want to cause her any needless worry. Sullivan may well have other engagements, but once he is free to travel we should be able to get to the bottom of this matter quickly enough.’

‘You want Uncle Gerald to identify me?’ Kate managed to put the question calmly, hiding her shocked alarm. She had never imagined such a hideous complication!

‘Just so, ma’am.’

‘You believe he will speak the truth?’ Kate asked, rallying.

‘Sullivan has the reputation of a rogue, but I doubt if even he would dare to deny you if you are who you claim to be. Honour aside, he is intelligent enough to realise that I won’t let this matter drop. One way or another, I mean to find out what really happened in Ireland.’

There was a grim note in his deep voice and hearing it Kate experienced a
frisson
of despair.

The instant Gerald Sullivan clapped eyes on her the game would be up!

Her thoughts whirling as she tried frantically to work out the implications of this new development, Kate was scarcely aware at first that Randal was speaking again.

‘Unfortunately, given the distance involved, any investigation is going to require time. It may take weeks to discover the truth.’ Randal shrugged. ‘Therefore, although it grieves me to do so, I propose we agree on a truce.’

‘A truce?’ Kate’s attention snapped back into focus. Was he trying to trick her? What had he to gain from a truce? ‘May I ask why you want us to be on cordial terms?’

‘I don’t give a fig for gossip, but my sisters would be distressed if word gets out that we are fighting over the Nabob’s fortune.’

‘I didn’t have you down as a man of such sensitivity.’ Kate’s rich contralto voice held a note of sarcasm.

Randal acknowledged the justice of this remark with a slight inclination of his head. She had a right to feel angry…if she was the real Kitty.

When she had produced that locket his conviction that she was an impostor had suffered a distinct knock. Could he be wrong? Discounting Gerald’s damning letter, all he had to go on was instinct. Somehow, and he couldn’t for the life of him say why, he just didn’t believe she was his little cousin.

‘You may think me unfeeling, ma’am, but please believe me when I say that my opposition to your claim is based upon a desire to execute my duty rather than a wish to cause you distress.’

Innate honesty forced Randal to admit that his memory of Kitty was hazy. It was a long time since he had seen her. He swallowed his pride. ‘I am willing to admit that you might be my cousin.’

‘Is this an apology, sir?’ Kate demanded saucily.

‘Only time will tell if I have anything to apologise for, ma’am,’ Randal retorted dryly. ‘However, if you are willing to overlook the harsh things I said to you on your visit to Crawford Hall, then I am prepared to set aside my doubts and act in a more civilised manner while we wait for Sullivan.’

‘You will acknowledge me as your cousin?’

Randal heard the challenge in her tone and his instinctive reaction was to damn her impudence, but the words died unspoken on his lips. If he did not acknowledge her, her position would be extremely awkward and there would be gossip. An impostor might deserve to feel such anxiety, but if he was wrong it would be a needless cruelty.