The Amorous Heiress

by Carrie Alexander

  “Let’s skip the medical report,” Jed replied. “It’s enough to say that between the knee and the eye injury, I took early retirement.”

  “In that case, how fortunate for you that athletes are paid such overblown salaries,” Andrews sniped, and Gussy realized that he must be feeling competitive with Jed, and also jealous, because otherwise he’d never have mentioned money at the dinner table. She was surprised; she hadn’t thought that Andrews cared enough to be jealous.

  “I didn’t have a superstar contract,” Jed said quietly, “but I was paid very well, yes.”

  Andrews’s bland face stayed bland even as he said, “Then mucking about in gardens must be quite a comedown.”

  Jed went very still.

  Timing her interruption impeccably, Marian made a production out of ringing for Thwaite to remove the soup plates and bring in the main course. They were having Cornish game hens.

  In the oppressive silence, the butler took the platter of crisp, golden-brown fowl around the table. When it was Gussy’s turn, he removed the tray just quickly enough to make her spatter hot drippings on the tablecloth. Grandmother’s lips tightened. While Thwaite made a show of swabbing at the mess, Gussy ducked her chin and mumbled a “Pardon me, ma’am,” to the pearl buttons of her blouse.

  Jed averted attention by asking pointedly, “And what do you do, Andrews?”

  Andrews blustered about scouting new investments and the hassle of keeping up his portfolio, trying to make it sound like a full-time job. Gussy knew that he’d briefly been an investment banker until he’d come into a smallish inheritance from a great-uncle and had retired to devote all his time to building the windfall into a fortune. Although naturally it wasn’t spoken of in polite company, the Sheepshead Bay Lowells’ finances had taken a downturn in recent years. And since it wasn’t spoken of, Gussy could not be entirely certain that Grandmother’s motives in marrying her to Andrews were for reasons of providing the Lowells with a welcome cash transfusion. But the possibility had occurred to her.

  Gussy pushed the poor little dead hen to the far side of her plate and nibbled at the vegetables, thinking that it would now be hypocritical of her to complain about Grandmother’s motives. Marrying for practical monetary reasons was not much different than her own plan to marry for independence. Even though the plan had been short-lived, she might have actually gone through with it, if…

  If only Jed were half as acceptable to the Throckmortons as Andrews.

  But then he wouldn’t be Jed. And his being Jed—Gussy watched beneath her lashes as he neatly dissected the bird’s carcass and still kept up his end of the conversation with throwaway aplomb—his being Jed was exactly what she liked about him.

  It wasn’t only his tattoo or his magnificent physique that she was attracted to—but while she was on the subject, be still her beating heart. It was also the rest of him, the inside of him. He seemed intelligent, good-humored and quietly in control. He hadn’t had to get all macho and huffed-up over Andrews’s childish put-downs or her own schoolgirl goggling. Nor had he taken any guff from Thwaite, who could smell vulnerability a mile away and pounced on it mercilessly once he’d sniffed it out. In fact, Gussy was waiting with interest to see what kind of working association Jed might establish with Grandmother. If she was reading his strength of character right, it could be the clash of the titans.

  In short, Jed Kelley was a man who knew what he was about.

  No wonder she, the pusillanimouse, liked him so much.

  And no wonder their relationship was doomed. Andrews was the sort of wishy-washy man she deserved and would probably wind up with. And while that likelihood had always frustrated her, it was now producing an actual pang in the area of her heart.

  “When can you make up that tennis match we missed this morning, Gussy?” Andrews asked. “Felicity and Ted want to play doubles.”

  Felicity was hideous and Ted was a bore, but Grandmother was listening, so Gussy smiled vivaciously and arranged a date. Pusillanimice who didn’t dare speak up got what they deserved.

  Across the table, Jed seethed. Dinner with the Throckmortons was even worse than he’d imagined, not so much because of the evil-eyed butler or Marian Throckmorton’s off-the-starched-cuff gardening lecture, but because it meant that he had to sit and watch while Gussy flirted with her boyfriend. Make that one of her boyfriends.

  Suffering in silence, Jed had watched while she’d smiled and chatted and once even touched Andrews’s sleeve. Now she was making a date.

  Of course, he had no call to object. She’d flirted with him a little, yeah. Since when had flirting meant anything special? It was becoming clear that such behavior was a matter of course with the amorous heiress.

  Marian was also watching, but with doting approval. “What are you doing for the regatta, Andrews?”

  “We were discussing that earlier. I won’t be racing this year, so I’ll watch from Felicity and Ted’s porch, since they have the best view,” Andrews said. Jed found his rival’s lofty self-satisfaction irritating. “Would you care to join me, Gussy? And for the dance later?”

  “I’ve promised to sell drinks at the garden club’s refreshment booth,” Gussy said, sounding breathless.

  “You’re free for the dance,” Marian prodded.

  Gussy released a held breath and let her eyes blink shut for a moment of what to Jed looked like vexation. Maybe Andrews wasn’t her first choice, he thought with a pleasure that instantly turned to dismay at the possibility that followed: or she already had an even hotter date lined up.

  “Yes, I’d be delighted to go to the dance with you,” Gussy said to Andrews, though her gaze seemed to linger on Jed.

  Andrews shot a look of triumph across the table. Jed found him easy to ignore. Tilting back his head, he narrowed his eyes to focus on Gussy alone. She looked like an angel in the diffused, refracted light of the chandelier, all soft creams and gentle pinks, with golden sparks glancing off her schoolmarm glasses and the sheen of her hair. He felt the tugging heat of his physical reaction, and worse, the treacherous warming of his heart. Damn. If she’d had the brittle, sophisticated beauty of a proper femme fatale, all this could have been easily avoided. Instead she seemed sweet and kind and unexpectedly vulnerable—just the kind of girl he liked best. Still, all that might be part of her come-on. He was a sap for wanting her.

  “The Sheepshead Bay regatta is quite a sight, Mr. Kelley.” Marian was expansive now that she’d arranged her granddaughter’s schedule to suit herself. “Most of us make a day of it.”

  “I expect I’ll be working, Mrs. Throckmorton,” Jed replied dryly. He was going to be putting in full days even on the weekends for at least the foreseeable future.

  “Really, you must squeeze in a moment to stop by the harbor.” Marian surveyed the table and rang for Thwaite to clear. “The races continue all afternoon.”

  “You could buy a glass of lemonade to support the garden club,” Gussy put in softly.

  He looked across the table at her and smiled. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

  “There are other amusements, as well,” Marian continued smoothly. “A pie-eating contest, the Sisterhood’s quilting exhibition and of course the garden show. Beatrice Hyde’s floribundas are traditionally magnificent. I’d love to learn her secret, but she’s much too crotchety to comply.”

  “And if you don’t like lemonade, there’s a beer tent” Andrews dug into the tart Thwaite had just served.

  “I like lemonade fine,” Jed replied. “After a hard morning’s work trimming Mrs. Van Pelt’s hedges and climbing vines, I may be wrung out enough to drink a gallon of it.”

  A short, surprised huff of laughter burst from Andrews’s full mouth as he hastily covered it with a napkin. Gussy’s eyes darkened mysteriously before she averted her gaze from Jed’s, resolutely refusing to look up.

  “I think I mentioned before that Mrs. Van Pelt is one of the clients of my new business,” Jed said into the awkward silence. Damned if he knew why they a
ll looked like they’d just swallowed marbles.

  Marian Throckmorton cleared her throat. “Be that as it may,” she said pompously, then stopped flat.

  Gussy was studying her dessert plate as if it were the Rosetta stone. Andrews held the napkin over his mouth and chewed, his cheeks ruddy.

  Jed took a cursory sip of coffee, a bite of the apple tart, and decided that he’d had enough. If he was going to play the outsider, he’d prefer to be literally outside rather than sitting around a table with these stuffy prigs. He glanced once more at Gussy; her only response was the tiniest flicker of her gold-tipped eyelashes.

  “Thanks for dinner, Mrs. Throckmorton,” he said, standing. Gussy’s head jerked up. “It’s been swell and all, but I’ve got a full day tomorrow.”

  “Augustina and I shall see you in the morning for our tour of the garden, as arranged,” Marian replied. “Good evening, Mr. Kelley.”

  Gussy popped to her feet. “But—”

  “Sit down, Augustina.” Marian gestured for the butler. “Thwaite will show Mr. Kelley out.”

  Gussy sank back down.

  “Goodness,” Marian said once Jed and the butler had departed.

  “Trimming Mrs. V.P.’s hedges,” Andrews snorted. Gussy gnawed gently on her lip, her hands clenched in her lap.

  Marian picked up her fork. “What can one expect from—”

  Gussy jumped up, arms stiff, fists at her side. “You’re both terribly rude!”

  She ran headlong from the dining room after Jed and collided directly with Thwaite in the hall. He tottered backward, and she grabbed his forearms to keep him from falling, finding them astonishingly frail. The fleeting thought occurred to her that Thwaite was only a sour old man, not someone to be intimidated by, but then she was flying through the front hall and throwing open the heavy wooden door, calling anxiously for Jed.

  A bulky shadow loomed before her.

  “Oh, Jed,” she panted, putting out her hands. She felt massive, bunched muscles shifting beneath cold bare skin. For an instant the light from the open doorway shone on a hairless pate and then the shadowed bulk stepped closer, illuminating a monstrous, glowering face with hairy black brows, beady eyes and mangled skin. It was a horrific visage.

  Gussy screamed.

  4

  Dessert with Gussy

  JED HAD CUT ACROSS the dark expanse of parkway and was almost to the carriage house when he heard a woman scream. Gussy, he knew in an instant, and before a conscious decision was made he was racing back to the main house across the velvety lawn, leaping the balustrade of the terrace wall without breaking stride. Gussy.

  Thwaite, Marian, Andrews and Jed all arrived at once, in a flurry of tremulous excitement and exclamations. Marian’s voice rose above the clamor. “What is the meaning of all this shrieking, Augustina?”

  Gussy emerged from the shadows at the bottom of the steps, towing a man—a strange, massive, hulking man with a bald head. “It’s Godfrey,” she said.

  Marian fanned herself with a lace-edged handkerchief. “Godfrey? We certainly don’t know anyone named Godfrey.”

  Jed stepped closer. Godfrey was six-two, at least, and all muscle. He was wearing a see-through red net T-shirt and tight black leather pants, and he was the ugliest man Jed had ever seen. Gussy’s hand had to curve way around his biceps and his triceps in order to tug him up the stone steps.

  “He’s April’s butler,” she explained. “I ran into him in the dark.”

  Thwaite sniffed in snooty dismissal. Godfrey glared until the other butler recoiled, shrinking back against the white columns that supported the elaborate portico above the entrance. Jed decided that maybe looks weren’t everything.

  “Why in the world is he here in Maine?” Marian demanded. “April is on her honeymoon.”

  “I gather that he’s just finished closing up April’s house in Chicago, since she and her new husband will be going straight on to Guatemala after the honeymoon.” Gussy patted Godfrey’s thick arm. “April told him that we’d put him up at Throckmorton Cottage until he leaves for England.”

  “England? Goodness.” After a trenchant pause, Marian conceded, “I suppose we can let him stay the night and then secure a seat on an airplane first thing tomorrow. Now, let’s all get out of this chilly night air, shall we?” The group began to move inside. “Thwaite, place a call to my travel agent in the morn—”

  “I don’t fly.”

  The accent was British, the tone gruff. Everyone stopped and looked back at Godfrey, who stood unmoving and once again silent, his only baggage the lumpy duffel slung across his wide shoulders.

  “You don’t fly?” Gussy prompted.

  “Never,” Godfrey grunted.

  “Then…?”

  Godfrey’s black brows knitted beneath his bulging forehead, making him look even more foul-tempered. “April gave me a ticket for the QE II. It sails in five weeks.”

  Marian made a sound of exclamation and tossed up her hands in surrender. Taking Andrews’s arm, she marched inside, her voice trailing behind her. “What will April think of next…”

  “Welcome to Throckmorton Cottage,” Gussy said to Godfrey. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.” She prodded him toward the door, where Thwaite stood holding it open, his pale, lined face a frozen mask of dislike. “Go on inside, Godfrey. Thwaite will be glad to fix you up, won’t you, Thwaite?”

  “As you wish, Miss Augustina.”

  “Are you coming, Gussy?” Andrews called from the front hall.

  She looked at Jed. “In a minute.” Once the door was closed, she added in a soft voice, “After I walk Jed back to the carriage house.”

  Smiling, Jed shook his head. “Do you think I’m going to send you back all alone in the dark? One bloodcurdling scream in the night is about all I can take.”

  “You’d have screamed, too, if you’d grabbed hold of Godfrey in the dark,” she protested. “But, really, Jed, I don’t make a habit of screaming. And I’m familiar with every blade of grass on this estate, so I should be safe as houses.”

  “Halfway?” he compromised. “A nice moonlit stroll as far as the fountain?”

  “Yes,” she agreed, her voice fading to a tender, sibilant sigh as she took Jed’s arm with more caution than she had Godfrey’s. They left the arc of bright light at the door and followed the silvery path lit by softly glowing minibulbs placed near the ground, their footsteps crunching on the gravel. The only other sounds were the trickling splashes of the fountain ahead of them and the rush and swish of the ocean behind.

  Jed broke their silence. “So who is this April person and what compelled her to hire a man like Godfrey as her butler?”

  Gussy laughed. “April is my older sister, by two years. She recently remarried, to an archaeologist who works in Central America. I don’t know exactly why she hired Godfrey, but I think I’m going to like him. She’s told me he’s not as ferocious as he looks.”

  Jed added his chuckle to hers. “One can only hope.”

  “It will do Thwaite some good to be challenged for a change.” Gussy paused thoughtfully; Jed could almost hear the ratcheting of the gears in her head. “I don’t know why I’m such a ninny, but Thwaite has always intimidated me.”

  “Only because you let him.” And your grandmother, too, he thought. Strange how she was so meek with Mrs. Throckmorton and Thwaite, yet so openly flirtatious with her male admirers. Was it possible that he’d been wrong about her? Was she not a capricious, amorous heiress, after all?

  They passed the bulbous, black-green shapes of the topiary and came to the circular court where the gravel paths converged. The pool of the small fountain was lit below the surface of the water, producing an effect of weaving liquid light and shadow that bathed Gussy’s oval face with chiaroscuro when she stopped and turned to look up at Jed.

  Wearing the glasses, she was pretty in an open, ordinary way, he decided, her even features pleasant but certainly not stunning. It was the depth of her big brown eyes that drew him, and the
succulent temptation of her richly pink lips. Yet one question still made him cautious. Was she as genuine as she now appeared?

  “You confuse me,” he confessed.

  She seemed delighted. “I do?”

  “I never know quite what to expect from you.”

  How marvelous, Gussy almost blurted. She’d always been so quiet and unassuming, forever backstage compared to the limelight lives led by April and their parents. Although up to now she’d thought her decision to run her own show had been a miserable failure, perhaps it wasn’t…entirely.

  Jed had noticed her. Jed was really seeing her.

  She snatched off her glasses.

  But what next? What would April, for instance, do at a moment like this?

  “I’m sorry you missed dessert,” Gussy whispered.

  “Yeah, well, I sort of got the feeling that I’d said something wrong.”

  She didn’t want to explain about Vanessa Van Pelt and her penchant for sleeping with her gardeners, not when a similar notion had seized Gussy’s own mind. Strangely, even that delighted her. No one in all of Sheepshead Bay would believe that Gussy Gutless actually had something in common with Vanessa Van Vixen.

  She shifted nervously. “Still, I’d like to make it up to you.”

  Jed cocked one brow and the thin white scar moved with it, crinkling the skin at the outer corner of his eye. “Did you have something in mind?”

  Did she ever. Do it, she thought Do it.

  Before she could chicken out, Gussy threw her arms around his neck. “Sweets for the sweet,” she said, and started kissing him. Her ardor was enthusiastic but awkward; she wasn’t very good at this type of thing.

  Jed brought both his hands up to the middle of her back, then let one of them creep higher until it cupped the back of her head. His touch gentled her frantic motions and she started to relax a little, slipping back to her heels in the security of his strong arms. The desire that had been coiled in her belly began its long, slow unfurling. The tingling heat of it seeped into her bones.