An Affair with a Notorious Heiress

by Lorraine Heath

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated on behalf of Karen Gibbs:

  “To my mother, Joan Conner,

  A woman who inspired my sisters and me to be the independent women we are today.”

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Gentlemen Prefer Heiresses

  About the Author

  By Lorraine Heath

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  From the Journal of the Marquess of Rexton

  First son to a duke, I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, to a life of ease and plenty. I never did without warmth, food, possessions, or love. But still, it was not a life without its challenges.

  My mother, bless her, had survived the streets by thievery and cunning until fate bettered her life, brought her an opportunity to be a partner in a gaming hell. Fate intervened again. She met my father; they fell in love. They married.

  But marriage does not always wash off the taint of one’s past, and my mother’s scandalous beginnings landed upon my shoulders. I was made to pay for her transgressions, for crimes of which she’d never been found guilty, as well as the audacity of rising above her station.

  Away at school, small for my age, on numerous occasions at night, I would awaken to discover my head covered by a burlap sack as whispering bullies carted me outside, stripped me bare, and tied me to a tree. A sign was hung about my neck: son of a thief.

  During rugby matches, I would find myself at the bottom of a scrum where the bruises left from random kicks and flailing fists to my torso were easily explained away as the price one paid for being involved in sports, rather than punishment meted out by those who saw me as less. I was trounced upon in darkened corridors. Assignments I worked to perfect often went missing before I could hand them over to the schoolmaster.

  I bore these insults and transgressions in silence, never telling a soul, determined that the woman who gave birth to me would never know what price I paid for her acquiring the love she deserved.

  Heir to a dukedom, I would one day have prestige and power, so these deliverers of “justice” were careful to keep their identities hidden for they knew they played a dangerous game, but the final move arrived sooner than expected when one summer I grew in height and breadth. I learned to fight back, with fists that were quick and hard. I boxed, I wrestled, and while my peers might not have come to respect my mother, they did in time come to respect me—or they paid a high price for it. Until the late night pranks stopped. The bruises appeared no more. My papers were left where they lay when I completed them.

  Respect, it seems, is not granted by birth, but must be earned.

  By the time I reached manhood, I was held in very high esteem indeed. My mother’s past was but a fading whisper on the lips of those who no longer mattered.

  Yet I was determined none of my children would be burdened with the sins of either parent. I would live my life above reproach, without scandal. And the woman I took to wife would be as pure as freshly fallen snow.

  Chapter 1

  London

  1882

  “Allow me the honor of introducing Lady Margaret Sherman . . .”

  “Allow me to introduce Lady Charlotte . . .”

  “. . . Lady Edith . . .”

  “. . . Miss . . .”

  “. . . Lady . . .”

  The introductions of a new crop of debutantes became a blur of bright eyes, hopeful smiles, dangling dance cards, fluttering eyelashes, and waving fans. Yet Alistair Mabry, Marquess of Rexton, future Duke of Greystone, suffered through it all with gentlemanly aplomb, wishing to be anywhere other than where he was: his sister’s infernal ball. Considering the mad crush of people who attended any affair hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Lovingdon, he was rather certain he wouldn’t be missed—except by the mamas who considered him—at the age of nine and twenty—prime marriage material for one of their daughters, rather convinced he was in want of a wife despite the fact he had, on numerous occasions, indicated quite forcefully the opposite. His father was in good health. His mother had provided a spare, so Rexton was truly in no rush to become shackled.

  He carried on polite conversations because Grace had asked him not to immediately disappear into the male-only domain of the card room. Once it became obvious senseless banter was all he was willing to grant, the ladies slowly drifted away like so many delicate petals on a summer breeze, dance cards minus his signature dangling from their limp wrists. Because he’d promised Grace an hour of his presence in the grand parlor and a mere forty minutes had passed, in order to stay true to his word, he wandered to a far corner populated with only ferns.

  Watching the proceedings carried out before him, he couldn’t deny that as much as he detested grand affairs, he was intrigued by the secretive games played, and it was to his benefit to remain in the good graces of the aristocracy because at some point, he would indeed be searching for a wife, one with an impeccable reputation, good breeding, and a penchant for staying out of the gossip sheets. While his own family had withstood numerous scandals, the process of deflecting censure was wearisome and he had no desire whatsoever to spend the remainder of his life serving as titillating fodder for the gossips. He’d made it a habit to be above reproach, which made him one of the more boring members among his family and friends, but it was advantageous to be considered dull. He wasn’t scrutinized very closely which meant he was free to do as he pleased within the shadows. And within the shadows, life was never dull.

  “Lord Rexton.”

  He turned slightly, having no wish to offend the older man. Garrett Hammersley, an American by birth, had embraced England as his own when he moved to London in order to oversee his family’s firearms operations. Opening a factory in England had allowed them to claim the business as an international venture, which had added significantly to their stock value. Their subsequent wealth had given him entry into the more elite circles. Their paths crossed from time to time, mostly at the horse races. He was in possession of something Rexton coveted, and his recent attempts to convince the man to part with it had disappointingly failed. “Hammersley.”

  “Say, old chap, I was wondering if I might bother you for a tiny favor.”

  Rexton smiled inwardly. Favors usually came with a price. The question was: Would Hammersley pay his? “What did you have in mind?”

  “My young niece, my dear departed brother’s daughter, has just had her coming out. Unfortunately, I need someone to help wash off the blemish of her scandalous older sister. I was hoping you’d be willing to step up to the task.”

  Rexton knew the older sister only by reputation. Making quite the splash when she arrived in London a few years earlier, she’d caught the eye of the Earl of Landsdowne and their fairy-tale courtship had captured the attention of most of Britain. A few years after they wed, she had engaged in a notorious public affair that had left Landsdowne with no choice except to divorce her, which had resulted in further scandal because those in the ari
stocracy worth their salt simply did not divorce under any circumstances. Knowing what it was to be touched by scandal, he had empathy for the younger sister, but he rather suspected teaching her to box wasn’t going to help her situation. “I don’t really see how I can be of service.”

  Hammersley brushed his fingers over his thick sprinkled-with-gray mustache, twice one way, twice the other. “You are the most sought after bachelor in London, and have the respect of your peers. You’re also known to have excellent taste in women and horses. If you were to show some interest in the girl—”

  “I’m not looking to marry just yet.” His compassion went only so far.

  “No, no, of course not. I don’t expect you to lead her to the altar. But if you were to dance with her, perhaps take her on an outing to Hyde Park, be seen with her as it were, it might serve to pique the other gents’ curiosity. I’m certain once they take an interest in her, they will be charmed as she is a most charming girl. She has none of her sister’s . . . flaws, shall we say?”

  Flaws? The inability to remain faithful? To publicly cuckold her husband? To divorce a man whose lineage could be traced back to William the Conqueror? Americans certainly had a way of understating the faults of a calamitous woman. “I’m afraid you’ll need to turn elsewhere for assistance on this matter; ask another gent.”

  “Damn it, man, no one else has your influence. The younger swells work to emulate you. They’ll follow your lead. Take some pity on the poor girl. I promised my brother on his deathbed I would see her well situated, and she’s enamored of the nobility.”

  “So was her sister from what I understand.”

  “In temperament they are nothing alike. Mathilda was always too strong-willed to be ruled. But Gina, bless her heart, is a shy wallflower for whom hope springs eternal. I have to do something to spark awareness of her. And I’ve deduced you’re the ticket.”

  Tickets came at a cost. “A dance, you say, and an afternoon at the park?”

  “Not much more than that, I should think. Truly, she’s a remarkable girl.”

  But not one who stood out if Hammersley had to approach Rexton regarding generating interest in her. He wasn’t quite comfortable with the notion of giving the girl false hope regarding his intentions, but if he kept his interest casual perhaps no harm would be done. “Once I dance with her, mamas are going to think I’ve announced my stepping into the marriage market. It’s going to create some inconvenience as I’ll be fending off ladies for the remainder of the Season, which has only recently begun.”

  “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  But was it fair to the girl? He’d do all in his power to bring a quick end to the farce and find a proper gent for her. “Oh? How might you go about that?”

  “Black Diamond. You can take him to stud.”

  “Thrice.”

  “Damn it, man, do you know how valuable that stallion is?”

  “I do indeed.” Since the Arabian had soundly beaten Rexton’s best stallion in several races. “I want at least three progeny off him.”

  “Two.”

  Which had been Rexton’s price all along. “Two it is.”

  “But not until my niece has a viable suitor. You have to play at courting her until someone makes it a point to beat you.”

  That would be a further inconvenience, as he doubted many gents would even consider that they could beat him. His was one of the most powerful families in Great Britain. But to have Black Diamond breed with his Fair Vixen would be worth it. He had little doubt the mingling of those bloodlines would produce a champion. “Consider it done.”

  “Excellent. However, our agreement must remain between us gentlemen. I don’t want her hurt, so if it becomes known to her, our bargain becomes null and void.”

  He was well aware ladies had tender feelings. “I would expect no less.”

  “Come along then, let me introduce you to Gina. Who knows? You might just decide she’s the one for you.”

  He seriously doubted that, but he was a man, after all, and ladies did interest him. “Should that happen, it won’t nullify our agreement.”

  “Absolutely not. It will simply make our arrangement all the tidier.”

  Miss Virginia Hammersley was so damned young. That was his initial thought upon being introduced to her. Her eyes were the color of a leaf bud in spring, sparkling with unbridled innocence. Her hair the shade of moonbeams. She was petite and willowy; he feared he’d easily break her if he were to ever bed her. It wasn’t that he preferred sex rough, but he did enjoy it with a great deal of enthusiasm that left him and his partner damp with sweat and gasping for breath. He felt rather guilty for giving the young lady any hope at all that he was seriously considering her as the Marchioness of Rexton and future Duchess of Greystone.

  The way her face lit up as though it had taken its place among the bulbs in the chandeliers when her uncle gleefully told her with an exaggerated whisper that Rexton had been most insistent upon an introduction hadn’t done anything to quiet his misgivings regarding his deception. She wasn’t the one for him. He knew that fact within five seconds of gazing at her hope-filled expression.

  Still he was determined to at least strive to keep to his end of the bargain, for surely she would appeal to some gent. So he was moving forward with the arrangement for her sake and the good of the country. New blood as well as the coins she’d bring to someone’s coffers was needed in the aristocracy. “I’d be pleased if you’d honor me with a dance,” he said, as his lips hovered over her delicate hand after pressing a light kiss to the back of her gloved knuckles. Dear God, she was as fragile as one of the china dolls he’d recently gifted to his nieces.

  Her laughter rivaled the tinkling bells that filled the air at Christmas. “As my dance card is thus far absent any signatures, I’d be pleased as well. I’m quite accomplished and would dearly love to put my lessons to good use.”

  They stood together, waiting for the next dance—a waltz—to start up. For the life of him, he could think of nothing interesting to say. He suddenly felt remarkably old, like a pair of well-worn boots that were incredibly comfortable but could no longer retain a shine no matter how hard the boot boy buffed at them with a brush. Perhaps he should have taken a wife sooner, when his age more closely aligned with that of the girls who were being debuted. They hadn’t seemed so youthful last year or the one before, but they made him feel rather ancient now, a relic that wasn’t quite as gleaming as it had once been. He couldn’t help but believe she saw him in the same light as she seemed to be struggling for a topic as well, as though she recognized they had little in common other than presently inhabiting the same area of the ballroom.

  “I’ve heard about your sister’s balls for years,” she finally said. “I must say it lives up to expectations. The duchess is such a gracious hostess.”

  “Grace was well tutored by our mother.”

  “Unusual for a lord to marry a woman who grew up on the streets, but I daresay when I was introduced to the Duchess of Greystone, I could certainly understand her appeal.” His parents rarely attended balls any longer so their appearance at the Lovingdon ball was generally heralded as one of the few times they might make an appearance throughout the Season. Few knew the true reason behind their increasing absences.

  “My mother is an incredible woman who rose above her beginnings,” he said a bit more curtly than was polite.

  “I hope I didn’t offend.”

  At least she wasn’t oblivious to his tone. He rather feared she might be. “Not at all. Having grown up with her during the entirety of my life, I take her for granted, and sometimes forget she was not always welcomed by the aristocracy.” A small lie as he never forgot the impact her previous life had on his. Yet he held the girl blameless for the difficulties he’d endured during his youth. After all, she’d been on the other side of the Atlantic.

  “I find your parents’ story to be incredibly romantic.”

  “It is that, I suppose.”

  �
�I love romance.”

  Dear God, let the music begin as he was not romancing the girl. A dance. An outing to the park. That was it. If he couldn’t get the gents interested in her by then—

  Dash it all! He may have just agreed to sacrifice his entire summer to attending balls all for the want of a horse. However, he wasn’t going to just give up if he’d misjudged the ease with which he could lure gents to her side.

  The quadrille finally came to an end. He offered his arm to Miss Hammersley, aware her touch was featherlike, practically nonexistent, and escorted her onto the gleaming parquet dance floor. He couldn’t deny she was quite lovely in an elfin sort of way. She had a gamine smile that never faltered during their dance. He was the worst sort of wretch for placing his racehorses above her. He consoled himself with the knowledge he’d spied a couple of gents giving her a once-over. And she was a graceful dancer. Those lessons were serving her well.

  When the waltz ended, he began leading her back toward the chairs. “I wonder if I might call on you tomorrow afternoon and take you for a drive through the park.” It couldn’t hurt to allow all the swells to see her in his carriage.

  “I’d be delighted, my lord.”

  “Say around two?”

  “I’ll be waiting with bells on. By the by, I’m staying at Landsdowne Court with my sister.”

  He blinked, surprised she lived in such close proximity to the notorious Lady Landsdowne. “Not with your uncle?”

  “No. She’s not welcomed within Society so my uncle carts me about, but he is a bachelor whose abode would not suit at all and so I reside with my sister.”

  “Then I shall see you at Landsdowne Court.” Once they reached their destination, he again gallantly lifted her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I shall count the hours.”

  He was going to burn in hell for that last remark. He didn’t think it was possible for her smile to get any brighter yet it did. Shame pricked his conscience but he tamped it down. With any luck, by the end of the week the girl would have a hundred swains vying for her attention and Rexton would have Black Diamond.