The School for Heiresses: 'Wed Him Before You Bed Him

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “True.” This time she accepted his offer and took a seat on the lone chair. He sat on one of the moldy cushions, crossing his legs Indian-style like a foreign prince. A very handsome, dangerously appealing foreign prince.

  “So,” he said, “let me get this straight. Our fathers want us to marry. Does that about sum it up?”

  She couldn’t help it—a laugh sputtered out of her. The men she’d met at home were never so frank. “It does indeed.”

  He leaned forward to plant his elbows on his knees. “And you aren’t terribly keen on the idea.”

  “Are you?” she asked, determined to be equally frank, though if Papa ever found out about this conversation, he’d cane her for certain.

  “I wasn’t.” David’s eyes darkened in a most mysterious and worldly manner as they made a slow circuit of her face and her breasts. “I’m not so sure now.”

  Though a blush flamed her cheeks, she cocked her head at him. “Are you flirting with me, David Masters?”

  “Just stating facts…Charlotte.”

  She swallowed, unable to look away from the gaze that held her as surely as if he had his hands on her. He’d called her Charlotte when they were children. So why was it so disconcerting to have him do so now? “Well, I’m sure I don’t want to marry you,” she said, though she wasn’t in the least sure.

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, your own mother calls you a rogue,” she told him loftily. “And I’ve spent too many years under the thumb of a rogue already. I don’t intend to spend one minute more if I can avoid it.”

  “But if you want to break free of your father,” David said quietly, “you’ll have to marry someone.”

  Surprised by his quick perception, she rose to pace the room, wondering if she should tell him about Captain Harris.

  “Then again,” he went on in a voice tinged with disappointment, “perhaps you’ve already picked out your someone.”

  “Well, it’s not as if he’s made an offer yet,” she admitted, “but I’m hoping he will soon.”

  “So there’s still a chance for me.”

  She glanced over to find him wearing a cheeky grin. “I didn’t say that.”

  “I’m here, and he’s not.” His expression was entirely too smug. “And I have your father’s approval. Which, I’m guessing, he does not.”

  “How could you possibly know—”

  “Because if he did, you’d already be married. No man in his right mind would take his time about securing you.”

  That sweet phrase softened her toward him further. Until she remembered who she was. Or rather, what she was. “You mean, because of my dowry and my inheritance,” she said in a low voice.

  His face darkened. “If I was only interested in that, I wouldn’t have pretended to be drunk when you first arrived.”

  She caught her breath. So that hadn’t been a joke. If she could believe him. “I smelled the liquor on your breath.”

  “I didn’t say I hadn’t had a drink. Just that I wasn’t drunk.” He leaned back to rest on his elbows. “Do I look drunk to you now?”

  He didn’t. And she had to admit he’d had very little wine at dinner. Not to mention that he was here, instead of off with the other men drinking in the study.

  But that wasn’t the point. “So you pretended to be drunk until…what? You saw me? And that changed your mind?”

  “Exactly.” Then, as if realizing what he’d just said, he added, “No! I mean…that is…” When she continued to look at him with eyebrows raised, he said stoutly, “What about my being heir to a title? You have no interest in that, I suppose.”

  “None,” she said, mildly amused by his consternation. “Papa is the one interested in that.”

  “And Father is the one interested in your dowry.”

  “Yes, you’re only interested in my face,” she said dryly.

  A rueful chuckle escaped his lips. “You have to admit it’s quite a nice face.” His rakish gaze swept her body. “And the parts that go with it are rather nice, too.”

  She snorted. “Now I see why your mother calls you a rogue.”

  He made a dismissive gesture. “Mother is just trying to put you off because she doesn’t want me marrying you.” Then, as if realizing what he’d said, he sighed. “Sorry. It’s nothing against you. She’s hoping I’ll find a grander wife. It’s Father who’s pushing the marriage.”

  “Papa, too.”

  “But not you,” he said softly.

  She stared him down. “I’ve heard all about you and your wild friends. I want a steady husband, not some randy rakehell.”

  His eyes gleamed at her. “Haven’t you also heard that reformed rakes make the best husbands?”

  “Are you reformed?”

  “I could be.” This time he was more leisurely in his perusal, lazily scouring her from face to foot, lingering over certain parts as if he could see right through her gown, even in the dim lantern light. “With the right incentive.”

  His pointed interest in her body had the most peculiar effect on her. She could actually feel heat rising from her belly to her breasts and up her neck to bloom in a blush. Which he could surely see.

  “I swear,” she chided him, attempting to sound stern, “you’re every bit as bad as they say. And I don’t believe that men of your sort up and ‘reform’ just for the sake of a woman, anyway.”

  “You wound me to the heart, fair lady!” Sitting up, he shot her a look that was half-serious, half-mocking. “Is there no way I can change your mind?”

  “No,” she said firmly, though a tiny, devilish part of her was tempted to let him try. Marriage to David would certainly make her present life easier.

  But not her future one. The last thing she needed was to yoke herself to a man who did as he pleased while his wife sat at home and suffered. “And for all your outrageous flirting,” she went on, “you aren’t ready to marry yet, are you? Admit it.”

  “God, Charlotte, I don’t know,” he said uneasily. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought about marriage at all until Father took me aside this morning.”

  “Exactly.” She propped her hip on the edge of the desk. “So, what are we to do about our fathers? You know they’ll plague us all week to spend time together.”

  A sudden mischief leaped in his gaze. “Perhaps we should give them what they want. We can pretend to court right up until the time you leave. If they believe we’re seriously contemplating marriage, they’ll stay out of our hair. Then, on your last day here, we’ll announce that we’ve decided not to marry. If we both hold firm, they’ll have to accept it.”

  “Why can’t we just hold firm now, and tell them that we know we won’t suit?”

  “Do you really think they’d believe us, based on one day’s acquaintance?” When she sighed, he added, “We have to convince them that we’ve sincerely tried. Otherwise, they’ll just keep inventing reasons for throwing us together.”

  She had to admit his logic was sound. “All right. I suppose we could pretend to court.” She flashed him a shaky smile. “Though I’m not sure what courtship involves. Since I haven’t had my debut yet, I’ve never actually been courted.”

  “Not even by—What’s his name, anyway? The man you’ve set your sights on back in London,” he said, an edge to his voice.

  “Captain James Harris.” She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve, unable to look David in the face while talking about Captain Harris. “He’s a cavalry officer.”

  “And he hasn’t actually courted you?” he prodded. “What’s wrong with the man?”

  “He’s a gentleman, that’s all.”

  David rose, straightening to his full height. “No man is a gentleman with a woman he wants,” he said in a husky voice.

  The room, which was already small, suddenly felt like a closet. David was too near…too male. “I should probably go,” she choked out, “before they discover us missing.”

  He stepped nearer. “They won’t think to look here.”

&nbs
p; “Yes, but—”

  “You wanted to know what courting involved.” He moved close enough that she could hear his breathing quicken. “I can tell you one thing it involves.”

  Her heart clamored wildly in her chest. “Oh?” She couldn’t believe how calm she sounded when she felt on the verge of shattering.

  Then he laid his hand on her waist, and she nearly did shatter. Her stomach turned flip-flops, and she couldn’t seem to find her breath.

  “Courtship involves things like this.” He bent his head to press his lips to hers.

  She ought to be shocked. Appalled. Alarmed. Instead, she felt as if she’d been waiting all her life for him to kiss her.

  And it proved well worth the wait. His mouth whispered over hers, teasing, caressing, as soft as a brush of silk, barely there. It tempted her to touch him, though she caught herself just as she reached for his waist.

  “Mr. M-Masters, I d-don’t think—” she stammered as she struggled to free herself of the sensual spell he wove.

  “David,” he corrected softly. “It’s only a kiss, Charlotte.”

  It was so much more than that to her. It was her first kiss. And she’d expected to share it with Captain Harris, not with this roguish lordling who cared nothing for her beyond a flirtation to provide him with entertainment during a long week of unwanted guests.

  She backed away. “If this is to be a pretend courtship, there’s no need for kissing, is there?”

  “What does it hurt?” he said irritably. “Unless you’re bent on staying true to a man who hasn’t even bothered to claim you for his own.”

  That stung. “I’m being true to myself.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “At least I know what I want in this affair. You have no clue what you want.”

  “I want—I wanted—a kiss. That’s all.”

  “Well then, you had your kiss. So now we’re done with that.”

  She turned for the door, but he stepped into her path. Grabbing her head in his hands, he kissed her again, harder this time, with a boldness and thoroughness that drove the very breath from her. She was still reeling from the wild emotions he roused in her breast when he stopped abruptly and put her away from him.

  “Now I’ve had my kiss,” he said, his arrogance showing in every word.

  For a moment, she didn’t know what to say, what to do. His second kiss had left her in utter confusion.

  Then she gathered her wits and stared him down. “You mustn’t do that again, or we can’t possibly have a pretend—”

  “Fine. Whatever you wish.” Eyes glittering with anger, he stepped to the door and opened it, giving an elaborate flourish with his hand to indicate that she could leave. “I’ll see you in the morning, Miss Page.”

  She blinked, taken aback by his abrupt manner. But it was just as well that he knew where she stood. She gave a polite curtsy. “Good night, Mr. Masters.” Then she swept through the door.

  But long after she reached her room, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just entered into a disastrous conspiracy with a rather dangerous young man. If he ever kissed her like that again…

  She wouldn’t let him. They would spend a week of polite conversation tempered by their knowledge that they were utterly unsuited for each other, and at the end she would go home to her hopes for a marriage to a noble soldier rather than a reckless young lord.

  Now she would just have to pray that the soldier could kiss as well as the lord. Or her heart might be in serious trouble.

  Chapter Five

  Four days later, David was still kicking himself for putting Charlotte on her guard. Ever since their amazing kisses, she’d closed up like an oyster at low tide. Oh, she still smiled and talked to him, behaving as if she enjoyed his company when their fathers were around.

  But she managed never to be alone with him. If he proposed a walk, she invited Giles or her mother along. If he lingered behind the others after dinner, she hurried to catch up to them. She even rose at an ungodly hour for breakfast, since she was always gone from the breakfast room by the time he entered.

  Not today, however—not if he could help it. Throwing his striped silk dressing gown over his shirt, waistcoat, and riding breeches, he paced to the window. Dawn had just broken. Not even Charlotte rose so early. Besides, he’d paid the maid who was attending her and her mother to scratch on his door when Charlotte left her room. She wouldn’t escape him this time, damn it.

  Her persistent avoidance of him had begun to rankle, though he wasn’t sure why. He still didn’t consider himself old enough for marriage. Certainly he had no desire to have any close connection to that ass, Lord Page.

  So why the bloody hell did he spend so much time thinking about the man’s daughter?

  Dropping into the nearest chair, he conjured up an image of Charlotte as she’d looked after he’d kissed her. Then he undressed the image, piece by delectable piece. Unfortunately, his imagination had little to go on. She had curly red hair, but how long? Was her waist slender or full? Hard to tell beneath the shapeless tubes that constituted ladies’ skirts these days.

  Still, the parts he could see tormented him. There was that elegant neck, with its creamy skin that he ached to kiss. Then there was her shapely bosom, so nicely displayed in her dinner gowns. Just thinking of that bosom made him hard.

  He squirmed in the chair. What sort of man thought of a respectable young woman with unbridled lust? Especially when he had no intention of marrying her? Though he wasn’t even sure of that anymore.

  Nonetheless, her avoiding him was going to stop. Today. Because how could he decide what to do if he only got to be around the coolly polite Charlotte? He needed more time with the sweetly passionate Charlotte who’d bewitched him in the garden shed. He had to know which one he’d be marrying, if he chose to do so.

  The scratching at the door brought him up short. Already? But his valet hadn’t even returned from pressing his riding coat! Very well, he’d join her in his dressing gown—he’d always thought he looked rather dashing in it.

  When he arrived at the breakfast room, luck was with him—Charlotte was alone and had already taken a seat with her filled plate. He stepped into the room.

  “Good morning, Miss Page.”

  She jumped and her eyes swung to him, wide with alarm. Then her expression changed, and she burst into laughter.

  That was not the effect he’d been hoping for. “What’s so funny?”

  Struggling to withhold her mirth, she dropped her gaze to her plate. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “Obviously not nothing,” he grumbled as he strode to the sideboard.

  Another peal of laughter escaped her when he turned to fill his plate. With a scowl, he faced her again. “What?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just that…” She fought back another laugh, though her eyes remained suspiciously bright. “Don’t you think your robe is rather…well…colorful?”

  A flush warmed his cheeks. “This is the fashion, I’ll have you know.”

  “Red, yellow, and orange stripes? That’s the fashion?”

  He stalked over to the table and set his plate down hard. “It’s very expensive silk. Cost me half a month’s allowance at one of the best tailors in London.”

  “Oh dear,” she said in a tone that made it clear she thought he’d overpaid.

  “You haven’t even had your come-out yet.” He dropped into the chair. “What do you know about men’s attire?”

  “Nothing, apparently. But I do have eyes.”

  And those eyes were laughing at him, which he didn’t appreciate one bit.

  “So what do you propose that I wear?” he snapped.

  “Something less garish.” Her lips twitched from the effort to contain her amusement. “Without orange in it. Or yellow. Or scarlet stripes, for that matter.”

  The little minx was clearly enjoying herself. And despite his irritation, he found himself responding to her infectious good humor. It was the first time she’d been relaxed around him sin
ce the garden shed. Perhaps he could turn this to his advantage.

  Leaning back, he dropped his gaze to her mouth. “Already picking out my clothes, are you? Isn’t that the task of a wife?”

  She started; then her eyes narrowed. “Or a valet,” she answered tartly.

  “I don’t think you’d make a very good valet,” he quipped before she could retreat into her cool facade.

  “I don’t think you’d make a very good husband,” she shot back.

  He scowled. Leave it to Charlotte to get right to the point. “How can you tell when you barely even know me?”

  “I know you well enough. ‘For a man by nothing is so well bewrayed/As by his manners.’”

  The archaic word bewrayed threw him off for a second. Then he grinned. “Edmund Spenser?”

  She blinked. “You’ve read Spenser?”

  Bloody hell, she must think him a complete twit. “Isn’t he one of those fellows who writes—what are they called—books?” He couldn’t hold back his sarcasm. “We have an entire room of the things upstairs. I even look inside them occasionally. I try not to notice what’s on the pages, but once in a while even a debauched chap like myself can’t help absorbing a word or two.”

  “Very amusing,” she said dryly. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

  “Only when forced. But for you, dear Charlotte, I’ll attempt to restrain my levity.” He leaned forward. “If…”

  She arched one brow. “If?”

  “You agree to spend the day with me. Alone.”

  Her fetching blush made his blood roar through his veins. “I don’t think that’s wise,” she said.

  “Why not?” He fought for control over his wayward arousal. “We have much to discuss if you’re to be my valet. There’s the matter of your salary and my clothing budget, which will be much strained with all the new dressing gowns you mean for me to buy, not to mention—”

  “Do be serious.”

  He leveled her with an intent gaze. “I am. Spend the day with me, Charlotte. We’ll go for a long ride, have a picnic lunch…”