To Catch an Heiress

by Julia Quinn

  “Er…Penelope,” James said, “I'd move out of his reach were I you. I think he might be serious.”

  “Bah!” was Penelope's response. “He's just out of sorts because he knows I'm right.”

  A muscle started twitching in Blake's jaw and he didn't even bother to look at James when he said, “You don't have a sister, do you, Riverdale?”

  “No.”

  “Consider yourself blessed.” Then he turned on his heel and stalked away.

  James and Penelope stared at the doorway through which Blake had just exited until Penelope finally blinked a few times, turned to James and said, “I don't think he's very pleased with us just now.”

  “No.”

  “Were you serious?”

  “About marrying Caroline?”

  Penelope nodded.

  “I would hardly make a statement like that if I weren't prepared to see it through.”

  “But you don't want to marry her,” Penelope said, her eyes narrowing.

  “Certainly not the way Blake does.”

  “Hmmm.” She crossed the room and sat down. “You're quite clever, Riverdale, but your plan may very well backfire. Blake can be very stubborn.”

  James sat down across from her. “A fact of which I am well aware.”

  “I'm sure you are.” She curved her lips, but it wasn't really a smile. “And are you also aware that I share the same trait?”

  “Stubbornness, you mean? My dear Penelope, I would run unclothed across England in the dead of winter just to escape a battle of wills with the likes of you.”

  “Nicely put, but if your little declaration fails to produce the desired results, you will marry Caroline.”

  “I have no doubt that you will hold a pistol to my back until I do.”

  Penelope's voice rose. “This is not a joke, Riverdale.”

  “I know. But I meant what I said earlier. I need to marry eventually, and Caroline is a damned sight better than I'm likely to do if I go hunting for a wife in London.”

  “Riverdale!”

  He shrugged. “It's true. I quite like Caroline, and if I have to marry her because Blake is too cowardly to do it himself—well, then, so be it. Frankly, I can think of worse fates.”

  “What a coil.” Penelope sighed.

  “Don't worry. Blake will propose,” James said with a confident wave of his hand. “It'd kill him to see me married to her.”

  “I hope you're right. Lord knows he needs a little happiness.” And then Penelope sighed and sagged back against the back of her chair. “I just want him to be happy. Is that so very much to ask?”

  Outside the doorway, Caroline stood with her hand over her open mouth. She'd thought her humiliation was complete when Penelope had demanded that someone—anyone!—marry her. But this—

  She choked back a sob. This went beyond humiliation. Humiliation was something she could live through, something she could endure and eventually put behind her.

  But this was different. Something inside her was dying, and Caroline wasn't sure whether it was her heart or her soul.

  It didn't matter which, she realized as she ran back up to her room. All that mattered was that she was hurting, and the pain was going to last the rest of her lifetime.

  It took two hours, but eventually Caroline was able to compose herself. A bit of cold water reduced the puffiness around her eyes, and several minutes of deep breaths had managed to remove the quaver from her voice. Unfortunately, there wasn't much she could do to take her heart out of her eyes.

  She made her way down the stairs and wasn't surprised to find James and Penelope still sitting in the drawing room. Their conversation drifted down the hall, and Caroline was thankful to hear that they had moved on to more ordinary topics.

  They were discussing the theatre when she reached the doorway, and she knocked softly against the doorframe. James stood up instantly when he saw her.

  “May I come in?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Penelope said. “Here, sit by me.”

  Caroline shook her head. “I'd rather stand, thank you.

  “As you wish.”

  “Do you know where Blake is?” Caroline asked, her posture as regal as a queen's. “I wish to say this only once.”

  “I'm right here.”

  Caroline whipped her head around. Blake was standing in the doorway, his body somehow rigid and weary at the same time. His cheeks were touched with color, and she wondered if he'd been walking in the chill night air.

  “Good. I would like to say something if I may.”

  “Please do,” Blake said.

  Caroline gave each of the room's three other occupants an assessing glance and then finally said, “I do not require a husband. I certainly do not require a husband who does not require a wife. All I wish is to be allowed to remain here, in hiding, until my twenty-first birthday.”

  “But Caroline!” Penelope protested. “These gentlemen have compromised you. You must allow one of them to make it right.”

  Caroline swallowed. She didn't have much in life, but she did have her pride, and she wasn't about to let Blake Ravenscroft humiliate her any more than he had already. She looked straight at him even as she addressed her words to his sister. “Lady Fairwich, these gentlemen have done nothing to compromise me.”

  “Nothing?” Blake asked.

  Caroline glared at him, wondering what devil had prompted him to speak when he was so vocal about avoiding marriage. “Nothing which meant anything,” she said in a scathing voice.

  Their eyes met, and both knew she was talking about their encounter on the beach. The difference was that only Caroline knew she was lying.

  Her time with Blake had meant everything to her. Every minute of every encounter was held close to her heart.

  She blinked back tears. Soon she'd be gone, and all she'd have to keep her warm inside were memories. There would be no man to hold her, no friends to tease her, no seaside manor that had, in just a few short weeks, become home.

  But of all the things she would miss, the absence that would hurt the most was that of Blake's smile. It was so rare, but when his lips turned up at the edges…And then when he actually laughed, the pure joy of the sound made her want to sing.

  But he wasn't smiling now. His face was hard, and he was glaring at her as if she were some sort of antidote, and she knew that if she didn't get out of the room that instant she was going to make an utter fool of herself. “Excuse me,” she said quickly, rushing toward the door.

  “You can't go now!” Penelope exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

  Caroline didn't turn around as she said, “I've said what I came here to say.”

  “But where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  “Caroline.”

  It was Blake's voice, and just the sound of it made her eyes tear up. “What?” she managed to say. Perhaps it was a rude reply, but it was the best she could do.

  “It's dark out. Or hadn't you noticed?”

  “I'm going out to look at the stars.”

  She heard his footsteps and then felt his hand on her shoulder, slowly drawing her away from the door.

  “The night is cloudy,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You won't be able to see the stars.”

  She didn't even turn around as she said, “I know they're there. And that's all that matters.”

  Blake closed his eyes as she ran from the room, for some reason not wanting to see her retreating form.

  “Now look what you've done,” he heard his sister say. “You've broken that poor girl's heart.”

  He didn't answer, not knowing—hell, not wanting to know if his sister's words were true. If he had broken her heart, then he was a bastard of the worst sort. And if it wasn't true, it meant that Caroline didn't care about him, that their one night of passion hadn't meant anything to her.

  And that was almost too painful to bear.

  He didn't want to think about what he felt for her. He didn't want to analyze it, to pick
it to pieces, or to try to put a label on it. Because he was terrified that if he did, the only word he'd be able to come up with was love, and that would have to be the cruelest joke of all.

  Blake opened his eyes just in time to see the expression of disgust on Riverdale's face as he said, “You're an ass, Ravenscroft.”

  Blake said nothing.

  “Marabelle is dead,” James hissed.

  Blake turned on his friend with such violence that Penelope flinched. “Don't mention her,” he said in a threatening voice. “She has no place in this conversation.”

  “Exactly,” James replied. “She's dead, and you can't go on mourning her forever.”

  “You don't know,” Blake said, shaking his head. “You don't know what it's like to love.”

  “And you know all too well,” James murmured. “In fact, you've known twice.”

  “Blake,” Penelope said softly, putting her hand on his arm. “I know you loved her. We all loved her. But Marabelle wouldn't have wanted you to go on like this. You're just a shell. You buried your soul along with hers.”

  Blake swallowed convulsively, wanting more than anything to flee the room, yet somehow he remained rooted to the spot.

  “Let her go,” Penelope whispered. “It's time, Blake. And Caroline loves you.”

  His head whipped around. “She said that?”

  Penelope wanted to lie. He could see it in her eyes. But finally she shook her head. “No, but it's easy to see.”

  “I won't hurt her,” he vowed. “She deserves better.”

  “Then marry her,” Penelope implored.

  He shook his head. “If I marry her…God, I'd hurt her in more ways than you could imagine.”

  “Bloody hell!” James burst out. “Stop being so damned afraid. You're afraid of loving, you're afraid of living. The only bloody thing you're not afraid of is death. I'll give you one night. One night only.”

  Blake narrowed his eyes. “For what?”

  “To make up your mind. But I promise you this: I will marry Caroline if you don't. So ask yourself if you'll be able to bear that for a lifetime.”

  James turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

  “He's not making an idle threat,” Penelope said. “He's quite fond of her.”

  “I know that,” Blake snapped.

  Penelope gave him a brief nod, then walked to the door. “I'll leave you to your thoughts.”

  That, Blake thought bitterly, was the last thing he wanted.

  Chapter 20

  bal-cy-on (adjective). Calm, quiet, peaceful, undisturbed.

  I shan't look back upon these as halcyon days.

  —From the personal dictionary of Caroline Trent

  Caroline was sitting on the sandy portion of the beach, gazing up at the sky. Just as Blake had pointed out, it was cloudy, so all she could see was the pale, blurry glow of the moon. She wrapped her arms around her bent knees and huddled against the cool breeze, her shoes lying next to her.

  “It doesn't matter,” she told herself, wiggling her toes in the coarse sand. “It just doesn't matter.”

  “What doesn't matter?”

  Her head jerked up. Blake.

  “How did you get here without my hearing you?”

  He motioned behind him. “There is another path about fifty yards back.”

  “Oh. Well, if you have come to check up on me, you'll see that I am perfectly fine, and you can go back to the house.”

  “Caroline.” He cleared his throat. “There are a few things I need to tell you.”

  She looked away. “You don't owe me any explanations.”

  He sat down beside her, unconsciously adopting the same position. He rested his chin on his knees and said, “There were reasons I swore never to marry.”

  “I don't want to hear it.”

  “Nonetheless, I need to say it.”

  She didn't say anything, so he continued. “When Marabelle died…” His voice caught.

  “You don't have to do this,” she said quickly. “Please.”

  He ignored her. “When she died, I thought—I felt—God, it's so hard to put into words.” He exhaled, a world of heartbreak in that rush of air. “I was dead inside. That's the only way to describe it.”

  Caroline swallowed, barely able to resist the impulse to offer him the comfort of her hand on his arm.

  “I can't be what you need.”

  “I know,” she said bitterly. “I can't compete with a dead woman, after all.”

  He flinched at her words. “I swore I'd never marry. I—”

  “I never asked that of you. I may have—Never mind.”

  “You may have what?”

  Caroline just shook her head, unwilling to tell him that she may have wished for it. “Please continue,” she said in a distracted voice.

  He nodded, although it was clear that he was still curious about what she'd almost said. “I always told myself that I could not marry out of respect for Marabelle, that I didn't want to be disloyal to her memory. And I think I really believed it. But tonight I realized that was no longer true.”

  She turned to face him, a thousand questions in her eyes.

  “Marabelle's dead,” he said in a hollow voice. “And I know that. I can't bring her back. I never thought I could. It's just…”

  “It's just what, Blake?” she prompted in a low, urgent voice. “Please tell me. Make me understand.”

  “I felt I couldn't fail her in death as I had in life.”

  “Oh, Blake. You've never failed anyone.” She touched his arm. “Someday you'll have to realize that.”

  “I know.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I've always known that, deep down. She was so headstrong. I couldn't have stopped her.”

  “Then why are you so determined to be unhappy?”

  “It isn't about Marabelle any longer. It's me.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “Somewhere along the way I lost something inside. I don't know whether it was the grief or the bitterness, but I just stopped caring.”

  “That's not true. I know you better than you think.”

  “Caroline, I feel nothing!” he burst out. “Nothing deep and meaningful, at least. Don't you see that I'm dead inside?”

  She shook her head. “Don't say that. It's not true.”

  He grasped her shoulder with startling urgency. “It is true. And you deserve more than I can give you.”

  She stared at his hand. “You don't know what you're saying,” she whispered.

  “The hell I don't.” He wrenched himself away from her and stood, his posture bleak as he stared at the surf. After a moment of silence he said, “James has said he will marry you.”

  “I see.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  She let out an impatient exhale. “What do you want me to say, Blake? Tell me, and I'll say it. But I don't know what you want. I don't even know what I want anymore.” She buried her face in her knees. That was a lie. She knew exactly what she wanted, and he was standing next to her, telling her to marry another man.

  She wasn't surprised, but she hadn't expected it to hurt so much.

  “He'll take care of you,” Blake said in a low voice.

  “I'm sure he will.”

  “Will you accept?”

  She looked up sharply. “Do you care?”

  “How can you ask that?”

  “I thought you didn't feel. I thought you didn't care about anything.”

  “Caroline, I do care about your future. I just can't be what you need in a husband.”

  “That's an excuse.” She stood, her posture militant. “You're nothing but a coward, Blake Ravenscroft.”

  She started to walk away, but her feet sank in the sand, and he was able to catch up with her quickly. “Don't touch me!” she yelled when his hand closed around her arm. “Leave me alone.”

  He didn't let go. “I want you to accept Riverdale's proposal.”

  “You have no right to tell me what to do.”


  “I know that. But I'm asking nonetheless.”

  Caroline let her head fall back. Her breath came in short, shallow pants, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment against the emotions colliding in her mind. “Go away,” she finally managed to say.

  “Not until I have your word that you will marry Riverdale.”

  “No!” she cried out. “No! I won't marry him. I don't love him and he doesn't love me, and that's not what I want.”

  His grip tightened around her arm. “Caroline, you must listen to me. Riverdale will—”

  “No!” With strength that was born of fury and heartbreak, she yanked her arm away and started to run down the beach. She ran until her lungs burned, until her eyes were so filled with tears that she couldn't see. She ran until the pain in her body finally eclipsed that in her heart.

  She stumbled along the sand, trying to ignore the sound of Blake's footsteps drawing closer. Then his body slammed into hers with stunning force, knocking them both to the ground. Caroline landed on her back, with Blake's body covering hers intimately.

  “Caroline,” he said, his breath coming in hard pants.

  She stared up at him, her eyes wildly searching his face for some sign that he loved her. And then she reached out, grabbed the back of his head, and pulled his mouth down to hers, kissing him with all the love and desperation in her heart.

  Blake tried to resist. He couldn't have her; he knew that. She was going to marry his best friend. But her lips were sweet and demanding, and the press of her body against his turned his blood to flame.

  He murmured her name over and over, like a mantra. He'd tried to be noble, he'd tried to push her away, but he wasn't strong enough to say no when her tongue was on his lips and her bare feet were rubbing along his calves.

  His hands were nimble and quick, and he had her dress off in under ten seconds. He laid it down beneath her to protect her from the sand, but that was his last rational thought before his entire being was overtaken by the need to possess her.

  “I will have you,” he vowed, rubbing his fingertips past her calves to her thighs.