An Affair with a Notorious Heiress

by Lorraine Heath

  Not that he didn’t enjoy Gina’s company. But he was having a devil of a time stopping her sister from haunting his thoughts. His body had never suffered through such unfulfilled need, yet he could work up no enthusiasm for any other woman. He enjoyed sparring with her, teasing her with inappropriate suggestions. He liked the way she stood up to him, called him out on his improper behavior. And here he was, thinking of her again when his focus should be on Gina. He hadn’t rushed up to her immediately, but once the mothers had veered away, he’d retreated to the shadows, striving to get a sense of who was and wasn’t here, who would make a good catch for Gina. Knowing Lady Landsdowne’s exacting standards, not just anyone would do. He needed someone with a title, a modicum of wealth, and a sterling reputation. Someone capable of falling in love. He did like Gina enough to care that she was happy.

  “What are you up to, Rex?”

  Turning on his heel, he gave a sardonic twist of his lips to the former Miss Minerva Dodger, who had broken a good many hearts when she’d fallen for the Duke of Ashebury, and effectively taken her immense dowry off the marriage market. Because he considered her more family than friend, had spent a great deal of time in her company since her father and his mother had been pals on the streets, he was aware she knew him better than most and was terribly skilled at judging men. It was one of the reasons fortune hunters had failed miserably when courting her. “I have no idea to what you’re referring.”

  “Liar.” Her directness was one of the reasons bachelors had been more interested in her money than her. As much as he liked her, even he often found that particular aspect to her character irritating. “You’ve never before attended one of my balls.”

  “Yet you continue to send me invitations so I thought it high time I did.” And he’d known Gina would be in attendance because Garrett Hammersley had sent Rexton a note alerting him that he’d be escorting his niece to the affair.

  Narrowing her eyes, Minerva gave her head a subtle shake. “No, something is going on. I’ve heard rumors that you’ve been seen escorting Miss Hammersley about.”

  He raised his brows in innocence. “Is she in attendance tonight?”

  “You know damned well she is.”

  “Then I’ll give you more fodder for gossip, as I’m going to dance with her. Feel free to confirm that she—and not your much talked about affair—is the reason I’m here.”

  She gave him a scorching once-over. “Why?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Why are you showing an interest in her? She doesn’t strike me as your type.”

  “She’s a lovely girl.” He realized too late that he’d said it too defensively, and Minerva, who was too sharp by half, picked up on it. Her mouth thinned into a disapproving straight line.

  “Lovely doesn’t suit you.”

  “And you know what suits me, do you?”

  “She’s too genteel and gentle. I don’t think she’s weak necessarily, but neither do I believe she’d ever stand up to you.”

  Unlike her sister who had no qualms whatsoever in striving to keep him in his place. “Perhaps I want biddable in a wife.”

  “You’ll be miserable.”

  Damnation, of course, he would. He didn’t want someone who looked at him as though he hung the moon and stars. He didn’t want a wife who didn’t challenge him to be better, who didn’t look at him as though he were up to no good when in fact he was. “I’m simply testing the waters of courtship.”

  “She could get hurt.”

  He knew that fact which was the very reason he was striving to take such care. It had been three nights since he’d escorted her to the theater. He’d sent her flowers and more chocolates, but he couldn’t accomplish his goal if he ignored her completely. “For God’s sake, Minerva, while you’ve stood there putting me through an inquisition on matters that are none of your concern, three gentlemen have approached her. Last week, I was the only one to dance with her. My attentiveness to her makes others wonder what hidden gem I’ve discovered.”

  “So you’re doing it as a favor to her?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. Now, leave off. I know what I’m doing.”

  “For her sake, I shall hope so. For yours as well. I’d hate to be forced to beat you up for not being sensitive to a lady’s plight.”

  He’d heard rumors she had a very wicked knee that could fell a fellow. “Why don’t you go bother your husband?”

  Her smile lit her eyes. “Trust me. Ashe never sees me as a bother.”

  Of course he didn’t. The man was ridiculously in love with her. Although Rexton had to admit Minerva deserved that sort of devotion. All women did. Still, she wasn’t going to make him doubt his plan.

  No, Gina was going to do that herself with the bright smile she bestowed upon him as he approached her when there was a break in the music. Two dances had seen her with partners, chaps younger than he and more suited to her. But would they meet with her sister’s approval? That was the question. Strange how he was more interested in pleasing the countess than Gina.

  “My lord,” she chirped. It wasn’t natural for a woman to always be so happy. It wasn’t natural for him to be grumpy because she was joyful. He wasn’t upset with her, but Minerva was correct: he would find no peace with someone like her as his wife. He didn’t want discord, but neither did he want someone with whom he was always in agreement.

  “Miss Hammersley, I wondered if you’d honor me with a dance.”

  “I’d be delighted, my lord, although my card isn’t nearly as empty as it was the last time you asked. I’ve had four other gentlemen show interest.” She extended the card dangling from her wrist.

  Scribbling his name, he said as offhandedly as possible, “I didn’t notice your sister here.”

  “My maid is serving as chaperone tonight. It’s one thing for Tillie to accompany me to a public park or theater, but she wouldn’t intrude in a private home when she wasn’t invited.”

  Of course she wouldn’t, and she wouldn’t be invited, not even by the generous and rule bending Duchess of Ashebury. Unless he’d asked. He wished he’d thought to ask. On the other hand, he didn’t relish the notion of witnessing all the glares and cuts direct she’d have received.

  “It doesn’t seem quite fair, though, does it?”

  He shifted his attention back to the young lady. Little wonder Minerva didn’t think they’d suit. He’d always think of her in a brotherly manner, a sister to be protected from scoundrels and rakes. “What’s that, sweetheart?” he asked, wishing he’d refrained from using an endearment when her eyes sparked with pleasure.

  “That she’s not welcomed, yet Downie is.”

  The earl was here? Rexton wondered if he could lure him into the card room so he could lighten his pockets a bit further.

  “I realize a divorce is scandalous, but he is divorced as well.”

  He gave her a sympathetic smile. “A bit more than a divorce is involved.”

  “But he was a beastly husband.” Her eyes widened and she pressed a small, gloved hand to her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said. Tillie would be horrified by my words. She never speaks ill of him.”

  The rage that shimmied through him made him want to punch something—or someone. “Did he strike her?”

  “Not to my knowledge but there are other ways to make a person feel less or unworthy, aren’t there? I think she was rather mortified she had judged him so incorrectly, which is the reason she’s guiding me. So I don’t make a similar error in judgment. The thing is, people can hide things from you, and then how are you to know?”

  Like he was hiding his true reason for giving her attention. Something of his guilty thoughts must have crossed his features because she reached out and placed her hand on his arm, squeezing lightly.

  “Not to worry. I’ve assured Tillie your intentions are honorable.”

  If he wasn’t careful, in order to get the horse, he was going to have to marry the girl. He gave her a sardonic smile. “Does she belie
ve you?”

  “I’m afraid not, but you mustn’t take offense. Marriage to Downie taught her one thing: no man is to be trusted.”

  Him least of all at the moment. He was grateful the music started up so he didn’t have to contemplate that unsettling realization for long.

  After leading her onto the dance floor, he took her in his arms and swept her around the room. She was graceful, but he suspected her sister would be more so. He imagined her smiling up at him. She wouldn’t have to gaze up as far because she was a few inches taller than Gina. He couldn’t seem to stop comparing the two of them.

  “Does your brother ever attend balls?” she asked.

  He frowned. “Andrew?” He shook his head. “Hardly ever. It is his intention to remain a bachelor for the remainder of his life.”

  “Do you resent that you have responsibilities and he doesn’t? That you must marry?”

  “Because not marrying wasn’t an option, I’ve never really considered having a life without a wife.”

  She gnawed on her lower lip. “I’ve been told by numerous mothers that I shouldn’t take your attentions seriously. That you would never marry an American.”

  The mothers were supposed to prod their sons in Gina’s direction, not cause her to doubt his intentions. “I’ll admit I’ve always favored English lasses, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be won over by an American.”

  Her laughter tinkled around them, and he found himself wondering how her sister’s laughter sounded. Damnation, he had to focus.

  “I’m so glad Tillie got to go to the theater with us. I’m not certain all men will be as accepting of her as you are.”

  “You are her sister. I would not expect you to have to choose me over family.”

  “You are a rare find, my lord.”

  “You humble me, Miss Hammersley.”

  “Gina.”

  The music began to drift into silence.

  “Will you dance with me again before the night is done?” she asked.

  “I will indeed. The last dance.” To show the mothers they knew not of what they spoke—even though they did.

  He escorted her back to the maid. While he was in the mood for a stiff drink and a game of cards, he stayed in the grand salon and watched Gina from afar, striving to determine if any gent had more than a passing interest in her.

  “Rexton.”

  He glanced over at the man who’d approached. “Hammersley.”

  “Care to join me in the garden for a cheroot?”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  They found a spot far from the terrace where the shadows were thick and they weren’t likely to be overheard. Hammersley had the manners to wait until their cheroots were lit and they’d both taken a couple of puffs before saying, “I expected the girl to dance every dance tonight. I may have misjudged your influence.”

  Misjudged his older niece’s notoriety more like. Rexton slowly inhaled, blew out the smoke. “I’m not yet done. Another outing or two, one more ball . . . finding the right gent takes time.” While he’d thought he’d be done within a week, he was rather glad to discover he wasn’t.

  He welcomed another excuse to visit with the countess.

  Tillie loved the scent of freshly turned earth. Or she had before it had begun to remind her of Rexton. She shouldn’t be so displeased with the man. He’d managed within the space of a week to bring acceptance for Gina—and for that Tillie was grateful.

  She’d felt guilty that Gina’s Season had begun with hardly any notice or fanfare, while she, herself, had burst onto the scene like someone novel who should be embraced simply because of her uniqueness. She was American, which made her intriguing, beautiful which made her acceptable to the gentlemen, an heiress who came with an immense dowry to be followed with an untold fortune that she would inherit upon her father’s death which made her alluring to every lord with an estate in need of upkeep. She’d been as enamored of the aristocracy as Gina was. And that infatuation did not work in her sister’s favor because it made her blind to the practicalities of marrying into the peerage. Which made her think Rexton was perfect.

  She’d waxed on for an hour on his qualities when she’d returned from last night’s ball. He was such a graceful dancer, such a delight to converse with. Such a gentleman to bring her a spot of lemonade while warning her off regarding the lord with whom she’d been dancing. Gina speculated it had been jealousy that prompted his warning. Tillie didn’t think so.

  He wasn’t enamored of Gina. She was rather certain of it. Oh, his eyes twinkled when he spoke to her, but they didn’t warm as though he wanted to draw her in and hold her close. The tone of his voice was gentle, but he spouted no naughty whisperings that caused Gina to giggle. If he did, surely her sister would tell her. She had shared that during their final waltz, he’d spoken about the fine weather they were having. He’d hinted at a picnic. But the details of the weather? The sun, the slight breeze, the occasional rain? Hardly flattering conversation.

  He should have complimented her eyes, her hair, her gown. He should have hinted he wanted to remove said gown.

  She drove the trowel into the ground with such force she was fairly certain the gloves were not going to prevent her from blistering. Just because she dreamed of him rasping near her ear in exquisite detail how he would slowly undress her did not mean it would be appropriate for him to do the same with Gina. Poor innocent Gina would no doubt swoon on the spot—regardless of how many nude statues she’d ogled. Even now, Tillie was having a difficult time drawing in air as images of him peeling off her stockings caused heat to course through her.

  When it came to Gina, he was a gentleman. The last thing Tillie wanted was for him to be a gentleman to her. She cursed soundly. He was interested in her sister. She shouldn’t be thinking about him at all except in the context of behavior that proved he would love and care for Gina as she desired.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow move in and she knew—knew—to whom it belonged because she felt his gaze like a physical caress. The hairs on the nape of her neck rose up and pleasure spiraled through her simply because he was so near. What the devil was wrong with her? She’d learned the hard way that men were disappointments. She certainly had no wish to fall under the spell of another. Especially this one who seemed to turn her inside out without even trying.

  In spite of the small tremors of awareness coursing through her, she slowly and calmly peered out from beneath the wide brim of her gardening hat to see the Marquess of Rexton standing there, legs spread akimbo as though he stood on the deck of a roiling ship. He must have given his hat to the butler because it was nowhere about and the wind was having its way with his blond curls. She wanted to remove her gloves and have those silken strands wrap around her fingers and hold her captive. Never in her life had such wanton thoughts tormented her, and she seemed powerless against them forming. Which was the reason, no doubt, that her tone came out tart and short. “My lord, I don’t recall inviting you out into the garden.”

  “To be sure, Lady Landsdowne, you didn’t. I’ve come to call on your sister, but apparently she’s still abed. I asked the butler to direct me to you so I could leave a message for her with you.”

  “And that would be?”

  He had the audacity to crouch beside her, and his scent won out over the freshly turned earth. It was richer, warmer, and seemed to call to every purely feminine point she possessed. She couldn’t help but notice the tautness of his breeches, the firmness of his thighs. She’d seen the evidence that he was a fine horseman. She imagined those thighs controlling the horse, controlling her. Damn it all.

  “Does Miss Hammersley always sleep so late?”

  “My sister didn’t return from the ball until the wee hours in the morning, so I think her sleeping in is justified. It’s a bit too early for a social call,” she castigated.

  He grinned as though tickled by her chastisement. She didn’t want to make him smile or laugh or be delighted. That would be Gina’s ho
nor and joy.

  “As I was out and about, I saw no harm in stopping by.” His gaze shifted to her hand gripping the implement as though it were the only thing that held her in place. “I’ve never known a lady to work in the garden.”

  “My gardener tends to most of it. This is just my little patch of whimsy. There is no rhyme or reason to what I plant, and I seem to have more luck with weeds than blossoms but I prefer it to needlepoint.” Why had she gone on about that? What would he care?

  “You didn’t attend the ball last night.”

  “I wasn’t invited.”

  He looked at her as though she were a puzzle with a missing piece. “Would you have gone if you had been?”

  She honestly didn’t know. A part of her didn’t want to be cowed, wanted to attend wearing a bright red dress so she couldn’t be overlooked. Part of her wanted to hold her head high and meet those gazes head on. “I see no point in speculating on hypotheticals. I shan’t be invited to a ball.”

  “You underestimate my influence.”

  He said the words simply, without braggadocio. She liked him for it, realized he was a man who owned his influence to such an extent he didn’t need to boast about it, didn’t need to be cocky. It was what it was. “Perhaps you didn’t notice at the theater, but I make people uncomfortable.”

  “I wasn’t uncomfortable.” His easy tone made her wish she’d known him before she met Downie, before Rexton had taken an interest in Gina.