To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Adrienne Basso

  Meredith frowned. “Interesting?”

  “Rather interesting.”

  Meredith’s frown deepened, as Lavinia stared expectantly at her. She knew the marchioness was trying to tell her something, and by the look of her it was a fairly significant something. Yet Meredith was completely puzzled.

  After a few moments of silence, Lavinia rolled her eyes good-naturedly and laughed. “For an intelligent, quick-witted young woman, you can be a real slowtop at times.” The marchioness pressed her hand gently against her stomach. “An interesting condition.”

  Meredith’s jaw dropped. “Good lord!”

  A dreamy expression flitted across Lavinia’s lovely features. “Isn’t it miraculous? A baby. Trevor and I have been congratulating ourselves all week for being such a clever pair.” She sighed deeply. “We haven’t told anyone yet. It has been our own wonderful secret. But we are dining tonight with Trevor’s father and can hardly wait to inform the duke.”

  Meredith’s throat tightened. “I am honored you saw fit to share this news with me.”

  Lavinia tilted her head in surprise. “You are my dearest friend. Of course I would share my special secret with you.” The marchioness linked her arm with Meredith’s as the two woman began to stroll toward a cluster of guests. “I know I can count on your discretion. While I am thrilled about my condition, I prefer not to share it with the world.

  “The rules restricting the movements of expectant mothers in Society are every bit as ridiculous as all the others. My doctor has informed me my condition will not become obvious for several months. As long as I continue to feel well, there is no reason not to enjoy the rest of the Season.”

  Meredith flushed with guilty relief, pleased to discover Lavinia had no immediate plan to withdraw from Society. It would be intolerable trying to endure the final weeks of the Season without her friend attending at least some of the events.

  “I am very happy for you, Lavinia. You shall make a wonderful mother.”

  “Thank you.” Lavinia’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, dear, Lady Tolliver has spotted us and is gesturing for us to join her. I know how much she grates on your nerves, so I will not ask you to accompany me while I give her my regards.”

  “You are a true friend.”

  “Yes, I am.” The marchioness glanced anxiously among the guests. “Will you be all right on your own?”

  “Stop worrying about me,” Meredith said, though her stomach tightened momentarily at the idea of being alone.

  “We can meet near the Grecian folly on the other side of the ornamental lake,” Lavinia suggested. “In an hour?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Don’t forget your shawl.” Lavinia began removing the lovely garment from her shoulders but Meredith held up her hand.

  “No, you wear it. There is bound to be more of a breeze near the water.” She winked at her friend. “After all, we must keep you in the best of health.”

  The marchioness’s twinkling laugh lingered long after she strode away. With a small sigh, Meredith turned and lifted her parasol onto her shoulder, positioning it at the exact angle to protect her face from the sun. She wasn’t especially interested in preventing the warmth from reaching her skin, but the device helped shield her from prying eyes.

  Assuring herself there was no reason for her heart to race and her nerves to twitch, Meredith moved forward to stroll with the other ladies and gentlemen over the gravel walks and sections of lawn. She returned the cool regard she received with a haughty watchfulness, the grip on her parasol tightening with each step.

  “Lady Meredith. What a delightful surprise.”

  Lord Jonathan Travers stepped directly in her path, neatly trapping her. Two large trees flanked them on either side, making it impossible to go around him. After a fractional hesitation, Meredith returned the young man’s greeting.

  Though the number of her male admirers had dwindled during the Season, there were still those who thought her a challenge. Or a curiosity.

  She had yet to decide Lord Travers’s motivation. He was a rather serious young man who put far too much stock in the opinion of others and could always be counted upon to supply the dullest of conversations.

  Still, Meredith could think of worse things than spending a few moments in his company. She resolved to be pleasant and took comfort knowing she could escape in an hour and meet Lavinia by the water. With a glazed eye and a contrived expression, she turned her attention to Lord Travers.

  “Are you enjoying the afternoon, Lord Travers?”

  “All the more now that I have found you, Lady Meredith.”

  Meredith gave him a distant smile, not wanting to encourage him in any way. She and Lavinia might have joked about it earlier, but the very last thing Meredith wanted was another marriage proposal.

  Resolved to keep the attention away from herself, Meredith found she had little difficulty getting her escort to speak of other subjects—or offer his opinion. She wisely declined to offer hers, since it so seldom agreed with his.

  With her fingers resting lightly on his arm, the pair strolled amiably in the sunshine.

  The scream pierced the glib conversation with alarming suddenness—high pitched, female, and drenched in sheer terror.

  “My God,” Meredith whispered. She turned in the direction of the sound, then back to her male companion. “What was that horrible noise?”

  Lord Travers blanched under his tan. “It sounded like an animal caught in a trap.”

  “It couldn’t be.”

  Without conscious thought, Meredith moved forward, following the crowd that hurried across the lawn, then through the large cluster of trees. Men were yelling and running about, shouting questions and instructions with equal excitement.

  Most of the women were staying deliberately out of the fray, though a few were bold or curious enough to follow the ever growing crowd. As they reached the small clearing and veered left, Meredith at last realized where they were heading. The lake.

  Her step quickened as her heart began to pound with fear. She was to meet Lavinia at the lake in less than fifteen minutes’ time. A eerie vision slipped into Meredith’s head, weaving through the fear in her mind. A body, lying prone on the bank. Still. Unmoving.

  Meredith gasped. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She dropped her parasol, lifted her gown above her ankles and quickened her pace. Dodging the slower walkers, she weaved among the crowd, gaining speed with each step. By the time she reached the muddy edge of the lake perspiration dampened her skin and her gasping breathing burned in her lungs.

  “What has happened?” she asked in a breathless whisper.

  A colorfully garbed dandy she did not recognize tried to block her view. “There appears to have been an accident.”

  “Who is it?” another man cried out. “Do you know who has been hurt?”

  “The Marchioness of Dardington,” a third man replied. “Her husband is with her.”

  No! Meredith began shaking with a terror that ran all the way down her body to her toes. For an instant she could not move, could not think, could not feel. Then, with strength born of primal fear, Meredith pushed her way through the men ringing the edge of crowd.

  She dimly felt the touch of a hand trying to hold her back, but she shook it forcefully off and emerged but a few feet from a waking nightmare.

  A moan escaped her lips. There, on the edge of the grass near the Grecian temple lay a body. A female body, clothed in lavender. It was not moving.

  Meredith swallowed a shriek and fought to control her breathing. Stumbling forward, she came closer to the inert form. There were three men surrounding the body.

  They were as still and silent as the form that lay at their feet.

  Meredith struggled to master her emotions. Lavinia needed her to be calm. An hysterical female would only be in the way. But a cool, composed lady would be an asset. Resolutely she stepped forward. Saying nothing, the three men allowed her to pass.

  Trevor Morely was kneeling besid
e his wife. His head was bent, yet Meredith could almost feel his whole being vibrating with suppressed emotion.

  Her lips pressed stubbornly tight, Meredith knelt on the other side of Lavinia, facing the marquess. She tried to gaze down at the body, but could not bring herself to look. She did notice, however, that the marquess held his wife’s hand gently in his own.

  They stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity. At last, he raised his head, but he did not release his wife’s hand.

  Meredith watched him in silence, the muscle flexing and unflexing in his jaw. He said nothing as the speculative conversation surrounding them grew in volume and intensity.

  “What a tragic accident! Her neck’s broken. She must have tripped and fell and fatally injured herself when she hit the ground.”

  “Perhaps she was frightened by something,” a male voice muttered. “Why else would she have screamed?”

  “A good fright would explain both the scream and the fall,” the third man interjected. “It might have been an animal. But what?”

  “There are no wild beasts in the duchess’s folly. It wouldn’t be allowed.”

  The speculation and muttering continued, but Meredith turned her attention away from it.

  She looked again at the marquess and the grief inside her returned, stifling in its intensity. His face mirrored her own emotions of shock and pain, and she could see the faint trace of tears shimmering in his eyes.

  Trembling, Meredith reached out to offer him comfort, but her hand faltered. Instead she grasped the fringed edge of the shawl that now draped Lavinia’s lifeless body.

  Mesmerized, she slowly moved her hand, gliding it along the delicate silk, remembering how her friend had not wanted to wear the garment, saying there was no need.

  The baby! Stillness gripped her as she recalled Lavinia’s joking and laughing about being extra careful of her health. Merciful God, that tender little life was gone now too.

  Tearful, Meredith raised her chin. The marquess was no longer staring at his wife but looking straight at her. She couldn’t avoid his eyes.

  Questioning, hollow, lifeless.

  Meredith’s composure shattered. She lifted the edge of the shawl and stuffed it in her mouth, struggling to quiet her heaving sobs.

  From the covering of trees, the man watched in silence. His breath blew out in panting gasps. His heart raced with a strange rush of exhilaration. He pressed his damp palms together and cast an approving glance at the scene before him.

  He was close enough to hear their conversation, their speculation. He had done his job well. They were convinced it was an accident, a cruel stroke of fate. It had been difficult, but he had not demonstrated any savagery when he performed his task. The young woman barely had time to be frightened before his hands had stolen around her neck.

  Her soft eyes had widened in surprise, then panic and finally pain. She had lost consciousness quickly and it had taken only a quick snap to break her neck.

  For him, killing was a compulsion. A necessity, like food and water and air for other men. He had long ago ceased trying to understand it, for it had always been a part of him, cleverly and successfully concealed from the world.

  This woman was unlike his usual victims. Female, of course, but of a far different class. He preferred the young assistants in the shops on Bond Street or the fresh-faced serving wenches at the taverns, working girls who fought with fear and determination to escape their fate.

  Yet this particular woman had been chosen for a reason. A very personal reason.

  His senses gradually began returning as the rush of excitement and exhilaration began to ease. He peered again through the leaves to savor the death scene one last time and became aware of a woman kneeling beside the body. She lifted her head, and he sucked in his breath in astonishment.

  It was impossible! He had just killed this woman! He blinked vigorously, then carelessly pushed aside a branch for a better view.

  There was no mistake. The woman sobbing so pitifully beside the body was Lady Meredith Barrington. Cursing soundly, he realized he had not taken full measure of his victim’s face. He had seen the distinctive shawl and stalked his victim patiently. The moment she was alone, he had sprung, attacking from behind, turning her to face him only at the last instant, so he could relish the final moments of her life as he hastened its end.

  Lady Meredith bowed her head. Her hands stole around her waist and she clutched at her stomach as if in great pain.

  His anger began to ease. She was suffering. Horribly. Perhaps this was better. Her death would have been a swift punishment for her sins. The death of someone she clearly cared for would bring her years of pain and anguish.

  He dragged in a breath, his chest swelling. His skin began prickling with enjoyment as he savored this strange twist of fate.

  Perhaps all had not gone precisely according to his original plan, yet he was pleased with the final result.

  For now.

  Two

  London, England

  Eight years later

  “I thought by now you would finally comprehend that it is beyond foolish to place a wager when you do not possess the coin to pay if you lose,” Lady Meredith Barrington admonished forcefully. “Nor the legal means to obtain it.”

  She assumed what she hoped was a grave expression of disapproval and glared at the two gentlemen who were sprawled on the patterned brocade sofa in her drawing room.Identical in golden coloring, with sharp handsome features that were also nearly the same, they gazed back at her with matching green eyes that held a hint of boredom, a reaction hardly befitting this serious matter.

  She had hoped her lecture would inspire regret or remorse or even repentance. Yet that seemed unlikely.

  With a forlorn sigh, Meredith admitted her younger brothers were no longer a pair of lanky youths who grew still and quiet when she raised her voice. Those skinny, boyish limbs were now muscular arms and wide shoulders, clothed in the finest garments Weston could produce. And when they were not being lectured by their older sister, she knew those brilliant green eyes burned with youthful zeal and a passion for life.

  It did not, however, disguise the fact that her younger twin brothers, Jason and Jasper, were without question the most mischievous, irritating, frustrating, and charming men in all of England. Meredith was also firmly convinced they were responsible for the gray hairs she had discovered in her hairbrush this very morning.

  “I don’t understand why you are getting so distraught over this matter,” Jasper grumbled. He leaned back and casually rested his left ankle atop his right knee. “It is not an overly large wager.”

  “Nor have we lost it,” Jason added in a deliberate tone.

  “Yet,” Meredith said in her sternest voice. She huffed dramatically, folded her arms across her chest, and used her considerable height to her advantage. Unfortunately, neither man was looking directly at her, so the effect of glaring down upon them was lost. “I told you most emphatically two weeks ago I would neither intercede on your behalf with father’s man of affairs to advance your quarterly allowance, nor would I make you a loan from my own meager funds.”

  “Meager!” Jasper hooted. He shifted position swiftly, placing both booted feet firmly on the carpet. “Saints above, Merry, you’ve got more money than anyone else I know, male or female. I’d wager you could lend the Bank of England funds if it was needed.”

  “The Bank of England?” Jason rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “A solid, reliable institution, with sound collateral and a sterling reputation. I know Merry has a pretty bit of coin put aside, but it can’t possibly be as much as the bank. Or could it? An interesting notion. I believe I shall accept that wager, brother.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sakes, will you both stop it?” Meredith nearly stamped her foot in frustration. This was ridiculous. Would they never stop, never learn? She loved her brothers to the extreme but was hardly blind to their faults, the principal one being their overzealous enthusiasm for gambling.

&
nbsp; At twenty-two years of age, the twins were a pair of spoiled, privileged gentlemen, reckless, overindulged, and self-centered. Meredith’s parents were of little use when it came to controlling their sons. The earl and his wife were often out of the country, pursing some archaeological find or scholarly relic that had captured the earl’s fancy. They were, for the most part, blissfully unaware of their sons’ extreme antics.

  Yet even when they were in town, they did nothing to curb the twins’ wild behavior. The earl was of the opinion his sons would eventually grow out of their high spirits. Consequently, he allowed them to live their lives entirely as they wished. No matter how outrageous the circumstance, the earl gave no censure to his sons.

  Initially Meredith had tried to follow her father’s lead, but she soon discovered that, left to their own devices, the twins would run totally wild. She had tried to be a steadying influence on them, but more and more that task was requiring stronger measures. They no longer easily followed her direction nor listened to her advice or opinions with solemn, wide-eyed regard.

  As they grew older, it seemed the harder she tried to control them, the more they resisted. Each time Meredith vowed she would not intercede at the next crisis, yet she found it impossible to follow her own advice.

  She partly blamed herself for the current state of affairs, admitting she had bailed her brothers out of so many scrapes over the years that they no longer fully considered the consequences of their escapades before acting.

  They knew if things went awry, she could be counted upon to somehow set everything to rights, for she had taken the task of watching over them very seriously. It was a role she did not relish, yet she knew she must often seem like an avenging angel, refusing to let any real harm come to her wayward siblings, especially when it was within her means to prevent it.

  Despite everything, she loved her brothers deeply and knew they held her in equal regard. However, at moments such as these, that was occasionally difficult to remember.