The Runaway Heiress (11 page)

'She would.' He grinned in
appreciation. 'Nothing so pleasant, I do assure you. You were not abandoned for
my own pleasure.' Frances felt a sudden warmth spread through her limbs at his
words. 'All deeds and dusty lawyers—it seems to be never ending. But
you
seem to have spent your time most effectively.
Let me look at you.'

He surveyed her critically
and unsmilingly from her restrained curls to her new satin evening slippers.
She immediately raised her chin, unsure whether she enjoyed that attention or
resented the intense scrutiny.

Aldeborough circled her
with a critical eye. She stood before him, outwardly calm and elegant in a
simple column
of
palest
eau de nil
satin overlaid by delicate cream lace.
The neck line was fashionably draped, allowing the swell of her slight bosom to
peep above the low corsage. She wore long evening gloves in the finest kid and
her only jewellery was his silver locket, which nestled between her breasts.
The ensemble was completed by a painted ivory-and-lace fan with carved sticks.
She looked lovely, he thought, as she spread the antique fan with innate grace
and turned her head to follow his progress. He was surprised by a surge of
possessiveness and a quickened beat of his heart. Her skin glowed, delicately
tinted with rose and her eyes were the luminous azure of dew-drenched
delphiniums. For the first time since he had set eyes on her, recoiling from
the interested and salacious attentions of a group of drunken gamblers, she appeared
relaxed and less haunted. There were no shadows beneath those glorious eyes tonight.
He discovered that he was holding his breath as he appreciated the depth of her
charm. No, he decided, she was not a beauty in the classical mould. But, by
God, he found her delightfully attractive. He stretched out his hand to caress
her cheek because he felt compelled to do so. He was delighted to see the
colour there deepen a little.

'I
like your hair,' he commented simply. Juliet's maid had curbed its waywardness
and dressed it in ringlets on the crown of her head with one coaxed to fall
becomingly on to her shoulder. Tiny curls had been allowed to frame her face
and drift in wisps over her ears.

'Where
is the country mouse I married?' He sounded satisfied with the transformation.

'Still
here under this disguise!' Frances's voice expressed all her feminine delight
at the knowledge that she was turned out in the height of present fashion and
she loved it. 'If you look very closely, you can still see the whiskers.'

'Well
I must tell you that I like you very well, Madame Mouse. You make a most acceptable
Marchioness, in spite of all your concerns.'

'Thank
you, kind sir.' She dropped him a pert curtsy, to hide her sudden discomfort at
his compliments. 'But I must tell you that I don't wish to go to this party.
I'm terrified that I shall freeze and be unable to say a sensible word to
anyone. And then what will your family think? Probably that you have taken
leave of your senses!'

'I
guarantee that you will charm them all,' Aldeborough encouraged gently. 'And it
is important that we be seen together, that we find our marriage more than
merely acceptable. As I do.' He bowed formally. Then your reputation as my
wife will be altogether without blemish.'

'Of course. I understand.'

He took her hand and placed it on his proffered
satin sleeve. 'Then let us begin the campaign, my lady.'

Hours
later Frances relaxed against her pillows. She felt tired and exhilarated, both
at the same time, and could not contemplate sleep. She wielded her hairbrush,
vigorously brushing her hair out of its ringlets in preparation for braiding it
for the night. So many new faces, so many introductions, so many names and
family connections. They blurred together. As good as his word, Aldeborough had
kept close attendance, smoothing out the introductions, always solicitous and
aware of the possibility of any discomfort, the epitome of a kind and
considerate husband. There had been speculative glances, of course. It had to
be expected. But no hint of gossip or unkind comment had been allowed to reach
her ears. Aldeborough's coldly smiling assurance and, she had to admit, his
sheer arrogance had made any unpleasantness unthinkable. As a result, her
confidence had grown and she had found herself laughing, enjoying the
conversation, playing: her new role with surprising enjoyment.
      

Juliet and Matthew had
been quietly supportive, instructed by Aldeborough, she believed, to divert any
difficulties. Lady
Aldeborough, forced by necessity into compliance
and detesting every moment of it, had managed to ignore her beyond a
supercilious stare. After all, there had been nothing in her appearance for
that lady to carp at. Miss Vowchurch, and her languid parent had been
graciously condescending, promising an invitation to a small gathering of
select people; that they would be holding in the next week. They hoped that the
new Marchioness, and Aldeborough of course, would grace them with their
presence. Frances had smiled and
equally feigned total delight at
the prospect. But far more importantly, she had been introduced to the Countess
of Lieven, one of the formidable Patronesses of Almack's, who: had greeted her
with chilling formality and little enthusiasm, but had promised admission
vouchers. Frances knew that her acceptance into the
haute ton
was complete. Aldeborough had smiled cynically with a curled
lip; it was amazing what a title and a fortune could achieve!

Her thoughts returned to
Miss Vowchurch. Frances had had the leisure to observe the lady and had come to
the conclusion that here lay a threat. Mrs Winters and her relationship with
Aldeborough, revealed by Matthew as they drove in Hyde Park, was still an
unknown quantity, but Miss Vowchurch had left Frances with a sense of
disquiet. Aldeborough, of course, was no longer free and yet Miss Vowchurch
had used every opportunity to catch his interest, even to flirt in a subtle,
understated manner. Not with a fluttering of her lushes or the delicate use of
her fan—that would be far too blatant for the proper Miss Vowchurch. But
Frances had not mistaken the quiet conversation, the proprietorial hand on her
husband's sleeve when she wished to attract his attention. And the Dowager
actually seemed to encourage it, suggesting that Aldeborough should squire her
to the supper table. Not that he had—he had ensured that his bride was
comfortably settled—but it had given Frances pause for thought. The Paragon
might be a Beauty, but she was no longer a young debutante. Why, she might be
all of three and twenty. Perhaps there was an element of despair in her
approach to Aldeborough. Pitying gossips would soon have her well and truly on
the shelf and Penelope would not care for that humiliation.

And what of the Marquis?
Frances's frown deepened. Well, he had not exactly encouraged Penelope, but nor
had he put an end to her pretensions. Of course, he could hardly give her a
public set-down, she mused, as she was such a close friend of the family, but
did he really need to smile at her so charmingly or bend his head so intimately
towards her to listen to her honeyed words? At least there had been no dancing so
that Frances did not have to bear the mortification of seeing The Paragon in
the arms of her husband in a waltz. It was amazing, Frances decided, how much
she had come to dislike the lady on such a short acquaintance.

The door to her room
opened.

Aldeborough!

She stiffened, her hand
holding her hairbrush poised in mid-air. Her breath caught in her throat. 'I
did not expect you to visit me, my lord.' She tried hard for composure and a
smile and was relatively pleased with the result.

And she wishes I had not,
thought the Marquis ruefully, as the confusion of doubt and anxiety flitted
across her expressive features and the telltale blush stole up to her temples
from the lace edging of her chemise.

'Shall I go away?' He
sighed inwardly. Did he really want the burden of a reluctant wife tonight? He
could have retreated, of course, with a polished excuse and found more
congenial company elsewhere. But then he was taken aback by the sudden kick of
lust in his gut at the sight of her sitting against the bank of pillows, eyes
huge, hair unconfined.

'I did not know you were
home,' she stammered, keeping the smile in place, realising that her initial
comment had been less than welcoming. 'I thought that gentlemen went on to
gaming clubs and...and such things.' Such as Letitia Winters; the insidious
thought struck her, startling her by its aptness.

'It had crossed my mind,'
he admitted with a serious expression. 'But, as I remember you once informed
me, I am no gentleman.'

She felt herself flush
vividly in consternation. 'I did not mean that. I was...' She floundered
helplessly.

He laughed and moved to
sit on the edge of the bed, trying not to notice that she imperceptibly drew
away from him.

'You are forgiven.
Besides, I thought I would like to spend some time with my new wife, who is
looking so lovely.' He was surprised to hear himself say those words, but found
it to be true. 'I hope you enjoyed all the compliments.'

He leaned forward to take
the brush from her rigid fingers, and lay it down on her nightstand. Then he
framed her face with his hands, pushing her hair behind her ears, and applied
his lips gently to her temples, her eyes and finally her mouth, Her perfume
overwhelmed his senses, her lips were eminently kissable. Her skin was
incredibly soft and smooth as wild silk, giving an impression of great
fragility. Again he was struck by the growing urgency of his desire to take
her. He released her to douse the candles, rapidly strip off his clothing and
stretch himself beside her.

She was as warm and
fragrant as he remembered, obedient to his commands, trembling as his hands
touched her body. It was easier to enter her. She wound her arms around his
neck, holding him closely, burying her face against his chest us he took his
own pleasure. He took care not to frighten her, conscious of her inexperience,
but although she did not resist him, as on the previous night she remained
reticent and withdrawn, making no sound of either enjoyment or discomfort.

She was aware of his every
touch. She knew what to expect, anticipated it, wanted it even, but for some
unfathomable reason beyond her reach, her brain would not allow her body to
accept or respond with pleasure. What was wrong with her? She could only cling
to him, mould her body to his, accommodate him as he wished until it was over
because she was afraid of so many things, afraid of rejection, of allowing him
to become aware of her own growing feelings towards him, and of his retribution
if she should displease him. She noted as from a distance the caress of his
hands, his mouth, the whole long, hard length of his body, but it could not
break through the barrier around her heart and her physical response. She found
it was utterly impossible for her to show him anything of her own desire to
touch him, to return his passion. And she could never explain to him—it would
be too humiliating. She clung to him in a storm of desolation that threatened
to drown her in its overwhelming torrent.

He sensed her relief when
it was over and he withdrew from her. In spite of his physical satisfaction he
felt piqued, hurt even, at her lack of response. It was no better than the
first time he had come to her. And he had prided himself on his finesse in
awakening feminine desires and responses in the hearts of those women who had
shared his bed. He had never had any complaints. Letitia had always been more
than co-operative in making herself available to his demands. He blocked out
his wayward thoughts of that warm, inventive body and focused instead on the
slight, unresponsive figure still cradled in his arms. Her eyes were closed as
if to shut out the sight of him. He had thought he had detected a warmth in
her, a spirit of generosity and courage, a need to give as well as to receive.
Disappointment welled up within him as he was forced to accept that he had been
mistaken. But what did he expect? Did he really want more from a wife as long
as she was able to play the part assigned to her and produce the heir his duty
to his family demanded? In the end, did it matter that she disliked the
intimacies of the marriage bed and rewarded him with cold compliance? Yes, it
did, and for perhaps the first time in his heedless life he did not know what
to do about it. Without a word, he withdrew his sheltering arms and left her.

Tonight Frances made no
effort to detain him. She buried her face in the pillows and wept all the tears
that she had prevented him from seeing. And for what she wept she did not know.
There was a great emptiness, a sense of abandonment within her, now made so
much worse by Aldeborough's absence. And, she chided herself through her sobs,
desperately aware of her rejection of him, she could hardly blame him if he
never came to her bed again!

Chapter
Six

At
breakfast next morning Aldeborough noted Frances's pale features but without
comment. She was quite composed and greeted the assembled family with a smile
and a comment on how exhausting family gatherings were when faces and names
were unknown. Matthew expressed the opinion that
all
family gatherings were a strain and to be avoided if possible. Frances laughed
and agreed. She had spirit. But she found it impossible to lift her eyes to
meet his direct gaze and answered briefly when he enquired whether she had
slept well.

Aldeborough
put down his copy of the
Morning Post
and
addressed Frances directly. 'I thought, if you wish it, that we could perhaps
see some of the sights since you have never been in town before. I'm sure it
will amuse you. What do you think?'

Frances's
face lit with pleasure. 'I would like that above all things. I have read about
London, of course, my uncle's library was full of old history books and indeed
some travel diaries, but I would dearly love to see the Tower and St Paul's
and...and everything really.' She smiled, but without embarrassment at her lack
of sophistication. 'I'm sorry if I seem such a country nobody, but you cannot
imagine what it was like to be shut away at Torrington Hall all your life.'

Aldeborough
laughed at her enthusiasm.

'Believe me, I can! So,
since the sun is shining, we will gratify your wish. Are you busy this morning,
Juliet?' He looked across to his sister who was sitting over a cup of coffee,
leafing through the pages of
La Belle Assemblee.
'Do
j
you wish to accompany us? You notice that I don't bother to ask
you, Matthew.'

'I'm engaged to meet some
fellows at Tattersall's,' Matthew replied hastily, continuing to eat his way
through a plate of cold beef and ham. 'History's not really my thing.'

'You
surprise me. But it would do you good. Especially a tour of Westminster Abbey.
Extending your education or something of that nature.'
 
I

'Hmm. I
would rather look at horseflesh.'
                                        
j

'I'll come with you,'
Juliet broke in, earning a quizzical look from Aldeborough. 'That is, if you
can guarantee that our route will take in Bond Street.'

'I thought there might be an ulterior motive.'
Aldeborough sighed. 'Let me see. Another hat? As long as it comes out of your
allowance and I don't have to pay for it, I am sure it can be arranged.'

An hour
later the expedition foregathered in the library, Frances deliciously turned out
in a high-waisted morning gown of cream-and-white striped muslin and protected
from the chill breeze by a cream silk spencer, frilled at wrist and neck. A
matching reticule, French straw bonnet and cream, kid gloves completed her
toilette and she found that she was able to wield her parasol with more
expertise and confidence than she had achieved the previous day. After some
discussion, they had decided to take the barouche to the Tower of
^;
London
when Watkins barred their exit.
        

'Forgive
me, my lord. You have a visitor. I informed him that it was your intention to
be away from home for the rest of the morning, but he insisted on seeing you.'

'Who is it, Watkins?'

'Viscount Torrington, my
lord.'

Aldeborough felt Frances
draw in her breath sharply and her apprehensive gaze fix on him. He remained
impassive, however, gave her a faint smile and responded calmly as if a visit
from Viscount Torrington so early in the day was the most natural, thing in the
world.

'I suppose we had better
see him. Will you remain here with me, my lady? It might be for the best.'

Juliet made a diplomatic
exit after casting a curious look in their direction. 'I will go and see if
Mama needs me to run any errands while we are out. Unless you wish for me to
stay as well?'

'No. I think we can manage
without you. Show the Viscount into the morning room, if you please, Watkins.'

'What does he want?'
Frances was swept with a sudden fear that her new life would all be snatched
away from her. She felt panic rise in her chest to catch her intake of breath.
She clutched her parasol and reticule with icy fingers.

'He can do nothing that
can harm you,' Aldeborough replied soothingly, taking her hand. He was
surprised at the level of her consternation. He regarded her with narrowed eyes
when she clutched his hand fiercely as if she might be physically torn away. He
believed that, given the opportunity, she would have fled rather than face
Torrington. There was far more involved here than he had realised. 'We will see
him together. There is no cause for such concern.'

'Yes, but...' She took a deep breath, forcing
herself to be calm. 'Of course. We must see my uncle.'

Aldeborough, deliberately
formal, bowed Frances before him into the morning room. Responding in kind to
his prompting, she advanced with an elegant inclination of her head. It pleased
him that she could play the role of Marchioness of Aldeborough with such grace
and composure. He felt a surprising glow of pride as she walked forward at his
side. Viscount Torrington was standing in the window embrasure, looking down on
to the square. He had ridden to Cavendish Square from his town house in
Grosvenor Square and looked uneasy in the polished surroundings, slapping his
riding gauntlets against his dusty buckskins. His face was impassive, but harsh
grooves were evident across his forehead and around his thin lips. He turned
awkwardly at their entrance, tension in every line of his body, but his
attempts at affability were quite deliberate. The two men bowed pleasantly and
Frances made a slight curtsy.

'To
what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, my lord? Perhaps I can offer you a
glass of canary?' Aldeborough did not wait for a reply, but walked to the
sideboard with its burden of bottles and glasses and poured out three glasses,
one of which he handed to the Viscount.

'Thank
you, Aldeborough,' he said genially. 'Forgive me. I realise it is somewhat
early for morning visits, but I am rarely in town and I have to return to the
country tomorrow. Business, you know.' Torrington's eyes flickered from Aldeborough
to Frances and back again. He was clearly ill at ease.

'I
am sure that Frances will always be pleased to welcome you to her home.'
Aldeborough's tone was bland and noncommittal. 'So what brings you to us so
early?'

'I
simply wanted to...that is...we need to straighten out the unfortunate events
of nearly two weeks ago.'

Was
it less than two weeks ago? To Frances, it seemed a lifetime.

'I
regret... If you will forgive my plain speaking, I cannot have my niece living
under your roof. I have her reputation to consider. There has never been any
scandal in my family... I have come to take her home where she belongs.'

'Surely
it is a little late for such solicitude, my lord?'

'I
was not aware that you had left the Priory.'

Aldeborough
remained silent, eyebrows raised, his calm gaze fixed on Torrington. Sweat
broke out on the Viscount's brow and he allowed his eyes to fall. He coughed
nervously and turned to Frances.

'If
you would be so good as to pack your possessions, I will take you to Torrington
Hall with me, Frances.'

Frances
stood rigidly at her husband's side and made no move to obey. The Viscount
looked helplessly from one to the other.

'I regret,' said the
Marquis quietly, 'there has been some misunderstanding.'

'Oh?'

'I am, of course, relieved
that you should be so concerned as to your niece's reputation. Unfortunately,
your concern would seem to be a little late in the day. Indeed, if she had
lived with me unchaperoned all this time, she would indeed be damned in the
eyes of society.' His tone was bitter and his eyes bleak and cold like ice over
granite. 'However...' his lips curved in the semblance of a smile '...I am
enchanted to be able to inform you that the lady is now my wife.' He raised one
hand to prevent Torrington's attempted interruption. 'This is now her home.
There is no scandal attached to her name.'

'So soon? This cannot be!
I have not given my permission.' Torrington shook his head in denial, unable
to grasp the news. As it gradually sank in, he raised his head and glared at
Aldeborough. 'I am her legal guardian,' he challenged. 'How dare you pre-empt
my permission!'

'Oh, I dare, my lord. I
believe you reneged on your guardianship when you subjected my wife to the
humiliation of using her as a servant, without dignity and without the respect
due to her,' Aldeborough replied harshly.

'But she is my ward.'

'No.' The Marquis turned
to look at Frances and formally raised her hand to his lips. 'She is my wife. I
would present to you the Marchioness of Aldeborough. She did me the great
honour of marrying me at the Priory by special licence.'

'I will have the marriage
annulled,' Torrington blustered.

'On what grounds?'
Aldeborough kept a strong grip on her fingers. 'There are none,' he said
firmly. Frances signalled her agreement, masking her eyes with downswept
lashes.

'You will return with me,
Frances. I insist.'

'No, my lord. You no
longer have power over me to insist.' Frances's response was calm and matter of
fact despite her inner turmoil. 'I will, of course, remain with my husband.'

'You will regret this, my
lord. I'm sure you would dislike details of these vulgar events to escape—juicy
morsels for men to gossip over in the clubs. I thought there had been enough
gossip about your family of late.'

Aldeborough's
face was pale with suppressed temper, but his voice remained even, untinged
with emotion. 'Would you be considering blackmail, my lord? I would not advise
it. It would do
you
far more harm if society
was aware of your immoral actions towards your niece. If we are speaking of the
improper, it is outrageous to use violence, in public, against a young woman of
gentle breeding.'

Torrington
drew himself up with as much dignity as was left to him. 'You have not heard
the last of this.'

'Certainly.
There are some loose ends to be tied up, I believe. My man of business will
contact you about my wife's inheritance.' The Marquis had resumed his role of
genial host. 'I would be grateful if you would instruct him as her ladyship
will reach her majority in a few weeks. My wife is no longer your concern.'

'Damn
you, Aldeborough. You will regret this, Frances. You may have to pay a heavy
price for a title.'

'I
think I will not regret it, Uncle.' Frances matched her demeanour to her
husband's.

Torrington
tossed off the forgotten drink of canary, set down the glass with unnecessary
force, and stalked from the room in frustrated anger.

Frances
turned to Aldeborough in bewilderment, her dark brows drawn together in a
straight line. 'I simply do not understand why he is so anxious to return me
to his guardianship. He never showed any concern for my welfare before. I was
given to understand on so many occasions that I was an unwanted burden on the
family. Quite frankly, I thought he would be glad to get me off his hands.'

'Apparently
not. Were you tempted to go with him?' Aldeborough heard himself ask and
awaited her answer with some interest.

He
did not have to wait long.

'Never!
I will never go back!'

'There
is no question of it.' He paused. 'Can you tell me why the prospect distresses
you so much? I would not have you worry for no reason.'

She shook her head.
Gathering the rags of her self-possession around her, she forced her face into
a bright smile. 'No reason, my lord. Other than that I have no wish to be buried
alive at Torrington Hall as I said at breakfast. Can we go now if we are to
visit the Tower? Or do you think it is too late?'

'Not at all. The sights of London are at your
feet and the barouche awaits.' He bowed her out of the Library, aware of a faint
shadow of concern that would not go away. His wife could dissemble, he
realised. He wondered why.

Frances settled into her
life in Cavendish Square. To her relief, she had to suffer no more tête-a-tête
with the Dowager, whose cold displeasure, cloaked in brittle good manners, continued
to cast a shadow over the household. In Juliet she discovered a lively,
sympathetic confidante with whom she could gossip and exchange ideas about
fashions and other fripperies. She did not find it easy to open her heart to
her new sister after her previous solitary existence, but Juliet was not
discouraged by her reticence and entertained Frances with her chatter and
enthusiasms. Matthew was invaluable. When he could be pinned down and
distracted from any sporting activity on which he expended his energies, and be
persuaded to squire the two ladies around town, he was the brother Frances
never had. He was open and friendly to a fault, unfailingly good natured and
willing to oblige, unlike his elder brother.

Frances saw little of Aldeborough. When she
did, he was polite, courteous but invariably distant. He did not come to her at
night, which left Frances disturbed by her conflicting emotions. She was not
disappointed, she told herself, relieved even. Her inability to accept his
touch, his caresses, without a frisson of fear troubled her, so surely it
should be with a sense of relief that she accepted that he had no interest in
her. Yet the memory of those fine-boned hands on her arms, her shoulders, her
breasts, awoke in her a desire to repeat the experience. And her fingers curled
into admirable talons when the image of Letitia Winters came into her mind and
she imagined how Aldeborough might be enjoying such intimacies with her.
Frances abandoned any attempt to understand the logic in her thoughts. But she
missed him.