In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL) (15 page)

Charles was getting carried away, plain and simple. And he didn’t much care where he wound up as long as Louisa was somewhere within reach.

Chapter

19

T
his was not supposed to be happening. They had agreed last night—this morning—to put the brakes on any further intimacy. It was just that she was so tired, so anxious, so unsettled to be back “home” where someone was trying to frighten her, and Charles was so . . . so—oh, words failed as he kissed her, the satin of his black eye patch smooth against her temple, his fingers disarranging her hair as he held her close.

Kathleen would be annoyed, both at the ruination of the chignon and the wicked kiss. Somehow her maid had gotten it into her head that Charles was not a good influence on Louisa, and she was right. All those lonely years, Louisa held herself apart from passion, and look what one night with him had done to her. She was ready to go back to the bedroom and take up where they’d left off.

The fine wool of her dress itched against her neck and every lace of her corset was a taunt. Louisa was hot all over. Breathless. Well, what could she expect when the captain covered her lips with such skill?

It didn’t seem like he was thinking of his unhappy past, or thinking anything at all. Louisa resolved to do the same. She’d just concentrate on the little licks, the sweep of tongue against tongue, the taste of Charles’s toothpaste. The rough pads of his fingertips as they tickled her cheekbones. The breadth of his chest as she pressed against it. The warmth and strength of him. Louisa felt . . . safe.

She opened her eyes. Charles’s vivid blue eye stared back at her. She could fall into its depths, plummet right beneath his skin. Never leave. But what did she know about him, really? Only what he’d chosen to tell her, and that all might be false, according to Kathleen as she’d ratted Louisa’s hair up this morning. Designed to garner him sympathy—a poor boy who’d pulled himself up by his bootstraps. Who’d suffered unimaginably in wartime. She pulled back a little, and he sensed the kiss had wandered off course.

The loss of his lips on hers caused her heart to stutter. He sat back on the couch, his breathing ragged. “Sorry I overstepped my bounds again. You really must stop being so kissable.”

“I can’t seem to help it around you,” Louisa said grudgingly. “Thank you for dealing with my aunt. I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject about her leaving with her, and now you have. She won’t go, of course.”

“How can she stay if you want her out? Can’t you call a constable or something?”

“It’s not that easy. People here are loyal to her. I get on well with Cook and Griffith, but Mrs. Lang the housekeeper is Aunt Grace’s creature. It wouldn’t be much fun trying to run Rosemont with the staff against me.”

“For heaven’s sake, Louisa. Fire them. Don’t you know a thousand people are standing on the breadlines wanting to take their place? This is
your
house.
Your
money supports it.”

He was cross with her, rightfully so. She was a coward. But she couldn’t shake the helplessness she felt in Grace’s long shadow.

“I have to talk to Mr. Baxter.”

“Fire him, too. He’s in your aunt’s pocket. The doctor—the lot of them. She wanted that fellow Fentress to divulge your medical history to me. For God’s sake, isn’t that illegal? Even if I were really your husband, he owes his allegiance to you.”

She sighed. “I know you’re right, Charles. It all seemed so clear when I was in France. But now that I’m back . . .” She trailed off. What was the matter with her? She had tasted freedom this past year. Surely she didn’t want to go back to being under her aunt’s thumb. Or worse, run away again from her rightful responsibilities.

Charles got off the couch and walked to the window. Louisa couldn’t help but notice he had to adjust the fit of his trousers. Even in his annoyance with her, she stimulated him. That was rather satisfying—maybe she wasn’t so powerless after all.

“You need someone to help you. Someone who knows more than I do. Why don’t you ask Mrs. Evensong to recommend a good solicitor? Confide in her. She might come up with a plan to get rid of your aunt. The woman is renowned for fixing problems, isn’t she?”

“Charles! What a brilliant idea! I shall write to her at once.”

“And then we are going for a ride. Not in the blasted car but on a good, solid horse.”

Captain Cooper would look delicious in tight riding breeches, his muscled thighs encased in fawnskin. And fresh air would be a welcome change. “We’ll miss luncheon.”

“Get your friend the cook to pack us something. It’s not too cold out for a quick picnic.”

Louisa wasn’t so sure about that. The wind blew off the Channel at a brisk clip, but perhaps they could ride in the other direction to the Hermit’s Grotto. There had never been a real hermit, but her grandfather had renovated an ancient hut into an elaborate faux cave, guarded by its own gargoyles, which she’d enjoyed exploring as a child with Hugh and their governess. And then, of course, with Sir Richard. Best not to think of that.

But now that the idea was lodged in her mind, she saw the horses tethered outside, the sheltering walls of the little building, the sturdy wooden furniture within. Louisa wondered what had become of the carpets and pillows—probably all riddled with mildew and mold. She’d have a saddle blanket, though—

Damn. Charles Cooper was doing it to her again, insinuating himself in her fevered imagination. What had happened to her good intentions? She’d kept herself chaste for nine very long years. Granted, it had almost been easy, as she had been basically locked up at Rosemont. Last year on the Continent she may have done a few cork-brained things, but she never broke her self-imposed celibacy.

She wasn’t a prisoner now, except to her own lust. And there was Charles Cooper, tall and tantalizing, gazing out the leaded window at the white-capped waves. He was as fascinated by his view as she was of hers. Really, she could look at him all day—looking was not touching now, was it?

“Give me an hour.” That should be time enough to notify Cook, get Kathleen to repair and redress her, and dash off a letter to Mrs. Evensong about the oddities at her bank. She would even invite the woman to inspect Rosemont, as she’d been keenly interested in the property and all its annoying inhabitants when they had met. “I’ll meet you in the stable block. You’ll find your way there on your own?”

Charles turned to her. “I thought we were going to stick together. I’m your bodyguard, remember?”

Louisa had almost forgotten. “No one will dare attempt anything in broad daylight. It’s the nights we need to be worried about.”

“Aye, that we do.” There was something in his voice that told her he had quite another worry other than being hit on the head. She felt her cheeks warm—she’d never blushed so much in her life as she had around Captain Cooper.

“An hour,” she repeated, then shut herself in her parents’ bedroom and rang for Kathleen.

* * *

T
he stable block was, as Charles expected, top-notch. A large brick complex, it also housed the Daimler at one end, with the chauffeur’s apartment above it. He received a brief nod from Robertson from the open bay as the man attacked the car with a chamois cloth as if his life depended upon it. There was vacant space beside it for Louisa’s car when it was returned after its repair. Charles could only hope it would take a good long while for the mechanic in London to secure the necessary parts. He was not ready to turn his life over to Louisa just yet. Several carriages in various styles and sizes were also parked, ready for their next outing.

The horses were far more interesting to him than shiny metal. He’d been horse-mad even when he lived in factory housing in London. He missed his steady old army mount, but he’d been in no financial position to keep a horse.

The smell of hay and harnesses and horse shit mingled with the sea air, forming a pleasant aroma. If he lived at Rosemont, he’d ride every day, down to the shingle or across the dull green fields they’d passed coming in.

A groom popped out onto the stone courtyard. “What can I do for you, Mr. Norwich?”

Charles stared at him blankly until he realized that of course any good servant would know who he was . . . or who he was supposed to be. “My wife and I are going riding. If you could saddle up her usual mount and find a horse for me, I’d appreciate it.”

“Miss Louisa—that is, Mrs. Norwich hasn’t ridden since I’ve worked here,” the young man said. “But she pays particular attention to Emerald when she visits the stable.” He looked Charles up and down as if calculating his weight. “I think Mr. Hugh’s Pirate Prince would suit you, sir. If you’ll give us a moment, we’ll have both horses ready for you and your lady.”

Charles sat down on the weathered mahogany bench outside one of the bays. He would have offered to help, but upper crust Maximillian Norwich probably was not expected to saddle his own horse. Charles bit back a smile—Pirate Prince indeed. Was it the eye patch? he wondered. Charles had not ridden for pleasure often, though any jaunt on a horse was enjoyable, even into battle. Some sort of magic melded human with animal. He’d been lucky in his mounts—they’d carried him to safety most of the time.

The sun was warm on his face, though there was a pleasant nip in the air. It was always warmer on the coast, he reminded himself. One might not even know it was December save for the bare vines that climbed the brick. Roses here, too, even for the horses. Relaxing, he watched the activity in the yard. Robertson gave up his manic polishing of the car and disappeared into the building. Charles heard the steady wash of the waves, the cry of gulls, the whicker of horses. Rosemont really was a little paradise, despite Aunt Grace and the gargoyles.

So he was to ride on Cousin Hugh’s horse. Charles hoped the groom would not get into trouble. From all he’d heard of Hugh, he was a man best not crossed. Charles was absolutely itching to meet him and cross him as soon as possible.

He was being petty. Childish. But the longer he stayed at Rosemont, the more he wanted to restore Louisa to her rightful position. He’d begun to think of himself as a Cavalier, and Rosemont’s residents as Roundheads sucking all joy out of life. Time to put the young queen on her throne.

There was a vulnerability to Louisa that was not apparent at first. She was so pretty, so voluble—really, she could talk the bark off trees once she got going—that one did not see the hesitant girl within unless one looked. It might take her a while to find her feet at Rosemont, but Charles was willing to stay until—

What in the hell was he thinking? He’d been engaged as her companion for a month only. Plenty of time to roust out the relatives and fall into some mysterious decline and die, as Maximillian was destined to do. Charles wasn’t sure about his own demise anymore—maybe Mrs. Evensong could find him something useful to do. This rescuing a damsel in distress business was very gratifying.

A couple of grooms eventually led out two prime specimens. Charles was so entranced with old Pirate that he failed to see Louisa round the corner of the building. And when he did—

Lord have mercy. She was hatless, her hair falling down her back in a loose braid. She wore a thick plaid scarf around her neck, a heavy wool hacking jacket, and men’s riding breeches. There was not a loose fraction of fabric encasing her thighs. The young grooms both turned bright red and Charles remembered to close his mouth.

“Hello, darling! Hello, Jimmy! Angus! Emerald, my beauty. You have no idea how excited I am to go riding here again. I rode every chance I got on the Continent this past year, of course, but never on such fine animals as these.” Louisa dug into her jacket pocket for a sugar lump and fed it to the mare.

Emerald was indeed a beauty, silver gray, with a glossy black mane and tail. Her saddle and harness were edged in bright green leather piping to match her name. Louisa frowned.

“Jimmy, a regular saddle if you please. Max, you don’t mind a little delay, do you?”

So, no sidesaddle for Louisa. For the chance of seeing Louisa ride astride, her beautiful bottom rising and falling in front of him, Charles could wait all day. He gave her a loopy grin. “Whatever pleases you, my dear.”

Chattering away in a friendly fashion, Louisa followed the boys back into the stable to replace the tack, which gave Charles the opportunity to inspect Pirate. The horse was massive, black and steady. Hugh Westlake had a good eye for horses. Charles stroked Pirate’s nose and talked quietly to him as if the horse could understand his words. Some might think him a little mad, but Charles was of the opinion that horses were more intelligent than many people.

He turned when Louisa rode out of the stable into the courtyard. He would have loved to help her mount but had been deprived of that singular pleasure. She was not an especially tall woman, but her legs looked very long indeed against Emerald’s flanks.

“We’ll just ride over to the kitchen door. Cook will have our basket ready.”

Charles let Jimmy help him up and tossed the lad a coin for his trouble. That’s what Maximillian Norwich would do, wasn’t it?

The basket turned out to be a lumpy linen sack that Louisa slipped into her saddlebag. “Where to next? The water or the woods?” she asked him.

“The water, I think. I never knew until I came here how restful it is to watch the waves. I never much enjoyed the ocean in transport, but that might have something to do with the company I had to keep.”