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Authors: Adrienne Basso

To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance) (28 page)

BOOK: To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance)
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“Of course.” The marquess let out a long breath. He seemed very relieved by her answer. “I would be honored to accompany you to any social event you feel you absolutely must attend.”
She tilted her head, her eyes steady on him. “I would like to go to the masquerade ball at Lord Linny’s next week. It promises to be the crush of the Season, and I have already commissioned a costume for it.”
He smiled. “Something daring and provocative, no doubt.”
“I am going as Diana.”
“The Roman goddess of the hunt?” His eyes traveled over her form with great interest. “A most inspired choice, given your height and coloring. And incomparable beauty.”
Meredith lowered her chin modestly at the compliment. “It was actually the duke’s idea. With my father’s great passion for all things concerning ancient Greece and Rome, it seemed an amusing notion.”
“I know you will look enchanting.”
Pleasure filtered through her. All of her adult life she had been showered with florid, expressive, and occasionally outrageous compliments on her looks. Yet only Trevor’s regard had the power to move her. “I only hope I can wear my Roman gown. The blue silk fabric is fashioned to be held over one shoulder with a gold brooch, leaving the other bare. It will expose a great deal of my neck and throat.”
Trevor’s eyes darkened. “Are you badly bruised?”
Meredith’s hand lifted unconsciously to her throat. “These type of bruises always look worse the following day, when they turn all sorts of nasty colors. There is very little pain, so I know they cannot be too serious.”
“I will send for a physician at once,” Trevor decided, rising to his feet. “He can be here within the hour.”
“No, please. There is no need,” Meredith protested. “I had Rose bring me a salve that I used when I finished my bath. After anointing the bruises, I felt much better.”
“I am concerned about your health.”
“All that is required for my complete recovery is a little rest and time. A physician cannot make the marks fade any faster. Truth be told, he might prescribe a treatment that will make it worse.”
Trevor hesitated, and she pressed home her final point. “If the bruises are still evident next week, I will forgo the ball and consent to be examined by a physician. Does that satisfy you?”
The marquess seemed to realize that was the best he was going to get. “I suppose it must. Yet after hearing its description, I confess I shall be very disappointed if I do not see you wearing your costume.”
Meredith smiled suggestively. “I will gladly give you a private showing, my lord. Complete with the crown of laurel upon my head and a pair of sandals on my feet, which are undisputedly the most comfortable things I have ever worn. There is even a small split on one side at the bottom of the dress to allow a glimpse of them.”
His expression turned fierce. “Only a glimpse, I trust?”
“Yes, but if I move a certain way, the gown affords a peek at my ankles.”
“Hmmm, ankles, too? I shall have to keep a very close eye on you, madame.” His eyes took on a teasing manner. “Pity there won’t be time for me to have a matching toga made. That would be sure to cause a sensation.”
“For the right price, I am certain we can find an industrious tailor willing to try.”
Trevor blanched noticeably. “Meredith, please, I was joking about the toga.”
She smiled impishly. “I know. But you must promise to make some concession to the occasion.”
“I shall wear a black domino with my formal evening attire and follow you about the ballroom like a willing, protective slave.”
“What a delicious notion.”
“I had an inkling you might enjoy the idea,” he said in a wry tone.
A provocative taunt about slaves knowing their proper place rose to Meredith’s lips, but after noting the set of Trevor’s jaw, she wisely kept it to herself.
 
 
There were duties to perform, chores that must be completed, responsibilities of his position that demanded his attention, but the lure of his treasure was like a siren’s song, enticing and impossible to resist. Ever alert to the possibility, he slipped away the moment the opportunity presented itself, stealing up to his room for an irresistible moment of privacy.
His breathing grew rapid and shallow as he carefully extracted his prize from the most clever hiding place, a drawer that boasted a false bottom. Late last night he had wrapped the prize neatly in a clean white linen handkerchief to preserve its essence, and now his fingers trembled as he unwound that cloth.
For several minutes, he kept it clutched within the closed fist of his hand. Then he slowly opened his fingers, like a flower opening its petals, and revealed the treasure. Sparkling, glittering, winking up at him, the diamond that lay in the center of his palm had the power to mesmerize him.
He stared at it openmouthed fascination, trembling with excitement. It was a good size, square cut, perfectly shaped. He turned his hand and watched with glee as the many facets of those clean edges reflected the light that crept through the small window of his quarters with brilliant fire.
He knew the stone had significant monetary value, but that was not what made it so unique, so special, so desperately important. This lovely jewel had once hung around her neck, close to her warm, delicate flesh. It had rested upon the pulse at her throat, had felt the beat of life as it coursed through her body.
And now the diamond belonged to him.
It had been difficult to slip out of the house last night, but he had been determined to get away, so he was successful. He had gone to the theater knowing she would be in attendance with the duke, as always, by her side.
He had purposely selected a seat in that pit the afforded him a perfect, unobstructed view of the duke’s private box. Yet this clever plan teetered on the brink of disaster when the marquess arrived. The last person he’d ever expected to see was her husband.
For an instant he thought she might have altered her plans, but then she entered the box, a look of surprise on her lovely face. He could almost forgive her, for it seemed she had no knowledge the marquess would be at the theater. But as the performance began, they took seats side by side, far too close for his liking.
His eyes never glanced at the stage. They remained trained on her, watching her every move. His excitement climbed when the candles were lit to signal the start of intermission, knowing he might have a chance to brush against her in the crowd.
But to his great consternation, she never left the box! Even worse, she moved herself to a provocative position behind the marquess and began touching her husband’s shoulders, rubbing them suggestively, as if they were alone. He had been incensed by this wanton behavior.
It reminded him of the improper kiss she had shared with the marquess at the racecourse. That had also angered him greatly. He had destroyed her parasol that afternoon, shredding it in frustration as a warning that she was stepping beyond what he would allow.
Clearly another message was needed. The sudden, uncontrolled riot had been the opportunity of a lifetime. He had spied her just as the throng threatened to swallow her within its depths. Throwing himself into the fray, he was able to move forward. With supreme effort and tremendous force of will, he somehow managed to make his way to her side.
Once positioned behind her, his hands slipped around her throat, caressing that long white neck, anticipating the moment of utter joy and completion that would come when he applied the pressure that would end her life.
However, the pulsing excitement that sang through his blood ruined his concentration. He was shoved and pushed by the unruly mob and could not retain his balance. She fell to her knees when he unintentionally knocked into her. His hands reached down to hold onto his prize, but his fingers became tangled in the links of her necklace.
She had screamed and struggled, trying to hold herself upright. Her strength was exceptional for a woman, her determination even more so. Sweat broke out on his upper lip as he remembered her fighting valiantly to survive. He knew in that instant he could not kill her then, for there would be no time to savor the event, to enjoy each moment of her violent death.
Lady Meredith, it appeared, was truly the perfect victim. He would be foolish to rush such a rare find. So he pulled back just as the marquess burst through the crowd and lifted her to safety. But he had taken a memento to remind him of the glorious moment—a diamond from her necklace.
A sharp knock at the door sent him cowering into a corner. “You are wanted below stairs. Better hurry.”
“I shall be along in a moment.” He pursed his lips into a thin line, loath to leave the privacy of his chamber and the visions of his fantasy. But he knew he must.
In a small show of defiance, he lifted the diamond to the light and examined it one last time. Then, carefully, reverently, he wrapped it back in the linen handkerchief and placed it in his coat pocket. Though he had devised the perfect hiding place, he decided that it was too valuable to leave in his room. If someone found it, he would be in grave trouble, for he could not explain how it came to be in his possession.
Yet more importantly, he needed to keep it close to his person, needed to feel the hard edges of the stone against his flesh. It was a stark reminder that Lady Meredith now belonged to him.
And soon she would know it, too.
Eighteen
Lord Linny’s masquerade ball was indeed the crush of the Season, with all who attended agreeing it was a resounding success. Surprisingly, the Marquess of Dardington was among those who voiced a favorable opinion of the event.
Though he privately thought the sight of Meredith in her Roman gown was worth surviving any social occasion of the
ton
, Trevor actually managed to enjoy himself that night.
He had also succeeded in doing what no other man of society had managed, except for his father, the duke—Trevor had danced with the beautiful Marchioness of Dardington.
She had smiled with delight when he presented himself to her, bowing elegantly and asking for the honor of the next dance. Tapping her finger to the side of her cheek, she had feigned indecision, claiming she was uncertain if she knew the identity of the man behind the black domino.
He had allowed her the jest, then swept her up in his arms before she could say another word. The lavish mirrored ballroom, filled with bouquets of white, red and yellow roses, was the perfect setting for this magical night that hinted at endless possibilities.
Though he had not planned it, Trevor was pleased to discover their dance was a waltz. Just to tease her, the marquess held his wife at the distance that was perfectly correct for the dance. She frowned at him in puzzlement, trying several times to close the gap between them, but he would not allow it.
For Trevor knew such intimate nearness might heat his body to an embarrassing level of arousal. In the crush of the ballroom, other dancers spun past them, but for Trevor it felt as if no one else was there but the two of them. He escorted Meredith into supper at midnight, and they sat cozily together at a corner table, conversing, laughing and sampling delicious morsels of food from each other’s plates.
Meredith’s brother Jason interrupted them, asking with a polite, pleading note in his voice if he and his dinner partner could join them. Jason had certainly gotten into the spirit of the evening. He was dressed as a pirate, complete with a jaunty eye patch. An impressive-looking crescent saber was tucked into a wide red sash tied about his waist.
His companion, Miss Elizabeth Sainthill, was garbed as a shepherdess. The white ruffles surrounding the sides of her poke bonnet framed her face artfully, and the satin ribbon tied beneath her chin perfectly matched the shade of her eyes. Seated beside Meredith, Trevor could not help but notice Miss Elizabeth looked sweet, innocent, and impossibly young.
“I am sorry to intrude, but I have at last managed to slip away from Elizabeth’s sister, Harriet,” Jason whispered to Trevor as he took a seat. “Yet I could not indulge in sequestering my lovely Elizabeth at a private table without any sort of chaperon. It would be highly improper.”
“I understand,” Trevor replied, though he had a difficult time imagining himself in the role of acceptable chaperon.
Why, only a few short weeks ago a young, impressionable girl of Elizabeth’s stature would have been forbidden even to be seen in the presence of the scandalous Marquess of Dardington without a bevy of her male and female relatives along.
Apparently that had all changed. His wicked reputation, deservedly earned over the past eight years, was now replaced with one of respectability—thanks solely to Meredith. She had weathered the storm of their scandalous marriage with dignity and grace, refusing to accept anything less than the full acknowledgment of society.
And while Trevor was the first to admit he was hardly ready to cast himself in the role of an elder, stodgy gentleman, it was refreshing to have the choice.
“Are you enjoying the ball, Miss Sainthill?” Trevor asked.
A soft flush rose in the young girl’s cheeks. “It has been very entertaining. The decorations are elegant, the atmosphere fun and festive. And there are so many people dressed in a most impressive range of costumes while others are portraying specific historical characters. I have never before seen the like.”
Jason smiled enthusiastically. “We have been having a devil of a time trying to decide who is who beneath their masks.” He put his hand over Elizabeth’s, which was resting on the edge of the table, and squeezed gently.
“Mr. Barrington clearly has the advantage over me in that endeavor, since he is acquainted with far more members of Society,” Elizabeth replied. Smiling shyly, she unobtrusively extricated her hand and placed it in her lap.
Jason seemed unaware of her withdrawal. The conversation switched topics and the four began a lively, nonsensical debate about which costume was the most original, most daring, or most ridiculous. It continued, with much laughter, until the musicians returned and began tuning their instruments.
“You must excuse me.” Elizabeth lifted the dance card that hung around her wrist and consulted it carefully. “I need to return to the ballroom. This next dance is promised to our host. It would be rude to force him to search for me in all the rooms on this floor.”
Jason immediately stood. “I shall deliver you to Lord Linny personally—if you promise me one more dance later?”
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, then nodded her head in agreement. The pair said goodbye and melted away into the crowd heading back to the ballroom.
“Jason is certainly smitten,” Meredith observed as the two trotted off.
Trevor took a drink of his excellent wine. “Very much so, yet Miss Elizabeth’s feelings are not nearly as obvious.”
Meredith shrugged. “She is female, cautious and thoughtful by nature. He is a male, headstrong and conceited. Of course they will have differing views on the state of their relationship.”
Trevor placed his crystal goblet on the table with a loud
thunk
. “Is that how you see me, madame? A headstrong and conceited male?”
Her eyebrow lifted to a provocative angle. “Headstrong, absolutely. Conceited? Perhaps impossibly arrogant is a better description.” She flicked her tongue over her top lip teasingly. “Be quick and finish your wine, sir, so we may also return to the ballroom.”
Trevor groaned in exaggerated despair. “Though you are only dancing with the duke and myself, you have already taken the floor several times. Are you not yet tired?”
She shook her head. “I can assure you that thanks to these marvelous sandals I can dance until dawn. Now come along.”
Once back in the ballroom, it took several minutes for the marquess to achieve a festive mood. He was again on guard against any possible danger to his wife, observing all those who came near with a suspicious eye. Trevor had taken this duty very seriously, for the need to know Meredith was safe had now become almost an obsession.
He reasoned it was in part due to his feelings for her, feelings he had not expressed in words but rather in physical contact. Meredith had slept in his bed, or he in hers, each and every night since the incident at the theater.
She had welcomed him with an almost fanatical embrace, and Trevor admitted he had been very foolish to deny them both this closeness in the past, especially because Meredith seemed to need and want it so much. When their marriage began, he had believed physical distance was the only honorable course, since he was convinced he could not form any emotional ties to her.
But he was wrong. Those emotional ties had somehow been forged even with only limited physical relations between them. And though neither of them had yet expressed their true inner feelings to the other, the marquess sensed that moment would soon be upon them—at least for him.
It had taken nearly losing Meredith for Trevor to realize she was what he had wanted all along. She gave him a sense of completion that had long been missing from his life. Miraculously, she made him dare to envision that a happy, promising future was indeed possible.
There had been no occurrences since that fateful night at the theater, but Trevor refused to abandon his mission to protect his wife. True, Meredith had, at his request, severely limited her social engagements, so the opportunities for someone to harm her, if there was indeed a
someone
, were fewer.
More and more of late he wondered if perhaps he had overreacted to the situation. But Trevor then decided it did not matter. Better to exercise caution and be wrong than to relax his vigilance and have Meredith suffer the consequences.
After three more dances, Trevor was finally able to convince his wife it was time to leave the masquerade ball. The duke was also ready to depart, and the three climbed into the ducal carriage for the short ride home.
Trevor accepted his father’s invitation of a late night brandy, and the two men seated themselves in the gold salon to indulge. Meredith declined to join them. Instead, she bade them both a charming, sweet good night, kissing first the duke and last her husband. Yet the gleam in her eye and the possessive manner in which her hand fisted so tightly upon his lapel when she chastely pressed against his cheek told the marquess she fully expected to see him later.
Warmth unfurled in his gut and his lower regions. Just knowing she was eager to give herself to him brought on a tantalizing surge of both desire and emotion. Her enchanting Roman costume was a sensuous garment. It draped over her hips and breasts, clinging to every delectable curve of her body.
Trevor could so easily envision himself peeling it from her, inch by inch, exposing the creamy, white flesh he knew was underneath. He remembered how her skin glowed in the light of the candles, how her breasts peaked when he caressed them, how her eyes seemed to beg him to take her, possess her, however he wished.
“Egad, son, I expect to see smoke curling out of your ears any second,” the duke said with a hearty laugh. “Maybe it would be best if you forgo the brandy and head directly upstairs—with your wife.”
Though he hardly believed it was possible, Trevor felt the tips of his ears heat. Blushing at his age? Over his wife?
“I am fine, sir,” the marquess insisted. He took a large swallow of his drink to prove the point, and nearly started choking.
“Yes, I can see that,” the duke replied, grinning.
Trevor let the remark pass. He knew his father was trying to get a rise out of him, so he deliberately refused to be baited.
“Did you enjoy yourself this evening?” Trevor asked.
“Certainly,” the duke responded. “Linny always did know how to throw a first-class party, even if he is an idiot when it comes to other aspects of life.”
Trevor nodded in agreement. They discussed a few of the other guests and some of the outlandish costumes, shared a laugh over a bawdy joke, then argued over a bill on land reform that the House of Lords was going to present to Parliament.
As he accepted another inch of brandy in his goblet, Trevor admitted he vastly enjoyed having these pleasant, mostly nonconfrontational conversations with his father. It was yet another thing he owed to Meredith. Her presence in their lives had formed the bridge he needed to cross over and reach out to the duke.
“Meredith would like to attend a musical evening at the Duke of Shrewsbury’s tomorrow night,” Trevor said. “Will you be joining us?”
The duke’s dignified features scrunched together in distress. “Meredith is a wonderful woman, but for the life of me I cannot understand why she likes these musical evenings so much. Screeching singers and whining strings. It drives me positively mad. Did you know she made me take her to the opera once?”
Trevor lifted his glass to his lips to hide his smile. “I recall hearing something about that evening.”
“It was awful. My teeth were aching by the time we were able to leave.” The duke sighed. “I will therefore be very much in your debt if you can assist me in concocting a reasonable excuse to decline. After all, I do not wish to hurt dear Meredith’s feelings.”
“She already mentioned to me yesterday afternoon that she fully expects you to find at least three reasons why you cannot be there.”
The duke threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Clever girl. She knows me all too well.” Sobering, the duke then asked, “Are you still convinced she is in some sort of danger?”
The marquess shrugged. “I am not as certain, but think it would be foolish to relax my guard. Besides, I’ve discovered I very much enjoy being in my wife’s company.”
The duke snorted. “It’s about time you realized it. The woman is a treasure, a rare jewel that needs to be cosseted and protected.”
Trevor regarded his father solemnly. “We are completely in accord on that matter, sir.”
The duke smiled slyly at his son. “Well, now that you have finally gotten your marriage sorted out, will there be grandchildren coming along soon? Little mites who will fear my booming voice, my strict demands for proper behavior, but adore how I grant their every wish?”
This time Trevor did choke on his brandy. “I am doing my best.”
“Well, get yourself upstairs at once and work on it harder. I’m not getting any younger, you know. I’ve already decided I want to be nimble enough to chase the little rascals about the room.”
 
 
By the time they reached the Duke of Shrewsbury’s mansion, the number of guests in attendance had swelled to nearly one hundred.
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