The Hidden Heiress (10 page)

He gripped her fingers before she could pull away. "It wasn't proper for me to wait for you in your bedroom the first night you were here."

"And yet you did it anyway," she said.

"Afterwards, you were glad I did."

She tried to pull away and turn from his gaze. "That's not true."

"No?"

"No!" she replied. Her eyes cast about looking for an escape and she felt her body stiffen.

Marshall reached around her back, pulled her against his chest and inhaled her heady scent. His groin throbbed. "Why lie to yourself, Isabel? There's no one to hear you but me."

"I just remembered what you said that evening, Mr. Templeton."

He could feel her chest rise and fall with each breath. "What did I say?"

She tried to lean away from him. "I shouldn't have to remind you," she said.

"If my words offended you, I am entitled to have them repeated."

"Or perhaps you should be obligated to remember them."

Marshall redown and cupped her buttock. He squeezed, watching her eyes go wide with shock. "I'm sorry, Miss Balfour, but all I can remember of that night is all the things I wanted to do to you, but wasn't able to."

Her eyelashes fluttered. "Please don't touch me."

"I'll release you when you tell me what I said." He squeezed again, laughing at her struggle for indifference.

She couldn't fool a blind man. No matter how much she protested, her body told a different story. Unfortunately for her, feeling her every limb tremble while claiming to desire freedom only made him want her more.

He kissed her soft, heated forehead. "Just tell me what I said."

"I didn't mean to make it sound as though it was so significant to me, but . . ."

He studied her expression, seeing the questions in her eyes.

"You told me that you were not the marrying kind." Isabel's gaze was downcast. "That's why I've tried to keep you at an arm's length. My emotions aren't to be toyed with."

"I never assumed they were."

"You assumed I was the kind of women who didn't require marriage before . . . consummation."

His chest ached at the sight of her pink-tinged cheeks. "No! I just wished to know you better."

She shook her head and leaned away from his chest. "But you made such a comment . . ."

"Because marriage is not in the stars for me at the moment."

"You mean to say it's not in the stars for
us
."

He loosened his grip on her fragile, innocent body. "Why do you say that?"

"You are a Member of Parliament," she said. "You need to procure a suitable bride, do you not?"

"Perhaps, but--"

"And I am not suitable. I am an untitled, poor gentlewoman who works for her money." Her breathing increased between each breathless word.

He gripped her shoulders. "Fine, Isabel, you're right. I cannot marry you. Are you happy?"

"I did not mean to suggest that I wish to marry you, Mr. Templeton."

"Then everything is the same, is it not? Nothing has changed."

Tears escaped in thick, fat blobs. "No, nothing."

He pulled her against his chest, pressing her cheek against his vest. "When I decided to get to know you better, I never thought marriage would be a concern."

"Of course not," she sobbed.

"We hardly know each other. Do you actually want to marry me?"

Isabel's hands twitched at her sides, as though she contemplated smacking him across the face. "No, I don't."

"Then we don't have a problem."

She shook her head. "Yes, we do."

He looked at her, waiting.

She wiped the tears from her eyes. "We can't go on like this. You can't touch me then walk away unfettered."

"Why not?" he demanded. "If we both like it, what's the harm? We could have something better than any marriage."

She pushed against his chest. "That's a ridiculous thing to say. You only say it to placate me, to make me feel like what you're offering is something special."

"And it's not?"

"No, it isn't." Isabel climbed the stairs backwards, not removing her eyes from his face. "What you offer is something you've surely given to many. I am not flattered."

Marshall could see the pain in her eyes, but didn't know how to make it go away. He didn't know where to begin to convince her that she was more than just a passing fad.

But he would.

"Good-night, Mr. Templeton."

"Goodnight, Isabel."

Marshall watched her leave, hoping his confident stare didn't betray the tumult beneath. He couldn't understand why he didn't just walk away. His family didn't support his pursuit of Isabel and neither would his colleagues. Now, Isabel wanted him to believe that she too would be happier if he quietly slipped away.

If only he could believe it.

He hadn't misread the desire in her eyes. Maybe it would be easier for Isabel if she didn't have to question her morals every time he came near. Maybe it would also be easier for him to look elsewhere.

But easy didn't equal right. Marshall wasn't going anyn I deci

Chapter 8

Isabel rolled the diamond-encrusted pin around her palm, the gems glittered in the sun spilling their way through her bedroom window. Edward's invasion of her privacy had some positive consequences after all. Only members of the Red Letter Club possessed such a pin. If she could get a list of its members, she could narrow down the possibilities considerably.

But she had no idea how to get such a list and her suspicions had subsequently returned to Cyril. He was the member of many clubs, and the Red Letter Club seemed just his kind of atmosphere.

She stood up, reveling in the freedom of her day off. If she assumed Cyril was the person who'd climbed through the library window and poisoned her tea, then she might also assume that he'd still be in London. Wouldn't he try to find her before returning home?

After tying the cavalier hat Marshall had bought her under her chin, she slipped on her gloves. She knew Cyril. It was a Sunday and if he were in London, he most certainly would be parading down Rotten Row. He was too much of a dandy to miss it, no matter what his villainous plans.

She touched her forehead. It was still hard to believe her cousin as a murderer. There had to be some other explanation. But for now, she could accomplish something simply by determining if Cyril was in London.

Isabel pulled her hat lower on her head and left her room. Between her shielded and her black day dress of poor quality, she'd be spared all notice.

"Going somewhere, Miss Balfour?" Marshall called when she descended past the second floor. He joined her on the stairs.

"Nowhere significant," she replied.

"Then perhaps I may join you?"

She shook her head. "I'd prefer to be alone."

He gripped her shoulders. "Now, you're not still angry about last night?"

His fingers dug into her skin and sent tingles down her back. She gaped at him when he leaned closer. "No, I'm not angry. I simply must be on my way."

"You're in a rush to go nowhere?"

As usual, he cleverly twisted her words. If she'd ever thought he didn't listen to her, she was sorely mistaken. She moved an inch to the left and replied, "I'm restless. I am not in the mood to stand still."

Marshall massaged her, his fingers touching all the right spots. "I could help you with that."

On reflex, she arched her back. Her body betrayed her as it was wont to do. She lifted the hem of her skirt and took the last few steps into the foyer, slipping away from his intimate grasp. "I really must be on my way."

"But where
are
you going?" he asked, still on the stairs looking down.

"Shopping."

"I've been doing a little shopping myself today." Marshall watched her, his eyes searching for something. He shook his head when she didn't respond. "I have a delivery coming later this week."

There was something significant in his words, but she didn't know what. Isabel's heart palpitated in her chest. "I should go."

She ran out, the feel of his gaze boring into her back unsteadied her steps.

Isabel stepped down onto the sidewalk, the sound of the door closing behind her assuring her of her escape.
Shopping
. Marshall must think she did a lot of shopping for someone who could only afford one new dress a year.

She walked quickly and tried to focus on the matter at hand. It wasn't fair that Marshall always found her when she was most vulnerable. At this rate, she would never leave the Templeton household. But perhaps that was what she really wanted.

Isabel made it through the gates of Hyde Park and blended in with the other strollers. She scanned the area.

It was a veritable parade of ostentatious aristocrats, some in barouches and others in curricles, all clothed in their most exquisite garments. It was the place to be seen and admired. She approached a small area, amply shaded by trees and affording a good view of the thoroughfare.

Covered by a large oak treeabel settled in to watch. She knew exactly where to set her sights. From a discreet distance, she watched the corner that Cyril frequently loitered. There, the pretty horsebreakers displayed themselves for all the wealthy dandies to see, basking in the shade of a large statue of Achilles. Everyone knew it was the goal of all young men to be welcomed into that circle of kept mistresses, their style more daring than that of a properly raised Miss.

She'd come at the perfect time. She knew the park was busiest at four o'clock, the most fashionable hour for Rotten Row. The pretty horsebreakers managed their temperamental steeds with ease, their form-fitting riding habits winning the attention of all present. Isabel's eyes went large when she saw one of them brush intimately close to a familiar looking man.

It was her district's MP, Isabel realized with a start. She then pictured Marshall paying favor to the prima donnas, as many of the politicians were known for doing, and grimaced. She wanted to think he couldn't be so shallow, but knew she couldn't assume anything.

She focused on the drive once more, then nearly jumped out of her skin. It was Cyril, leaning against the wooden railing. He was standing too close to where she hid. But she'd found him she told herself happily. He was definitely in London and now that she knew, she could quietly slip away.

"Hello, Miss Balfour."

She turned, still hugging the tree, and glared at Marshall. She could think of no good reason why Marshall would be in Rotten Row by himself and on foot. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

He smiled and replied, "I followed you."

"You followed me?" She had left him standing on the stairs. He hadn't moved after she'd left him there and she'd had every indication to assume he would stay. "Why would you do something like that?"

"Why do you think?" After bowing politely to an attractive young woman, he came closer to Isabel. "The way you left made me very suspicious."

"You have no reason to be suspicious of me. I don't know what you thought you'd catch me doing."

"I wondered if you'd gone to meet a lover."

She stared at the grass. "And if I had?"

His black boots covered the patch of grass, taking over her vision. "I would have to take you back."

Isabel met his gaze with narrowed eyes. "Is that how you intend to prove the shortcomings of marriage? If so, you are not doing a very good job."

Marshall stared at her, unblinking and unwavering.

Isabel shivered, resisting the impulse to cover her body with her hands. He couldn't see through her thick layers of clothing nor did he have the opportunity to rip them off. She had to remember that. She poked his chest through his jacket. "You shouldn't have followed me like this. It is entirely improper."

He grabbed her fingers and squeezed them together. "You wouldn't be so angry if you didn't have anything to hide."

She tried to take back her hand, but he held tight. "I'm not angry. I'm just shocked by your poor etiquette."

He laughed. "Oh, is that all?"

Her traitorous body ached in places she would never refer to in polite company. "Just go, Mr. Templeton. This is my personal day."

"I didn't think you'd be so adverse to seeing me on your personal time," he said, pulling her closer to him. "I didn't realize your kisses were just business."

"My kisses?" Isabel's gaze darted about the park. "I must insist, you were the one doing all the kissing."

"Perhaps. But you did a poor job fighting me off," he said, his voice like a leisurely caress.

"Please, let's not do this here. Aren't you afraid of being seen by a colleague?"

"Only if they try to steal you away from me," he said, once again trying to pull her closer.

Isabel rolled her eyes at the idea. "I assure you, that has little chance of happening."

"I beg to differ."

"There are more interesting sights to behold," she said, casually peering around the side of the tree, hoping Cyril had moved on. He hadn't.

"Such as?"

"You know exactly who I'm referring to." She gestured to the group crowding the Achilles statue, now even bigger than before.

"I don't admire those women, Miss Balfour. Do you?"

"No, but--"

"Not all men consider them paragons of femininity and love."

"I didn't mean to suggest that you did. Only that--"

"You pale in comparison?"

Isabel ripped her hands away from him, her mind clearing as soon as the contact stopped. "Stop interrupting me!"

Marshall smiled, pleased with himself.

Shocked that she had spoken so loudly, Isabel looked for her cousin again, but Cyril had left. Isabel's entire body relaxed. She felt as though she'd been deflated.

Marshall watched the women she'd referred to earlier, absentmindedly touching his short beard. "Do you think those ladies are to be admired?"

Isabel mustered all the dignity she could while hiding behind a tree and spying on loose women. "No, I don't approve of how they make a living. They are selling their bodies to men."

"Yes. Just like getting married."

"You're probably right."

"So if I married you, you would agree that I own your body? This makes me see marriage in a whole new light."