The Unwanted Heiress (13 page)

“I certainly would
not give that jade a bracelet.” Archer fidgeted a moment, rubbing his knuckles against his chin. “You did not, did you?”

“No I did not! What do you take me for?”

Archer shook his head and stripped off his own shirt, revealing arms and a chest hard with whipcord muscles. For a man nearing fifty, Archer was remarkably fit.

Shrugging out of his jacket, Nathaniel thought with satisfaction that at least his nerves
had not turned him into a twitching bag of bones. Not yet, at any rate. He flexed his arm, satisfied with the muscles thickening his biceps and shoulders. His coats didn’t require padding—yet—and he slapped his flat stomach. He didn’t need a corset, either.

He sighed. Maybe he should go to seed like Timothy
Hughes. Hughes had gained several stone since Cambridge and now resembled a particularly well-rounded stack of hay with legs. Somehow Nathaniel suspected, however, that a few extra pounds around his waistline wouldn’t make any difference to the women who pursued him. They were after a title and any additional weight would only make him slower and more apt to be caught.

And eating certainly wouldn’t help him clear his name of Lady Anne’s murder.

Archer laughed suddenly and strapped on a pair of boxing gloves. “You are forgetting the benefits of an engagement.”

“An enga
gement? Have you gone mad? That is the last thing I need right now! Have you not heard a word I have said? Besides, I am unlikely to live long enough to be wed if Lord Telford cannot determine who killed his daughter. If I could just be left alone long enough to concentrate, I could solve this damnable mystery. I was there for God’s sake.”

“
Precisely. And who said anything about marriage?”

Archer replied, making a feint for Nathaniel’s stomach.

Nathaniel blocked him easily and picked up a pair of gloves, jamming them over his knuckles. “You did. Did you not just say I should get engaged?”

“Yes. But not married. Just engaged. It
will relieve the pressure so you will be free to investigate Lady Anne’s death.”

“What? And get sued for breach of promise when
I am done? I would rather have Lord Telford shoot me outright.”

“Not necessarily. What if the bride-to-be was ready to leave London,
let us say, three years hence? She would have no reason to actually go through with it.”

Archer was suggesting Nathaniel offer for his ward.
Nathaniel knew it, and Archer knew he knew it.

“
You are a raving lunatic,” Nathaniel said, striding into the gym. “I am not going to compound my problems by even considering such a course of action.”

Jackson was already in the ring with another Corinthian, so Archer and Nathaniel strode to one of the bags of sand hanging from a rafter. Archer offered to hold it. Nathaniel agreed and expended a small portion of his tension by hitting the bag until the sand started dribbling out the bottom.

“You have three difficulties,” Archer said with an air of bland indifference to Nathaniel’s undiminished irritation. “Let me itemize them for you. We will see if you still perceive me to be a lunatic when I am done. One: Lord Telford is convinced you murdered his daughter, and you have but four weeks to collect proof of your innocence. Two: Bolton has been busy convincing everyone—including those irresponsible rascals at the newspapers—that you killed Lady Anne because you hate women. Three: You cannot perform any investigations because you are constantly hounded by women seeking to capture your attention. You cannot even go to Lady Beatrice’s garden without a certain awkwardness unless you are engaged to another. Does that clarify your situation?”

“Masterfully.”

“I am relieved you agree. Now I suggest again: get engaged.”

“That resolves nothing!”

“You are wrong. I agree it does not resolve your issue with Lord Telford, but it will resolve item three. Women would cease pestering you. You would be free to concentrate on resolving Lady Anne’s unfortunate death. You can visit the crime scene with impunity. And, it may in some fashion assist you with item two. It would eliminate Bolton’s argument that you are an avowed woman-hater.”

“There are men who are worse misogynists than I am and who are married, nonetheless. Who, in fact, became misogynists after they got married. So how will this disprove Bolton’s theory about my motivations?”

“Trust me. If you are seen billing and cooing with Miss Haywood, everyone will be convinced you could not be a woman-hater. It would also explain your presence in the gardens last night—you were searching her out, were you not? You spent at least some time in her company.”

The thought of Miss Haywood’s face gilded by moonlight made his resolve waver. Then, he remembered that even an engagement might not be enough to stop some women.

And there was Miss Haywood, herself.

“And what if she decides she woul
d like to marry a duke?” Nathaniel jabbed at the bag viciously, thinking about the gall of the jade who had just “stopped for a visit” at his townhouse to “discuss what was due her.”

“You heard Miss Haywood this morning. You observed her. Do you think
it is likely she will change her mind?” Archer asked.

Nathaniel remembered her blazing eyes when she spoke of Egypt and the fierce determination in her voice.

He hit the bag with extra force, nearly toppling Archer. “She is a woman,” he stated flatly. “Untrustworthy.”

Archer shook his head. “A woman, but an unusual one. Intelligent.” He gave Nathaniel a considering glance.

“Uncommonly and I might say—inconveniently—honest. I would trust her word.”

“How do you know? She ha
s only been with you—what? A day? Two?”

“Enough time for an astute judge of character to come to an opinion.”

“Really.” They changed places.

Archer began punching the bag, dancing lightly back and forth and landing a rain of light blows that made
Nathaniel stumble back. He realized abruptly that while Archer was many years older and much smaller, his quick blows would have felled a man if he’d actually been in the ring. Archer was light, but quick. Deadly.

Finally stopping, Archer bent over to catch his breath, his gloved hands pressing against his thighs. “Get her to agree and you can trust her. Then
you will be free to investigate.”

The image was so appealing Nathaniel’s muscles unknotted. The light fragrance of violets seemed to linger in the air. No more women popping out at him from carriage and closets. No one chasing him down the street or leaping out from alleys.
Time to get his head out of the hangman’s noose.

“What makes you think she’d agree?” Nathaniel asked.

Archer cast a pitying glance at him. Rubbing his shoes into the sawdust strewn over the floor, Nathaniel raised his gloves. He concentrated on pounding the bag into oblivion.

“It may be difficult for you,” Archer said in a dry voice. “However, if you exert yourself, you may be able to convince her.” He examined his hands as if he had never seen them before. “And
I am worried about this Egyptian situation. I would hate to see her get hurt.”

“I—”

Archer’s eyes revealed his anxiety before he glanced away. “I would like her to stay in London long enough to discover she has a family after all.”

Nathaniel could not immediately reply. He occupied himself with jabbing at the bag. He landed a swift double blow, disturbed by their conversation. It took him several minutes to wor
k up another argument.

“What if
it is too pleasant? If she likes it? She may decide she wants to become the Duchess of Peckham. Have you thought of that?”

He hit the bag harder. Archer grunted and stumbled back before catching himself.

Nathaniel loosened his shoulders and shook his arms, preparing for another round with the bag. He envisioned it with Harnet’s grinning face. They might be close friends, but the next time Harnet even thought about Miss Haywood’s sexual appetite, he was going to regret it. Sorely regret it.

Archer
laughed and shoved the bag toward Nathaniel. “She has no interest in your title or any title for that matter. She is an American. I have spoken to Lord Westover about her and learned at least a fraction of the truth about her background.”

“What background,” Nathaniel grunted. What could a man like Lord Westover know about her? He probably didn’t even know her first name was Charlotte.

“She has the most appalling ideas of equality and independence for women. And she has strong blue-stocking tendencies,” Archer said. “In fact, she is positively erudite. She gave Lady Westover the most reprehensible ideas. Westover would have had to give up his mistress if he had not wagered Miss Haywood. You have nothing to fear. Get her to agree and you will have the time you need to clear these ridiculous rumors concerning your murderous tendencies toward women. And you will give her the blessing of a safe haven for a few years.”

Nathaniel pounded through a series of blows while he tried to reinforce his resistance.

Archer was famous for making bad ideas sound good. However, this particular idea did have a certain charm. Pausing, Nathaniel stood in a dreamy daze considering the notion, remembering Miss Haywood’s warm laugh. The punching bag, still reeling from his last attack, slammed into his chest.

“Damn!” Nathaniel almost fell over, gasping for air. He clung to the bag and eyed his uncle, feeling betrayed.

“It will be a relief to us all,” Archer added. “While I doubt it will come to it, you don’t want to make it too simple for the Bow Street runners. Someone may choose to involve them further and furnish the information that you are a misogynist who Lady Anne pestered to the point of murder.”

“There
is nothing simple about it, and I will thank you to remember I am innocent. I cannot understand why Bolton was so insistent.”

What if Bolton had found his lapis fob in the garden? Worse yet, Bolton may have found it and simply decided to claim he’d picked it up in the garden, whether it was there or not. Was that what was behind Bolton’s innuendos? Had he found Nathaniel’s fob?

It would damn him irrevocably.

“Well, you were running through the garden trying to escape the chit, were you
not?” Archer asked.

“Yes, but…. You don’t suppose Bolton had anything to do with it, do you?
”

“
Misdirection?”

“Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much
, in a word, yes. He may have been trying to shift attention away from himself.” And onto me with my fob as proof.

“Hmm.” Archer hummed and danced a few steps. “I have heard…. The gentleman was extremely interested in the young lady.”

“However, she was not responsive to his overtures. I saw her laugh and refuse a dance with him right before the break for supper.”

Archer nodded. “Yes, I noticed it as well when I escorted Lady Vee in to dine. He did
not seem too pleased about Lady Anne’s refusal. And of course the fact you led her in to supper would not have endeared you to him.”

Nathaniel laughed. “It is just as likely he i
s also innocent and simply angry that she preferred another’s company.”

“Innocent or guilty, I still say he intends to make it difficult for you if he can.”

“He already has. The authorities would like nothing better than to arrest me, or anyone, and close the case to their advantage. Only my title gives them pause. And you saw what happened with Telford.” His uncle made a few more fast passes at the bag while Nathaniel considered the matter.

Should h
e mention the lapis to Archer?

“Damn!” Nathaniel grunted again as the sandbag hit him in the stomach. He glared at Archer who was supposed to be halting the bag’s motion. But his uncle had turned aside to watch Jackson who was finishing a sparring session with another man.

“I still think it is a rotten idea,” Nathaniel said to no one in particular. He didn’t want to get engaged. The idea made him nervous.

“Just think
about it,” Archer replied. “You really have nothing to lose.”

Removal from Premises
. - …A constable can remove from any premises, at the request of the owner, any person who has forcibly gained access thereto, or who has gained access having no right to enter. —
Constable’s Pocket Guide

Nathaniel couldn’t get Archer’s suggestion out of his mind
, particularly after four plump damsels had to be yanked out of his carriage, library, dressing room, and wardrobe, respectively, before he could climb wearily into bed that night.

Tossing and turning, the pillows burned while his mind raced over murder and importunate women. Despite the slanderous insinuations in the newspapers, the fair ladies had not given up their hopes of gaining both him and his title even if he later hung for his crimes.

He turned his pillow over and punched it into a more accommodating shape. It occurred to him that the possibility he might hang for murder might actually make him more attractive. Anyone who married him could be assured of being a very merry widow very shortly thereafter.

His luck seemed to have disappeared along with his lapis fob.

Kicking back the suddenly too hot and constricting covers, he wondered what Charlotte—Miss Haywood—was doing. She certainly wasn’t climbing into strange men’s bedrooms, even if they wanted her to. If she slid into his wardrobe, he would know what to do with her and it wouldn’t be tossing her out with a flea in her ear, either.

Over the next few nights, he continued to dismiss his uncle’s suggestion
and he continued to have trouble sleeping. Increasingly desperate, he joined the Archers at several small soirées, hoping to concentrate on another matter weighing heavily on him—the murder of Lady Anne.

He questioned anyone from Lady Beatrice’s ball he could corner. Although they responded politely, none broke down and confessed to anything more alarming than having seen Miss Haywood watching moths on the terrace. Everyone agreed the tall red-head was exceptionally hard to overlook.

A week later, he attended yet another affair, this time at the Mooreland’s residence.

Sibilant
whispering met his entrance. The newspapers had not given up printing lurid insinuations about a “certain duke” seen in the gardens on the fateful night when Lady Anne met her end. However, the rumors continued to be useless in persuading the ladies to pursue other quarry. Whenever he was announced, all of the women turned en masse to nod at him, their eyes flashing with excitement at the thought that their prey might also be a wicked murderer.

After a quick survey of the men at the Mooreland’s party, Nathaniel spied Lord Jackson. He skirted the dance floor and made his way to where Jackson stood near one of the tall windows.

“Who else was in the garden?” Nathaniel asked after a brief greeting. Jackson had been the first man to discover Lady Anne, other than the screaming woman and her husband.

Lord Jackson took a sip of his punch and shrugged. “I
don’t have the slightest idea. You, of course.”

“And
Sir Henry.”

“After she was found.”

“Are you positive he was not in the garden before?”

Jackson turned slightly, setting his empty glass on a tray carried by a passing servant. “Why ask me?” Nathaniel stiffed. “
I am trying to discover the truth. Do you object?”

“Not at all. It i
s all just a nuisance and frankly, boring.”

“Then bear with me one more moment, and I
will not bore you with any additional questions. Why did you think Bolton was not in the garden earlier?”

“It
is obvious, is it not? He came running from the direction of the house when Lady Phillips screamed.”
Lady Phillips
? Nathaniel grunted with satisfaction.

Now he knew who the hysterical woman was. “That’s hardly conclusive. He could have been in the gardens earlier.” He grabbed Jackson’s black sleeve when he turned to walk away. “The couple who found her—you said they were Lord and Lady Phillips?”

“Yes. The Phillipses were in the gardens walking together. If you want to know what they saw, ask them. Are you satisfied, Your Grace?”

“For now.” He released Lord Jackson and scanned the room.

His heart pounded when glanced at the doorway. Miss Haywood stood there, hair flaming under the candlelight despite the delicate lace and egret feather confection she wore.

Her back was straight but even from where Nathaniel stood he could see the vulnerability in the curve of her mouth.
A few women nodded at her, but no one approached.

The Archers must have already found the card room and abandoned her. They were notorious gamblers.

Nathaniel made his way over to her. As he thrust his way through several groups, he noted the presence of the Phillipses across the room. He almost stepped toward them but a second glance at Miss Haywood sent him in her direction.

“Miss Haywood,
you are looking well this evening.”

“
Yes, is it not wonderful? You would never guess that just a few hours ago I was prostrate with exhaustion, pleading with Lady Victoria to be allowed to stay home just one night.”

“
I am relieved she refused.”

“
I am not,” Charlotte stated baldly. She glanced around. “I hate these affairs.”

He laughed and touched her elbow, steering her toward one of the smaller rooms set up for cards. “Would you car
e for a game? It will give you the opportunity to rest.”

She gave him a sharp glance but took a seat at a small round table. “I
have never cared for games of chance.”

That was a sad admission considering her guardians found gambling nearly irresistible.

“Miss Haywood, you were out on the terrace at Lady Beatrice’s ball a great deal of the evening, were you not?” he asked, grabbing a box of cards and moving to sit with her on the pretext of playing a game of écarte.

Miss Haywood sighed heavily and shook her head. “Your Grace, is
there no other topic of conversation you could suggest?”

“Yes,” he held up a hand. “But I beg your indulgence. Do you remember who you saw in the gardens that night?”

“Again?” She folded her hands on the table in front of her. “There was you, of course.”

“Who else?”

“I don’t know—I am not very good with names.”

“
I am not either,” Nathanial admitted, leaning forward. “But try, or at least describe who you saw.”

“
Well, there was that man you were just speaking to a few moments ago.”

Lord Jackson. “Yes? Who else?”

“There was a scowling, stout man. And there was a couple—I believe their name was Phillips.”

Sir Henry
, and Lord and Lady Phillips, names he already knew. He nodded impatiently for her to continue.

“There was another man, blond hair….” She rubbed her forehead. “Must we discuss this now? I have the most frightful headache.” Her translucent skin was abnormally pale and a faint crease pinched her brows. “Would it be easier if I were to draw up a list?
I will simply provide descriptions for those I cannot name.”

“Yes! Excellent notion!” When he laid his fingers over her clasped hands she pulled them away and placed them in her lap. Her withdrawal increased his determination. “When could you write such a list?” He didn’t really want the information and doubted it would prove useful, but it presented him with the excuse to see her again—perhaps privately.

“I will do my poor best tomorrow morning. Will that be soon enough?”

“I should think so. Thank you, Miss Haywood.”

“You have not seen the list,” she commented dryly. “It may be completely worthless. Now may we conduct a conversation about some other topic? Anything except murder would do.”

He stared at her for a heartbeat before grinning, remembering a rather heated discussion they had started the previous evening. “Certainly. I
have been waiting to mention I disagree that Chaucer portrayed women more intelligently than Shakespeare,” he said. He was ill-prepared to resume their literary discussion, but he was determined to keep her near until the tired lines in her face smoothed out.

Miss Haywood laughed at his choice of subjects. He grinned and relaxed, idly shuffling the cards. Not that a discussion with her would be particularly relaxing, but it was good to see her smile.

After their conversation was interrupted the previous night, he had hurried home to search his library for Chaucer’s
Canterbury Tales
and a volume of Shakespeare. To his disgust, he found his shelves contained neither.

Vexed, he’d tried his best to remember what he’d read in school
, when he had bothered to read.

He met Miss Haywood’s critical gaze and felt his interest quicken.

A red-gold brow rose. “Have you ever read Shakespeare? Or Chaucer for that matter?”

“Yes. Of course.” He snorted inelegantly and looped an arm over the back of his chair. He idly tapped the frame with his dangling fingers, trying to appear as if he wasn’t aware of every movement she made. It was difficult to focus sitting so near that he could almost feel the warmth rising from her body. A wisp of violet fragrance swirled through the air between them.

If he moved his leg, it would touch hers.

“Well?” she prompted him.

His mind went blank. “Have you considered The Taming of the Shrew?” he asked at last. “Surely you must admit Shakespeare portrays Katherine in a very sympathetic and intelligent light.”

Miss
Haywood laughed. “Nonsense. She is a termagant who must be subdued by a man. Contrast that with the wife of Bath and
The Knight’s Tale
. The wife of Bath is much older, has been married five times, and yet still is considered likely to marry for a sixth time. She is—umm—luscious.”

You are
luscious
, Nathaniel thought, distracted by the demure line of her bosom.

She continued unaware, her eyes glowing. “Chaucer’s women were not hopelessly old or unmarriageable simply because they passed their twenty-fourth birthday. And
The Knight’s Tale
showed a true regard for equality between the sexes in marriage. Which of Shakespeare’s plays even comes close to this? Which older women does he portray as lusty and worthy of a man’s love? All of his heroines are young and docile. Nothing but vapid ninnyhammers.”

“I still say that Katherine is portrayed as equally intelligent as her husband. She has spirit.” Damn it, why couldn’t he pay attention? And more importantly, why
had not he read more Shakespeare? He couldn’t remember enough to prove his point.

He leaned closer.

Her eyes sparkled, and the pulse in her throat pounded as she mirrored his posture, closing the gap between them. They were so close, a mere hand’s breadth away from touching lips. The scent of violets grew stronger, pulling him nearer.

“And by the end, Katherine’s spirit is all but broken. She
is as docile as Bianca.” Miss Haywood drew back an inch, her eyes focused on a spot beyond Nathaniel’s shoulder. Her voice was sad, wistful.

In that instant, he understood the vulnerability beneath her confident exterior. He forced his hands to remain still despite his desire—his need—to take her hand in his.

He replied gently, “Perhaps Shakespeare only meant to say that Katherine’s anger stemmed from a lack of attention, a lack of love. Petruchio loved her—”

“Petruchio dresses in fool’s clothing at their wedding! He berates her in front of the servants—he breaks her spirit!”

“Don’t you believe he had to get her attention to show her he loved her?”

Her voice sounded dull with disappointment when she replied, “He made her obedient. Men believe love is merely obedience, don’t they?”

Her withdrawal left him abandoned, cold despite the warmth of the room around them.

“No,
” he said at last, hoping he could find the response that would bring the life back into her face.

“Frankly, the idea of a tame, obedient wife combined with a dull
, routine marriage makes me want to visit the closest tavern and drink myself into a stupor.”

Her eyes flashed a
s she grinned. “My thoughts— precisely.”

Unfortunately, before Nathaniel could formulate a rebuttal to Charlotte’s argument, the Archers wandered in and kidnapped their ward.

With Miss Haywood gone, Nathaniel had no desire to stay at the party. He left abruptly and spent the next day aggravated by Mr. Cooke’s insistence that they go over the household receipts. Nathaniel found it sorely trying to stay bent over his desk staring at small bits of paper.

He couldn’t concentrate. His mind wandered. By the time Cooke left with a smile on his face, Nathaniel wondered if his inattention had made him agree to something he normally would not have.

Day wasted, Nathaniel didn’t get a chance to go to the Archers’ townhouse even though Charlotte’s offer to list everyone she saw in the gardens was the perfect pretext.