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Authors: Adrienne Basso

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BOOK: To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance)
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He caught her flaying arms, swiftly tying the wrists together with a silken cord he had brought specifically for this purpose. She gave a choked cry as he shoved a scarf in her mouth, muffling her screams.
Slowly, almost reverently, he placed his hands around her neck. He leaned his full weight against her, waiting for the fright to fill her eyes, followed quickly by dread and fear. She did not disappoint him.
She began to struggle immediately, arching her back, bucking her torso, twisting and turning her body sharply in a vain effort to free herself. After only a few minutes, he could tell she was beginning to tire, but she fought on, the sharp edge of her elbow digging into his side.
He gloried in her fear. He felt his body harden and his groin grow thick and heavy with desire as a muffled groan slipped through the gag. He allowed her to struggle a few more moments, savoring each sharp twist of her body. Then he increased the pressure around her neck until her eyes bulged and her complexion took on a faint purplish hue. Finally she slipped into unconsciousness, her eyes fluttering closed.
Once she stilled, the fierceness left him. He squeezed her neck only until he felt the breath leave her body. Then he calmly allowed her inert form to slump to the ground.
He took a moment to enjoy the surge of emotion, the sense of completion that filled him. A deep primal instinct invaded his being. He wanted to throw back his head and howl, but he controlled that impulse, fearing discovery.
Breathing hard, he dragged the body to the far corner of the alley. After untying her wrists and removing the gag from her mouth, he hid the corpse beneath a pile of rubbish. With luck she wouldn’t be discovered for many days, until the flesh on her bones began to rot.
He felt bubbles of saliva that had gathered at the corners of his mouth ooz onto his face. With a grimace, he removed the neatly pressed linen handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers and carefully wiped the moisture away.
Ever fastidious, the man straightened his spine and began to right the rest of his appearance. He shook out his rumpled greatcoat, adjusted his misaligned cravat. His hat had been knocked off in the ruckus. Bending low, he retrieved it, then ran trembling fingers through his hair before placing it neatly upon his head.
He walked to the edge of the alley and peered first to the left, then to the right. After assuring himself no one was about, the man slipped from the shadows, proceeding quickly down the street. When he judged he had gone far enough from the crime scene, he hailed a hackney.
Tucked safely inside the darkness of the cab, he allowed himself a moment to relive each delicious nuance of the kill, savoring the details with gruesome joy. The coach stopped abruptly, and with a start the man realized he had reached his destination. Grosvenor Square.
He paid the driver, then entered the quiet, darkened house by a little used servants’ entrance. Thanks to deliberate caution and the lateness of the hour, he encountered no one.
He felt tired and drained, but performed his usual, lengthy preparations before retiring to his bed. The instant his head rested upon the pillow, sleep claimed him. It was deep, peaceful, and dreamless.
Evil, in its purest form, had returned to London.
 
 
The pounding in his head kept perfect cadence with the steady knocking upon his bedchamber door. Trevor turned onto his side, winced, then growled, “Go away.”
The noise did not stop. If anything, it became louder. Trevor groaned and buried his head under the pillow. The knocking became muffled but was still audible.
He opened a bloodshot eye and groaned again, realizing his tormentor wasn’t going anywhere. It took far to much effort to yell again, so Trevor sat up and waited. He was trying unsuccessfully to hold his aching head together when his valet, Everett, entered the darkened room.
“I do beg your pardon for disturbing you, my lord,” the servant said as he approached the massive bed, “but it could not be avoided. The duke is here.”
“The duke? What duke?” Trevor attempted to lift his head, and the thumping in his brain increased.
“The Duke of Warwick,” the valet hissed, adding for good measure, “your father.”
The mention of his father’s title jarred a vague memory of last night’s ball, a moonlit kiss, a scandalous scene, and a fascinating carriage ride, all the components that accounted for the perfect excuse to get falling-down drunk the moment Lady Meredith had been safely deposited at her home. An idiotic, yet perfectly understandable way to end the evening.
The stabbing pains behind Trevor’s eyes increased tenfold as his energetic servant began bustling about the bedchamber, retrieving the haphazardly strewn articles of clothing that littered the carpet. The marquess heard a distinct
tsk
of disapproval the moment before his valet pulled back the heavy tapestry curtains and flooded the room with light.
Trevor slumped back in his bed, using one hand to shield his eyes from the sudden sunshine. “My head is pounding far too much to be amused by your little jokes, Everett. The Duke of Warwick would sooner eat nails than step foot inside my humble rooms. Now, close those draperies at once. Then go fetch me some coffee. A large pot, if you please.”
“I would never joke about such a serious matter, my lord,” Everett insisted with his usual display of haughty dignity. He poured hot water into a bowl and began to methodically sharpen the marquess’s razor. “I informed the duke you would attend him the moment you completed dressing.”
Trevor barely managed to resist barring his teeth in an angry snarl as the servant hovered expectantly beside the bed, ready to render assistance.
“My father is truly here?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I am not receiving visitors this morning,” Trevor declared. “Tell the duke to call back another time. Preferably next week.”
Trevor rolled lazily onto his side and buried his aching head into his pillow. He could almost hear his valet working himself into a snit. In Everett’s rather stuffy, proper mind, one did not eject a duke from the premises.
“I could not possibly tell his grace you refused to see him.” The valet sputtered with astonishment. “It would not be polite. Or proper.”
“’Tis most improper to call on people without warning at such an ungodly hour of the morning,” Trevor groused.
“It is three o’clock in the afternoon, my lord.”
“Oh.” Trevor muttered under his breath, then sat up gingerly. He cradled his head in his hands, hoping the throbbing at his temples would not increase to unbearable levels now that he was upright. “The hour of the day is immaterial. I have never had uninvited afternoon guests to my rooms.”
“I imagine, just this once, you could make an exception for a family member,” the valet replied blandly.
And a person of such noble rank
. The valet did not speak the words aloud, but Trevor knew they were very much a part of the servant’s reasoning.
It was a delicate decision, considering the state of his head and the exhaustion of his body. Yet Trevor realized his father would have to be faced eventually. Perhaps it would be best to get it over with now.
“Allow me a few minutes of privacy to attend to personal matters,” Trevor said, motioning toward the chamber pot. “Then you may escort the duke in here.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
The valet’s jaw dropped. “There is no proper sitting area in your bedchamber. What will you have his grace do? Pull up a chair next to the bed as if you were an invalid?”
“Why not?”
“ ’Tis most undignified.”
Trevor wanted to bellow, but he selfishly realized that would only make his head ache more. He glared at his valet. Everett returned the stare. They were at a standoff.
With ill grace, Trevor threw off the bedcovers. He stumbled off the bed, nearly landing in his valet’s lap. Although knowing it was not the reason his valet was so appalled, Trevor concluded it wouldn’t be prudent to receive his father while he lay abed with a monumental hangover.
The marquess made no further protests as his valet set about grooming him. Thirty minutes later, Trevor entered the small but tastefully furnished antechamber that served as his parlor.
The duke stood near the window, avidly watching the traffic below.
“At last.” The duke spoke without turning his head. “I knew if I waited long enough you would finally realize any attempts at avoiding me would fail.”
Trevor nearly turned around and walked back to his bedchamber. His brain was foggy from lack of sleep and too much whiskey. “I can hardly be accused of avoiding you, since I’ve only just discovered you were here, sir.”
Though the blood was surging through his veins, Trevor calmly took a seat.
“What the devil happened last night? You promised to be at Lady Dermond’s ball, yet I never saw you.”
Trevor smiled brashly as his father finally turned to face him. “I arrived early, sir, in hopes of concluding my duties in a reasonable amount of time. Alas, I found the affair so impossibly boring that after waiting nearly three hours for you to arrive, I gave up and left.”
The duke’s eyebrow rose shrewdly. “Is that what caused all the ruckus with the Barrington chit? Boredom?”
Trevor’s mouth twisted derisively. It appeared the gossiping tongues had been most busy today. “Are you referring to Lady Meredith Barrington, perchance?”
“Don’t take that innocent tone with me. I’m not one of your lackwitted cronies to be so easily put off by a show of indignity.” The duke gave a disgusted shake of his head. “I’ve heard all manner of outrageous tales about last night. That’s why I’ve come here. To learn the truth.”
“Right from the horse’s mouth,” Trevor said mildly.
“Horse? If only part of what’s being said is true, I would liken you more to a jackass.” The duke’s mouth twisted tauntingly. “She’s the Earl of Stafford’s daughter, isn’t she?”
“I believe that is correct.”
“And you ravished her in the garden?”
“What!” Trevor felt the pounding in his head return with colossal force. “I merely kissed her. If truth be told, she initiated our embrace.”
The duke gave a humorless smile. “You shared nothing more than a kiss? That certainly doesn’t sound like you.”
Trevor felt some of the tension leave his face at his father’s unmistakable mockery. “Impossible as it may seem, sir, I can occasionally show some restraint of my carnal and depraved nature. When necessary.”
“That is a relief,” the duke replied in a matching tone.
“Since it was only a little kiss, there is no need to make amends. Though Stafford is an earl, I’ve never liked the man. Too forward thinking for my tastes, allowing his daughter to run amok the way she has all these years—although his wife is a fine looking woman. In her younger days she could rival her daughter in beauty.”
Trevor’s mouth tightened. “The thought of making amends to Lady Meredith never entered my mind until you mentioned it.”
“Good. Forget I ever said anything.” The duke made a move toward the door. “I’ll expect you for dinner Friday evening. I’m having a small supper party. ’Tis only three days from now. I’m sure if you exert a supreme amount of effort, you can manage to stay out of trouble until then.”
“I make no promises,” the marquess retorted grimly.
The duke paused and turned toward Trevor. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he said, in an uncharacteristic display of sympathy. “Your various exploits are often overlooked by Society. I’m sure this too shall be eventually forgotten.”
He gave his father a look of mock disbelief. “I am not interested in the opinion of Society.”
“Well, you should be,” the duke barked. A frown creased his brow. “You have made your position on this issue clear to me for several years and I know I will never be able to change your mind. Yet if you do not wish to guard your own reputation, will you at least have a modicum of concern for mine? This scandal will be forgotten if you behave yourself for the next few days. By the end of the week, the brunt of the attention will shift away from you and fall on the Barrington girl.”
His father’s comment roused the edge of Trevor’s conscience. It was true he was nearly immune to the censure of Society, having little regard for others’ opinions. But it was different for a woman.
Though it was well known to all that Lady Meredith had never been completely accepted by the
beau
monde
, a breath of true scandal had never touched her. Until now.
Though he was loath to admit it, Trevor knew he would have to do whatever was reasonable to help her rectify that problem. And he was honest enough with himself to admit it frightened him to even think about what that might entail.
Six
Meredith had trouble sleeping that night. Her thoughts were consumed with the events of the evening and their possible consequences. As she listened to the clock strike each hour, she tried to assure herself all would be well. Yet as the morning sun invaded her bedchamber, she was not feeling as certain.
It was not only the kiss she had shared with the marquess and the possible consequences she might face because of her actions that disturbed her thoughts. It was knowing she would have to face them entirely on her own.
Though she prided herself on being a forthright, independent woman, Meredith was honest enough to admit that every so often she felt lonely for the comfort, company, and strength of a male confidant, a male champion.
Though in her head she knew the existence of a man who would accept her and all her eccentricities was more a product of her wishful imagination than a reality, her heart could not help but long for his discovery.
Yet on this morning after, Meredith had no intention of succumbing to the blue devils. With her usual forthright determination, she resigned herself to throwing off her melancholy mood as effectively as she threw back her bed covers.
She spent her morning in the usual manner, purposely adhering to her comfortable routine: breakfast in quiet solitude in the cozy informal dining room, a brief consultation with Cook over the day’s menu, a meeting with the butler to discuss a nagging problem with a member of the household staff.
Then it was off to her father’s study, where Meredith read through the monthly financial statements she received from her solicitor. After completing her daily correspondence, which included a rather lengthy letter to her childhood friend Faith Linden, now the Viscountess Dewhurst, Meredith decided to indulge in one of her dearest passions. Reading.
Relaxed at last, she was so engrossed in her book of poetry she did not at first hear the butler enter the library.
“I do beg your pardon, Lady Meredith,” the butler said in an apologetic tone. “There has been a delivery of flowers for you. Would you like them brought in here, or shall I have them sent to the kitchens so Mrs. Hopkins can arrange them in vases?”
“Vases?” Meredith’s brow quirked. “Is it a particularly large bunch of flowers?”
“Several of them are quite large. The rest are of a more modest, appropriate size,” the butler replied dryly.
“Precisely how many bouquets have arrived?”
“Ten.”
“What!” Meredith stood so quickly her book fell to the carpet. She ignored it and instead accepted a pile of engraved cards the butler silently offered her.
Heart racing, Meredith quickly shuffled through the heavy vellum notes. The Earl of Botsworth, Lord Chillingham, Mr. Julian Wingate! Men she had not seen for an age. She did not even know they were all in town.
With a more considering eye, Meredith looked through the cards a second time. There were a number of mature bachelors, several married gentlemen, and quite a few old admirers. She frowned slightly, realizing she had not been plagued by so much male attention since her first Season.
Yet one name was noticeably absent—the Marquess of Dardington. Meredith surprised herself mightily by even noticing.
“The flowers, Lady Meredith?”
Meredith looked at the butler blankly for several seconds. Then his question penetrated her jumbled thoughts. “Please ask Mrs. Hopkins to arrange them for me,” she answered calmly. “Then place them throughout the house, in any room except my bedchamber.”
“Very good, my lady.” The butler bowed respectfully, but did not take his leave.
“Was there something else?”
“ ’Tis early in the day. If additional flowers arrive—”
“Have Mrs. Hopkins sort it out,” Meredith interrupted. She drew in a deep breath and modulated the tone of her voice. “Just make certain I receive the cards accompanying each bouquet.”
This time the servant did not hesitate. He left the room the moment she ceased speaking. Meredith sighed. Perkins was a competent butler. He had been with the family for almost twenty years. The very last thing she wanted to do was upset him.
She wondered what subtle thing she could do to smooth his ruffled feathers. Though the feelings of one’s servants were hardly a weighty problem, Meredith indulged in sorting through options to overcome it. For it kept her mind focused on other, less personal matters.
But she had little time for contemplative thinking. Throughout the morning she was interrupted by either the butler or a footman informing her of a delivery of flowers.An even dozen bouquets, with accompanying cards, had arrived by luncheon, fifteen by early afternoon. Meredith smiled wanly each time a servant entered the drawing room, determined not to take her agitated mood out on the messenger.
“A caller, Lady Meredith,” the butler announced in a stiff tone that let her know he had not yet forgiven her for her earlier actions.
Meredith went still and frowned at the butler. She gingerly lifted the gold embossed name card resting ominously in the center of the silver salver. Her fingertip flicked the turned down edge of the card, signifying that the caller was in fact here and had not sent a servant in their stead to deliver a message.
Lady Olivia Dermott.
Meredith nearly choked when she read the name. “Has she been here long?”
“She just arrived.”
“Tell her I will see her shortly,” Meredith instructed. “Then wait a full ten minutes before showing her in.”
Meredith picked up the book of poetry she had begun reading earlier and tried to once again immerse herself in the words. She was not successful.
“How good to see you,” Lady Olivia proclaimed, approaching Meredith with a blatantly false, sugary smile pasted upon her face. “I know it is early for afternoon callers, but I confess I was hoping to catch you alone. Now we shall have a chance for a little private tête-à-tête. There is so much to talk, about!”
Meredith nearly laughed incredulously. Lady Dermott had always been one of her most vocal critics. With three daughters to marry off, the older woman had viewed her as a rival and an irritant. In fact, two of the three men who had eventually married her daughters had first proposed to Meredith.
And, if Meredith remembered correctly, Lady Olivia’s third son-in-law was one of the many gentlemen who had sent her a bouquet of flowers this very morning. Indeed, Lady Olivia was the very last person Meredith would ever consider sharing a confidence with or revealing anything of a personal nature.
“I suppose I must consider it flattering to be an object of such interest to you. One would think you had more important and significant issues to occupy your thoughts.” There was no mistaking the mockery in Meredith’s voice, but Lady Olivia was not a woman known for her wit or wisdom, and the barb fell short of the mark.
“I am not the only one with an eye on you, Lady Meredith.” Lady Olivia cast a sly glance about the room. “I gather from the many bouquets of fresh flowers decorating the hall and the drawing room that you have attracted a gaggle of male admirers. Or are they perhaps all from one special gentleman?”
“One admirer? He would have to be either very rich or very overbearing,” Meredith mused.
Lady Olivia tittered. “’Tis said the Marquess of Dardington can be most forceful—if necessary.”
A wave of frustrated anger washed over Meredith. She suspected the news would spread quickly, but had valiantly hoped there might be some other juicy scandal that would at least share the spotlight. Instead it seemed as if all the attention would be centered squarely at her.
Meredith knew charm could be a formidable weapon. She had seen other women, most notably Lavinia, use it to their advantage many times before. Yet Meredith knew herself well enough to realize she had neither the stomach nor fortitude to try and charm Lady Olivia.
“For the life of me I cannot understand why you would care, but if you really must know, I received no flowers from the marquess today. Nor yesterday,” Meredith quickly added, before the question could be asked.
That statement stopped Lady Olivia cold. Her eyebrows lifted at least half an inch as she viewed a lush bouquet of roses in full bloom. “These are all from other gentlemen?”
“Yes.”
“It would seem a person in your position would be more mindful of the risks they were taking.”
“Risks?” Meredith leveled a somber look at the older woman. “Whatever are you implying?”
A snide little smile spread over Lady Olivia’s face. “Even a woman of your advanced years must be concerned with her reputation. ’Tis bad enough you arranged an assignation with the Marquess of Dardington in Lady Dermond’s garden last evening. It would not be in your best interest to now encourage the attentions of so many different men. It gives rise to all sorts of unsavory speculation.”
“Speculation?”
“As to your character,” Lady Olivia replied promptly. “And your morals.”
Meredith’s ears burned at the condemnation. What was even more distressing was knowing she had no plausible defense of her actions to offer. She
had
lured the marquess into the garden last evening. The fact that Lady Olivia was apparently unaware of the reason Meredith had wanted to be alone with the marquess offered up only a tiny bit of solace.
Swallowing hard, Meredith felt her palms begin to dampen.
Stop it!
Now was not the time to become panicky. She must face this head on and emerge the victor, or else her disgrace would forever taint the family’s good name. Though she cared not overmuch for herself, Meredith did not want her parents or younger brothers to suffer for her foolishness.
What she really needed was a few moments of solitude so she could better consider her current difficulties. Yet Meredith keenly realized nothing short of crying fire would effectively clear Lady Olivia from the room. Meredith instead plastered a relaxed smile upon her lips and casually turned the page of the book of poems she had been reading as if she had not a care in the world.
After counting silently to twenty, she looked up, pinning Lady Olivia with a deliberate stare.
Meredith knew the older woman was watching her closely, aching for a glimpse of her true feelings. Did she feel remorse for her indiscretion? Embarrassment? Delight? Though she was resigned to this most unwelcome scrutiny Meredith was as equally determined to let no hint of her inner self betray her.
“Long ago I resigned myself to enduring the unfair and unfounded arrows of jealousy slung in my direction. In all these years, not a breath of scandal has ever crossed my path, though many have tried to lay disgrace upon my doorstep. Small minds and plain faces are a most lethal combination, are they not, Lady Olivia?”
The older woman’s snide smile quickly disappeared. She hesitated, clearly trying to decide whether or not she had been directly insulted. Meredith thought it best not to give her adversary too long to dwell upon the matter and hastened toward the door.
“I greatly appreciate your call this afternoon, Lady Olivia. You have no idea how enlightening I found our conversation.”
Lady Olivia stiffened fractionally, but after a forceful nudge in her back, stepped forward.
“Good day, Lady Meredith.”
“Farewell.”
Only with the door shut firmly did Meredith allow herself to crumple. For a moment.
Even as she had kissed the marquess last night, she had realized life as she had known it would never be the same. Yet that did not mean she had to succumb to the inevitable. She had endured the censure of Society during her first Season and had survived the ever present undercurrent of disapproval since that time.
“Are my brothers still abed?” Meredith asked Perkins the moment the butler answered her summons.
“Yes, I believe Lord Fairhurst and Mr. Barrington have not yet left their chambers.” The butler hesitated and then added, “Considering the lateness of their arrival home last evening, it is hardly surprising.”
“Kindly inform Lord Fairhurst’s valet that I require my brother’s company in one hour’s time. I wish to go for a drive in the park, and I need his lordship to accompany me.”
The servant turned to leave, and Meredith hastily added one final order. “Oh and, Perkins, I am not at home to any more callers this afternoon. No exceptions.”
“I understand, my lady.”
This time when the door closed, Meredith felt less agitated, more in control. Somehow she would figure out a way to escape this disaster. With fortitude, courage and determination, this too could be overcome.
 
 
The morning rain had washed the London streets clean of their usual debris. For now, the air was sweet smelling and fresh, the thoroughfare just beginning to once again team with life. As they clipped along in the open phaeton, Meredith wished she could enjoy the smell of freshness, but her mind was too focused on the task ahead to indulge her senses in her surroundings.
“Do be careful,” Meredith calmly said to her brother Jasper, who was holding the carriage reins nonchalantly. “There are hidden dangers in these rain puddles—deep ruts and broken cobblestones. A fractured carriage wheel will no doubt cause us a great deal of aggravation, as well as drawing an inordinate amount of unwanted attention.”
BOOK: To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance)
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