The Hidden Heiress (12 page)

He sidled closer to her. "Then it's done."

Isabel rejoiced. He hadn't gotten the prissy reaction he'd expected. She could be unpredictable too. "Where shall we look next,
Marshall
?"

Marshall gazed and the ceiling and said, "I bet she's hiding in your bedroom."

"Your constant innuendoes are becoming tired."

He leered at her as if he knew his presence made her shiver with both fear and delight. "You've become quite the woman of the world, haven't you, Isabel?"

And he, obviously, was hoping to have been the cause. She turned away to escape his knowing stare. "I've never claimed to misunderstand your quips, only that I wasn't intereed."

"Of course you weren't," he said, his face the picture of innocence. "Each time you've returned my kisses, I've known you were just trying to be polite."

Glad he couldn't see her expression, Isabel pressed her lips together and tried not to smile. "My mother raised me to be a lady."

Marshall circled her. When he came to stand in front of her, he was frowning. "When did your mother die?"

"Two years ago," she said, speaking the truth. "It was a riding accident."

"You had a stable?"

Isabel searched her mind for an appropriate answer. "Well, no. She was visiting an old friend."

"That's horrible." He placed his hand on her arm, affectionately squeezing her wrist. "Do you miss her?"

"Of course, but . . ."

"She was distant." Marshall nodded with understanding. "So were my parents. I would have thought things would be different for someone in your circumstances, without all the nurses and nannies."

Once again, she'd put her foot in her mouth. The less information the better. She took a deep breath. "It wasn't."

"How much longer must you be in mourning for your father?" he asked. "Not that black isn't flattering on you."

Suddenly, she wanted to throw caution to the wind. She had worn mourning attire for a long time when her parents actually had passed away. She looked down at his large hand and replied, "I will stop in one week."

"Then I look forward to seeing some color in your wardrobe." He placed his other hand on her other shoulder, right above her hidden wound. "Though I don't know how you could appear more beautiful than you are right now."

"Marshall . . ." Her gaze locked with his, and she saw understanding too, in the depths of his eyes. He cared about her. He was her friend, her only ally.

She spotted movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see Paige in one of the doorways, glaring at them.

Isabel's heart shot into her throat. "Paige, why did you leave your hiding place?"

"I grew tired of waiting. I couldn't stay there all night."

Marshall shook his head. "I have to hand it to you, Paige. That was an incredible hiding place. Miss Balfour and I were baffled as to where you were."

Paige frowned and backed away. "Perhaps that's because you never looked."

"Paige!" Isabel called out as her student ran out of the room, but Paige didn't stop. "Now she has even more reason to hate me."

"If Paige has decided to hate you, she doesn't need reasons," he replied.

"I don't understand why she's so difficult."

"Neither do I."

"I think I should go to bed too."

"Alone?"

"Marshall!" she exclaimed.

"It's just a jest, Isabel." He ran his fingers down her arm. It made her hair stand on end, even with the barrier of her bodice sleeve. "How I love to say your name without being reprimanded."

She shivered, wishing there were other things he loved too. From the glint in his eyes, perhaps there were. She slipped out of his grasp. "Goodnight, Marshall."

Chapter 9

Isabel sunk into her feather mattress. The long day slipped away the moment her body hit the sheets. Marshall was probably getting into bed at the same moment. If she was lucky, he was thinking about her. She hoped he remembered their genial night together, even though it was cut short. Perhaps he even wondered, as she did, what would have happened if Paige hadn't interrupted them.

Paige fanned herself with one hand, pushed her blanket to the end of the bed and wondered why her room felt a little too warm.

A light knock on the door made her gasp. She was half scared, half hoping, that it was Marshall. She grabbed the covers from the end of the bed and pulled them up to her chin. "Who's there?"

"It's only me. Paige."

Isabel lit a candle then scrambled out of bed, searching the room for her dressing gown. She was sure she'd left it on the back of the high-back slipper chair in the corner where she t every night, but the chair was empty.

She went to the door clad in her chemise, then opened it a crack to look into the hallway. "What's wrong?"

Paige, also dressed for bed, leaned closer. "May I come in? I had a nightmare."

Surprised the girl would come to her after her latest tantrum, she let her in. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yes, but don't shut the door."

Paige leaned on the foot of the four-poster. "The dream felt so real, Miss Balfour. A ghost was chasing me through this very house."

Isabel rubbed the chill from her bare arms. "That certainly sounds scary."

"It was," she said. "I still feel jumpy."

"But it was merely a dream. Ghosts don't exist."

Paige shook her head and continued to look into every shadow. "I don't know about that."

Isabel went to the bell rope. "Perhaps we should ring for some warm milk."

"I don't like warm milk."

"I'm trying to help you, Paige," she replied.

"This was more than a dream. It was almost as though--" She froze, staring into the upper corner of the bedroom.

Isabel followed her gaze. "What? What are you looking at?"

Paige backed away and asked, "You didn't see anything move up there just a moment ago?"

"Of course not!" Chills crept up her spine. She looked at her charge with new eyes. She'd always been a difficult child, but Isabel had never considered the possibility she might not be "all there."

"Look!" She pointed at the ceiling as she backed toward the open door. "Just like the dream."

Isabel looked to where she pointed then back at her. "Calm down, Paige. There's nothing there."

Paige let out an ear-splitting scream. "Nooooo!"

Isabel chased Paige into the hall. "Stop this nonsense."

She screamed again, louder and longer.

Footsteps pounded on the stairs. Marshall barreled toward them, his shirt open to his waist. "What happened?"

Isabel shook her head. "Paige had a nightmare. She's gone batty."

The butler, roused from his slumber, wandered toward them. "I heard a noise, sir. Is everything--"

"Everything is fine," Marshall interrupted. He shared a look with Isabel as she hid herself behind the door. "Go back to sleep and let everyone know it was only a nightmare."

Paige watched the butler leave, then ran into Isabel's bedroom. "It's up there. In the corner," in the same hysterical voice as before.

Marshall followed his niece and entered into the pool of warm light in her bedroom. "You've had a bad dream, Paige. There's nothing in that corner but air."

"Please, can you look closer?"

He took another few steps into her room. "No. Nothing at all. You can go back to sleep, secure in your safety."

"Thank you, uncle!" Paige exclaimed, her tone no longer afraid. She turned and ran into the hallway, slamming the door after her.

Marshall went after her immediately. He tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. He waited a moment, then tried again, more violently that time. Still, the door did not move. "Damn."

"It's stuck, isn't it?" Isabel scowled at the closed door. "She did this on purpose."

Marshall didn't reply. He was staring at the door, silent and still. "Paige has just gotten herself into a world of trouble."

"I can't imagine why she would do such a thing."

"It's a childish prank," Marshall said in a quiet tone. "She has no idea of the consequences of her actions."

"Yes, it's quite foolish of her." Her gaze fell to her thin, lacy chemise. She searched for something to wrap around her body. "Mr. and Mrs. Templeton will punish her severely."

Marshall turned to face her. "Those weren't the kind of consequences I meant."

Isabel seized a bed sheet, her entire body tingling now that he was looking at her. She wrapped the sheet tightly around her body.

Marshall continued, "Did she steal your wrapper as well?"

"It looks that way," she replied. Then, unable to stand still, she hurried past him and pulled at the door. It was definitely stuckp>

Behind her, Marshall said, "It's no use. You're stuck with me. There's no escaping."

She turned, pressed her back against the immovable door and laughed. "I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Templeton will be home soon."

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

Isabel gripped bunches of the sheet in her hands and wished she could be calm like Marshall. "Surely, there's some way to open that door."

Marshall grinned. "There isn't. Give up, my dear. We might as well make the best of this."

She felt the hard wood dig into her back. "What do you mean by that?

"What do you think I mean?" His gaze traveled down the length of her body, then up again. "What would you like it to mean?"

She trembled. "I should hope it means . . ."

"What?" He took a step toward her.

She darted away from the corner, keeping her back toward the outer wall of the room. "I should hope it means that we're going to handle this like proper adults."

He took another step and placed his hand against his lips. "Hmm. . . I'm sorry to report that I don't know how that would work. You see, I may be an adult, but I am certainly not proper."

"Stop it, Marshall! Stay right where you are."

He laughed. "I'm not going to attack you, my dear. What do you think I am, some sort of wild beast?"

She started to nod, then realized the foolishness of her response. "Just, please keep your distance."

He brought his feet together in a display worthy of a soldier and stopped. "An unusual request, but granted."

Isabel looked at him standing still in the center of the room. Marshall's gaze was steady, eyes sparkling in the candlelight. The way he watched her turned her legs into two unsteady, useless supports. Her stomach churned and her lower body tingled with suppressed energy. His gaze was so . . . fervent.

She supposed she couldn't tell him to stop looking at her. Could she?

"Stop that!" she finally screamed.

"What?"

"Looking at me like that."

His mouth was upturned at the corners as though he were holding back laughter. "How exactly am I looking at you?"

"As though you want to rip my clothes off."

He took a step toward her. "You're not wearing any."

"Stop moving!"

This time, he didn't listen. He continued to make his way across the room.

Isabel jumped away from the wall when he was only a few feet away. She almost tripped over a forgotten boot in her haste to get away. "Please, Marshall, why are you doing this?"

"Doing what, Isabel?" He placed his hands on his hips. "I really don't understand what you're implying. I would like to speak to you and it's dreadfully uncomfortable to have to shout across the room."

"No," she stuttered, pulling her sheet higher on her body, "that's not what you're doing."

"Why not at least give me the chance to prove myself?"

Her eyes widened with disbelief. "Because if I am right, it will then be too late."

Regardless of her words, he continued to approach her.

Isabel backed up again and hit something solid. Her chest clenched when she sensed what she had backed into, but she didn't want to believe it before she knew for sure.

She turned her head just enough to see that the obstruction blocking her way was the bed. "Hell."

Marshall smiled. He didn't even comment on her choice of words. "Is this where you were headed?"

She shook her head so hard that she thought she heard her brain rattle. "No."

He took his final step and was at last in reaching distance. "But here we are."

She met his ardent gaze and felt her entire body cease its proper functioning. He was unspeakably handsome. She'd never seen anyone more attractive in all her days. Why, why, didn't she have more will power? Turning him away should have been a simple matter, easily carried out.

"That sheet is very flattering on you."

Her cheeks burned. "It was not meant to be a fashion statement."

"I like it."

"Is that what you wanted to discuss?"

Even though he adn't touched her, his body exuded sensuality, automatically drawing her in. It probably wasn't even intentional. Marshall smiled. "What do you think should be done to Paige? Do you think she should be punished?"

"Of course she should be punished. She has done a very naughty thing."

"I think she did me a favor."

Her legs shook.

"She did
us
a favor."

With her bottom pressed against the bed, her legs gave out. She fell onto the cushioned mattress. Marshall loomed large in her vision as he placed a hand on either side of her and lowered himself.

Driven by forces beyond her control, the momentum of her body sent her into a sitting position, meeting him halfway. His lips were then only inches away. Isabel traced their outline with her gaze, remembering how they felt pressed against hers in the garden.

She wanted nothing more than to feel it again. Finally realizing, at that moment, how much she'd always wanted it.

Marshall kissed her.

Isabel sunk into his arms, delighting in the feel of his lips. He kissed her gently, as slowly as he'd chased her across her bedroom. Her full lips danced against his perfectly, her chest throbbed with every movement.

Slowly, she felt herself fall against the bed, his hard body pressed against her. He kissed her mouth, never once leaving it. And when he pulled away for a breath, his eyes were glistening with scorching surrender.