To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Adrienne Basso

  “You are the spinster?” he asked in an incredulous tone.

  “I am. And you are the rake.” Even in the glittering light, he could see the spark of satisfaction in her eyes. “So the challenge has been met. You, sir, have lost the wager.”

  Her words might have angered him. Or made him cry foul, for it felt very much like he had been well and truly fooled. Despite her age, she was hardly the type of female he had in mind when he spoke of spinsters.

  Even by his rather lax standards, her behavior had been highly improper and exceedingly daring. Yet the marquess wisely swallowed that observation and instead offered another.

  “I must correct your assumption, Lady Meredith. I might have lost some coin and, if I recall clearly, an incomparable pair of matched bays. However, after kissing you, I strongly contend I am the true winner of this wager.”

  On the opposite end of town, the moonless night provided a cloak of anonymity for the man who waited in the shadows of a tavern. There was little chance of being recognized by anyone on the street, for he seldom frequented this rather seedy, rundown area of London, yet caution was needed.

  The man had entered this establishment two nights prior, in search of a pretty barmaid. He had found precisely the type of woman he was looking for—buxom, fresh-faced, and young enough to be missing the tired eyes and downtrodden spirits shared by so many others in her profession.

  He had given her a handsome tip and a friendly smile, knowing she would remember him. He had hoped to see her later that evening, but the tavernkeeper, a barrel-chested man with large hands and a cynical attitude, had taken notice of him. Knowing it was foolish to tempt fate, the man had left, frustrated and angry.

  For two long days he had thought of little else but this woman, and tonight he had been driven to return. To finish his task.

  In the distance he heard the toll of the watchman’s bell. Two clangs. Good. The tavern would be closing soon. Another ten minutes passed, and then the lights were gradually extinguished inside the building. A few moments later the front door opened and a woman emerged. His woman.

  The man blew out his breath. His luck was holding. The young barmaid was alone. Head down, she jumped across a large puddle, then hurried across the street.

  The man stepped out of the shadows, directly into her path. The young woman gasped with fright and held her arm up in a protective gesture. Then slowly her expression changed from one of fear to relief.

  “Oh, ’tis only you, sir. You gave me a grand fright, that’s for sure.”

  “I apologize.” He bowed gracefully, and she tittered with delight. Women of the lower classes, he had discovered, were easily led to ruin by displaying simple manners and common courtesies toward them. “May I see you home?”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I live with me Mum and brothers and sisters,” she answered. “I’m sure at least one of ’um is waiting up for me to get home.”

  “I only wish to walk with you,” he said gently. “If you have no objections.”

  He could see the indecision clearly in her face, so he gave her a brief smile. It had the desired effect. She smiled back, then nodded in agreement.

  “Thank you, sir, for your kind offer. ’Tis nearly twenty blocks to our flat. I shall be glad of the com-pansy.”

  They walked for several blocks in silence. He did not offer her his arm, fearing to touch her too soon. It was the right decision, for of her own initiative she left a respectable distance between them as she walked. He knew she was shy of him, for she spoke only briefly when answering his many questions and initiated no conversation.

  He found her reticent nature charming, her natural shyness exhilarating. Forward, aggressive women had always angered him.

  As they walked, he became dimly aware of the passage of time. Soon, it must happen soon. Eagerly, his eyes scanned ahead, watching for the perfect spot, the perfect moment. When it came, he was ready.

  He stumbled on a piece of uneven cobblestone, pretending to lose his balance. The young woman stopped immediately and offered her arm to him in assistance. With a wicked smile of satisfaction, he grasped her arm, righted himself, and then yanked her into the small alley between two tall buildings.

  “No, please,” she cried, as he jammed her against the wall with his body. She pushed against his chest with the heels of her hands, struggling to get away from him. But he was too strong.

  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 m
uch 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 dis
belief. “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.