An Affair with a Notorious Heiress

by Lorraine Heath

  Tillie couldn’t help but give a half smile. “No, she wouldn’t have.”

  “I think Rexton would have been proud of you, Tillie. What does it matter what others say or how they act when you have people who love you?”

  “But others’ actions and words reach beyond me.” Tenderly she touched her sister’s cheek. “They touch those I love. They touch you. Look at this Season. You should be the belle of the balls, with suitors streaming through our front door every afternoon, and flowers filling the entryway every morning. But you aren’t, because of me.”

  “Maybe you’re not the reason I haven’t had an abundance of suitors. Perhaps I’m to blame. Perhaps I’m not lovable.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t doubt yourself. All the lords want heiresses, Gina. When I’m gone you’ll have a dozen men from whom to choose. Just don’t sample them.”

  Gina’s lips curled up teasingly. “Not even a kiss from each of them?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Without you here, I don’t know that I’ll have it within me to restrain and behave.”

  “I shall be hiring a proper chaperone before I leave.” An older woman with a keen eye and sharp tongue to keep the gents in line.

  A rap sounded on the door just before it opened and a maid stuck her head inside. “Mr. Hammersley has arrived.”

  “Tell Uncle I’ll be down in a moment,” Gina said, before turning back to Tillie. “Are you sure you won’t come?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I hate that you’re letting them win.” She pushed herself off the bed, gathered her wrap and fan, turned for the door, stopped, and looked back at Tillie. “Although perhaps if Rexton can’t have you, he’ll settle for the sister.”

  Tillie felt as though Gina had picked up the poker and stabbed it through her heart. “I don’t think you’d suit.”

  “You might be right, but whatever you’re feeling right now, imagine how much worse it’s going to be when you read of his betrothal in the papers.”

  “You’re a little witch.”

  Gina smiled brightly. “I can be. Just think about it, Tillie.”

  She wasn’t going to think about it—about Rexton with someone else. She wanted him to have the happiness he deserved. Even if it wasn’t with her.

  Following her sister to the stairs, she repeated that unsatisfying litany. She watched as her sister descended the steps, maid in tow to serve as chaperone, watched as her uncle greeted Gina before glancing up at her and giving her a put-upon nod, watched as they walked out of the residence. Without her, as it should be.

  She wandered into her bedchamber and came up short at the sight of the lavender ball gown spread over her bed, the gilded invitation lying in wait in the center of the bodice. Her sister was dastardly in her ploys. “Oh, Gina.”

  Carefully she picked up the vellum as though she expected it to burn her fingers. Perhaps she should attend so Gina—and Rexton—would finally understand exactly why it was impossible for her to stay. What did she have to lose? She’d already lost the only man who mattered.

  Chapter 22

  Rexton had the right of it. Within his parents’ residence, the grand salon—as well as other nearby rooms—were stuffed with an assortment of people swarming through them, while other guests spilled out onto the terrace and into the gardens. He was reminded of a beehive he’d once watched in fascination as a boy. Only this was not nearly as entertaining.

  Because he had requested the affair, he was obligated to stay in the ballroom and partner up with ladies for conversation and an occasional dance. But even he required a respite now and then. This moment was the first he’d had alone, without conversation. Sipping the champagne, he fought not to think of Tillie, of how he’d wanted this night to show her the past could be forgotten—or at the very least not whispered about as loudly.

  He’d seen Gina arrive with her uncle, the blasted maid in tow to serve as chaperone. But then he was aware of everyone who’d accepted the invitation because they were announced at the top of the stairs before beginning their descent into what for him was rapidly becoming the bowels of hell. No conversation intrigued him, merely reminded him of the countless discussions he’d had with Tillie. Every word they’d ever exchanged was emblazoned on his memory. No dance partner satisfied him. While he’d never danced with Tillie, he’d held her in his arms and they literally ached to hold her once more. He couldn’t quite envision it: never again inhaling her fragrance, never again gazing into her eyes, never again hearing her voice. Never again making love to her.

  It was quite possible he’d die without issue as he couldn’t imagine any other woman stirring his desires, igniting his passions. She had spoiled him, and he couldn’t quite work up the enthusiasm to be with any other woman.

  Even preparing for tonight’s venture had been an exercise in fortitude not only for himself but for his valet. Rexton hadn’t shaved since the evening he walked—no, stormed—out of Tillie’s residence. He might not have taken a razor to his face earlier if his valet hadn’t warned him he looked like a wild beast. He’d straightened himself up only because he didn’t want his mother to worry, when in truth, he didn’t give a damn about his appearance or much else for that matter.

  “Are you drinking champagne?”

  Supposing he should be grateful for the intrusion into his downwardly spiraling thoughts, he glanced over at his brother. “It was all I could find.”

  “You used to live here. Surely you know where to locate the better stuff.” Andrew took Rexton’s glass and tossed the bubbly contents into the fern’s pot.

  “It’s likely to kill the plant.”

  “Purchase Mother a new one.” Andrew removed a flask from his jacket pocket and filled the flute with amber liquid before handing it back to Rexton. “You look like you’re in desperate need of something stronger.”

  With a nod, he tossed back a good portion of the whisky, relishing the burn. Yes, the sharp bite was exactly what he’d needed, a kick to the system that might carry him through the night. “It’s unusual for you to be at a ball.”

  “It’s Mother’s ball. Besides, she gave me a rather stern lecture on the importance of attending and making Lady Landsdowne feel welcomed. So I know what tonight was supposed to be about. I’m dreadfully sorry all didn’t go as planned regarding the ball and your lady,” Andrew said. “You seemed to fancy her quite a bit.”

  Rexton almost touted all her exceptional qualities, but he knew once he began traveling that path he’d be holding his brother captive for the entirety of the evening, so he merely shrugged as though his disappointment was of no consequence. “Perhaps I’ll meet someone tonight who I’ll decide to court.” Not bloody likely. He couldn’t imagine courtship being in his near or distant future. “How’s your actress?”

  Staring forward, Andrew pursed his lips, took a sip from his flask. “We’ve parted ways.”

  “Then I don’t suppose I’ll be finding you in my box anytime soon.”

  “I might make use of it yet. Are you truly not interested in Miss Hammersley?”

  “Not in the least.” Then the tone of his brother’s question hit him and he stared at Andrew. “Don’t tell me you are?”

  Andrew shifted his stance. “She doesn’t seem a bad sort and these Americans are a bit more daring than our English roses.”

  “Somerdale has shown some interest in her.” Although as far as he knew he’d only called on her the once.

  “Ah, she won’t be happy with him.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Andrew merely chuckled. “I know a good many more things than you give me credit for.”

  “You’d best not hurt her,” Rexton admonished.

  “I thought you were done with her.”

  “She’s no longer under my protection—” Damn it all to hell. “She’s under my protection. Her uncle is worthless. Besides, apparently Grace and her friends have taken up her cause and intend to see her well matched.”

&nb
sp; “You don’t think I’d fit the bill.”

  “Only if you think you can love her.” He finished off the whisky, set the glass aside. “Be aware I shall warn her about you during our waltz.”

  Andrew grinned. “I’ll convince her you lied when I dance with her after you.”

  “I’m serious, Andrew. I know you have no plans to marry so don’t go anywhere near her.”

  “Surely a dance can’t hurt.”

  He’d thought the same thing the night he’d first danced with her. It had taken him on an unexpected journey. “Drake warned me things never go as planned. Steer clear of her.” Leaving his brother with that bit of sage advice, he went in search of Gina.

  He found her engaged in conversation, smiling, and laughing with three gentlemen, who seemed to have a keen interest in her. Looking past one, she widened her eyes and her smile. “My lord.”

  He was grateful she was having a jolly good time, that tonight’s efforts wouldn’t be completely wasted. He did want her to find happiness, and the right man. While he liked Somerdale, he couldn’t help but wonder if Andrew was correct. “Excuse me, gents, but I’m fortunate indeed that this dance belongs to me.”

  Once they reached the dance floor, he swept her into the fray of dancers, trying not to recall how he’d longed to do the same with her sister. “You look exceedingly lovely this evening, beyond compare.”

  “You’re kind to say so, but I know it’s not me with whom you wish to dance. I’m dreadfully sorry she didn’t come. I tried to convince her otherwise, but she’d have none of it.”

  “No matter. I don’t know that this residence could hold one more guest.” Although he’d kick the lot of them out to make room for her—which he supposed would defeat the original purpose of even having the blasted affair.

  “For what it’s worth, I think she’s a fool.”

  Perhaps he’d been the fool, for not wanting to marry sooner, for not being here when she was younger, for not meeting her before Downie. But he didn’t want to think about what might have been. What would never be. “You seem to have drawn the attention of quite a few gents tonight.”

  Her smile rivaled the stars. “Your sister and her friends are powerful allies. Every dance is claimed. I rather wish no gentleman decides to court me seriously as I’d like to have an entire Season like tonight. It was like this for Tillie. Everyone wanted to be with her, to be her friend . . . and then they didn’t.”

  “Their loss.” In the end. And his.

  “She’s purchased her passage back to New York.”

  So soon? He stopped whirling her over the floor as though she’d placed a brick wall in front of him. He’d known Tillie was going to leave—but now that the moment was upon him—

  “When?”

  “End of the week.”

  There wasn’t much time. “Are you going with her?” he asked.

  “No. She’s planning to hire a chaperone for me, which will leave her with no one.” Her brow was furrowed. All the joy she’d exhibited earlier had dissipated.

  Lifting her gloved hand, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Don’t worry, Little One, she won’t be going alone.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  What he should have done all along.

  “Mathilda Paget! Countess of Landsdowne!” The majordomo’s voice boomed through the room. Rexton could have sworn he felt it shimmering around him.

  “What did he say?” He looked toward the top of the stairs. He wasn’t the only one. The music ended and the murmurings began, but he didn’t care about any of that. None of it mattered.

  “She came,” Gina breathed out on a rush, clutching his arm. “She came. She told me she wouldn’t.”

  Standing there in lilac, looking out over the ballroom. Bold, gorgeous, defiant.

  And then the woman he loved more than life began her descent.

  She had never been more nervous and terrified in her entire life.

  After her name was announced, she swore the room became so quiet she could have heard a pin drop. It also became incredibly still. People no longer danced. The music ceased to play. She told herself it was because she had arrived unfashionably late, and people were surprised by a guest’s tardiness.

  But then she became aware of the quiet murmuring, the whispers. This was no doubt a mistake, a huge mistake. But she’d recently made a much larger one: she had let him go without a fight.

  With a deep, shaky breath she began her descent into the ballroom. She’d managed only a half dozen steps when she saw Rexton charging up them, his long legs taking them three at a time, his devilish smile making her smile.

  Dear God, she’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life, and not because it meant she wasn’t going to have to face the crowd alone, but because he was simply there and looked so bloody marvelous. And so glad to see her. Perhaps she hadn’t lost him completely.

  But then he stopped, one step below her, within reach. All she had to do was extend her fingers to cradle his jaw, flick them through his hair, curl them over his shoulder to steady herself.

  “You’re here,” he said quietly as his gaze drifted over her face, before settling on her eyes, holding them as though if he claimed them he could claim her.

  “It seems so, yes.”

  “Why?”

  Such a short word, a simple word, for an incredibly complex question with an even more complex answer. But in the end, there was too much to explain and she suddenly realized this wasn’t the place or the moment. “Because I wanted a memory of sharing a waltz with you.”

  “Do you think there will be but one?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not even sure there will be that one.”

  “Where men are concerned, it seems you continually misjudge. I promise as long as you are willing, you will have a good many waltzes with me.”

  He was the one who misunderstood: why she was here and the point she was striving to make so she could leave England behind with fewer regrets, but she realized even they would forever haunt her.

  She shook her head. “Do you not feel the stares?”

  “Because they are unaccustomed to gazing on one so beautiful.”

  She couldn’t help herself. She rolled her eyes at his compliment. It couldn’t deflect the truth. “Do you not hear the silence?” His approach had quieted the crowd, but she knew at any moment the mutterings would begin anew.

  “It’s just as well. Their conversations are boring. I’ve nearly nodded off at least a half dozen times this evening listening as they waxed on about nothing of consequence.”

  “Rex—”

  “Let’s have our waltz. But first we must greet my parents.”

  He extended his arm. She wrapped hers around it, relishing the sturdiness as he escorted her down the miles and miles of stairs that ended at a polished floor where surely at some point people would once again begin dancing. But at that moment they seemed content to merely watch the drama unfolding before them as she approached one of the most powerful and beloved couples in all of England. Even remembering the words relayed in the duchess’s handwritten note did little to assuage her worries that in the end she would be rebuffed.

  Releasing her hold on Rex, she curtsied deeply. “Your Graces.”

  “My dear,” the Duchess of Greystone said kindly, taking Tillie’s hand and squeezing her fingers. “We’re so glad you were able to attend after all. I can see your arrival has pleased my son, and that pleases us no end.”

  “I appreciate the invitation.”

  “You’d have received one sooner, but we’ve not hosted a ball in years.”

  “If I still danced with anyone other than my wife,” the duke said, “rest assured you’d find yourself on my arm.”

  “I’m honored. I can’t thank either of you enough for the kindness.”

  “Posh. I never understood the appeal of not being kind. Now off with you, have your waltz.”

  Rex again offered his arm, and she took it. As he led her across the
floor, people moved aside, although she wasn’t quite certain their drifting back had anything to do with her, but rather the determination on his face. When they neared the balcony where the orchestra waited, he called up, “A waltz!”

  The first strain had barely sounded when she found herself in his arms, held improperly close, as they glided over the floor.

  “Why are you truly here?” he asked.

  “As I said: to have a waltz before I leave.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Duke and Duchess of Lovingdon step onto the dance floor, followed by Drake Darling and his wife, then Gina and Lord Andrew. Then the Duke and Duchess of Greystone were dancing along the edge of the crowd.

  “You told me your father was losing his eyesight,” she said quietly.

  “He is. If you watch them closely enough, you’ll see she’s leading. That’s what love is, Tillie, making the most of a bad situation, doing what one must to ensure the other is happy. You want New York? You can have it. I’ll go there with you.”

  She’d been on the verge of looking at his parents more intently but his words had her gaze coming back and crashing with his. “You mean to visit?”

  “I mean to live. To raise horses and children with the woman I love.”

  She shook her head. “But you’re heir to a dukedom. Your life is here.”

  “The estates are here. My life is with you. I can manage them from New York. I could manage them from the North Pole if I had to.”

  “You can’t give this up for me.” More people were waltzing around them now.

  “Isn’t it our choice to make, Tillie? Whether we’re in each other’s lives, if we’re happier together than apart? The people standing at the edge of the ballroom, with their noses in the air and their snickers, what do they matter? I don’t care if they approve of us or not.”

  Tears began burning her eyes. “You don’t understand what it will truly be like. It’ll be much worse than when you were a boy. Don’t ask me to stand by and watch as you become miserable.”