To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Adrienne Basso

  A rush of painful memories flooded Trevor’s mind. Her sweet smile, her merry laugh, her loving embrace, the pale, cold stillness of her lifeless body. The endless questions and recriminations that had haunted him for years once again felt fresh and raw.

  He drew in a deep breath. Over the years, Trevor had kept well hidden from his stoic father the suffering and heartache, the agonizing guilt he felt every single day.

  “I am not interested in acquiring a wife,” Trevor stated forcefully. “Besides, you know well my opinion of these unmarried young women. I have no intention of wasting an evening by furthering the acquaintance of this year’s crop of shrews, ninnies, or milk-and-water misses.”

  “The woman I have in mind for you is older, more mature,” the duke countered. “And she is no fool.”

  “Ahh, that means she must be formal and cold.” Trevor shuddered visibly. “I repeat, I am not interested. In the least.”

  Ignoring the disgruntled expression on his father’s face, Trevor rose to his feet. “I thank you for your hospitality this afternoon, but you must excuse me, sir. I am already late for another appointment. Please extend my compliments to Cook. The meal was delicious.”

  The marquess bowed formally, then turned on his heel. As he exited the room, Trevor told himself the expression of hurt and disappointment on his father’s face was merely an act, an attempt at manipulation that was going to fail.

  The marquess repeated those words in his mind as he walked through the long picture gallery, while a multitude of ancestors and former dukes stared down disapprovingly at him from their gilded frames.

  His feet moved rapidly down the winding staircase, increasing speed with each step. Upon reaching the cavernous entrance hall, the marquess told himself yet again that his father’s distress was feigned, his lack of protest at Trevor’s refusal to attend the ball merely a ploy to prey on Trevor’s guilt.

  It was not until he burst outside into the fading afternoon light and filled his lungs deeply with a breath of cool, fresh air that Trevor was able to admit the truth.

  Despite the discord, strain and general imperfection, the relationship he had with his father was something the marquess valued greatly. And though he was loath to admit it, his father’s opinion mattered. Strangely, it mattered very much.

  Lady Meredith Barrington sat alone in Lady Der-mond’s ladies’ retiring room, staring doubtfully at her reflection in the mirror. She adjusted her diamond ear-bobs, then lifted her neck to admire the matching diamond necklace that graced her throat. The jewels were her mother’s, borrowed for this madcap evening. Meredith had hoped they would lend an air of sophistication to her evening ensemble. She realized belatedly what she really needed was a dose of courage.

  Her new gown was a deep shade of blue, cut daringly lower than any other she had ever worn. It was gathered beneath the bodice and flowed down the lines of her body with simplicity and grace. Despite the changing fashion, Meredith had insisted the skirt of the gown be left unadorned.

  She had always preferred simple styles without the fripperies of lace, bows, embroidery, or beading, but it had taken her years to convince her modistes she was not trying to economize on her outfits by leaving those items off.

  Yet tonight Meredith almost wished she had a few rows of lace or a collection of bows to draw attention to the skirt of her gown, for the simple, unadorned style made her look taller and more curvaceous. With a sigh, she stood up and twisted from side to side, critically observing the sway of material as she moved.

  The fabric was sheer, and if viewed in the gleaming candlelight at a particular angle, the distinct shadow of her body could be seen. Meredith let out a nervous giggle. It was most definitely not the type of ensemble worn by a spinster.

  Knowing she had stalled long enough, Meredith prepared to leave. She had just begun to tug on her evening gloves when the retiring room door suddenly opened. Meredith spun around in surprise at the interruption.

  “Oh, I am sorry. Did we startle you, Lady Meredith?”

  “Not at all,” Merry replied breathlessly. She inclined her head politely toward Mrs. Fritzwater and her daughter. Alice? Allyson? Meredith had met the young woman only once and could not recall her name.

  “My dear Alice had a slight mishap while exiting the carriage,” Mrs. Fritzwater explained as she held up a length of lace with several bows dangling from it. “I had hoped one of Lady Dermond’s maids would be in attendance here so it could be repaired.”

  Meredith glanced down at the skirt of Alice’s gown. There were several rows of lace adorned with both rosettes and bows along the hem. Meredith looked carefully, but it was impossible to tell where this section had been torn.

  “You cannot even notice anything is missing,” Meredith said.

  “Really?” Mrs. Fritzwater bent down to examine the skirt. “You’re right. It doesn’t appear that the fabric has been ripped. Still, I would feel so much better if the dress was properly repaired.”

  Mrs. Fritzwater leaned toward Meredith and whispered, “I just want everything to be perfect this evening. This is Alice’s first ball.”

  Meredith cast a sympathetic eye toward Alice. The young girl’s eyes were wide and round and her complexion looked very pale. Clearly all of her mother’s nervous fluttering was not helping her daughter conquer her own fears.

  “I shall have a maid sent in directly to assist you,” Meredith said.

  “How very kind of you, Lady Meredith,” Mrs. Fritzwater replied with obvious relief.

  “I hope you enjoy your first ball, Alice,” Meredith said as she jerked open the door. “You look lovely.”

  Alice blushed shyly and modestly bowed her head. As Meredith started out the door, she saw Mrs. Fritzwater adjust the stray curl that lay against Alice’s cheek, then deliberately tug the scooped neckline of the girl’s bodice up a full half inch.

  For a moment Meredith felt a sharp pang of longing for her own mother. Though they had difficulty understanding each other, the Countess of Stafford had always loyally supported and defended her daughter.

  Meredith was unsure what her parents would think of this current situation. She secretly doubted they would agree or approve of what she was about to do, but she knew they would never voice that disapproval to anyone outside the family.

  It took only a few moments for Meredith to locate a footman. She quickly told the servant of young Alice’s plight. He bowed and assured her a maid and a sewing basket would be sent immediately to the ladies’ retiring room.

  Her task completed, Meredith next turned her eye toward the grand ballroom on the second floor. The strains of music could be clearly heard, along with the sound of muted conversation and twinkling laughter. Though it was not yet ten, the ball was already crowded—a rare occurrence, since these events usually began later in the evening.

  Meredith hesitated at the bottom of the steps, knowing in her heart she shouldn’t be here. Yet she had promised her brothers she would make a valiant effort to win their ridiculous bet.

  She had been prompted by a rash impulse, but once she had given her word, Meredith felt compelled to keep it. The biggest obstacle she faced now was her own good sense. Fearing it would prevail before she reached the entrance, Meredith forced herself to begin the long climb up the staircase, ignoring completely the voice in her head that insisted she should turn on her heel and depart.

  For four days, Jason and Jasper’s silent pleas, forlorn looks, and heavy sighs of disappointment had driven her to distraction. And it was said that women were prone to dramatics!

  She had resisted with a gritty determination, telling herself over and over again she would not even entertain such a preposterous notion. Besides, she reminded her brothers each afternoon at tea and each evening at dinner, how was she going to kiss the marquess if she never saw him?

  He apparently did not attend many ton functions. The only place in Society he was seen on a regular basis was Hyde Park. Yet a chance encounter where the nobility spent the afterno
on riding about in open carriages and on horseback was hardly the opportune moment to try to kiss the marquess passionately.

  This practical dilemma had kept the twins busy scheming and plotting for two days. Time on the bet was running out, and Meredith had begun to congratulate herself on so neatly diverting her brothers’ attention. However, her smug attitude of success was apparently premature.

  Late last night the twins had wakened her from a sound sleep to gleefully report that the marquess was indeed about to attend a society function that would afford her the perfect opportunity to win the bet.

  So here she stood, ready to enter Lady Dermond’s ballroom in search of the Marquess of Dardington, with the sole intention of luring him to a secluded location and then kissing him in a most passionate manner. Madness, it was pure madness!

  “Good evening, Lady Meredith.”

  That shrill female voice could belong to only one individual. With a cool smile, Meredith turned and faced the Duchess of Lancaster, one of the most ignorant, annoying, and petty females of the beau monde.

  “Your Grace. Lord Byrd.” Meredith dipped a slight curtsy toward the duchess and her escort. “How pleasant to see you both.”

  “This is a surprise,” the duchess declared with a haughtily raised eyebrow. “I was unaware you had come to town this Season.”

  “I’ve only recently arrived,” Meredith lied smoothly. She felt the woman’s keen gaze skim her from head to toe. The glint of jealousy that flashed in the other woman’s eyes was brief, but distinct.

  Meredith nearly sighed. She had hoped that with time the duchess would eventually forget Meredith had rejected marriage proposals from both the duke and Lord Hawke, a former lover of the duchess. Apparently she had not.

  “You appear to be without escort this evening,” the duchess observed slyly. “Perchance have you come as a chaperon for one of the younger ladies? Or perhaps you are serving as a companion for one of the elderly dowagers?”

  “You are so witty, Your Grace.” One corner of Meredith’s mouth turned up. “I am neither a chaperon nor a companion. My two male escorts await me inside the ballroom.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we shall take you to them,” the duchess declared.

  “You are too kind, Your Grace,” Meredith said. She turned toward Lord Byrd with a deliberate smile of encouragement. “I have a small errand to attend to first. It should take me no more than ten minutes. Will you wait for me here?”

  “Of course,” Lord Byrd answered. He bowed low to better ogle her bosom and offered her a sly wink.

  Meredith somehow managed to keep a half smile on her lips. In her opinion, Lord Byrd was the worst sort of male. He had married an heiress to obtain control of her fortune and now kept his meek, frail wife hidden away on his country estate.

  It was said the only time he ever visited the poor woman was to get her with child so she would be forced to remain in the country. The rest of Lord Byrd’s time was spent in London, in pursuit of any and all selfish pleasures.

  “Did you say ten minutes, Lady Meredith?” the duchess inquired, tapping her fan rapidly against her palm.

  “At the very least,” Meredith replied smoothly.

  “Perhaps it would be best if we went on without you,” the duchess decided.

  Meredith inclined her head graciously, pleased to see the pursed expression on the duchess’s face. The pair bowed and left her, but Meredith knew her fate was sealed. She could not possibly leave without entering the ballroom, or else the duchess would believe she had somehow managed to force her away.

  Still, Meredith was determined to make a her initial entrance as quietly as possible. She waited a full fifteen minutes and then quickly climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  With a deft movement, Meredith was able to avoid the pompously garbed majordomo loudly announcing each guest’s arrival. Thus she slipped into the crush, scarcely noticed by anyone.

  Her brothers had escorted her to the party, but she knew she would not find them in the ballroom, dancing attendance on any of the females. Instead they would be barricaded in the card room. Meredith decided she would find them at the first opportunity and insist they each engage young Alice Fritzwater in a dance. It was the very least they could do.

  For once Meredith was not averse to her brothers’ great regard for gambling. She was nervous enough about this evening. Having the twins scrutinizing her every move would be most unsettling.

  Meredith began a slow circuit on the perimeter of the ballroom, positioning herself so she had a clear view of most of the guests. An odd shiver marked its way down her back as she suddenly spied the marquess across the room.

  Trevor had always had a certain style of dress that was distinctly his own. Though garbed similarly to the other gentlemen in a black evening coat, embroidered silk waistcoat, and knee breeches, there was a certain casual elegance about the marquess’s attire that eclipsed those around him.

  He was engaged in conversation with Lady Ann Towers, a leggy brunette who was rumored to have been his mistress last year. Or was it the year before? Meredith couldn’t remember. Dardington’s name was linked with so many different women it was difficult to keep them all straight.

  It seemed as though nearly every married and widowed woman in Society beneath the age of forty had been thought to be his mistress at one time or another.

  Meredith inwardly grimaced. If only half the gossip were true, the marquess would undoubtedly be the most exhausted man in all of England.

  Yet he did not look exhausted. He looked fit and trim. Certainly older than the last time she had seen him, but that was to be expected.

  She continued to observe him from afar and noticed his eyes darting about the room. Poor Lady Ann. Though possessing both a lovely face and figure, she clearly did not have the necessary wit to keep the marquess entertained for any length of time.

  To her credit, it did not take much longer for Lady Ann to apparently reach the same conclusion. With an aristocratic tip of her chin, she turned on her heel and stalked away from the marquess. He barely seemed to notice.

  The moment he was alone, Meredith made her move.

  Four

  Trevor had deliberately positioned himself on the left side of the ballroom with a clear view of the grand staircase. Though he tried hard not to make it very obvious, his eyes were constantly drawn to the staircase as each guest was announced.

  The marquess had arrived at the ball unfashionably early, hoping his father would do the same. He had sent word to the duke this morning, informing his father he would be in attendance at Lady Dermond’s ball. There had been no reply to the message, but Trevor had not expected any.

  He still could not say for certain whether a moment of madness or guilt had brought him here this evening. Although he was at a loss to explain his motives, Trevor acknowledged he was now committed to the endeavor and must see it through.

  “... and that is when I told the fellow he was all wet,” the Earl of Kendale declared loudly.

  There were titters from the ladies and bellows of laughter from the gentlemen who stood within the circle of conversation. Trevor turned his head away from the milling scene in the ballroom and attempted to look interested in the discussion.

  There had been many surprised looks sent his way when he first entered the room. He had ignored them and intentionally joined a small group of males and females brought together by a single bond—their love of gossip.

  Trevor reasoned his unexpected appearance would make him the natural topic of whispers and speculations. And so it had. Yet by ingratiating himself within the group that thrived on it, he had managed to shift some of the attention away from himself.

  This select group might be a rude, stuffy, and possessing an inflated opinion of their importance, but there was not one among them, male or female, who possessed the courage to repeat any unsavory speculation about the marquess while he was standing in front of them.

&nbs
p; “The earl can be most tedious at times,” the woman at Trevor’s side remarked as she leaned into him. “But he does tell the most amusing tales.”

  She spoke in a flirtatious whisper that Trevor found oddly annoying. Though accustomed to female attention, this young matron surprised him with her boldness, for her husband stood directly across from them.

  For a brief second he debated walking away, but then realized he would just be forced to join another equally annoying group of individuals.

  He blew out a breath and wished he was holding a tall glass filled with whiskey. It was a humbling and not altogether pleasant realization to admit how much he felt the need for a drink. He had limited himself to a half bottle of wine with his dinner and had downed only one glass of whiskey since his arrival. Clearly that was not a sufficient amount of alcohol to sustain him through the evening.

  An elderly couple emerged from the crowd and strode toward him.

  “Dardington? Is that you?” the gentleman called out in amazement.

  Trevor smiled faintly in greeting. He recognized their faces, but could not for the life of him recall their names. Yet their timing could not have been more fortuitous. The flirtatious matron by his side whispered something vulgar under her breath and quickly took her leave.

  “Good evening,” he said pleasantly, presenting a polite bow to his rescuers.

  They chatted briefly, then left to greet other friends. Trevor felt a slight flush of embarrassment as they left, for he was still unable to recall precisely who they were.

  Yet he was pleased to finally be alone. Restlessly the marquess observed the preening young ladies, blustering men, and scheming mamas who stood amongst the crowd, and concluded once again what he really needed was a large glass of strong spirits to deaden his brain.

  Alas, that would not be possible until after he left the ball. Trevor was resolved to be on his best behavior this evening. He would ignore the smug smile that was certain to be on his father’s face when he greeted him, be charmingly polite to the woman the duke insisted he should meet, ask her to dance once and only once, and when that arduous duty was completed he would take his leave. Immediately.