An Heiress for All Seasons

by Sophie Jordan

  “A female that does not fill the aftermath of lovemaking with chatter . . . you are a true anomaly. I would not mind knowing your thoughts.”

  His invitation to discourse could not be any more direct, but her thoughts were too troubling to share. She was disappointed for reasons she dared not share.

  At her silence, he sighed and stepped back. Suddenly able to breathe again, she moved away from the wall. She smoothed her hands over her nightgown, attempting to regain her composure.

  “You better go.” She pressed her palms against her sides to quell their shaking. “Before you’re discovered.” Before the world knows precisely how wanton and lacking all restraint she was.

  Tension feathered his jaw as he tucked himself back into his trousers with hard movements. Nothing in his demeanor revealed shame or regret over their tryst. “I’ll go, but the time will come when we’re married and you cannot hide from me. We will be bound to each other. We will share a bed. A life. You will have to share your thoughts . . . you will have to talk to me.”

  She bit back a caustic response. Why should he care what she thought . . . whether or not she hid herself from him? They’d be wed. He’d have her fortune. Why need he concern himself with her?

  “Say something, damn it,” he bit out. “Instead of looking at me with those big wounded eyes.” There was something in his voice right then . . . something almost anguished, which made utterly no sense.

  “What shall I say? You have me.” She waved both arms. “You’ve won my fortune.”

  Angry color swept over his face. He motioned between the two of them with a sharp flick of his fingers, his blue eyes blazing. “Is that all you think this is between us? A mere business merger?”

  “Don’t insult me by insisting it’s more. The only reason I was even invited here was because of my fortune.”

  “And the only reason you came was because of my title,” he retorted.

  “That was my mother’s doing! You know I care nothing for your title!”

  “What then do you care about?” he charged, taking a swift step toward her. “I can’t believe you’ve agreed to marry me if you wish otherwise. Have you not come to care for me even a fraction? Have you no tender feelings for me at all?”

  It was her turn to blush—she felt the heat creeping up her face. “That would be foolish. We just met.” Her pulse hiccupped at the base of her throat. She looked him up and down, striving to be casual and unaffected—to reveal none of her panic at how close to the truth he struck. “It must be your other assets that won me over. That and finding myself stranded overnight with you.”

  He glowered at her, his lip curling over his perfectly straight teeth. “Indeed. Most convenient that bedding me is no chore.”

  She lifted her chin defiantly and sought to look unaffected. “It’s some consolation.” Only some. He needn’t know that she cared for him with a desperation that frightened her. That what she felt for him was more than desire.

  That she had fallen for him.

  His wit, his confidence, the kindness in which he dealt with his mother and sister. All of it coupled with the butterflies that erupted in her belly at his very nearness. She supposed that was love. Blast! Of course, it was. For no other reason would she have surrendered so easily to his seduction. For no other reason would she cast aside her dignity and marry a man who wanted her for her fortune. All this she realized, but she held her tongue.

  He moved toward the door, his hard strides biting into the carpet. She blinked back the sudden burn in her eyes.

  At the door to her chamber, he paused and motioned between them. “I won’t say this won’t happen again. It will be a few months until the wedding and I’m not a patient man.” His gaze raked her, and she did not mistake his meaning. He wanted her. He enjoyed her. But for how long?

  How long until the desire he felt for her ebbed? How long after their marriage, her fortune secured in his coffers, until he ceased to want her?

  She nodded, revealing none of her insecurities. Her heart was already bound to him. He did not realize it, but as long as he wanted her, she was his. He need only look at her, touch her, and she would surrender.

  “Of course.” She fixed a smile to her lips. “As you said. Bedding you is no chore.”

  His jaw clenched at the echo of his earlier comment. Without another word, he turned and left the chamber.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  * * *

  “Violet! Oh, Violet! Wake up!”

  Violet jerked awake at her mother’s ungentle hands.

  “Mama?” She propped up on her elbows on the bed. Early morning sunlight streamed through the window. She frowned, thinking she was usually up at dawn. This was what came of tossing and turning through most of the night.

  Her mother waved a piece of parchment in her face. “This came by special messenger just now.”

  Violet snatched at the missive. “What is it? Is something amiss? Did something happen to Papa?”

  “Oh! Oh!” she huffed. “Something has happened!” She laughed shrilly, pacing beside the bed, her silk skirts swishing. “Something happened indeed!” Casting a look over her shoulder as though she feared someone could be listening, she dropped down on the bed beside Violet. “We’re ruined! We’ve lost everything!” she hissed.

  Violet blinked, the last shred of sleep-induced fog evaporating from her head. “What? How is that possible?”

  “Oh, read! Read for yourself!” Mama motioned to the wrinkled parchment.

  Her gaze lowered to scan the missive. She read the words without comprehending so she read them again. And again.

  She lifted her stare to her mother’s tear-ravaged face. “It’s all gone?” she murmured numbly, her voice whisper-soft.

  “John Weston,” her mother sneered. “You thought him so charming and noble. You and your father both placed such trust in him. Well, he took it all and fled. A warrant has been issued for his arrest, for all the good that will do. He’s probably halfway to the islands by now.”

  Violet’s stomach sank. She pressed a hand there, convinced she would be sick. Mr. Weston embezzled Papa’s fortune? As the implications of this sank in, full understanding dawned. He must have been doing it all along. Perhaps if she had married him, he would have stopped, satisfied that he had married her father’s sole heir, but after she left for England to find a husband, he must have decided to abscond with his ill-gotten gains.

  “Oh dear God! What shall I tell Lady Peregrine?” Mama’s wild gaze darted to Violet, hopeful and beseeching. “Perhaps we can not mention anything and hurry the wedding along—”

  “No,” Violet pronounced, her voice flat and emotionless despite her inner tumult. “We won’t resort to trickery or lies.”

  Her mother’s shoulders slumped. “Very well. I suppose we can’t do that.” Her gaze scanned Violet’s face. “You don’t suppose Merlton would want to marry you anyway? Perhaps he’s truly fond of you—”

  “No,” she said again, staring straight ahead into nothing, not even looking at her mother. “He’s not fond of me.” Not enough. She was the one who had gone and lost her heart. He hadn’t. She was the one whose heart was dying a slow death inside her right now. “He was only after the dowry. His family needs it. He can’t marry me now.” She wouldn’t demand it of him. No matter how utterly compromised she was, she wouldn’t force his hand. He needed an heiress, and she was no longer that.

  Mama nodded morosely, tears tracking swiftly down her cheeks. “I know. I know. ’Tis so hard to give up the dream, you know? And we have nothing now! Not a penny to our names. . . .”

  “We shall make do.” Violet patted her mother’s shoulders as she gave way to tears once again. They would make do. Nothing could feel worse than this. Than the thick, suffocating press of knowledge that she would never feel his arms around her again. She would live the rest of her life without him.

  “Who will have you now, Violet?” she wailed.

  “Shh,” she soothed. “All will be well
.” Now wasn’t the time to tell her mother she would never marry. There would never be anyone for her. Not after Will. Instead, she said, “Come now. Papa can find employment . . . as can I.”

  Her mother dropped face-down on the bed then, her sniffles increasing to full-blown sobs. Violet patted her back.

  “What shall we do?” Mama’s muffled wail floated up from the counterpane,

  “I’ll send Josie to tell our driver to ready our carriage while we pack. Half the household is still abed. We’ll slip away and be hours from here before anyone even notices.”

  Mama lifted a tear-stained face. “Without a farewell?”

  “It’s the easiest . . . kindest thing to do.” She could well imagine the platitudes, the apologies . . . Will trying to explain why he couldn’t go forward with their marriage. No, she would avoid that discomfort. Spare herself that. And him.

  It was well past the midday meal before anyone realized the Howard females had vanished.

  His mother stormed into his office, interrupting him, Dec, and Max as they discussed potential investments other than the ones he had already made. He’d learned from his father’s mistakes. He would not rely solely on the land as his father and grandfather had done. The fortune he acquired from marrying Violet would be invested wisely. He would make certain their future was secured. He didn’t want their children faced with the burden of debt and uncertainty.

  Worry gleamed in his mother’s eyes as she stopped before him. “She’s gone!”

  “Who is gone?”

  “Miss Howard! Violet and her mother! They’ve left.”

  He rose slowly to his feet. “What do you mean? They’re not in the house? Have you searched—”

  “Oh, they are well and truly gone. They took their carriage and servants and left.”

  He strode past her, marching up the stairs and straight for Violet’s bedchamber as though he could find evidence to the contrary of his mother’s shocking words. He flung the door open to find the chamber empty, bed still unmade, doors to the armoire wide open, stripped bare inside.

  He paced the room, feeling like a caged animal. He stopped near the bed, dragging his hands through his hair and tugging hard. Where was she? Where had she gone? And why?

  His mind tracked over their last conversation, trying to recall if she had given any indication that she was going to run. There had been tension, but she had seemed committed to the idea of their marriage. He had not suspected she would resort to running away.

  Lowering his hands from his hair, he noticed a piece of parchment on the bed. He leaned down and plucked it from the rumpled covers, his eyes scanning the scrawl of handwriting, understanding at once why she left.

  With a curse, he wadded the missive in his fist and flung it across the room.

  They drove through the day, stopping only to refresh horses. Violet would have preferred they move at a faster pace, but with the accumulation of snow they could only travel so quickly. Not without risking themselves. As it were, they were weary when they finally stopped for the night at an inn.

  The driver and groom saw to the horse as Violet, her mother, and the two maids slogged through the snow into the busy inn. It was Christmas Eve, she remembered dully as they stepped into the boisterous taproom.

  It was some moments before their presence was even noted by the ruddy-faced innkeeper. He tore himself away from the small group of carolers near the fire.

  “Ladies,” he greeted in a booming voice. “Welcome, welcome! Happy Christmas!”

  “Happy Christmas,” she returned hollowly.

  Her mother forced a wan smile. She had ceased to cry some hours ago, but Violet was well aware that her composure was only thinly-won. She could crumble again at the slightest provocation.

  “We should like two rooms.”

  “One,” Violet quickly corrected her mother. Their maids could share a room with them. Gone was the lifestyle they were accustomed to. If they could economize and return home with some of their funds, the better off they would be.

  “Of course, come sit and warm yourselves by the fire and I’ll have a room readied for you.” He led them to a table, snapping for a serving girl to fetch some warmed wine.

  Usually her mother refrained from spirits, but she eagerly accepted the drink, consumed it, and then held her goblet out for more.

  “We have a lovely pheasant and potatoes prepared this evening if—”

  “That sounds delicious.” Violet nodded, caring little to hear the menu. She simply required food and a bed. Darkness where she could bury her face in a pillow and weep out her heartache in silent tears.

  Will would know she was gone by now and he would know why. She had deliberately left the letter to be found. No other explanation was needed. He would understand. He was likely grateful she had taken her leave, sparing them both an uncomfortable scene.

  Violet and her mother ate in brooding silence, watching the merriment unfolding around them, seeming to mock their dour mood.

  “Would you ladies care for our mint pudding?”

  Violet shook her head and then stopped at her mother’s vigorous nod. “Yes, thank you.”

  Apparently she would not be escaping upstairs just yet. The innkeeper scurried off, skirting some dancing couples. The same couples passed their table, bumping it in their movements.

  Violet winced, righting her empty cup where it had fallen. Would this wretched day ever end so she could lick her wounds in solitude?

  Sudden cold whipped into the taproom as the heavy wood door opened and three tall figures stepped inside. Everything within her froze. Her lungs seized, air ceasing to flow. The three men stood there, filling the threshold. Even bundled in greatcoats, she recognized them. Her gaze sharpened on the man in the center. Merlton. Will.

  Her mother noticed the earl and his friends, as well, squeaking her alarm and dropping her spoon with a clatter. “Violet! What . . . how? I told you we should have explained and made our farewells—”

  Violet covered her mother’s hand with one of her own, silencing her. Will scanned the room, and in those few moments she debated fleeing, hiding somewhere in the inn. Until he spotted her and put an end to such frantic thoughts.

  His gaze narrowed on her. His purposeful strides carried him across the room toward her. She rose to her feet, lifting her chin. “Lord Merlton—”

  His eyes flashed as he closed the distance between them and latched onto her wrist, pulling her around the table. “I told you to call me Will.”

  She dug in her heels, resisting him. “Stop! You don’t understand. I left the letter for you to—”

  He stopped and shoved his face close to hers. “I saw your bloody letter!”

  “Then you understand—”

  “I understand a good deal more than you do if you think you can just skulk away without a by-your-leave!”

  Her eyes widened at his fierce expression. He was correct. She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand at all. Why he was here?

  She moistened her lips. “In lieu of my change in circumstances, I thought you would appreciate my discretion—”

  “Appreciate? I made a promise to you—”

  “Is that what this is about? I’ve injured your pride? Have no fear, I release you from your promise.”

  “Anything amiss here?” A voice intruded. “This man bothering you, Miss?”

  Violet’s gaze flicked to a man that rose from a nearby table. He looked like a farmer, brawny and thick-fisted. He sat with several other men of similar appearance dressed in modest wool.

  Will didn’t even glance their way. His gaze remained fixed on her, his expression almost desperate in its intensity.

  She inhaled a deep breath. Apparently that uncomfortable conversation she had hoped to avoid would have to happen, after all. In front of a roomful of strangers, no less.

  “I’m sorry, Will. I can’t give you what you want . . . what you need. I’m not an heiress anymore.”

  He gripped her arms and gave he
r a small shake, his eyes deep and penetrating, reaching that part of her that wanted to curl into a small ball in the dark and weep until all tears were spent. “Can’t you see—”

  “All right there, that’s enough now.” Suddenly the farmer grabbed Will and wrenched him from Violet. With an inhuman cry, Will swung at the man, his fist connecting in a sickening crunch of bone on bone.

  Violet grabbed her mother’s hand, lifted her skirts and ran for the stairs, dragging her mother after her just as the room erupted into chaos.

  “Violet!”

  At the roar of her name, she glanced behind her and felt her eyes widen at the sight of Will being held back by several men. The duke and viscount had entered the fray and were likewise engaged, swinging fists and attempting to pull men off Will. One farmer punched Will in the side of the face and he went down.

  Violet cried out, her heart lurching to her throat. She released her mother and staggered forward. “Stop! Will, just stop!” Tears rose up in her throat, garbling her words. “You don’t have to do this. I can’t marry you! You’re free to—”

  Will surged back to his feet, indifferent to his bloodied lip. He was crazed and still fighting despite the men striking him and the innkeeper shouting for him to leave.

  “Please!” Violet called. “Don’t hurt him!”

  He roared her name over the din. “Violet! I don’t give a bloody damn about the money!”

  Her mother was there then, clasping her arm urgently in clenching fingers. “Did you hear him, Vi? Did you hear him?”

  She shook her head in disbelief, her heart pounding so hard it hurt in her chest.

  “Will,” she whispered.

  “Violet!” her mother choked, but Violet didn’t look at her. She couldn’t. She could only stare at Will . . . could only see his face, find his eyes amid the melee.

  “Violet! I love you, Violet!”

  A sob broke from her lips and she rushed forward, shoving through the press of bodies, stumbling over broken dishes and crushed holly.