The Heiress In His Bed Read online

  “I’ll turn the Bamphs out tomorrow,” the duchess promised. “I never liked them anyway.”

  “I’m not promising anything,” he cautioned. “Naturally, I will have to meet Mademoiselle Guillotine before I sacrifice myself on the altar of marriage.”

  “Fair enough. We can leave as soon as you are dressed.” Suddenly spry as a young gazelle, the duchess jumped up and scampered to the door, where she paused. “There is just one tiny little thing you should know about her…”

  “I knew there had to be a catch,” Simon chuckled.

  “At present, she is engaged to someone else. That will not be a problem for you, will it?”

  Simon yawned. “I shouldn’t think so.”

  “I assure you, he is the most infamous, unworthy little tick you can imagine. His mother is that ghastly Devize woman who is always trying to cultivate me. How I loathe her!”

  Simon’s expression changed abruptly. His green eyes sharpened, and his harsh features were more hawklike than ever. “Did you say Devize?”

  The duchess sighed. “I can only suppose she’s been dazzled by his blue eyes, for he has nothing else to recommend him. When she meets you, my love, she will forget she ever knew him. I expect nothing less than love at first sight.”

  “This girl,” Simon said, frowning. “She wouldn’t…No, it couldn’t be. Is she…? No, it’s quite impossible,” he declared. “Engaged to Devize? I don’t believe it.”

  “Simon, you are incoherent,” his mother observed.

  “No, it’s too ridiculous,” Simon muttered. “Her name is not by any chance Andrews?”

  The duchess was thunderstruck. “You know her?”

  “I knew it,” Simon said savagely, smashing his fist into his open palm. “I knew he wanted her for himself. That lying bastard!”

  “I don’t understand,” said the duchess. “If you know her, what is she doing engaged to him? He’s nothing compared to you!”

  “Too right he isn’t,” Simon agreed. “But, Mama, as charming as Miss Andrews undoubtedly is, I don’t see her taking the reins from Sally Jersey. Why, she’s only some country vicar’s daughter.”

  “Don’t be nonsensical, Simon. That girl is Lady Viola Gambol. She has a fortune of some half a million pounds. I recognized her almost at once—she’s the image of her mother.”

  Simon was silent for a moment, adjusting his thoughts. “Does Devize know about this?”

  The duchess shrugged. “That worries me, too. You may have to kill him—in a duel, of course,” she quickly added as he raised a brow. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

  Simon chuckled. “Don’t worry about Devize,” he assured her. “I know exactly how to deal with a man of his stripe. Just you leave him to me.”

  The morning was a busy one for Viola. She barely made it to Gambol House in time to meet the dressmaker at the appointed time, and the fitting was almost immediately interrupted. “Yes, Lover? What is it?” she asked as the butler entered her mother’s boudoir.

  For a long moment, Lover could only stare. Perched atop the dressmaker’s stool like a goddess on a pedestal, Lady Viola was a vision in white satin. On her head was a diamond tiara figured with York roses. She was the image of her late mother, and, if Lover was not mistaken, the dress had been her mother’s wedding dress. For him, it was like traveling back in time. Even the modiste on her knees, her mouth full of pins, seemed remarkably the same.

  “Lover?” Concern marred Viola’s face. “Is there some difficulty with the wedding breakfast? Don’t tell me we cannot get enough white roses? Oh, Lover, I told you, we must have white roses in every room, or my wedding cake will not make sense!”

  “Everything is going very smoothly on that front, my lady,” Lover hastened to assure her. “Gambol House will be looking its best for the auspicious occasion. I hope you will be very proud of us on Friday morning.”

  “I’m sure I will be,” Viola said complacently, studying her reflection in the cheval glass. “Did you need me for something?”

  “I know your ladyship has said you are not at home to visitors,” said Lover, “but the Duchess of Berkshire has called to see Miss Andrews.”

  Viola sighed. “Convey the duchess here to me, Lover,” she added, climbing back up on her pedestal. “If she wishes to see me, she must do so without interrupting my busy day.”

  “Very good, my lady.”

  Viola got down from her stool to greet the duchess, extending both hands to her and offering a cheek to be kissed. “Duchess! Lover, some tea for the duchess.”

  Aware that she was going to be scrutinized by an expert, the duchess had dressed for this visit with extraordinary care. Her superbly tailored blue-gray ensemble was tastefully ornamented with yellow and white striped ribbons. Her gray silk bonnet was daringly asymmetrical, folded up over one ear almost in the Cavalier style and held in place with artificial tiger lilies. At the center of each lily was a spray of trembling yellow diamonds.

  “Now that,” said Viola, after a thorough survey, “is a hat worthy of a woman who is known for her hats.”

  The duchess sighed happily. “This old thing? You flatter me, Lady Viola.”

  Viola calmly turned the other cheek to be kissed. “Do you know you’re the first to puzzle it out?” she chuckled. “Yes, I’m Lady Viola. What gave it away?”

  “I was a little acquainted with your mother,” the duchess replied, seating herself at the escritoire while Viola resumed her place on the dressmaker’s stool. “However, I was not one of those ladies who despised her for taking the last duke off the market,” she went on, unabashedly examining the correspondence on the desk. “But, then, I’d already gotten my duke. It was your walk that first got me thinking. Your mama was famous for her alluring sway.”

  “There’s a secret to it, you know. Look at my shoes,” Viola instructed, lifting her skirts a little. “Notice anything different about them?”

  Up went the duchess’s pince-nez. “Very clever!” she exclaimed softly. “One heel is slightly higher than the other.”

  “My mother was a genius,” Viola said proudly.

  The duchess smiled benevolently. “And so Louisa Lyon’s daughter has come to London at last. Why the deception, may I ask? Why pretend to be what you are not?”

  Viola explained how and why she had come to London originally.

  The duchess shook her head. “Very foolish, my child.”

  “I’m glad I did it,” Viola said defensively. “The real Mary Andrews is a timid little mouse. She would never have survived the journey, let alone Mrs Dean and her…friends.”

  “Oh, I don’t fault your instincts, my dear girl,” the duchess went on quickly. “But you should not have placed yourself in jeopardy. You ought to have had the Dean woman thoroughly investigated by professionals. There are people who do that sort of thing discreetly, you know.”

  “People behave differently when they know they are being watched,” said Viola, “and Mrs Dean is perfectly capable of bribing a spy. Besides, I wanted to come to London. It suited me to take Mary’s place…for a time. And, of course, I met Dev, so there can be no regretting it.”

  “Dev,” the duchess sniffed. “Does that young man know who you are?”

  Viola smiled. “He hasn’t a clue. He loves me for myself alone. It will be a lovely surprise for him, don’t you think?”

  The duchess wrinkled her aquiline nose. “You’re not really going to marry that infamous young man, are you, my dear? I understand that he was very useful to you in a time of need, but, really, that’s no excuse for such a degrading match.”

  Viola stiffened. “You’ve had a full report from your son, then. I suppose Lord Simon mentioned his own disgraceful conduct?”

  “Yes, Simon was disgraceful,” said the duchess. “Most men are, you know, when it comes to beautiful women. I don’t make excuses for him, but, you must know, he could never have made an offer of marriage to a Miss Andrews. Simon is too sensible to the duty he owes his family. He’s come he
re today to apologize to you.”

  “I suppose you’ve told him who I am,” Viola said crossly. “Well, he’d better not spoil my surprise by telling Dev.”

  “Are you quite sure Mr Devize does not know who you are?”

  Viola removed her diamond tiara and placed it in her jewel box. “He thinks I am but a poor, simple country girl from Yorkshire,” she insisted. “He thinks nothing of titles and fortune.”

  The duchess laughed dryly. “If he thinks that you are a simple country girl, my dear, then he is an imbecile,” she said. “Do you really want to marry an imbecile?”

  Viola’s eyes flashed. “Dev is the cleverest man in London,” she snapped. “He topples banks for amusement. When he lifts his little finger, the Stock Exchange jumps to do his will. The Bank of England has spies following his every move.”

  “Clever?” sneered the duchess. “Did he buy you the diamond you wanted?”

  “Yes, he did,” Viola snapped. Stretching out her hand, she silently dared the duchess to say anything. The cold white diamond looked as though it had always been on the third finger of her left hand.

  The duchess snorted. “Bah! It was an emerald yesterday.”

  “Yesterday the light was bad,” Viola explained. “As you can see, it is a perfect six-carat emerald-cut diamond.”

  With a grim smile, the duchess opened Viola’s jewelry box. With her eyes fixed on Viola, she plucked the emerald ring from its velvet nest and held it up. “This is the ring he got you,” she said. “An emerald.”

  Viola took it from her and walked over to the window. “Please believe me when I tell you there are no emeralds in this house,” she said coldly, opening the window briefly to throw the ring out. “Anyway, Julian doesn’t care about jewelry. He just wants me to be happy.”

  “I’ve no doubt,” said the duchess as Lover brought in the tea tray, “that Mr Devize is well equipped to make a Miss Andrews happy…but Lady Viola? No, my dear. He is not your equal. He will never be your equal. He will drag you down like a millstone around your neck.”

  Lover cast the duchess a grateful look. The dowager had expressed his own feelings perfectly. He only hoped that Lady Viola would listen. “Thank you, Lover,” Viola said sweetly.

  “Naturally, you wish to reward the young man for his service to you,” the duchess went on harshly. “There’s nothing wrong with that. By all means, send Mr Devize a nice hamper from Fortnum & Mason. Buy him a gold watch, if you must. But I’m afraid I see absolutely no reason for you to marry him. You should marry someone closer to you in rank, someone worthy of you.”

  Viola scowled. “Lord Bamph, you mean? I have no intention of marrying a stranger, Duchess, particularly a stranger chosen for me by my beastly father.”

  “Rupert Bamph!” cried the duchess. “Heavens, no. That preening popinjay will never do for you. The thought of him touching you makes me ill. No, it is my son I mean. It is Simon.”

  Viola recoiled in astonishment. “Madam! Your son is a hound.”

  “He likes women,” the duchess admitted. “He always has. But he is not a predator. He takes his pleasure with the appropriate class of female, and he compensates his paramours accordingly. I have never had any trouble on that score. No weeping victims on my doorstep. The moment he saw you, he wanted you. Who can blame him? Can you not forgive him for trying to obtain you in the only way he knew how?”

  “Your son mistook me for a harlot, a common money creature. That I cannot forgive. Mr Devize knew I was innocent. And,” she added triumphantly, “he bid for me in guineas.”

  “I wonder how Mr Devize knew you were innocent,” mused the duchess.

  “I beg your pardon,” Viola said quietly.

  “You are a confident young woman, to put it mildly. Who would ever guess that you had fallen into such a trap of deception? Depend upon it, if my Simon had known you were in need of a rescue, he would have rescued you.”

  “Out of the frying pan into the fire!” said Viola.

  “Oh, pooh! He would have married you, and you know it, as soon as he found out who you were. The match is perfect. You are a duke’s daughter. Simon is a duke’s son. If my elder son were not married, you could have him, but, as it is, Simon is all I have to offer.”

  Viola shook her head, smiling. “But what are his qualifications? Apart from his pedigree? What has Lieutenant-Colonel Lord Simon Ascot ever done to make the world sit up and take notice? Dev is the most hated man in London. He’s made them all sick with rage and envy.”

  “He’s the most hated man in London,” the duchess argeed. “This appeals to you?”

  “The man I marry must have accomplishments,” Viola said.

  “I can see you are besotted with this nonentity,” the duchess said crankily. “Clever he may be, my dear. But what if he does know who you are? Have you considered the possibility that he might be a very clever and accomplished fortune hunter?”

  “Not once. He believes that I am Mary Andrews.”

  “Poor simple Miss Andrews from the country,” murmured the duchess, sipping her tea. “You will admit it is an odd choice of a wife for such a clever young man. Are you quite sure he intends to marry you, my dear? Has he secured the special license?”

  “He is doing so today,” Viola declared. “Even as we speak.”

  The duchess raised a brow. “Really? I’m surprised it wasn’t done yesterday.”

  Viola blushed faintly. “It was not possible yesterday. We were…too much in the moment, if you see what I mean. I did not want him to leave me.”

  “I see. Well, perhaps I’ve misjudged him. If he has taken the trouble to secure the license, then I must believe he means to marry you. I was deathly afraid he might have seduced you merely for sport.”

  “I do not know what you mean, Duchess,” Viola said stiffly. “Mr Devize has not seduced me. He has always treated me with the utmost respect.”

  “I am relieved to hear it,” the duchess said warmly.

  “You may come to the wedding breakfast, if you like,” Viola said kindly. “Lover assures me it will be quite special. Wear something fabulous.”

  “Thank you,” said the duchess. “I shall. I wish you the best of luck, my dear, but I fear you will be disappointed. For myself, I do not trust Mr Devize. He is too good-looking and far too clever. I suspect he is using you.”

  “I trust Dev completely,” Viola said fiercely.

  “The question is, does he deserve your trust?” Leaving Viola to ponder her cautionary advice, the duchess took her leave.

  “Has she followed me?” the duchess whispered to her son as they crossed the hall downstairs.

  “Yes, but only to the top of the stairs,” Simon replied, giving Viola a grave bow.

  In response, Viola merely raised a brow.

  “That is a good sign,” the duchess said happily as she pulled on her gloves. “She is thinking with her head now, and not her heart.”

  In this assertion, the duchess was too optimistic. Viola liked the Duchess of Berkshire personally. She was flattered that her grace desired her for a daughter-in-law. She even trusted that the duchess’s interference had been kindly meant. However, she dismissed all of the duchess’s advice with scarcely any thought at all. The duchess did not know Dev. The duchess had antiquated notions about duty and rank. It did not matter what she thought of the match.

  By the time Viola left Gambol House that evening, the duchess was long forgotten. She rushed back to the house in Lombard Street, her mind and heart full of Dev.

  “You’re home!” she cried happily as Julian came down the stairs to greet her.

  “You’re out very late,” he complained. “Were you with Lady Viola all day?”

  “Yes, all day,” Viola answered, her eyes twinkling.

  Joining arms, they walked up the stairs together. Julian nuzzled her neck. “Dinner is not quite ready,” he murmured, kissing her ear.

  “It’s only just nine o’clock,” Viola said defensively. “I think Cork is doing very wel
l as a cook. You liked her stew yesterday, didn’t you?”

  “You miss my point,” he growled, catching her roughly in his arms at the top of the stairs.

  Viola giggled. “What is your point, sir?”

  Her pulled her hips against him so that she could feel the hard length of his member. “My point is that dinner is not ready, and we have a little time on our hands. I know what I’d like to do with that time, my sweet.”

  “What?” she asked innocently.

  “You know what,” he said curtly. Walking her backward into the bedroom, he threw her none too gently onto the bed. Climbing over her, he unfastened his trousers and released his straining length.

  “Dev,” she protested as he pushed up her skirts and pried her legs apart. It was not like him to be so rough with her. He was passionate, of course, but never crude. Usually, he kissed and caressed and teased her body until she lost her senses. She hardly knew what to think about the sudden change in him.

  “Are you drunk?” she asked, bewildered.

  He only laughed. “Help me,” he said, his voice low and strangled. “If I cannot have you right now, I shall die. I need you.”

  Although her body was still tensing as if it was under attack, Viola’s heart melted. Without thinking, she took him in hand and guided him to the soft spot between her legs. At the first violent thrust, her body arched in pain and she cried out. The pain was almost as great as it had been the first time. Julian, himself groaning with pleasure, mistook her cries for passion. He took her furiously, firm in the belief that she was with him. Gradually the pain lessened for Viola, but she was too shocked to find any pleasure. He had assured her it would only hurt the first time, but here was pain. And, just as he had been the first time, he was oblivious to her pain.

  On the positive side, it was over fairly quickly. “I have been thinking about this all day,” he gasped, collapsing at her side.

  For Viola, these words added insult to injury. Had he said “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” she would have forgiven him instantly. His behavior might have been excused as that of a man in the throes of overwhelming passion. But he had not been thinking of her all day. He had been thinking of this. That was an entirely different matter. Feeling abused rather than desired, she got up and began straightening her clothes. He had not even bothered to undress her, or himself, and somehow that made it all worse. Suddenly, she felt his hand on her back. It was all she could do not to lash out at him like an angry cat.