The Romany Heiress (5 page)

Dismayed by the shattered vision, Giles matched her
cold hauteur. “What surprises me is finding an uninvited woman in my rooms. I am tired and have a long
day of entertaining ahead of me tomorrow.”

She rose to her feet in a fluid movement, her coldness melting, and a soft smile on her lips that restored
Giles’s earlier image of gentle tranquility. She moved
toward him, hips swaying as she closed the remaining
distance between them. He was bewitched. It was much
harder to resist the lovely siren that stood before him
than the shrew-tongued gypsy from the lawns.

“We have not gotten off to a good start. I am sorry
about the scene on the lawn. It was a shock seeing you
again.” She said softly, sincerely.

She was close enough for Giles to smell the delicate
scent of lavender that clung to her skin, to notice the
pulse that beat at the base of her neck, exposed by the
cut of her white blouse. He furrowed his brow. Her
pulse seemed slightly elevated as if she were nervous or
distressed. It was at odds with the soothing quality of
her voice, her soft demeanor.

Unless it was all an act.

Giles found the strength to resist her calculated allure and scolded himself for nearly giving in. He was
back on guard. “What do you want?”

He could see she was surprised by his tone. She’d
thought she had him.

“I need to speak with you, privately, Giles. There is
business between us that needs settling.”

“I paid the wagon driver. Our business is settled,”
Giles said tersely.

She shook her head, the dark ringlets swaying at the
motion. She slipped a hand into the billowy bodice of
her blouse, and for a moment Giles thought he knew
exactly what kind of “business” she referred to. Was
she going to seduce him?

She brought out a slim leather folder, the kind used
for legal documents. She handed it to him.

“What is this?” Giles asked, turning the folder over
in his hands and redirecting his thoughts. A cold chill
passed through him. He knew instinctively the folder
held no good for him.

Irina squared her shoulders and lifted her chin to
meet his gaze evenly. Her voice was quiet and firm. “It
is my claim to Spelthorne as its legitimate heir.”

S he’d expected any other man to bluster and rage
upon hearing her news. To his credit, Spelthorne did
not. Years of genteel training were evident in his controlled response.

“These are very serious accusations.” The Earl of
Spelthorne’s intense blue gaze never wavered. He
crossed his arms in a formidable gesture Irina was getting all too used to recognizing. Arms, she noticed,
that bulged at the seams of his expensively tailored
evening coat.

Under his scrutiny, the enormity of her contentions
threatened to swamp her as she gathered her reserves to
unswervingly answer his stare, all the while quailing
inside. He was right. Such claims would not be treated
lightly by him or by peerage.

For the first time since she embarked on this course, she doubted her ability to see it through. What was she
doing, challenging the well-connected and highly eligible Earl of Spelthorne? If she gave up now, there was
still a chance she could meekly walk away and abandon
her cause. No matter that the onus of truth was on her
side, the earl was far beyond her reach. She did not
doubt he could uphold his threats.

A man like him would indeed drag her through every
court in the land. He’d have the peerage and years of presumption on his side. He could easily outlast her defense
and pile of hardearned coins. But she had reason to believe it wouldn’t come to that. For that reason, she stayed.

She had known from the outset that a man such as
Giles would fight to the death to keep what was his-or
in this case-what he thought was his. She’d known
since meeting him that he was a man dedicated to his
responsibilities and a man of unimpeachable honor. But
she also knew such traits were a double-edged sword.
She was counting on that sword cutting both ways.

Neither would Giles renounce the abbey and his title
without a protracted fight, nor would he turn her away
without recompense if he could be persuaded to believe
her claim. She might not get the abbey or the title of
lady, but she’d get enough to ensure she didn’t have to
spend her life traveling the countryside in a vardo, suffering lusty looks from men who thought she could be
had simply because she was Rom.

Irina stopped her thoughts right there to steel herself.
She would not be intimidated into a compromise because the man standing before her was beautifully made, dressed in fine clothes and possessed of a stare so
penetrating it suggested he could divine all her thoughts
and insecurities. She squelched the notion. It was too
dangerous. If she started thinking all she’d get from him
was a financial settlement akin to nothing more than
hush money, then indeed that was all she could expect.

She’d waited her whole life for more than that. Money
could be spent. She wanted a title. She wanted to be a
lady and it was her due by birth. She did nothing wrong
in laying claim to her birthright. It was unfortunate that
her birthright had to be in the possession of a man so
handsome that a simple glance at him conjured up butterflies in her stomach.

The earl cleared his throat. “If you would kindly
leave, I will forget this ridiculous hoax you are attempting to perpetrate”

His air of superiority caused something to snap inside
Irina. With that condescending attitude he was suddenly
less than handsome. It lent her the courage she needed.
She had not come here to be dismissed out of hand like
an errant beggar on the back stoop or worse, a twopenny con artist.

“You haven’t even opened the folder.” She flicked
her eyes to the leather case he held in his hands. “There
is proof inside that I am who I say I am”

He raised his eyebrows, conveying his skepticism
without uttering a word. He took the chair across from
the one she’d occupied and crossed his booted legs at the
heels, affecting a pose of leisure. “Shall I guess what is
inside? Is it a birth certificate? A will naming you heir?”

Irina schooled her features to give nothing away. She
realized he was mocking the very items which had sustained her hopes over the long years. She grabbed the
folder from him when it became obvious he had no intentions of opening it. She pulled out the document
concealed inside and pressed it flat on the table between the two chairs. “This is a copy of my birth certificate. It shows that I am the daughter of Celeste and
George Moncrief, Earl and Countess of Spelthorne,
born September 14, 1787.”

If she had thought to win points in her favor for this
disclosure, she would be disappointed. The earl looked
at the paper and sighed indulgently, his tone still mocking. “My dear, you shall have to do far better than this.
This paper is the kind of forgery sold on the London
streets every day. I hope you haven’t squandered a great
sum on this.”

“I have spent nothing on it,” Irina pressed. “It is notarized by the village curate here in Spelthorne and signed
by the doctor, William Tallbridge. I doubt a common
forgery would produce those details.”

“A forger could do so if you provided the names.
Besides, I have nothing against which to match the
signatures of the witnesses. For your convenience, or
inconvenience depending on how you look at it, Dr.
Tallbridge passed on last winter and the curate was promoted years ago to his own parish. Neither is here to
serve as your witnesses.” The earl countered smugly,
tucking his arms behind his head as he stretched in the
chair. Irina almost believed he was enjoying himself.

She fought the urge to bite her lip in frustration. Those
circumstances were unfortunate. She’d not been able to
ascertain the whereabouts of the two witnesses. She’d
merely hoped one of them would still be about. After all,
life didn’t change quickly or often in the country.

She persisted. “This is not a forgery. It was given to
me by the woman who accompanied me into exile and
was present at my birth.”

The earl laughed out loud at that. “Is she dead too?
Does it bother you that all who hold the key to ensuring
the success of your charade are gone? Even the supposed parents are both deceased. There is no one to believe your papers or support your claims.” His tone
became irritatingly deferential as he rose and began
pacing. “You’ve had your laugh. Your little scam is not
going to play well here. If noblemen gave into such
claims every time a bastard by-blow issued a declaration of legitimacy the peerage would be in constant turmoil. I will thank you to take your papers and get out.
Your claim to be a sister of sorts is summarily dismissed
and as such any claim you might have to my home”

Irina rose to meet him, her voice quiet with its force.
“You don’t understand. I don’t claim to be your sister
by any stretch of blood. Indeed, my lord, I don’t claim
to be any relation at all seeing as you are nothing more
than a cottager’s son bought for a bag of guineas by a
woman who would ensure that her husband had a male
heir at all costs”

“You go too far!” Spelthorne whirled on her with an
unrestrained roar.

He was magnificent in his anger, and she was gratified to note that at last she’d gotten past his wellpolished exterior. She drew a battered red book from a
hidden pocket in her skirts. “It’s all written here in Celeste’s journal” She held it out to him.

The earl seemed to blanch at the evidence and then
recovered his bravado. “Again, without collaboration,
written proof is easy enough to forge. There is no one
to support what you say”

“No one but you, Spelthorne.” She made her ultimatum. “Search your heart. You know the truth regarding
the nature of your parents’ relationship. You will know
whether or not what is inside the journal is the truth.
There are things in the journal no one would know;
things no one could find out years later and fabricate.
Read it, and you’ll know for certain.”

The earl’s dashing blue eyes narrowed. “You should
know that I will not be compelled to give testimony
against myself. I will not cede this place or title to anyone. This place is mine by the burden of responsibility,
if nothing else”

“And it is mine by blood. I was born to it.” Irina retorted, rising to the fight. “I will not be fobbed off.”

The handsome earl smiled and nodded smugly, the
anger dissipating in the wake of his knowing grin. Irina
felt her knees turn watery beneath the heavy folds of
her skirts. It wouldn’t do for him to know how affected
she was by a smile. If he knew, he would simply kiss
her into dropping her claim. She blushed at the image
conjured by her thoughts. She’d heard of women who had traded away sensible options for a few moments of
stolen pleasure. She would not be one of them, not after
coming so far and risking so much. Tonight she was
alone in the world except for the small trunk she’d
stashed under Giles’s bed and the coins hidden inside,
scrimped together from years of hard work.

“Everyone has their price. What is yours?”

It wasn’t until she processed his words that she realized how dangerously far afield her thoughts had wandered and why he was smiling. He smiled because he
was attempting to buy her. Well, the price might be
more than he was willing to pay.

“I want to stay at the abbey until you’ve read the diary and have reached your conclusions, whatever they
might be, about my claims.”

The request won her the startled look she sought.
“What? No request for a thousand pounds or a townhouse in London and an annual allowance? Do you
think your price is wise? I shall read the diary during the
remainder of the night, and I shall conclude against you
by morning. I will send you off with a hearty breakfast
and that shall be the end”

“You say that only because you haven’t read the diary
yet”

“You are a fool to think I can be so easily gulled.
Regardless of what the diary says, I won’t concede
Spelthorne to you” Spelthorne argued.

The lamp burned low, having used its reserve of oil,
casting shadows in the ever-darkening room. Irina
stepped forward, closer to Spelthorne. Perhaps it was time to change tactics. She doubted there was any headway to be made arguing logic with a man who was both
intelligent and used to getting his own way. She dared to
rest a hand on the starched perfection of his white shirt,
reveling in the feel of the strong chest beneath, even as
it reminded her that she toyed with a man powerful in all
ways. Her voice was low and husky when she spoke.

“Yes, you will. I know you, Giles Moncrief. You are
a man of honor. You would not tolerate your life being
built on a wrong done to another.”

“You know nothing about me” His voice echoed
the husky tones of hers, his eyes drawn to the heat of
her hand where it pressed against him and she knew a
small victory. Her breath caught at the realization.
This man was drawn to her. Magda would tell her to
use that against him but her own moral code, so different than that of the Rom, did not find the option appealing.