In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL) (16 page)

“Hm. I’m afraid I don’t share your serenity. I had to force myself to swim in the Mediterranean. The family curse. My parents and grandparents all drowned, remember.”

He did. “Just don’t go sailing.”

Now, swimming—Louisa in a short bathing costume was another thing altogether. Her legs would be covered in dark stockings, but he’d be able to see every inch of them to the knee. He could circle his arms around her as she bobbed in the shallows, her skin glistening with wet diamonds, sodden fabric clinging to her neat figure.

Better yet, they could swim naked in the privacy of their very own beach. Charles would be at her side if her confidence faltered, take her into safety and make love to her in the sand until she forgot her tragedies.

“Did you hear what I said?” she asked.

It was a very good thing she was not a mind reader. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch it. The wind, you know.”

“I said, I will never go boating. Kathleen even had to dose me to get on the steamer to come home. I suppose you think I’m a nervous ninny. Oddly enough, I had no trouble getting on a ship to flee England.”

“A Channel crossing is not so bad. But hopefully you won’t be going on one again anytime soon. Unless you want to, of course. The lure of your Parisian dressmaker will be hard to resist, I imagine. “

Louisa lifted a golden brow. “Do you really think we can uproot Aunt Grace?”

“Count on it,” Charles said with more confidence than he felt.

They picked their way down a steepish path to the narrow strip of beach below Rosemont. Pirate seemed nervous and Charles gave him a reassuring pat.

“Race you!” Louisa cried once they got into the soft sand. She took off before Charles could agree.

Minx. He watched awhile as her lovely round rump bounced ahead. For a man who had sworn off women, he was backsliding in a major way. One night with Louisa didn’t mean he was cured of his grim dreams, however. But it was hard to feel sorry for himself in her presence.

Hard
was the operative word. His cock twitched, waking to the image ahead of him. Rather far ahead of him now, scarf and pigtail flying. Cavalry officer Charles Cooper wasn’t going to be beaten by some
girl
. He dug his heels into Pirate.

Pirate would have none of it. The horse whinnied and circled, and with total deliberation it pitched Charles right off into the sand.

Chapter

20

E
xhilarated, Louisa turned to taunt Charles once more. Her victory was short-lived. Charles Cooper was flat on his back on the shingle, Pirate Prince nosing him in the ribs.

He’d fallen off his horse? He’d been in the cavalry, for heaven’s sake! She turned Emerald and rode back as quickly as she’d ridden away.

Louisa scrambled off Emerald and knelt at his side. Charles’s bright blue eye was wide open, which was a good thing, wasn’t it? “Charles! What happened? Are you all right?”

“More or less. The horse threw me. I guess he knows I’m not Hugh and doesn’t like me much.”

“Does anything hurt?” she asked, anxious. Charles’s hat had rolled away, and waves were licking at it. “Your wound! Do you still have the bandage on?”

Charles shook his head to evident pain. “Took it off. Didn’t want Grace to know the attack had been so successful.”

“Oh, Charles.” Louisa unwound the scarf from her neck. “Can you lift your head? Or better yet, sit up. I’ll clean the cut.”

Charles struggled up on his elbows. “Woozy. Damn. Wasn’t expecting to land on my arse so early in the day.”

“Here, lean against me.” He didn’t argue. The back of his head was bloody again, but nothing like last night. She brushed the sand away gingerly with a corner of the scarf. “I think we should go back to the house.”

“What, and miss the picnic? Nonsense. I just had the wind knocked out of me. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look fine—too pale beneath his tan. “If you can bear it, let me pour some salt water on the cut. It’s reopened and needs to be rinsed.”

“I’ll try not to howl like a baby.”

Louisa left Charles swaying slightly and went to Emerald and rummaged through the bag. Cook had packed heavy tumblers for the wine, and Louisa took one out and dipped it into the sea. She fished his ruined hat out of the water and brought it and the glass back to Charles, who was squinting in the sunlight.

“Here. Hold on to your hat and tilt your head forward. This might sting.”

“There’s no ‘might’ about it. Do your worst.” He gritted his teeth as she trickled the water on his scalp.

“There. It might actually help you to heal faster.”

“Yes, Dr. Stratton. Damn horse. And I spoke to him so nicely, too.” He gave the hat a vigorous shake and tucked it under his arm.

Pirate Prince stood sentry, his head down in what looked like shame. “I don’t understand. Hugh has never complained about him.”

“Maybe I’m out of practice. It’s been a while since I was on a horse. Anyway, odd as it is, I’m hungry again. Thirsty, too.”

“Let’s walk a little ways. There are some rocks ahead that will shelter us from the wind. We’ll tie up the horses and try again after lunch.”

“You’re in charge.” Charles got to his feet without her help.

“Hold still.” Feeling quite daring, she took her scarf and rubbed the sand off the back of his clothes, paying particular attention to his taut bottom. Louisa wished she could confide in Kathleen how splendidly he was made, but she knew her maid did not approve of the turn their arrangement had taken. Well, there would be no more turns. No more kisses. Louisa would exercise self-control if it killed her. They would just have lunch and plot the imminent overthrow of Grace Westlake.

It didn’t take long to lead the horses and get to the wall of rocks that had been one of her favorite spots as a child. Like the grotto, it had afforded privacy where Louisa’s imagination could run wild. The rocks became her castle fortress, where she ruled supreme. Despite the grumblings of her governess, she had scaled them and jumped to the white crescent of sand below a thousand times.

No one would be jumping today. She pulled the waxed linen lunch bag out. “Charles, in my hurry to change saddles I didn’t put a blanket on Emerald. Could you get yours off Pirate Prince so we can sit down?”

“Aye.” Charles made short work of the buckles even though the horse was skittish. He set the saddle down on the ground and unfolded the blanket. “I’ll be damned.”

“What?”

“Screws. Five of them, all bunched together.” He pulled one from the weft of the wool and held the pointed end out to Louisa.

“
Screws?
How odd.”

“Is it? No wonder Pirate didn’t want to haul my carcass around.” He ran a gentle hand on the horse’s back, searching for injury. “It’s all right, old boy. I don’t hold it against you. Someone was out to get us both.”

“Jimmy wouldn’t do such a thing, Charles. I’m sure of it. He’d never hurt a horse deliberately. I’ve known him since he was a little boy. His grandfather is the stable manager.”

“Hm.”

“He must not have noticed. If the blanket was folded and the screws were already embedded somehow—”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Charles did not sound convinced.

“You don’t think it’s another attempt to scare you off?”

“I don’t know what to think. Except if someone has it in for me, I’d rather die with a full stomach. What’s in the bag?” He took the rest of the screws out and put them in his pocket, then shook out the blanket and placed it on the sand.

He was too calm. “Charles, I meant it when I said you could go.”

“And leave you alone here? Don’t talk rubbish.”

He was seated now, his long legs crossed in front of him in Indian fashion. His riding boots were so new they were barely scuffed on the soles. He extended a hand. “If you’re not going to join me, at least give me the bag. I’m starving.”

Louisa sat. How freeing it was to wear pants. She mirrored Charles’s position and spread out the lunch between them. It was a very simple repast—ham sandwiches, cheese, apples, and fruitcake, but the wine was an excellent vintage. Charles needed no direction as he picked up the corkscrew.

“To us,” he toasted, after filling the tumblers. Louisa noted he took the one she’d filled with salt water and downed the contents in one long gulp.

“You
are
upset.”

Charles took a bite of his sandwich to avoid the discussion.

“Maybe we
both
should leave Rosemont,” Louisa said, fiddling with a bit of cheese.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not this again. You are not leaving. This is your home. I don’t care how many screws or bolts or nails I sit on. I’ll not be driven away.”

“Th-thank you, Charles. I’ll speak to Jimmy when we get back. Angus, too.”

“Don’t expect them to admit anything. Anyway, maybe you’re right and they knew nothing about the blanket. It may have been some sort of odd coincidence. Now, when people start shooting at me, I’ll get worried.”

Louisa could feel the blood drain from her head. “Don’t joke about something so horrid. We must remember to visit the armory later. I’ll ask Griffith for the key.” Nervously, she glanced up at the rocks, half expecting a villain to pop his head up and put an end to them both.

“Fine by me.” He poured another glass of wine but merely sipped this time. “You are not eating.”

She really should. Free of her confining “health” corset for once, she could stuff herself with no pain. But the reminder that they might be in danger was an appetite suppressant. Louisa took a grudging bite of fruitcake. It was exceptional, laced with brandy and studded with glistening bits of fruit. An early taste of the Christmas to come.

“Hey, that’s dessert.”

“I can do as I please, can’t I? This is, as you pointed out, my home. You’re welcome to my sandwich.”

“I’ll take you up on that.”

They were quiet for a spell, the only sounds the steady lap of the waves, the huff of the horses, the slosh of wine as Charles replenished their drinks, and Louisa’s crunching on her apple. She was satisfied with her cake and fruit. The wine, too. The sun radiated off the circle of rocks and gradually she felt her anxiety ebb. It was a pleasure to watch Charles eat—he was neat and Spartan in his approach, taking uniform bites, slicing his apple with brutal efficiency with a small knife that had appeared from his riding boot. He rose and divided the fruit between Emerald and Pirate Prince.

“No hard feelings?” Louisa asked.

“It wasn’t his fault. Look, he hasn’t even tried to topple one of these rocks onto me with his long nose. You’re a good fellow, aren’t you?” Charles turned to her. “When are we expecting Hugh to join our merry band?”

Hugh. Louisa had forgotten all about him. “I’m not sure. Aunt Grace didn’t say.”

“Tell me about him.”

Louisa repressed a shudder. Hugh had been the bane of her existence for years. “I dislike him intensely. But he’s handsome.”

“Handsomer than I?” Charles teased.

Right now no one was more handsome than Charles Cooper in her mind, but she’d never admit to it. Louisa shrugged. “He’s above average height and fair. He resembles his mother.”

“So, he could pass as your brother. Think of the beautiful children you could have if you married him.”

Louisa tossed her apple core at him, hitting him squarely on the chest. He looked down at her and laughed
.
“I’ll have to add you to the list of suspects who wish to see the back of me. Perhaps
you
set those screws into the weave.”

“Don’t be provoking. I could never cause discomfort to a dumb animal.”

“Oh, couldn’t you?” Charles murmured. “Anyway, about Hugh.”

“I discussed him on the train coming down. Didn’t you pay attention?”

“I have to confess I was not altogether focused on your every word.”

“Why not?”

“Because, my dear, you talk too much. And you’re too beautiful to make a man pay attention.”

“That makes no sense at all. If you think I’m beautiful—which is ridiculous, by the way—all the more reason for you to listen to me.” She knew she was blushing again. Damn.

“Tell me again. I promise to be a good student this time.” He returned to the blanket and folded his hands in expectation, like a proper schoolboy waiting for his lesson.

Louisa licked her lips nervously. The thought of Hugh always made her nervous. As a child he had tormented her, shutting her into dark closets, pulling her braids, putting insects in her bed—all the usual things little boys did to little girls. But when he got to be a big boy, instead of insects she often found Hugh himself in her bed, trying to persuade her to surrender her virtue. He’d been perfectly wild when she’d tossed said virtue away on Sir Richard Delacourt. He did not understand why she didn’t want to do the same with him until she had held a gun on him.

“Aunt Grace encouraged Hugh to court me. To keep the fortune in the family, so to speak. After a while, his courting crossed the line. Several lines. I—I did not feel safe. I suppose I thought Sir Richard would marry me and solve my problems.”

“The swine. Both of them.”

“Well, to be fair we were all very young, and Hugh was heavily influenced by his mother. If he’d been successful in compromising me, then I could have no objections to the marriage, could I? My brief affair with Sir Richard threw a spanner in the works, and then he did not come up to scratch. He’d met my friend Lady Blanche Calthorpe here at Rosemont, who was richer even than I, and well connected besides. Her father is an earl.” Louisa took a breath. She had not been asked to be a bridesmaid.

“But I still refused to marry Hugh after Richard wed. No matter what he tried—and failed—to do. After a while, he went back to university and I stayed locked in my room. His efforts recently have been very halfhearted. I think he’s given up, even if his mother hasn’t.”

“I don’t understand. You say the Westlakes are well-off.”

Louisa nodded.

“Then why do they want your money?”

“Don’t you know, Charles? One can never be too rich. And I think for Grace there is a certain justice in getting back her childhood home through her son and grandchildren. Quite frankly, I’d just as soon sell Rosemont to them and start fresh somewhere else.”

Give up her home? Where on earth had that idea come from? It must be the wine talking.

Though why not? It was not as though Louisa had many happy memories of being raised here. She could build a new estate and gather her own collections of paintings and furniture and china. Modern things—she loved the graceful Art Nouveau styles she’d seen in Paris.

Charles stared at her. “Really? You’d give up the gargoyles? And I don’t mean your Aunt Grace.”

“Rosemont is just bricks and mortar. I expect the relatives and hangers-on wouldn’t want to move with me, though I’m not sure about Isobel. Grace has put up with her this long, but not always cheerfully. She loathes Americans. And Isobel is . . . Isobel.”

A flutter within told her she might have accidentally come up with the perfect solution to everything. Hell, she could
give
Rosemont to Grace—it wasn’t as if Louisa needed the money once she got her little banking difficulty straightened out. “But don’t say anything yet to Grace or Hugh. Let this idea percolate a little.”

“Louisa.” He was still looking at her intently. “Why would you give up your inheritance? This was your parents’ home.”

“And they died right out there.” She gestured beyond the rocks. She had not let herself think about her parents drowning on her doorstep all day.

He reached over and took her hand. “Don’t do anything rash. Rosemont could be a happy home for you, for your children. The past doesn’t have to—”