The Missing Heir

by Ranstrom, Gail

  “How—”

  “We are meeting at dawn near the Chapel House on the Isle of Dogs. We agreed upon pistols, and that a single shot would satisfy the requirements. With luck, both will go wide of the mark and that will be the end of it.”

  “They do not seem to be the sort of men to miss.”

  He shrugged. “There was little else I could do but have a surgeon standing by. Grayson’s second wanted satisfaction to be a duel to the death, likely because it is Grayson’s only chance to regain his fortune.”

  “Lord Geoffrey seemed implacable. I thought he would try to appease Lord Grayson. Or refuse the challenge.”

  Adam regarded her somberly through the gloom of the coach. Was she ignorant of the consequences of denying a challenge, or was she simply so concerned for Lord Geoffrey’s safety that she did not care? “Have you voiced your concern to Lord Geoffrey?”

  “When I broached the subject, he refused to speak about it. I only wonder what sort of man, well, makes the choices Lord Geoffrey has made.”

  He shrugged. “I can only say that I’d have made the same choice he made tonight. Had he forgiven the debt, it would have been tantamount to admitting he’d cheated and an invitation to other gamblers that he could be reneged on. Had he refused the challenge, he’d have been labeled a coward, and worse.”

  Grace looked up at him, a frown knitting fine lines between her brows. “What do you think, Adam? Did Lord Geoffrey cheat?”

  He relaxed against the seat. She must not be all that fond of Morgan if she believed he might be capable of such behavior. “I was not there,” he reminded her. “Anything is possible, and Morgan’s reputation would not rule that out.”

  “Do you think they will both walk away from the duel in the morning?”

  “I haven’t the faintest notion. Grayson is a crack shot from what I hear, but Morgan has considerably more experience in dueling. Anyone’s guess, I’d say. Who will you say your prayers for tonight?”

  “For good sense to prevail,” she breathed. “Adam, stop them.”

  He couldn’t have heard her correctly. “Excuse me?” he asked.

  “Stop the duel. The whole thing is ridiculous. The outcome will not prove if Lord Geoffrey was cheating or not. How will it set anything to rights?”

  “It won’t. But it will decide the matter and put an end to it. I will not interfere.”

  “Then I suppose I must,” she said, looking up at him.

  Adam grinned down at her. He might be determined to resist Grace’s charms until he discovered what she was hiding, but he did not have to deny Grace his charms. That, in fact, would be the perfect ploy to keep her off balance. “Not if I have to tie you to your bed, Mrs. Forbush,” he said.

  Uncertainty flickered in those dark eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t I? Is it so hard to believe that I would prevent you from coming between two men who are determined to kill one another?”

  “I do not like anyone telling me what I may do,” she warned in a low voice.

  “Nevertheless.”

  Her mutinous expression almost made him laugh. He doubted she had used that particular expression since she was a child. He lifted her chin on his finger. “Come now, Ellie, be a good girl.”

  He bent to claim her lips and found them incredibly tantalizing. At first they were firm, as if she would protest or deny him. Then, ever so sweetly, they softened and molded to his with a sigh of surrender. He urged them open with a series of insistent kisses. She moaned as she gave him access to her interior.

  Moving his hands beneath her cloak, he worked at the hooks at the front of her gown. When a full, ripe breast filled his hand, he nearly forgot his resolve to resist her. Taking a firm hold on his rising passion, he nudged her cloak away with his chin. When her took the rosy peak into his mouth, she gasped and her head fell back against the seat.

  She took fire quickly, and Adam knew just where to touch, what to kiss, how to move, to incite her breathless responses. Her palm cupped his head, holding him closer as he swept his hand beneath her skirt and up the inside of her leg. Her drawers were no barrier to his determination. He stroked lightly upward until he found the already-swollen nub at the top of the lush folds shielding her sex. He moved his finger over it with a feathery light stroke and she shuddered, bringing one knee up in reaction. Resist….

  He stroked downward, finding the sleek heat of her sweet, tight entrance. She was so responsive that he had to fight his instinct to take her then and there. Last night had whetted his appetite for more. But he couldn’t risk letting his guard down. Couldn’t risk her betrayal. Ah, but he could play her game. Resist….

  Slowly, he increased the rhythm of his strokes, deepening the pressure and penetration, until she was trembling and murmuring his name. He felt as if he were ready to explode and wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her and move with the primordial rhythm until they both found ecstasy. Resist…. He slowed his stroking, deliberately keeping her on edge and unfulfilled.

  The coach lurched to a stop and Adam dragged himself from the passion-induced haze. He tugged her cloak together and threw the door open, hurrying to help her down before Dewberry saw her state of disarray. Murmuring something about fatigue over his shoulder, he ushered Grace into the house, leaving Dewberry to stare after them.

  Grace clung to him as he led her up the stairs and down the hall to her door. She leaned into him as he turned the knob and pushed the door open. “Adam,” she said, her hand fisting around his cravat as if she would drag him inside. Bloody hell! Resist….

  He leaned down and gave her a bittersweet kiss before he straightened and stepped back. “I have an early morning, so I’ll say good night, Grace.” He gave her a gentle nudge inside and then closed the door before she could object. Hell—before he could object!

  Damn it, resisting Grace was going to kill him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Heavens, Aunt Grace, what is wrong with you? I’ve asked the same question three times!”

  Sitting with an open book in her lap, Grace realized she had not turned a page in fully quarter of an hour. She closed the book with a sharp slap and stood. “I am sorry, Dianthe. What did you say?”

  “I asked what has you so preoccupied. It is Friday. Should you not be plotting your strategy for tonight? Did you not think to play deeper?”

  “There may not even be a tonight, Di.”

  Dianthe, painting a miniature of a lily of the valley, wiped her paintbrush on a rag and frowned. “Of course there will be. I’ve never heard you so pessimistic. What has got into you?”

  She glanced at the mantel clock. Eleven o’clock. She’d heard Adam leave at five. Shouldn’t it be done by now? Had something gone wrong? She went to the window and looked for any trace of Adam’s horse. Nothing.

  A movement on the bench across the street caught her eye and she squinted to focus. A man who had appeared to be staring at the window stood and hurried away. But he didn’t go far. Once concealed by shrubbery, he must have stopped, because he hadn’t reappeared further along the path where the shrubbery thinned. Was that Lord Geoffrey’s man, looking to find some dirt, as Mr. Renquist had warned? She simply couldn’t care at the moment. Not until she knew what was keeping Adam.

  She thought of him as she’d seen him last, at her bedroom door. She’d wanted him to come in. She’d wanted to do again what they’d done the night before. But he’d backed away from her, made an excuse about an early morning and closed her door in her face. Was he bored with her already? Did he no longer want her now that he’d sampled her?

  A coach pulled into view. It was sleek, black, bore a mark Grace didn’t recognize and, most disturbing of all, Adam’s horse was trailing on a tether. When Lord Geoffrey hopped down, her heart dropped to the floor. Dear Lord, what had happened to Adam?

  Lord Geoffrey turned and helped someone out of the coach, propping him with his shoulder as they turned and headed to the house. It was Adam! And his head was wrapp
ed in thick white bandages!

  Grace ran for the door and threw it open, taking up station on Adam’s other side. “The library,” she instructed, and indicated the direction with a nod of her head.

  “What happened?” she demanded, and winced when she realized she sounded like an angry mother. Taking a deep breath, she softened her voice. “I thought it was your duel, Lord Geoffrey.”

  “It was, Mrs. Forbush. That part went well enough.” He sat across from Adam. “I could use a brandy. Mr. Hawthorne, too. He’s got the devil of a headache.”

  Adam lifted his hands to shift the bandages and winced. “It isn’t as bad as it looks. I am the least of the casualties.”

  Grace turned and nodded to a wide-eyed Dianthe, who then hurried to the carafe on the sideboard. “What has happened to you, Adam?”

  “Didn’t do it to myself,” he said.

  Dianthe brought the glasses and carafe on a tray and the men helped themselves. At a nudge from her niece, she remembered her manners. “Dianthe, may I present Lord Geoffrey Morgan. Lord Geoffrey, please meet my niece, Miss Lovejoy.”

  Lord Geoffrey bowed and gave Dianthe a slow smile of appreciation. “Miss Lovejoy.”

  She wiped her hands on her smock and bobbed a quick curtsy before offering her hand. “Lord Geoffrey, I am…pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Oh, dear! She could tell by the hesitation in Dianthe’s words that she had recognized their prey and was trying to think how she might help Grace. “Well, at least now I know why you have been distracted this morning, Aunt Grace.”

  Lord Geoffrey gave her a bemused look, then turned to Grace. “Were you worried, Mrs. Forbush?”

  “It seems I had a right to be,” she said. She turned back to Adam. “Are you well enough to tell me what happened, Adam?”

  He sipped from his glass and sank back against the cushions, the tension draining from his posture. “Everything went as planned. One shot each. When Geoff—Lord Geoffrey turned at the count, he didn’t raise his pistol. He waited until Lord Grayson aimed and fired. Grayson’s hand was shaking so badly that his shot went wide.”

  “Is that—”

  He shook his head. “When the smoke cleared, Lord Geoffrey took aim, adjusted his shot and hit Lord Grayson high in his left shoulder. A flesh wound, but it satisfied first blood.”

  Grace and Dianthe glanced up at Lord Geoffrey, who was downing his brandy. What extreme coolness the man possessed to allow Lord Grayson the first shot. In most duels the opponents fired simultaneously. And how deliberate he’d been in calculating the damage he could do.

  “When Lord Geoffrey turned away to replace his pistol in the case, and while the surgeon was tending to Grayson, his second, Ralph Lucas, drew his own pistol and aimed at Lord Geoffrey’s back. Seems they were determined to cancel the debt in any way necessary.”

  “And that’s when Hawthorne lunged to knock me out of the way,” Lord Geoffrey finished. “The ball grazed his temple. I owe him my life.”

  “I was your second. It was my duty,” Adam mumbled.

  “Being a second does not require you to throw yourself in front of a bullet,” Lord Geoffrey disagreed. “Most would not even have seen it coming, let alone have taken the bullet.”

  Duty? Dear Lord! Adam had risked his own life to save Lord Geoffrey, who was a virtual stranger. That went rather beyond duty. “Thank heavens it was no worse,” she breathed.

  Lord Geoffrey laughed without the least trace of humor. “Oh, it got worse.”

  “How…”

  “While Hawthorne and I were still getting to our feet, Lucas was reloading.”

  Dianthe’s eyes grew round and she covered her mouth to stifle a gasp.

  “It was the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen,” Lord Geoffrey continued, shaking his head. “It’s still a blur. Hawthorne pulled a knife from somewhere and threw it. Forty feet if it was an inch. Buried itself to the hilt in Lucas’s chest. He’s dead, of course.”

  Grace turned back to Adam. His jaw was set in a hard line, and she saw a haunted look enter the depths of his hazel eyes. She squeezed his hand. “It was self-defense. You are alive and that’s all that matters,” she whispered.

  “Grayson swears he didn’t know what Lucas planned, but the other witnesses think otherwise. If he died, Grayson wanted to make certain his heirs would keep his fortune.”

  “Mr. L-Lucas is dead?” Dianthe asked in a thready voice, staring at Lord Geoffrey and Adam with a horrified expression.

  Grace remembered that Mr. Lucas was one of the men who had paid court to Dianthe. He’d been a pleasant-looking man, tall, and with an excellent build. He’d had impeccable manners and bright blue eyes.

  “Sorry, Dianthe,” Adam sighed.

  She hurried to the other side of his chair with tears shimmering in her eyes and took his hand. “No, cousin. Do not be sorry. I do not blame you. This is not your fault.” She looked up at Lord Geoffrey and narrowed her eyes. “It is yours!” she said. “What business did you have to ask my cousin to be your second? You barely know each other! Are you so bereft of friends that you could not find anyone but a stranger to stand up with you? You are a devil disguised as a man!”

  Grace gasped. “Dianthe!” Had the girl forgotten herself in her indignation on Adam’s behalf? “You cannot blame—”

  Lord Geoffrey’s spine stiffened and his expression froze. “No, Mrs. Forbush. Your niece is quite right. I’ve imposed long enough.” He placed his glass on the tray and stepped back, toward the door. “Thank you again, Hawthorne. I owe you my life, and I will not forget that.” He bowed sharply from the waist. “Ladies, good day to you.”

  And he was gone. Adam gripped the arms of the chair and pushed himself to his feet. Dried blood stained the front of his shirt. “Please do not worry about me. I need to change and get to an appointment by two o’clock. Would it be an imposition if I used the coach today?”

  “Of course not,” Grace said. The last thing she wanted was for him to fall from his horse. “Are you well enough to go out?”

  “Quite well,” he reassured them as he went to the door.

  Alone again, Grace sank into a chair and groaned. Her stomach turned when she thought that Adam could have been seriously hurt—or worse. “Men! What possesses them?”

  “I do not know,” Dianthe breathed. “But now I have two reasons to want to see Lord Geoffrey Morgan brought low. He is a despicable man! Laura Talbot must not marry him!”

  About to argue that Lord Geoffrey was not responsible for Ralph Lucas’s perfidy, Grace sighed as the implications of this event would have on her investigation hit home. She buried her face in her hands and shook her head. “We may not be able to prevent the marriage now, Dianthe.”

  “Whatever do you mean, Aunt Grace? Nothing has changed.”

  “Everything has changed. Lord Geoffrey owes Adam his life. Do you really think he will cheat me now? No, he will consider it his duty to allow me to win because of my relationship to Adam. How will I trap him now?”

  She stood and began pacing. “Oh! All the hard work, all the nights of cozening up to him, learning the games he likes to play, watching him at his work—all for nothing now!”

  “You are assuming the man has a sense of honor,” Dianthe snapped.

  Did he? Grace thought back. When she was new on the gambling scene, he had allowed her numerous “practice” games before wagering for money. And when Ronald Barrington had bullied her, Lord Geoffrey had stood in her defense. Was that honor? Or outrage? And if the man was a cheat, would he have a sense of honor? Or would he be just as likely to cheat her now as before?

  Dianthe narrowed her eyes. “Oh! It is almost like he planned this! The cad! But we cannot give up. We shall just have to think of another way.”

  My dear Miss Talbot,

  I must speak with you at your earliest convenience.

  Grace crumpled the paper and tossed it in the general direction of the fireplace. She did not want to alarm the girl. Pulling another sheet
of paper from her desk drawer, she tried again.

  My dear Miss Talbot,

  As time is growing short, I would like to meet with you to discuss alternate strategies should our original plan fail. Though I do not wish you to worry, recent events have put the outcome of our endeavor in doubt and I believe it would be prudent to be prepared.

  Please come to me Sunday after church services or notify me by return post of a convenient time and place to meet.

  Yours truly,

  Mrs. Forbush

  She was still addressing the envelope when she heard an argument in the foyer just before the library door burst open to reveal a red-faced Ronald Barrington with a breathless Mrs. Dewberry fast behind.

  Attempting to still her rapidly beating heart, Grace was careful not to show fear or dismay. She’d learned long ago under her brother’s tutelage that weakness invited abuse. She stood, but remained behind the desk.

  “Lord Barrington,” she said. “Did you wish to see me?”

  “You know I do! I’m finished leaving messages every day that you simply ignore.”

  Grace shifted her gaze to Mrs. Dewberry.

  “I’ve been throwing them out, Mrs. Forbush,” she admitted. “I knew you didn’t want to see him.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Dewberry, but I do not need you to censor my mail. Please do not do so in the future.”

  “Yes, Missus.”

  “You may leave us,” she said, and waited until the door was closed. “Sit down, my lord. I gather there is something you wished to say to me?”

  “That infernal woman has been putting my mail in the dust bin? The gall! Though that does make me feel somewhat better. At least you have not been ignoring me.”

  He seemed calmer, too, Grace was relieved to note, but far too comfortable. Without asking, he went to the liquor bottle and poured himself a generous portion. When he turned to her, she shook her head and glanced toward the clock. Five o’clock. She prayed she could get rid of Barrington before Adam returned. The last thing he needed on a day like today was another altercation.