An Heir of Deception (The Elusive Lords)

by Beverley Kendall

  And there was nothing he could say, nothing he could do that would change her way of thinking.

  Alex lay on his bed, his hands laced beneath his head as he stared sightlessly up at the ceiling. He thought of her maid, and his anger toward Conrad burned the length of his throat.

  Alex could still hear the note in his former steward’s voice when he’d referred to the maid. As if she was of such insignificance, he could hardly comprehend the manner in which Alex had spoken to him.

  After pulling himself up by the bootstrap and working like the dickens, Conrad had made something of himself. Alex could spot and tag a man like him on sight. Handsome, ambitious, educated and meticulously good at his job, his eyes were far above his rank. He was always looking for something better, wanting more. And there was nothing wrong with that. It was one of the things Alex had admired about him, why after interviewing five other applicants, he’d chosen him for the position.

  But with that ambition, came a cold ruthlessness. Conrad hadn’t even believed dallying with the poor girl should have been reason for his dismissal. He’d had the audacity to blame her, a girl who hadn’t yet reached her majority, barely the age when girls of his class were out of the school room. She could have little knowledge of men.

  . Marriage to her, irrespective of her extraordinary beauty, fell well beyond the realm of possibility. He’d intended to seduce her and hide her away like a dirty secret, making sure no one would ever know.

  What he’d done by dismissing the man was to save the girl from certain heartbreak and ruin. He had done the right thing, the just thing. And for this, he’d earned his wife’s suspicion and distrust.

  Alex angled his head to stare at the door connecting their rooms. What he wanted more than anything was to go to her, climb into her bed and slide into her. That is when all the rules and expectations of Society faded away and the only thing that mattered was the pleasure they found in each other. Just thinking about what it felt like when he thrust into her, her inner walls squeezing him, made him hard.

  Alex tamped down his hunger. There was no use punishing himself for he wouldn’t find relief for what he hungered for tonight.

  She had overreacted. Charlotte knew that, although it had taken hours for her to admit it to herself. She’d allowed her emotions to rule her and her fears to cloud her judgment. Obviously, the knowledge that the person who knew the truth about her had that kind of power over her—over them all—was more than disconcerting, it was terrifying.

  And just when she’d allowed herself to breathe more easily, true happiness within her grasp. To have that stripped away, wrenched from her like a buoy from someone adrift at sea.

  But Alex wasn’t to blame for this. And now she had what she never thought to have with him; a second chance. And if she mucked things up this time, she knew without a doubt, she’d not get another.

  With that in mind, Charlotte rose from her bed. Not bothering to light the lamp, she padded across to the connecting door and opened it quietly.

  Alex wasn’t certain what woke him but he awoke hard as a rock, his cock stiff and already aching. This wasn’t extraordinary or a new thing but the intensity of it was. Then he felt the soft brush of female flesh against his naked chest.

  Fully awake and desire buzzing like a drug in his head, he turned to find Charlotte regarding him, her blue eyes hooded, her hair ripples of liquid gold on his pillow. Slowly, she ran her tongue along her full, pink bottom lip.

  “I missed you in my bed.” Her voice was all throaty seduction.

  He took in her muslin white nightdress, translucent enough to render it inconsequential and wholly superfluous. Her nipples pushed impudently against the material as if begging to be feasted upon.

  Saliva pooled in his mouth as lust spread through his body like liquid fire. “Then why are you wearing anything at all?” he asked in a desire-laden voice.

  A siren’s smile tipped the corners of her mouth. As she pulled herself up to a seated position, her thigh made startling, lust-inducing contact with his aching cock. Without the slightest hesitation, she yanked the garment over her head and then tossed it blithely on the floor beside the bed.

  Hunger was practically consuming his insides. Her nipples were pointing directly at his mouth.

  “I want you.” And in a bold move, she ran her hand down his chest, her fingernails scoring the hot skin of his lower stomach.

  His ribs jumped as she curled her slender hand around his erection. A breath hissed from his throat and ended in a drawn-out groan.

  “Damn, Char.” He fell back on the bed, pleasure making him weak and needy and demanding. “Do it harder.”

  Her clasp tightened on him and her hand worked him faster. Alex was certain he was going to explode. The sight of her dainty hand wrapped around him, pleasuring him, sent all the blood rushing from his head to his cock.

  “You always take such care in pleasing me. Well I want to pleasure you tonight.” Even as she spoke in that husky murmur, she didn’t remove her gaze from his cock.

  Alex’s hips fell and rose under the urgent sweep of her hand. Blood roared in his ears.

  Then she did something so shocking, he lost a foothold on reality. Bending her head, she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock. Had he the capacity to speak, he would have praised her but her tongue on him had left him without even the ability to think and his breathing was reduced to pants and groans.

  “Ummm.” He was officially incoherent.

  Staring up at him through slumberous eyes, she enclosed the head of his erection in her mouth. His hips jerked clean off the bed. She smiled but didn’t release him from her wet grip.

  Pleasured seared him. But as good as it felt, this time he wanted to come inside her. Before he could explode, he hauled her up and flipped her onto her back. A startled gasp escaped her lips as he propped her leg over his shoulder, leaving her open to him.

  Her desire glistened on the pink folds of her sex. He tested her readiness with a blunt probe. She was tight and wet, her body prepared for what she’d started.

  Barely open, her blue eyes glazed with desire as she stared helplessly up at him. “Alex.” His name came out on a breathy sigh, full of need and yearning.

  Grasping his throbbing erection in his hand, he slowly pushed his way inside.

  She closed around him, her feminine walls squeezing him. He halted midway home, the pleasure so acute he feared he’d spend himself before he could satisfy her.

  “Alex.” This time his name sounded something close to an urgent wail. She clenched him harder, tighter.

  He gritted his teeth and then bit the inside of his mouth in an attempt to hold off his coming release. The last time he’d failed to bring a woman to completion during intercourse, he’d been all of seventeen and drunk on whiskey and rum.

  Going slow may have seemed an achievable goal seconds ago, but it was clear he lacked the control to follow through. Thrusting hard, he buried himself to the hilt.

  Her breasts bounced, her hips arched and her eyes fluttered closed as a gasp escaped her lips. He wanted to be gentle with her but his body had a mind of its own, immediately setting a brisk, urgent pace.

  Her leg was malleable in his hand as he began thrusting, pumping into her with enough vigor to force her passion-glazed eyes open, and then pulling out so far only the tip of his cock remained inside her and she moaned in protest.

  He may have made it another minute or two if she hadn’t thrown back her head, lifted her hips as he buried himself deep in her and clutched his buttocks possessively.

  The touch of her hands and the sight of him plunging inside her set him off like a rocket. The climb to the ultimate release was the most excruciating he’d ever had. And the explosion, when it came, ripped through him with such force his mind went blank.

  But a part of him must have regained consciousness because he felt the moment her orgasm took her. She pulsated around him as her body went taut and the sound she emitted walked the fine lin
e between a scream and a moan.

  Wrung dry and utterly spent, he flung himself from atop her and onto his back. With his heart pounding loud in his ears and his chest heaving, Alex pulled her damp, limp body snug against him. Even now he couldn’t bear to be apart from her.

  “Alex,” she said, her voice throaty and low, “I’m sorry for being such a goose. I do believe you love me. It’s just—”

  “Shh, I’m just glad you came to me tonight.” His arms tightened about her, pressing her breasts together and forcing them up high on her slender torso. How he had done without this woman in his life for all those years was a mystery. But he had survived. Thank God for that.

  Pushing damp strands of her hair back over her shoulder, he pressed a kiss on her neck. “Stay.”

  And that was all that needed to be said.

  Charlotte had given up all say in the wedding, leaving all the planning in the duchess’ capable hands. The only thing she wanted was one hundred percent say over who made her wedding gown.

  That was when the battle had begun. Her Grace, who was making a grand attempt to be amiable, insisted she use her modiste in London. But in this Charlotte remained firm; Miss Foster would make her gown. The duchess finally relented when Charlotte forced Alex to take sides. Of course it had been a sneaky thing to do given Miss Foster had been responsible for saving his life, but Charlotte had learned if she was to win any battles with the duchess, she’d have to be properly armed while utilizing the appropriate ammunition.

  Another glance at the clock indicated only two minutes had elapsed since last she’d looked. Miss Foster should have already arrived for their two o’clock appointment and it was now quarter past.

  Katie paused to stare out the window of the morning room before resuming her restless pacing. “Where can she be? This isn’t like her. She’s always been punctual.”

  “Perhaps something happened to the hackney.” Charlotte refused to worry until she’d been given sufficient reason. Carriages broke down and people lost track of time. The world wasn’t perfect.

  When the next fifteen minutes passed and Miss Foster didn’t arrive, that proved reason enough.

  “Something must have happened.” Katie regarded her with troubled eyes.

  “What has happened?”

  Charlotte immediately turned at the sound of her husband’s voice. He strode into the room, his handsome face a momentary but welcome distraction to her mounting concern for the modiste.

  “Miss Foster has not arrived. She was due to meet with Charlotte nearly a half hour ago. Oh, I just know something is wrong.”

  His easy smile slipped. “She sent no word?”

  “No and she would never miss an appointment, not ever,” Katie stated with all the conviction of someone who would know.

  “Alex, would you mind going to her shop?” Nicholas was due to wake from his nap within the next hour and Charlotte knew her sister was hosting Lady Olivia and Lady Meghan for tea at Rutherford Manor. Neither of them, especially Katie, would rest until they knew all was well with Miss Foster.

  “But of course,” Alex said.

  When Alex arrived at the modiste’s shop, he was informed Miss Foster had not come into work that day and closing was only a few hours away. Unlike his wife and her sister, the woman in charge didn’t appear the least bit concerned.

  After securing her address, Alex drove his barouche to her residence.

  Now he was concerned.

  According to those who’d witnessed him in the throes of his near deadly fever, Miss Foster had saved his life. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for her. But to say they shared a close acquaintance would have been a lie. What he’d discerned from several conversations with her was that she was intelligent, ambitious and had a good head for money. A woman like that did not miss a scheduled appointment with a wealthy client.

  He pulled up in front of her home and observed the narrow, brown-bricked structure. It was actually much nicer than he expected.

  Alex leapt from his seat and onto the curb. Two wooden steps led to the front door where a worn, brown welcome mat marked the door’s threshold.

  “Miss Foster, it’s Lord Avondale.” Alex announced himself as he knocked on the door. He didn’t want to frighten her.

  Seconds ticked by. The door remained closed and silence reigned inside. Alex knocked again, this time louder and with more urgency.

  “Miss Foster, it is Lord Avondale.” No doubt, within hours his visit would be the talk of the town.

  From within, he heard the squeaking of hinges as a door opened and then the shuffle of feet along hollow floors.

  “Lord Avondale?” A weak cough followed the question.

  “Yes, Miss Foster. My sister-in-law and wife sent me,” he explained.

  Alex heard the lock turn and then slowly the door opened. Miss Foster, wearing something that resembled a dressing robe, stood stooped in the doorway. Shocked by her drawn face and red-rimmed eyes, Alex swiftly entered the house and closed the door. It was colder in the house than the temperature outside. And the scent of sickness hung heavy in the air.

  “You are ill.”

  A harsh cough wracked her slender frame as she held her hand over her mouth. When the coughing finally ceased, she said, “Do beg my pardon, my lord, but I forgot the appointment with the marchioness.” This she appeared distressed over when she could hardly stand up straight and her every fourth word ended in a coughing fit.

  Alex dismissed her apology with a negligent wave of his hand and took her gently by the elbow and started down the hall. “Never mind that, you should be in bed.” Which was undoubtedly where she was before he came pounding on her door.

  “This will pass. It always does.” Her voice sounded as if talking required considerable effort.

  “Have you seen a physician?” he asked. They passed a tiny parlor on one side and a dining room on the other. As Alex had guessed, both fireplaces in the rooms were unlit. Her bed chamber was probably in the back, as in most houses constructed like this.

  Miss Foster’s face was wan, her skin flushed with fever. Although she’d said she was fine, she was now leaning more heavily on his arm as if she welcomed the support. “I have all the herbs I need to take care of this cough,” she replied.

  They reached her bed chamber. Alex saw a sturdy-looking bed through the open door.

  “Just because you managed to cure my hide, doesn’t mean you do not need the attentions of a physician. I shall send for mine.”

  Another bout of coughing. “Please, my lord, that is not necessary,” she protested once she managed to speak again. Her pallor frightened him.

  “Come now, you must rest.” She barely weighed a thing he noted as he helped her into bed. “I will also send a maid.” The woman needed care.

  Wearily, Miss Foster slid onto her bed, dressing robe and all. He shouldn’t be alone with her in her personal chamber but that couldn’t be helped, the woman had no one. She was mumbling something as her eyes fluttered closed.

  Alex regarded her and the stirrings of compassion in his chest grew to encompass him entirely. He may have helped give her a better life than her station dictated she’d otherwise have had, but her life was by no means easy.

  Far from it.

  Despite the fairly decent living she made with her shop, most doors would never be open to her. A shop she could not even own openly. On the other hand, while slavery had been abolished since 1833, the enforcement of the abhorrent practice was sadly lacking in many areas of the country. She was certainly better off playing the assistant at her own store than toiling in someone else’s kitchens.

  Alex glanced around her room. It was a large space in comparison to the other rooms in the house, but it was compact and efficient. A lone brush sat on a vanity that looked as if it had seen better days. The rest of the furniture—a wood chest of drawers and a bedside table—looked worn but solid. Everything neat as a pin save the bed itself, whose lumpy mattress was covered by sheets thin and colorless
.

  On the floor behind him sat a portrait perched against the wall as if waiting to be hung. Initially, he’d given it a cursory glance, skimming over it before its familiarity struck him hard enough to send his gaze darting back to it and his mind reeling.

  His gaze instantly swung to Miss Foster, whose eyes were now open and staring at him with trepidation. It was as if the realization of the portrait’s presence had come too late.

  With a sharp look back at the painting, Alex took in the two young girls who were the subjects—mirror images of each other. They appeared to be about five years and were simply dressed, their frocks plain and unadorned. The year at the bottom of the portrait indicated it had been painted in 1845. One very similar to this hung in the picture gallery at Rutherford Manor.

  His gaze snapped back to Miss Foster, who clutched her counterpane up to her chin. There was only one question of which he required an answer.

  “Why do you have a portrait of my wife and her sister?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She was pregnant.

  Having gone through it before, Charlotte recognized the signs: dizzy spells, nausea that could appear at any hour and the nearly crippling lethargy that sometimes made it hard to keep her eyes open long enough to get through the supper meal.

  After emptying the contents of her stomach in the chamber pot, Charlotte hurried to the dressing room to rid herself of the evidence before the maid arrived to clean the room.

  “Charlotte, I thought you might like to go riding with Nicholas and….”

  Startled, her head whipped around to observe her husband, clad in his riding clothes and gloves in hand, standing in the opening that separated the sitting room from the sleeping area. He’d entered the room so quietly, she hadn’t heard him.

  His gaze darted to the chamber pot clutched in her hand. “Are you not feeling well?” His brow furrowed in concern as he immediately approached.