The Unwanted Heiress (The Archer Family Regency Series)

by Corwin, Amy

  She spoke for several more minutes, her face alive and glowing with enthusiasm. Her mood was infectious. Nathaniel could almost see the hot, shifting sands blowing over the dark entrances to lost tombs.

  When she paused, Nathaniel studied his uncle and Lady Victoria. Both sat forward in their chairs, absorbed in her words.

  Miss Haywood’s charismatic spell caught all of them. Even he had a sudden, overwhelming desire to feel the sand shift beneath his boots and hold Miss Haywood’s warm hand in his as they wandered through long-deserted Egyptian ruins.

  He shook himself. The last thing he needed at the moment was a trip to Egypt in the company of an overly persuasive woman.

  He glanced at his uncle’s rapt face and leaned back, folding his arms over his chest.

  Archer was lucky if he could escape for an hour or two to White’s. His relatives dogged him mercilessly; a measure arranged by Lady Victoria to make sure her reckless husband did not gamble too extensively or get into any trouble.

  In other words, to prevent him from having any adventures.

  Considering Archer’s past escapades, Lady Victoria might have her reasons for controlling her husband, but the thought of being managed and manipulated into a schedule dictated by a wife revolted Nathaniel.

  And all marriages ended up in a similar fashion, didn’t they? Most unions were desperately dull and stifled with routine.

  A quick, flickering glance at Charlotte’s flushed face made his resolve weaken momentarily. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad…. He gripped his teacup with both hands to keep from reaching over to lay his hand over hers.

  Then he remembered that thanks to women like Miss Haywood, he’d had to resort to using the unmarked, tattered carriage his family had owned before he inherited the dukedom. The damn thing had a foot-wide hole in the center of the floor. All the way to the Archer townhouse this morning, he’d had to brace his feet against the sides of the carriage and watch the cobbles below rush past through the gaping hole.

  He couldn’t even drive his gig anymore. There was always some female galloping up to him, hoping to be compromised.

  “Well, my dear, that is certainly exciting. And I understand how thrilling it would be to explore of past civilizations, but you are only twenty-one,” Lady Victoria pointed out. “Surely you can wait three years before traveling so far. And would it not be difficult to be alone in a strange land without friends or family?” Lady Victoria exchanged glances with her husband.

  Archer shook his head minutely, clearly unwilling to be the ogre who squashed his ward’s dreams.

  “England is the strange land for me,” Miss Haywood said. “I don’t belong here.”

  Lady Victoria reached over to pat Miss Haywood’s clasped hands. “Nonsense. You do belong here. We are your family now and we want you to stay. I have already applied to Almack’s to obtain a ticket for you for the last balls of the season, so enjoy yourself. Go to balls and dance, perhaps you will—”

  “I will what? Find someone to marry?” Miss Haywood sighed and Nathaniel saw the energy and life seep out of her eyes. Her voice dropped so low he doubted anyone else could heard her. “Why will no one listen to me? I just want to do something important—something I am interested in.” Then her voice became louder and more firm. “I have done quite a bit of study on my own. I can read several different languages, including Greek, Latin and Coptic. I am prepared, and it is what I want to do.”

  “But you are a fe—” he stopped abruptly. He felt slightly ashamed of himself, but he had to agree with Lady Victoria.

  Sooner or later, Miss Haywood would realize she was better off in London than Cairo. Even if one of the explorers she mentioned accepted her—and he had no doubt that someone with her assets would be acceptable— they would not protect her. White slavery was rampant. A tall, red-haired women with creamy white skin would be worth a great deal.

  No. She could not go. Not until she was no longer a young, tempting woman. When she became an eccentric old woman of sixty or so, whatever husband she managed to trap in the meantime could accompany her to Egypt. Not before.

  “I am a woman?” Miss Haywood offered, finishing Nathaniel’s sentence.

  “Well, yes.” When both women eyed him, he went on doggedly, “Of course, that does not mean you cannot participate in the excavations, but—”

  “But?”

  “You are still Uncle John’s ward for three more years. So you can just enjoy yourself. Perhaps continue your studies so you are better prepared.”

  Miss Haywood examined him and then nodded, however her lips were compressed as if she was holding back a sharp reply.

  “What about moths?” Nathaniel asked, trying to change the subject.

  “What about them?”

  “You are interested in them, are you not? That is why you were on the terrace last night, is it not?”

  “Yes. I have many interests. Lepidopterology is merely one of them.”

  “Then why don’t you pursue that one for the present? There is plenty of time to plan a trip to Egypt. You are very young.”

  “Young and energetic enough to make such a journey easily. Should I wait until I am too old to bear the inconveniences and rigors of travel?”

  “No, not at all. Simply give it time—give us time,” Lady Victoria interrupted. “Why, you have scarcely unpacked your trunks and already you wish to leave!”

  Crimson stained Miss Haywood’s cheeks. “I assure you, I did not mean—”

  “I understand.” Lady Victoria reached over and patted her hand. “We all have our dreams, don’t we?”

  Chapter Eleven

  It is the duty of the constabulary, on hearing of any case of sudden death, to enquire into the circumstances immediately. — Constable’s Pocket Guide

  He didn’t want to ruin Archer’s birthday, but Nathaniel felt an urgent need to think without the distracting presence of so many women. He stood up.

  “I apologize, but I am afraid I have an appointment in….” He glanced at the watch dangling from his pocket. “Well, I am late already, and you know how Jackson is— he will have given away my hour by now.”

  “Just a moment.” Archer stood and leaned over to give his wife a kiss on the cheek. She touched his face briefly with her fingertips, smiling up at him as he caught her hand and pressed another kiss into her palm. Releasing her hand, he said, “I need a walk. And I want to stop in at White’s for a moment.”

  “Don’t be long, John.” Lady Victoria replied, her eyes warm.

  On impulse, Nathaniel moved over to Miss Haywood and gently lifted her hand. Startled, she stared up at him, her lips parting as he bent his head. When his mouth touched the soft skin near her wrist, she jumped, trying to pull her hand back.

  Her pulse raced beneath his fingers. His own kicked up in response, matching the rapid tattoo beat for beat. The light fragrance of violets she wore intensified as her skin warmed under his touch. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the sensation of her pulse pounding against his mouth and the combined scents of violets and warm flesh.

  When he released her, his eyes strayed to the stark lines curving down the bosom of her pelisse. He stiffened, suddenly aware of the taut body it covered.

  When he caught her gaze, a flush of color swept up her cheeks. She broke away quickly from the intensity of his gaze to glance toward Lady Victoria.

  Despite the moment of tense awareness, her voice was composed—almost bored—when she said, “It was lovely to meet you again, Your Grace.”

  The cool tone reminded him that she wasn’t interested in forming an attachment to anyone, no matter what he imagined her pulse revealed.

  Well, she had a few disappointments heading her way. She was utterly mad if she thought a twenty-one year old female would be welcomed at an excavation in Egypt regardless of how many dead languages she could read.

  Bidding the ladies adieu, he stepped outside the Archer’s townhouse. He paused to adjust his hat, allowing his uncle to catch up with h
im.

  “The cat’s claws almost caught you that time, nevvy,” Archer said as they strode toward Gentleman Jackson’s.

  Suppressing a slight twinge of annoyance, Nathaniel smiled. “You have got a job ahead of you if you are going to keep that chit from running off to Egypt. Have you heard of this Mainwaring fellow she was discussing?” he asked abruptly.

  Archer shook his head. “No. Worth finding out about, though. She would be an attractive lamb to fleece.”

  “Precisely. I will put Cooke on it.”

  After a careless shrug, Archer gave him a sharp glance. “What did you think of her?”

  “She seems pleasant enough. A bit of a blue-stocking, though.”

  “There are worse things than intelligence in a female. And she is rich.”

  Nathaniel laughed. “I’ve no need of money. Or a wife.”

  “All dukes need wives. It is your solemn duty.”

  “Eventually, yes. But not for several years.” He lightly punched the older man’s shoulder. “I want a few adventures before I am thrown into that tedious prison. God knows I have little enough freedom as it is since they have forced a duke’s yoke over my shoulders.”

  “Not to mention your troubles with the ladies. You are gaining quite a reputation as a woman-hater,” Archer commented blandly.

  “What trouble?” Nathaniel asked suspiciously.

  His gaze strayed down the walkway. A dowager and her offspring had spotted him and were crossing the street on a course set to intercept. He glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, Lady Beatrice was alighting from a carriage just a few yards away.

  Striding a little faster, Nathaniel kept his eyes set determinedly forward. Just three more blocks and they would arrive at Jackson’s gymnasium. No females allowed. A flitting motion on his left made him grit his teeth. Another lady—this one a light-skirt. Damn! He had imprudently made love to her when he was younger, untitled, and less care-worn.

  She waved to him.

  “Slow down, young man,” Archer complained. “There is no need to run.”

  “I—” Someone grabbed his elbow. “Damn!” Nathaniel leapt and swung around, waving his walking stick like a club.

  “Whoa!” Peter Harnet laughed and raised his hands in mock defense. “You are as jumpy as a fox running before the hounds.”

  Nathaniel shrugged him off irritably and glanced down the street. Several pairs of female eyes locked onto him with iron determination. “Is it any wonder? What do you mean by sneaking up behind a person?” He strode forward more rapidly.

  “Tsk, tsk. Mind your temper, Your Grace,” his friend mocked him, running to keep up. “Mr. Archer, how are you?” Harnet gasped.

  Archer murmured a breathless greeting.

  “Temper? Me?” Nathaniel’s brows rose although he ruined the effect by sweeping his cuff across his damp forehead. He flicked a quick look around. The females were closing in on them. “Are you off to Jackson’s?”

  “Had not thought about it, but I have no other obligations.” Harnet trotted in step beside him. Nathaniel walked faster. “And yes, your temper has been abominable of late.”

  At a near run, Nathaniel took a deep breath and scowled. “You would be a bundle of nerves, too, if you could not take a simple walk down the street in peace.”

  “Your Grace!” a high voice called from just a few feet behind them.

  They were one block away from Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon.

  Harnet laughed. He shoved Nathaniel in the small of the back. “Quick! I will forestall them.” He turned, manfully taking up a position in the middle of the walkway.

  Wheezing, he called over his shoulder, “It is Lady Beatrice—run for it!”

  Nathaniel dashed into the street. A pair of horses pulling a large carriage pounded past, narrowly missing him.

  “Hey, ye dunderhead! Watch where you are going!” the irate coachman yelled.

  Nathaniel waved and continued. He made it to the door of Jackson’s temple to male aggression before any of the females behind him could get their claws into his back.

  He caught his breath, feeling safe until he nearly bumped into the Earl of Telford, Lady Anne’s father.

  The earl glared at Nathaniel. His eyes were rimmed with red and set deeply within bruised-looking hollows. “You!” he spat.

  Nathaniel glanced behind him, noting his uncle rapidly approaching. Anticipating an uncomfortable scene, Nathaniel placed a firm hand on Lord Telford’s shoulder and guided him inside. He steered him toward a rarely used chamber on the first floor.

  “I beg your pardon,” Nathaniel said. “Perhaps you would allow me to have a word with you?”

  “I have no desire to speak to you,” Telford replied.

  “You have my deepest sympathy—”

  Telford pulled a pair of black gloves from his pocket, but Nathaniel gripped his wrist. The earl’s gray face suffused with angry color. “Release me!”

  “I understand your desire to be revenged upon your daughter’s murderer, and I support that effort. I will do all I can to find the person responsible, you must believe me.”

  “Why should I? I’ve heard what they are saying. I demand justice for—” his voice broke. He blinked rapidly and cleared his throat before continuing hoarsely, “I will obtain justice for my Anne!”

  “Lady Anne deserves justice, but I had nothing to do with her death. You must listen to me—”

  “You—”

  Nathaniel held up a hand. “No. I was in the garden, that much is true, but I did not kill her. I swear to you upon my honor.”

  Lord Telford’s thin shoulders sagged as he took an uneven breath. He rubbed a heavily veined hand over his face. Exhaustion and despair hoarsened his voice. “You were there—”

  “Yes, but I didn’t see who ended her life. But I will get to the bottom of this affair, I swear it. I will find the monster and make him pay. Give me time—a few weeks at most. If I fail, or if you still believe I am responsible at the end of that period, then I will meet you at the time and place of your choosing. You will have your justice, one way or the other.”

  There was a flicker of movement by the door, and Nathaniel imperceptibly shook his head. His uncle stood there, listening and twisting his walking stick to release the rapier hidden inside. At Nathaniel’s signal, Archer relaxed against the doorframe, deftly blocking entry to any other curious passersby. He absently brushed a speck of dust off his deep blue superfine coat to convey the impression that nothing of interest was going on in the room and waited.

  Lord Telford pressed his fingers into his eyes wearily. A heartbeat later, he shoved the gloves back into his pocket. “I will keep you to your word, Your Grace. One month.”

  “Agreed,” Nathaniel replied. “And if there is anything I can do—any assistance—”

  “No.” The older man waved Nathaniel’s words away like so many meaningless flies and turned toward the door. He pushed past Archer, trudging heavily out through the entryway. Telford moved with his head down, oblivious to the men around him, locked in his private world of anguish.

  “Difficult situation,” Archer commented as they entered the boxing saloon proper. “He has every right to bring the murderer to justice. If I were him, I would not wait for the law to take action. The man who pays for justice receives it.”

  Nathaniel shook his head. Under similar circumstance, he would not wait for the law, either. The thought sobered him. “He’s mistaken if he listened to Bolton’s gossip. I did not kill her, even if I was in the garden. I have to find who did.”

  If he couldn’t, he’d have to agree to Telford’s demand for a duel. And Nathaniel would have to delope and pray Telford’s aim was poor. What else could he do if he couldn’t find Lady Anne’s true murderer? He couldn’t kill Telford under any circumstances, it was inhumane.

  However, very few facts existed, and he wasn’t sure he could solve the matter despite his claims.

  Nathaniel moved into the changing area of the boxing saloo
n, feeling almost desperate. Lady Anne had been bludgeoned by a marble cherub in the middle of a garden. Dozens of men, women and couples swarmed about the place, all seeking illicit excitement. None were likely to volunteer any information about where they had been, or whom they had seen.

  He would have ferret out who had been present, which men had walked outside alone, and who might have had reason to want Lady Anne dead.

  The task seemed enormous. Ironically, however, it did give him something to worry about other than women compromising him. In an uncharacteristically cynical mood, he wrenched off his coat, wondering if he wouldn’t be better off if all the women of his acquaintance did think he were a foul murderer.

  Maybe they would leave him alone.

  Of course with his luck, they’d think it made him romantically dangerous.

  Thinking of luck made him rub his fingers over his useless watch chain. His lucky lapis was still missing. The last time he had it, he was running away from Lady Anne in the garden. If it fell off and was found in the grass….

  He had to visit Lord Thatcher. He had to see what, if anything, could be found in the garden during the day.

  Except he could hardly avoid Lady Beatrice if he did so. And her family would believe he was there for another reason, altogether. They had hinted as much before the soirée.

  Was there no way out?

  Stripping down to his small clothes, Nathaniel was surprised when his uncle joined him.

  “I thought you were heading to White’s?” he asked as he pulled his linen shirt off over his head.

  Archer cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “I changed my mind. You appear to be in need of a mature man’s advice.”

  “Advice?”

  “Indeed. I had not realized you were in such desperate straits.”

  “I am not desperate and I am trying to keep it that way.”