The Elusive Heiress (2 page)

Realising she was endeavouring to explain, Lord Redesmere dipped his blond head in acknowledgement. ‘That would be…what…three, four years past?’

‘‘07. Four years ago. He had some fustian notion that she ought to remain true to Papa’s memory and wear her blacks forever!’

‘Very old fashioned,’ Randal agreed smoothly. ‘Whereas I imagine she wanted the protection of a husband?’

‘America may be a young country, sir, but we are quite civilised. Mama didn’t
need
a husband. She simply fell in love with a kind and honourable man.’

‘I stand corrected, ma’am.’ No trace of his amusement at being put so severely in his place appeared in Lord Redesmere’s meek reply.

His visitor gave him a suspicious glance, but returned briskly to the point.

‘Even though her marriage to Mr Ashe came a full two years after Papa’s death the minute Grandfather heard of it he stopped the small allowance he had been making us and refused to answer any of our letters.’

An expressive shrug dismissed this act of petty spite. ‘He and Mama had never been close, of course. He had disapproved of Papa marrying her and made things so very uncomfortable that she was glad to leave England.’

Randal nodded. If memory served him correctly, Charles Nixon had fled to America to escape his father’s baleful influence. They had initially quarrelled over his refusal to become a merchant. John had made his spectacular fortune in India, but Charles was not interested in trade. He wished to become a scholar and, being as stubborn as his father, finally managed to persuade John to let him go up to Cambridge, where he had promptly fallen in love with the daughter of one of his tutors.

John, who had wanted a grand match for his only child, had been furious, but Charles had stuck to his guns and married his Lydia as soon as he turned twenty-one. Since John refused to receive his new daughter-in-law, Charles would not return home to the magnificent house in Chester but had sought employment.

He had obtained a position in the household of a rich London cit who aspired to become a gentleman. His secretarial duties were light but well-paid and the young couple’s happiness was crowned when a daughter was born to them almost a year to the day after their wedding.

Randal reflected that a grandson might have inclined the old nabob to seek a reconciliation, but Kitty’s birth did not soften him. Instead, hating to be crossed and too proud to consider he might be in the wrong, he had schemed to have Charles removed from his post. Unfortunately, his son discovered the real reason why his employer no longer required his services.

When the same thing happened again a few months later Charles’s anger was so great he decided to remove himself and his family to a place where father’s influence could not affect them. It was almost inevitable that he should choose America, a land which cherished freedom and the country which John Nixon, an ardent supporter of King George, disliked above all others.

Hearing that another Cambridge existed in Massachusetts he announced his plan to emigrate. Piqued that his meddling had achieved the exact opposite of what he had intended, John Nixon swore never to speak to his son again.

It was a vow he was to keep, but the price of his pride was high. With every year that passed he became more reclusive and eccentric, refusing to see all but a few favoured visitors. On his deathbed he had been a lonely and embittered man.

‘My great-uncle was a difficult man,’ Randal commented in a carefully neutral tone. ‘He liked to get his own way.’

‘It must be a family trait, sir.’ A sugar-sweet smile accompanied this remark.

The blue eyes narrowed and, realising she was skating on dangerously thin ice, she hurried to conclude her explanations. ‘The people who bought our bookshop kindly forwarded your letter on to us in Amherst as soon as they found someone willing to act as a carrier.’ She paused to make sure he understood. ‘It is a considerable journey. Amherst is in western Massachusetts.’

He ignored her helpful geography lesson. ‘You owned a bookshop in Cambridge?’

She nodded. ‘Papa used all his savings to open it soon after we settled there. He had worked very hard to make it a success. You may disapprove of trade, my lord, but the miserly allowance my grandfather made us after Papa’s death was insufficient to keep us. Mama refused to beg for more so we had no choice but to continue with the business. We both worked long hours to keep it thriving and I am proud to say that we were successful.’

Admiring the way her eyes flashed, he said mildly, ‘I meant no criticism. I see nothing demeaning in earning one’s own living. Honest toil must be preferred to charity.’

Deciding he was sincere, her stern expression relented. ‘I am pleased to hear you say so, sir. My step-papa warned me that I would encounter silly prejudice if I mentioned my background. Not that I care. I have no regard for the opinion of idle fops.’

Her disdainful tone amused him. Intrigued, he would have enjoyed hearing more, but a tap at the door announced the arrival of a footman and she fell silent.

Randal gave instructions concerning their refreshment and waved her to continue as the servant left the room.

‘Pray do go on, ma’am.’

She shrugged lightly. ‘I have no wish to bore you with my opinions on society, sir. Let it suffice to say that my recent mode of life was different to that enjoyed by the young ladies of your acquaintance, but I am not in the least ashamed of having to work for my living.’

Her attractive contralto voice held a note of utter conviction.

Randal owned himself puzzled. Every answer she had given accorded with the report Messrs. Hilton, Tyler and Dibbs had submitted for his scrutiny. His great-uncle’s papers having revealed little—he must have destroyed Lydia’s letters—Randal had ordered Hilton to write to America.

Many months later they had finally received a reply when Lydia wrote to explain that she and Kitty had moved to Amherst following her marriage to Henry Ashe, a widower with three sons. Her new husband was the owner of a successful boarding school and well able to provide for them. Kitty had no need of John Nixon’s money. However, she would permit her daughter to accept the legacy if she wished to do so.

It all tied in. And yet…

‘May I enquire why you waited so long to claim your inheritance?’ Randal allowed no hint of his inner conflict to show in his expression. ‘Surely my letter explained how awkwardly matters had been left?’

With one elbow resting on the mantelshelf, his pose was negligent, but she was uncomfortably aware that he was watching her very closely.

A mouse must feel like this waiting for the cat to pounce!

She lifted her chin and met his gaze without flinching.

‘My mama and step-papa did not wish me to run the risk of encountering winter storms at sea.’

He nodded. It was a reasonable precaution.

‘I assume from your attitude you think my Mama and Mr Ashe should have accompanied me to England.’ She threw out the challenge boldly. She did not understand what had prompted him to question her in this suspicious manner, but it was imperative she still his doubts and gain his trust.

‘The thought had crossed my mind.’

‘Naturally, they wished to do so, but circumstances forbade it. Mr Ashe is the headmaster of a school and could not easily leave his post. Mama helps him teach and she looks after the boarders and my three young stepbrothers.’

She paused, willing a shy little blush into her cheeks as she smoothed her skirts in an embarrassed manner. ‘And she has a new baby to tend.’

She looked so very lovely with that wild rose colour accentuating her high cheekbones that Randal had to force himself to concentrate. ‘There was no mention of a baby in her letter of reply.’

‘I dare say Mama didn’t realise she had to relate every detail of her private life.’

Touché
! A wry grin twisted his mouth as he absorbed the justice of this rebuke. It could be true of course. Lydia was barely forty, not too old to have given birth to another child.

‘My half-sister was only a few days old when we first heard from your lawyers, sir,’ his unusual visitor continued in a softer voice. ‘Even if the weather had been better, I could not have left home then.’ Her gaze dropped modestly. ‘Mama needed my help.’

‘I see.’ Randal’s tone was dry. ‘You are to be congratulated on your sense of duty, particularly in view of the temptation on offer.’

The dark head came up sharply and she eyed him suspiciously for an instant before continuing. ‘Mama arranged an escort for me, of course. I travelled in the company of a respectable married couple who wished to visit relatives here in England.’

‘Perfectly proper, ma’am.’

Lord Redesmere noted that his visitor had stopped pleating her skirts. Had she been fidgeting merely to make him think she was a demure and retiring young miss? He wasn’t certain, perhaps she was genuinely nervous, but he didn’t believe she was shy. Her obvious enjoyment of their earlier banter suggested a more robust nature.

He
was
mocking her! Resisting the temptation to glare at him, she concluded her explanation. ‘Mama allowed me to make up my own mind whether I wanted to fulfil my grandfather’s last request. I must apologise if the delay while I made my decision caused any inconvenience, but, as you can see, I am here in good time.’

John Nixon’s will had stated that unless his granddaughter came to England within a twelve-month of his death to claim her inheritance in person she would forfeit everything.

‘There are almost two months still in hand,’ Randal agreed, his deep voice as smoothly bland as cream.

Two months before all that fabled wealth would pass automatically to the man standing before her. With a sudden start of dismay, she wondered if the gossip was accurate. What if he were not as rich as she had been told? Perhaps he led an expensive life.

For the first time she truly understood that her arrival must change things for him too. The realisation made her uncomfortable. She didn’t want to hurt anyone!

And how must he feel, seeing his chance of gaining a fortune shrivel into dust? Did he hate her?

A flash of amusement lit up Randal’s face as he read the thoughts flickering in her wonderfully expressive eyes.

‘Pray do not look so worried, ma’am! I have no intention of throwing you into the lake to drown.’

At his words she turned so white that he thought she would faint. Good God, surely she hadn’t taken him seriously?

She jumped to her feet, looking as if she wanted to flee, and every last vestige of remaining colour faded from her creamy complexion.

‘Sit down!’ Biting back a worried imprecation, Randal swiftly crossed the room and pushing her into the chair, dropped onto one knee besides her.

‘Permit me!’ Without waiting for an answer, he took her by the shoulders and forced her head down into her lap.

‘Keep still for a moment and the dizziness will pass.’ Randal contained her brief struggle with ease and then to his relief she relaxed against him as the sense of what he was saying penetrated her distress.

At length, judging the danger to be over, he slowly drew her upright. ‘There, that’s better! You have a little more colour now.’

His hands were warm. He was holding her gently, but she could feel their heat penetrating her thin summer gown. Her dizziness had gone, banished by his efficient treatment, but a curious languor was stealing over her, replacing the momentary panic his ill-timed jest had induced.

With a little spurt of shock that set her heart racing anew, she realised what she was experiencing was the slow burgeoning of desire. Appalled, she tried to tell herself it wasn’t true, that she was just imagining the sexual tension spiralling between them, but from the expression on his face she knew he felt it too.

She was so close Randal could see the pulse fluttering at the base of her slim throat. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, stirring her bosom. The slight movement drew his gaze like a magnet. Discreetly revealed by the fashionable neckline, her breasts were beautiful. High and firm, they were deliciously rounded.

Randal couldn’t tear his eyes away. He felt his loins react as desire surged in him. Her skin was like satin with a creamy sheen that made his fingers itch to explore…

Involuntarily, his hands tightened their hold on her shoulders.

A tiny gasp reached his ears and he lifted his gaze to find her great dark eyes fixed on him. He stared into their mysterious depths and felt his heart begin to hammer.

‘Thank you. You may let me go now, sir.’

Her voice was a breathless whisper, but it was enough to make Randal release her as if he had been struck.

What the devil had got into him! For one insane moment all he had wanted in the world was to rip that gown off her and carry her up to his bed!

He rose abruptly to his feet, glad that the physical evidence of his attraction had died an instant death with the return of common sense. ‘Pray excuse my rough and ready treatment, ma’am,’ he said, controlling his voice so it did not betray his disquiet. ‘I thought you about to swoon.’

She managed a shaky smile. ‘There is no need to apologise, sir. I did feel a little faint.’

That was true enough!

‘Please accept my thanks for your prompt action,’ she added, searching for an acceptable excuse. ‘I think the heat must have overset me. I had not expected to find England so warm in May!’

He acknowledged her thanks with a punctilious bow and moved away to resume his previous seat.

An inaudible sigh of relief escaped her. She felt safer with him at a distance!

It had been stupid of her to panic. The situation was enough to strain the strongest of nerves, but she should have realised he was merely joking. Unfortunately, she found him too thoroughly unsettling to be able to think straight!

God knows, she hadn’t expected it to happen; it had been a long time since a man had managed to affect her so! Yet a moment ago when his hands had tightened their hold, a frightening urge to respond to his touch had leapt within her. She had wanted to wind her arms round his neck and abandon herself to the desire she could see mirrored in his burning blue eyes.