In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL) (26 page)

Chapter

34

T
he sky was smoke gray. Dusk was approaching, but Louisa was in no hurry to return to the house and dress for dinner. She wanted to give time to the squadron of maids who were turning out their rooms in search of six-legged creatures.

It wasn’t the six-legged creatures that worried her. Who was the two-legged villain behind this latest insult to Charles?

If Hugh were a twelve-year-old boy, he would fit the profile perfectly. But no one had seen Hugh all day, and fleas seemed too foolish even for him.

Kathleen and Robertson felt guilty, and so they should. They’d started all this with their misplaced concern for Louisa’s virtue. It was like opening Pandora’s box—what would happen next to poor Charles?

He didn’t look poor as he examined one of her grandfather’s gargoyles with an appreciative grin on his face. It guarded a circle of old roses, bourbons and damasks and gallicas, which were now just thorns and canes. This gargoyle, or
grotesque
if she were to be accurate, was almost as tall as Charles, with horns and hooves and a forked tongue. It was remarkably hideous, and it had always been her favorite.

“What’s this ugly fellow’s name?” Charles asked.

“Lambkin.”

“No, really.”

“It is Lambkin. He is quite terrifying, so I gave him a name to neutralize that. I always imagined he was soft-hearted inside all the granite. Sad because he was judged on his appearance.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” Charles agreed. “I was dazzled by yours, of course, but thought you were—”

“Just a ‘silly society girl,’” she finished. “Yes, I remember.”

“It’s hard to believe it was only a few days ago.” He tucked her arm in his and continued walking on the crushed stone that connected all the gardens. Louisa wished he could see them in bloom—the gardens were romance spelled out in roses.

Did she want romance from Charles? Yes, she did.

She was very, very close to accepting his offer of marriage. He was solid, someone she could depend on, someone who laughed with her and not at her. When she was with him, she didn’t feel the need to invent Maximillian Norwich or anyone else. Charles was somehow enough, and she felt “enough” with him without resorting to her usual flights of fancy.

“Are you cold, Louisa? It’s getting dark.”

She squeezed his arm. “I’m fine. I have you to keep me warm.”

“Let me go back and get you a warmer wrap. Why didn’t you wear your fur coat? The night’s finally feeling like December.”

“Sometimes I don’t feel right wearing it. All those beautiful little snowy animals killed and sewn together just to cover my body.”

“So you won’t eat the roast lamb at supper tonight,” he teased.

“That’s not the same thing. One doesn’t eat ermine—that would be like dining on rats.”

“I hear rats taste like chicken.”

“Charles!”

“Well, prisoners sometimes consider themselves lucky when they catch one. The Boer women—” A sudden shadow fell over him, deeper than the dusk in the garden.

They walked in awkward silence, the only sound the pebbles scattering under their boots and the gulls calling over the rushing sea. What could she say to ease him?

“You will never forget.”

He didn’t look at her. “How can I?”

“You can’t. You shouldn’t. What you can do is publish those journals of yours so that others will know and not let it happen again. I can help you with that. Find a publisher. Pay to have it printed if I need to.”

He pulled away and sat on an iron bench. “I don’t want to spoil what we have, Louisa. I’m afraid if I read over it and relive it all again, I’ll kill the happiness I feel now. The first true happiness of my life, really. The guilt will always be with me, but when I’m with you, it’s not so—not so sharp.”

“Aren’t you the one who said we can’t let past mistakes determine who we are?” If those were not his exact words, it was at least the lesson she’d learned from being with him.

“That makes me sound much wiser than I am.”

Louisa sat down next to him. “We can try to be wise together. My aunt Grace will never see me as anything but the wild child I was. And truthfully, I deserve her criticism. I went out of my way to break all her rules, and look where it got me.”

“Hey, wait a minute. You’re with me in the twilight, with the waves breaking beyond the hedges. I’d say you didn’t do too badly.”

“Exactly. Every misstep led me to you.”

“Oh, Louisa.” He took her face in his hands. “I love you.”

His kiss proved it—hot, dark, full of longing and hope. If she married him, she’d make him kiss her like this every twilight, every dawn, and the hours in between.

I love you.
No one had told her that and meant it, except perhaps for her parents so long ago, and she couldn’t remember that.

She lost herself in the moment, oblivious to everything but his steady touch and the sure sweep of his tongue. She felt much more than the desire to have him possess her body. Though that thought was not far off, the bench in view of the bank of windows made it impractical. Louisa wanted to pledge herself to this man, heart and soul, and realized he’d just given her the words to do it.

That would mean she’d have to stop kissing him, which she couldn’t possibly do. She had time to tell him how she felt. All the time in the world. Right now, she would kiss him as if her very life depended on it.

The kiss had both hard edges and blurred lines, so she was never sure where it would go next. It was electrifying—no, comfortable. Sweet, then so sensual she found herself tugging at Charles’s buttons. He covered her shaking hand and pressed it against his rigid cock.
She
did that to him—they did something magical to each other, for she was wet beneath her lacy bloomers. If only the hours would fly by until they were in their bed alone.

But there was family to endure, and Mrs. Evensong to entertain. With the greatest regret Louisa inched away from Charles and smoothed his eye patch in place. His visible eye was midnight blue, so deep and dark with lust she shivered.

“Louisa.” He said her name with breathless reverence, and she felt warm. Kissed all over.

“I love you, Charles. I’ll marry you.”

Surprise, joy, and fear, too, flashed across his face. He kissed her again, this time so gently she thought she would weep. His thumb brushed her lashes, and Louisa realized she
was
crying, just a little. She had never in her life felt so happy, not even when she’d run away.

“You won’t regret it, I swear.”

“But you might,” she said, laughing shakily. “I’m quite a handful.”

“And you fit so perfectly in mine. When can we marry?”

“Oh my goodness. The family thinks we already
are
married. I guess we could sneak away somewhere. Obtain a special license. But damn it, it’s Advent. No minister will agree to marry us.”

“So,” Charles said, grinning, “we’ll have to continue to live in sin. Lots of it.”

She gave his shoulder a friendly slap. “You are very wicked.”

“So I’ve been told. What about a registry office? Or have you always had your heart set on a church wedding?”

“You know perfectly well I never planned to marry at all. My heart wasn’t set on anything.”

“Until you met me.”

“You are growing increasingly smug, Charles. I might just change my mind.”

He held her hand to his heart. “You wouldn’t be so cruel.”

No, she wouldn’t. A life with Charles was bound to be interesting. Louisa didn’t have the first idea how to be a proper wife, but she had a feeling Charles would not want her to be especially proper.

However, she couldn’t see him navigating through the fussy gilt French furniture at Rosemont. They’d have to sell it all. Aunt Grace would howl—

“Why are you frowning? You’re supposed to be delirious with happiness,” Charles chided.

“I am happy. I was just thinking very housewifely thoughts.”

“Well, stop. I prefer your smiles.”

Louisa gave him one—it was effortless when she looked at his handsome face. He was ever so much more handsome than Maximillian Norwich, who would not have to die after all.

“Oh my goodness.”

“Again?”

“What will we tell my family about your name when we really marry? You can’t go through the rest of your life being called something you aren’t.”

Charles sat back on the bench, still clutching her hand. “My darling, just tell them this was a hoax—that they’d been so rotten to you that you had to make up Max to keep them at bay. You should be honest with them.”

Louisa swallowed, imagining Grace’s fury. “I think we should marry first. Then my aunt can’t have me committed to some insane asylum. You’d put a stop to that.”

“I might. If you made it worth my while.”

“Charles!” She couldn’t mistake the slow, burning look he gave her. It was plain what she could do—gladly—to keep him on her side.

“Let’s worry about all this when we have to. You’re getting goose bumps, Lulu. Let’s go in the house and see if we have any more pests in our rooms. Besides Kathleen, I mean.”

She didn’t even mind his calling her Lulu anymore. What on earth was wrong with her? “I’ll tell her you said that.”

“Do. I’m anxious to see if she’ll keep her promise to not hit me on the head again.” He gave her a quick hug and pulled her up from the bench.

It was nearly dark now. Lights blazed from Rosemont’s ground-floor windows, casting bright rectangles on the gray-green grass. Louisa could see the servants laying the dining room table, Griffith in the middle of everything making sure it was perfect. Sunday supper was usually lighter fare, but that didn’t mean the silver stayed in its velvet trays.

A French door at the end of the west wing squeaked open. Odd. The gun room was in darkness, yet Louisa thought she saw a shadowy figure step out onto the lawn. She turned to Charles to ask if he saw it, too, but before she could frame her question, there was a report, a whizzing noise, and Lambkin’s head exploded in front of them, sending shards of granite flying over the path.

Charles pitched backward, dragging her to the ground with him and rolling on top of her. Poor man—he’d done the same with his awful landlady when Louisa’s car engine misfired.

“It’s all right, Charles. I’m fine,” she said in a soothing voice.

He was dead weight on top of her. Quiet. Too quiet. Louisa touched his temple, staining her gloves with something dark.

Blood
.

Charles had been shot. Her screams were enough to get the servants running, but not enough to wake him up.

Chapter

35

N
o, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. Louisa had spent her whole life making up stories and changing them around to suit her. In them, her parents never died, her aunt was warm and loving, Hugh didn’t pull her hair or put spiders in her bed.

So Charles was
not
lying in her bed still as death, a jagged gash through his left eyebrow. Dr. Fentress had
not
been summoned to stitch it. She was
not
pressing a clean cloth on Charles’s forehead to stanch the bleeding.

Instead, she and Charles were still on the garden bench, entwined in each other’s arms, professing their feelings with perfect words when they weren’t sharing perfect kisses. Planning to marry. They would rise in a few minutes and take a different path to the house, one where there were no gunshots and shattered grotesques. They would have a convivial meal with her relatives, where there was no subtext of disapproval.

When Louisa was a little girl, she’d clasp her hands in front of her and screw up her eyes, almost seeing those alternate lives she’d constructed. A tear escaped and she brushed it away with impatience. Now was not the time to lose herself in fairyland.

Kathleen and Robertson stood behind her. It was Robertson who’d come running first, picking Charles up as if he weighed nothing and carrying him all the way upstairs to their suite. The maids had still been armed with cleaning solvents and rags, but they’d scurried away at Kathleen’s orders.

“Why won’t he wake up?”

“Now, Miss Louisa. He’s got a right hard head, we all know that. Give him some time. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Better than new when he comes to.”

Louisa wasn’t fooled by Kathleen’s little speech. “What if he’s not? What if he doesn’t recognize me or even know who he is?”

“You’ve been reading too many books. Amnesia is much rarer than those authors would have you think. It’s a lazy plot device, if you want my opinion.”

Louisa didn’t. She was much too heartsick to argue about low forms of literature. “What can be keeping Dr. Fentress?”

“The poor man only just got home a few hours ago. It’s not easy being at Rosemont’s beck and call twenty-four hours a day. Your aunt keeps him on a short leash.”

“Maybe he should just move in.” Aunt Grace had never been sick until recently, but the doctor had been underfoot for years. If they were courting, they just should get on with it at their age and make it legal. “Look! Did you see that? His eyelids fluttered! Charles! Can you speak? It’s Louisa. Lulu.”

Charles gave no indication that he heard her. At least his breathing was steady, although he looked like the marble effigies she’d seen in churches all across Europe.

“Maybe it’s best he’s unconscious, miss,” Robertson said. “I’ve been stitched up a time or two and it’s not much fun.”

“And he’s very lucky he wasn’t actually shot,” Kathleen added. “Just hit with a chunk of rock.”

Yes, there was that. But someone had shot
at
him. Or her. Louisa cursed herself a thousand ways for coming back home.

“Robertson, I want you to stay up here with us. You can sleep in Charles’s room. He needs a bodyguard. Kathleen, I want you to go to the village inn tomorrow and fetch all our food. I don’t want to take any chances.”

“What about tonight?”

“I’m too upset to eat anything, and if Charles wakes up, he’s likely to be sick again. Nausea happens with head injuries. Oh, I can’t believe this is happening.” She wrung her hands, feeling just like a distressed heroine in some grisly gothic novel.

There was a knock on the door. “It’s Griffith, Miss Louisa. Mrs. Evensong would like a word with you if it’s not too inconvenient.”

Louisa had hoped for Dr. Fentress. “I’ll meet with her in the sitting room. Kathleen, stay with him and let me know if there’s any change.” She bent and gave Charles a lingering kiss, hoping he’d waken just like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White. Alas, her mouth was just an ordinary thing, not capable of rousing him in any visible way.

Mrs. Evensong had dressed for the dinner that was now delayed, if not canceled altogether. She wore a handsome black velvet dress spangled with jet and black lace gloves. Louisa was surprised to see how neat her figure was for an older woman.

“Let us sit down, my dear. You must be worried to death.”

Louisa followed her to the sofa. “He asked me to marry him, and I said yes,” she blurted. “I can’t lose him.”

“My, you have had a busy few days. I won’t keep you from his bedside for long, but I wanted to let you know I am doing everything in my power to get to the bottom of the rot at Rosemont. We can’t have any more accidents, can we? If I’m not successful in the next day or two, it might be best for you both to leave when Captain Cooper is sufficiently recovered.”

Louisa nodded. “I agree. But Charles is so stubborn—he thinks it would be cowardly for me to go and leave Aunt Grace in charge. But if anything happens to him—” She could not finish the sentence. Charles had become so important to her in such a short time she simply didn’t know how she could go on without him.

“I sincerely hope nothing else will. You watch yourself as well—that bullet might have been meant for you. Now, I’m off to have a sherry with your aunt in a little while. She doesn’t quite know what to make of me, nor I of her, but I expect we’ll sort it all out. But first, I think a visit belowstairs is in order. Do you know I’ve placed quite a few of your servants here? I’ll just check on how they’re doing, and perhaps someone will tell me something useful about all these attempts of mischief. Servants always know everything.”

Mischief. An understatement if there ever was one. A bullet escalated everything. She might never forget the sight and feel of Charles lying inert and insensate on top of her.

But it might have been so much worse.

“I have an idea.”

“What is it, my dear?”

“When Charles wakes up, he could pretend to be more badly injured than he is.” Louisa prayed he’d wake up fully intact, his mind sharp and all his perfect body parts in perfect working order.

Mrs. Evensong’s brows knit. They were rusty, nothing like the silver hair on her head. “Go on.”

“If the person who shot at us knows they were nearly successful, they might let their relief show. Gloat. Show guilt by making some sort of suspicious comment to you. Even, God forbid, get careless and make another attempt to kill him. We’d protect Charles, of course. I can’t let anything else happen to him.”

“Your idea has quite a lot of merit. I’m disappointed that I did not think of it myself,” Mrs. Evensong said. “Now all we have to do is hope he wakes up soon so he can conspire with us. Good night, Miss Stratton. Keep your young man safe.”

Impulsively, Louisa gave the woman a hug. Without her monstrous black hats and umbrella, she was much less formidable. “Thank you, Mrs. Evensong.”

“There, there.” Mrs. Evensong fished out a handkerchief from the little jet-beaded bag at her wrist. “Keep it. I have another in there. One can never be too prepared, can one?”

“I
hate
to cry,” Louisa said, after blowing her nose in a most unladylike manner.

“Don’t view tears as a sign of weakness. They just show your strength. You care a great deal—that’s a good thing. Many people just float through life not attaching themselves to anything.” There was a wistful look on Mrs. Evensong’s remarkably unwrinkled face. She gave Louisa a quick hug and left her on the gray sofa.

It was a comfort to know that the businesswoman would stay a few days. When Louisa had invited her to Rosemont, she really had not expected her to come. Mount Street had been a hive of activity the day she’d taken tea there—the Evensong Agency had a network that probably extended to the household of King Edward himself. Mrs. Evensong employed a great many people of her own at the employment agency. The offices were crammed to the corners with desks and typewriters and eager young people talking on cast brass telephones. Louisa wondered who was in charge with Mrs. Evensong away, but then, Mrs. Evensong was always prepared, wasn’t she?

Louisa returned to the bedroom, where she was relieved to see Dr. Fentress there and closing Charles’s wound. “There you are, Louisa. Don’t you worry; I haven’t lost my touch. There will be the faintest of scars. Looks like he’s already had some work done in the area before. How was his eye injured? On safari, wasn’t it?”

“Um. Yes, I think so. Well before we met. One of his companions had an itchy trigger finger and poor M-Max got in the way. Lucky for the lion,” answered Louisa. Kathleen, who was holding the doctor’s tray of surgical instruments, rolled her eyes.

“That’s what he said at dinner. Odd. I thought Grace said it was a boxing match. Hugh is raring to test your husband’s skills in the arena once his health is restored.”

“Uh, there was a boxing match, too. I was confused. But he doesn’t box anymore. I won’t let him.” She really should stop prevaricating. Charles was right. It was time to tell the truth. Keeping the lies straight was an all-day affair.

“Then you’d better speak to him again. Mr. Norwich decked your cousin the other night without much warning. I will say Hugh
was
being provoking—what can you expect from the boy when all his dreams are dashed?”

“What do you mean?”

“Surely you know he wanted to marry you. It was the fondest wish of his mother also.”

“I can’t see why,” said Louisa. “All they ever do is criticize me.”

“Only because they care about you, my dear.”

Louisa didn’t want to waste time arguing when Charles’s life was in danger. “When will we know how he is?”

“That’s hard to say. Kathleen told me what you told her—he took a sharp blow to the head and then fell backward, hitting his head again before he rolled you to safety. He should be monitored. I’ll spend the night, but I expect you’ll want to do the actual monitoring. My housekeeper will be delighted to be rid of me again.”

Housekeeper
. Damn. Mrs. Lang was probably put out with her for not telling her about Mrs. Evensong’s visit, but she hadn’t expected it herself. When Louisa had a free minute, she’d apologize to the old dragon. Not that she wanted to—she’d just as soon show the woman the door. While Rosemont was beautifully run, Louisa could not feel comfortable under the housekeeper’s disapproving glare. She’d never measure up to her aunt.

Oh, she wished she’d never come home. But then she never would have needed a real fake husband, and never hired Charles. She’d never know what it was like to be kissed and so masterfully touched. Treasured. She wouldn’t have laughed half so much or felt such compassion. Louisa had been racketing about and avoiding reality this past year, but now she had a reason to be still and listen to her heart.

It was rather a surprise to find out she had one. After Sir Richard, she’d locked it up as securely as Aunt Grace had imprisoned her at Rosemont.

“Thank you, Dr. Fentress. If—when—he wakes, I will call for you.”

“It looks like you have plenty of support. Take turns during the night and get some rest of your own,” the doctor said, patting her shoulder. “I’ll leave my bag and instruments here in case they’re needed, but no doctoring him yourself, my dear, except to change the dressing if necessary. He might thrash about and loosen it in his sleep.”

Louisa nodded. Once the doctor left, the three of them stood somewhat helplessly around Charles’s bed. “Kathleen, why don’t you and Robertson go down to the servants’ hall and get some supper? I’ll take the first shift.”

“If you’re sure you’ll be all right by yourself. Shall I bring up tea when I come back?”

“Only if you’re positive it’s not poisoned. Perhaps I’m being foolish. The mushrooms may have been an accident. But the fleas did not find their way into Charles’s underclothes by themselves, and I hardly think a poacher was in the garden.” She sat down on a chair close to the bed and touched Charles’s cheek. “Oh, if I care anything about him at all, I should send him away.”

“He won’t go, miss.”

Louisa looked at Robertson in surprise. “How do you know?”

“He came to talk to me this morning before church. I offered to hold still if he wanted to punch me to pay me back for the other night. He’s a fine fellow, miss—said he knew you’d not had an easy time of it even if you did have pots of money, and Kathleen was right to be worried about you. We talked about this and that, man-to-man. It’s my opinion he cares about you something fierce. I ken how the captain feels—I care about my Kathleen the same way.”

“Hush, Robbie.”

“I do. I’m not too proud to say it. We’d like to get married, Miss Louisa, once things here are settled. I know it’s not the right time to bring it up, what with you fretting about the captain and all. But things will be all right—wait and see.”

“I hope you’re right.” Louisa wondered if she looked quite so stupid as Kathleen did as she grinned up at her lover. Probably so. Love had a way of knocking sense and dignity right out of one.

“Oh!” Robertson slapped his forehead. “I meant to give this back to the captain. You may have need of it tonight.” Sheepishly, the chauffeur reached into his jacket and pulled out Charles’s missing gun. “Sorry,” he said.