The Hidden Heiress - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  "She isn't entitled to care." Marshall turned to look at the assembled group. "Let's go outside. It's a warm night."

  His kind words made her tingle. His suggestion made her ache. She peeked at the rest of the company. "Is that proper?"

  "No." He laughed and placed his hand over hers on the piano. "But you're in no shape to stay. I know how catty those women can be to someone they feel they have power over."

  Her sorrow turned to anger. "They haven't the slightest power over me."

  "Let's go outside then."

  "Yes, we shall."

  He smiled. "You go first. I'll follow in a few minutes."

  "Why don't you go first?"

  She was surprised to see him pull at his cravat. "I think that if Miss Norcross saw me leave, she would get to me first."

  "I'll leave now," she replied. Isabel stood up and walked toward one of the room's large paintings. She examined it for a moment and then drifted to the glass-paneled French doors. The cool night breeze made the sheer white drapes flutter into the drawing room, caressing her face when she passed.

  The garden path was fragrant with the mingled scents of lilacs and roses. She inhaled and wished the calmness of the garden would soothe her rattled nerves. It wasn't able to change the fact that she was about to meet Marshall in a secluded, private spot. Exactly what she'd promised herself she would never do.

  If the alternative weren't worse, she would hasten to her bedroom, far away from Marshall. But she had never done anything like having a secret rendezvous with a man and the thought of it made her heart beat twice its normal speed. Isabel didn't want to miss this opportunity.

  She couldn't force herself to leave.

  Isabel found a bench hidden from view and bathed in moonlight. She sat down and listened to the crickets chirp until she heard a step on the path. She clutched one hand with the other and momentarily feared that someone else might be approaching. Then Marshall came around the bend and she exhaled with relief.

  He sat down beside her. "I'm glad we could get away."

  "I am too."

  Marshall gazed at her.

  Isabel's entire body protested at the intimacy. She couldn't break the spell. The longer she looked into his deep blue eyes, the warmer she became. The heat started in her stomach and spread down both her legs . . . even between them. Scared, she blurted, "Did anyone see you leave?"

  "No," he replied.

  "I didn't like it in there," she said, not understanding why they were both assuming they'd come out here for a liaison. They'd only wanted to get away from the crush of people in the drawing room and the evil Miss Norcross.

  "ou must not be used to going to parties like that."

  She stalled for time by staring at the watch pinned to her bodice, trying to decide on the correct answer for the role she was playing. Finally, she replied, "No, I'm not."

  Marshall reached for her hands. "They can be a little overwhelming, can they not? I prefer to spend my nights alone with a good friend."

  Isabel's defenses melted, but at the same time, her conscience protested at how serious her lie had become. Voices rang out from a nearby garden path. "Did you hear that?" she whispered.

  "Yes. I'm sure they are also looking for such a bench."

  She squeezed his hands. "I don't want anyone to see us together like this."

  "Let's go," he said, pulling her out of her seat.

  Isabel took his hand and stood up, looking furtively over her shoulder toward the ever-increasing sound of flirtation. She followed Marshall as he navigated the hedge maze. "Do you know where you're going?"

  "Of course," he replied, but when he turned the next corner, they heard the voices again.

  "Are they following us?"

  He rushed her through an elaborate arch of climbing roses. "They couldn't be. Why would they do such a thing?"

  Isabel shook him. "What if they are trying to search us out?"

  "Perhaps we should switch things around on them and give them chase."

  First a fake governess, then a spy? Isabel shook her head. "I don't think we should invade their privacy in such a way."

  He placed his hands on her waist and pushed her in another direction. "Oh, come now, Miss Balfour! They wouldn't be out here in public if they didn't understand the risks."

  "But that would apply to us too!"

  "Shhh! They're right over there." Marshall crouched next a hedge and peered around its side. "I should have known. It's Reed."

  "Reed?"

  "A fellow MP." He leaned in closer.

  "Who's he with? What are they doing?" Isabel asked, straining to see.

  "Not surprisingly, it's Miss Norcross. They are, well . . . let's say they are kissing."

  Isabel made an effort to squeeze next to him. She bent down lower than Marshall and looked out from beneath his outstretched arm. She was in time to see Sarah's slim, bejeweled hand move down Reed's body to grab his--

  "Mr. Templeton!" she gasped. "I shouldn't be watching this."

  He looked down at her, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "Watching what?"

  Isabel fanned herself with one hand. "You know perfectly well what I am referring to. What did it look like to you?"

  "A good idea."

  She smacked him on his wrist, heat infusing her cheeks.

  "Miss Norcross has always been one to push the boundaries." Marshall smiled gently, lifting her away from their hiding place. "Come this way."

  Isabel followed, apprehension lodged in her throat. "Has she ever pushed your boundaries?"

  "What boundaries?" He laughed, still pulling her along the path. "I'm only jesting, Miss Balfour. The truth is, I prefer women who are less well known."

  She throbbed with excitement when they came upon a bench.

  "Shall we sit?"

  She nodded.

  Marshall sat down, taking her with him and nearly pulling her onto his lap. She could feel his hot breath on her ear when he whispered, "Have I ever told you how delightful you are?"

  Her head swirled with expectation, and she inched away from him.

  He pulled her hands to his mouth and brushed them with his lips. "So soft and tiny," he sighed.

  Isabel felt a delicious shiver run up her back as he pulled her closer to him. Marshall's arms went around her next, wrapping her in the warmth of his body. He pressed his soft lips against her neck.

  "Oh!" she gasped, her body going rigid with trepidation.

  "Relax, my darling." Marshall pressed kisses along her neck, beneath her ear, then to her warm cheeks.

  Isabel sighed, the pleasure easing over her. She moved her head and gave him permission to kiss her lips.

  Marshall kissed her slowly, sensuously. Isabel felt herself becom more confident with each faltering breath. She followed her instincts and soon it felt as though she'd been kissing him all her life.

  Then suddenly it stopped.

  Marshall gazed at her. "Ah, Isabel."

  She winced at his use of her Christian name. She'd been trying to forget constraints like marriage and society, but hearing her name escape his lips made her think of all of those things.

  He tilted his head as though he were going to kiss her again.

  "We shouldn't," she said, stopping him.

  He adjusted himself on the garden bench and pressed his back against the wrought iron. "What's wrong?"

  "Many things."

  "Is it our status differences?" He rested his arm along the back of the bench. "It's alright, Isabel. Can't we just have a little fun? No one will ever know."

  Sharp pains seized her chest. "My name is Miss Balfour."

  His eyes widened. "Well, Madam, I apologize for making such a grave error!"

  Isabel looked away, her eyes filling with tears. "Just forget this ever happened."

  "That will be difficult."

  She looked at him, ashamed that he would see her so distraught. "I'm not a light skirt, Mr. Templeton."

  "What's this really about?" Marshall
cupped her chin in his palm and forced her to look at him. "Is this all because I kissed you?"

  She would not embarrass herself by breaking into tears! Isabel met his gaze, not blinking even once.

  "Well I'm not going to apologize for kissing you. I'm not sorry about it." He let go of her and caressed her hair. "It was, by far, the best decision I've ever made."

  "Mr. Templeton, you--"

  "Call me Marshall."

  Her stomach churned with repressed emotions. "As we are not engaged . . ."

  He pulled her back into his arms. "Don't be so prim, Isabel."

  "I know, but my reputation is all I have," Isabel said, slipping back into character. "I'm sorry, but I didn't mean to tease you or tempt you."

  "Ah, but you do that just by breathing."

  Before she could reply, the sound of someone clearing their throat jolted her into action. She bound to her feet, whipped her head around, and blanched at the sight.

  Edward Templeton watched her, a stony look on his drawn-out face. "If I had known you were a harlot, Miss Balfour, I never would have allowed you inside my home. You're going to ruin any chance my brother has for a promising career!"

  Chapter 6

  Marshall breathed heavily, nearly snorting as he faced down Edward. Fists clenched into tight balls, he stepped forward.

  Isabel's light touch held him back. "Don't."

  Marshall spread his legs in a defiant stance and glared at Edward. "Don't you dare speak to her like that ever again."

  "You know I can't do that, Marshall. You're my brother, and since our parents died, it's been up to me to look out for you."

  Isabel's full skirt brushed his legs. "I think I should go."

  Edward glared at her. "Aren't you able to stand up for yourself?"

  "I am more than able, Mr. Templeton. But if you do not think your brother can make his own decisions, he's the one you need to talk to."

  Edward grabbed her arm and scowled. "I called you a harlot, Miss Balfour. Don't you want to know why?"

  Marshall slapped his brother's hand away from Isabel. "Don't touch her."

  With a taunting laugh, Edward said, "I won't be able touch her after I kick her into the street."

  A look of fear descended upon Isabel's pale face. "What?"

  Marshall stepped closer to his brother. "You can't threaten to fire her, I won't let you."

  "You don't make those decisions in this household."

  Marshall grinned with satisfaction. "Neither do you."

  Edward gestured at Isabel's rumpled attire and windswept hair. "When I tell Jane what I caught you doing--"

  "You caught nothing! A casual kiss in the garden is no reason to dismiss a good governess. Although Paige may still have some problems, she has responded to Isabel. It's going t take more than this to convince Jane to do your bidding."

  Edward shook his head and backed away. "If I need more reasons, I will find them. You can be sure of that."

  In the delicate night air, he could almost feel Isabel trembling at his side. He didn't have to look at her to know she was affected by Edward's cruel insinuations. He searched his brother's expression for an explanation. "Why are you on a crusade against Isabel? What exactly are you trying to prove?"

  "It has nothing to do with her. She's unimportant," he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

  "Then what?"

  "Your future!" Edward paced along the slate paving stones. "You know how things are in the government right now. Your reputation and associations must be impeccable if you ever hope to advance. You can't become involved with my governess and hope that it won't change anything. Remember Grant?"

  Marshall cracked his knuckles against a garden pillar. "Of course I remember! What everyone seems to forget is the woman he married had a less than stellar reputation."

  "Your dear Isabel is developing an interesting one as well."

  Isabel shook her head. "We haven't done anything."

  Edward raised his eyebrows, his gaze roamed down her body. "I find that hard to believe."

  "Your implications are insulting," Marshall said. "Just as your concern is for naught."

  "Deny it all you wish," Edward said, adjusting his cravat. "But I intend to stop it."

  "Try it," Marshall replied, clenching his fists, "and I shall make sure you regret it."

  With a scathing sneer, Edward spun around and stormed back to the house.

  Marshall turned to Isabel, gritting his teeth at her wan, embittered expression. "I'm sorry, Miss Balfour. So terribly sorry . . ."

  "Don't think of apologizing. I shouldn't have met you out here in the first place. I knew it was wrong."

  Marshall cringed. "My brother's behavior was wrong."

  Wisps of hair fluttered as she shook her head. "While Mr. Templeton's outburst was improper, he was right. You behaved in a manner unbecoming of a man in your position."

  Marshall stared at her, waiting for the rest of the joke. He looked over his shoulder. Was somebody listening? Was she playing a part for an audience?

  "I don't want to ruin your life. I can assure you I'm not worth it."

  "Not worth it?" He laughed with disbelief. "Nothing could be farther from the truth, Miss Balfour."

  Her eyes were downcast, her dark eyelashes making shadows against her pale skin. "We hardly know one another, Mr. Templeton. I'm afraid we allowed ourselves to be caught up in the moment. It should not happen again."

  Marshall struggled to find the words. A sick feeling captured his midsection. He'd taken it for granted that he would be able to kiss her again. He should have made more of their first kiss . . . he should have lingered.

  In desperation, Marshall seized her hand. "It was not a mere moment. Our courtship began the first time I laid eyes on you, the instant you told me that you would not be my governess."

  "And you decided that I would indeed belong to you."

  "I've never been one to run away from a challenge." Her artlessly flushed cheeks made his body throb with need. "Didn't you claim to be the same way?"

  "Oh, you confound me, Marshall!" Isabel slipped her hand from his grasp and turned away, her gasping breaths audible in the serene garden.

  But before he could move, Isabel had escaped down the garden path in a whirl of motion leaving Marshall wondering where he'd gone wrong.

  * * *

  Isabel crept up to the townhouse from the back alley, her gaze locked on the library window. The idea had come to her in her sleep. Between the usual nightmares and shadows, memories had returned of the day she'd been poisoned. Memories that had been pushed to the back of her overtaxed consciousness.

  In the mess that came afterward, the entire house had been seard. The front door hadn't been tampered with, nor had the back. No one had seen any strangers in or near the house. Both lines of questioning had only turned up dead ends. But finally, they'd found the library window pried open.

  Isabel briefly closed her eyes to the migraine that had been building since the night before. She had no other clues to what happened the day of her poisoning. Her desperate investigation was probably a waste of time. And after last night, Isabel didn't have any time to waste.

  She peered into the library through the window's cloudy glass. She placed her hands at the bottom, then paused. She wondered how the culprit had been able to enter through the creaky window without notice. Shaking her head, she decided not to risk it and released the frame.

  Isabel searched the windowsill. It was old pine and painted white, various knots and dents marred its surface. It was empty, so she turned around and scanned the small yard behind her. She jumped at a rustling sound nearby, and her full skirt scraped against the red brick house. Her eyes narrowed in on her target and in a few seconds she realized what she was looking at. Her only intruder was a crow.

  Superstitious omens aside, she'd gotten all flustered over a foolish bird. Pull yourself together.

  Isabel took a deep breath and continued.

  She peered i
nto the bushes hugging the house, pushing aside dewy leaves to examine the soil. Something shiny flashed in the corner of her eye. She leaned into the foliage and reached for the object.

  Cool and heavier than she'd expected, she brought it up to her face. It was a diamond broach. She gazed down at the attractive broach for a full minute before depositing it in her reticule. She knew she had seen it before, but couldn't quite place it.

  Isabel checked the glass, ran her fingers beneath the sill, and looked in the corner of…

  She gasped, unable to believe her eyes. Hanging on a sharp, rusty nail was a tiny piece of fabric. No one else would have been wandering on the back of the house but someone up to no good. The red silk swatch felt soft in her hand, but damp and discolored from being exposed to the elements.

  Unlike her strong conviction that she'd seen the broach before, she had no hope in mentally placing the ripped silk. She put in her reticule and looked at the broach again. Encrusted with diamonds, she wondered who she knew that could afford such a pricey item. Of the hundreds of people she'd met at one time or another, only one had a motive.

  Isabel backed away from the window, shaking her head and glaring at the broach in her hand. Cyril wouldn't try to kill her. He was her cousin . . . they'd grown up together on the estate. She knew he loved the estate, but enough to kill for it?

  Isabel hurried away from the townhouse, and only exhaled when she was absorbed into the crush of people that crowded the London sidewalks. She walked quickly, keeping her head downcast and her direction clear. Cyril was a kind man and a close friend. He wasn't a murderer.

  She hadn't accomplished anything. A piece of torn silk and a diamond broach were hardly enough to contact Scotland Yard. She couldn't even prove that whoever had poisoned her had entered the house through that specific window. And what of her bullet wound? Cyril had proven he'd been at the Cuckold Inn during her attack and subsequently Robert's murder.

  Still, only one person would inherit everything if she died. Not Magda. Not Robert since the day he'd had a meeting with a bullet. Not the strange villain she'd hoped to discover or any of her myriad acquaintances.