Anne O'Brien - The Runaway Heiress

‘I am sorry. It has been a very trying day for you. Perhaps in retrospect I should have seen my mother alone first, but I don’t think it would have made much difference. I was proud of you. You were able to conduct yourself with assurance and composure in difficult circumstances. It cannot have been easy for you.’

Frances blinked at the unexpected compliment. ‘If you are kind and sympathetic I shall cry.’

His stern features were lightened by an unexpectedly sweet smile. ‘Thank you for the warning. I would not wish that on you. If it is any consolation to you, my mother doesn’t like me much either.’

‘No, it is no consolation,’ she responded waspishly. ‘I did not expect to be welcomed, but I did not think I would be patronised and condemned with every deficiency in my background and education laid bare in public over the dinner table. And if I have to listen once more to a catalogue of the skills and talents of Miss Penelope Vowchurch I shall not be responsible for my actions.’ She proceeded to give a remarkably accurate parody of Lady Aldeborough. ‘Can you sing, Frances? No? Of course, Penelope is very gifted musically. It is a pleasure to hear her sing—and play the pianoforte! Perhaps you paint instead? No? Penelope, of course … Does she have any failings?’

A shuttered look had crossed Aldeborough’s face, but he was forced into a reluctant laugh. ‘Don’t let my mother disturb you. I don’t believe that she means half of what she says.’

‘I am delighted to hear it—but I don’t believe you. You could have warned me.’

‘Don’t rip up at me.’ His fingers tightened their grip.

She suddenly realised that he looked as tired as she felt, with fine lines of strain etched around his mouth, and his words were a plea rather than a command. For a second she felt a wave of sympathy for him—but quickly buried it. The situation, after all, was of his making.

‘Why not?’ She pulled away from his grasp, too aware of the strength of his fingers branding her flesh, but then regretted her brusque action. ‘I … Forgive me, I am just a little overwrought. I shall be better tomorrow. I am really very grateful for all you have done,’ she explained stiffly.

‘I don’t want your gratitude.’ His voice was harsh.

She turned her back on him and stalked towards the mirror where she began to unfasten the satin ribbons with which she had inexpertly confined her hair. She was aware of his eyes on her every movement. A silence stretched between them until her nerves forced her to break it.

‘It is difficult not to express my gratitude when you have given me everything that I have never had before.’

‘I have given you nothing yet.’

‘My clothes. All of this.’ She indicated the tasteful silver and blue furnishings, the bed with its opulent hangings, the comforting fire still burning in the grate. ‘Wealth. A title. Respectability. What more could I want?’ Bitterness rose in her that he should take it all for granted.

‘Next you will tell me that you would rather be back at Torrington Hall with Charles as your prospective husband.’ Aldeborough’s heavy irony was not lost on her.

‘No.’ She sighed, lowering her hands to her lap. ‘In all honesty I cannot.’

‘I like your honesty,’ he commented gently. ‘I would like you to have this. It is a personal gift.’ From his pocket he withdrew a flat black velvet box. He handed it to her. It was much worn at the corners, and the clasp had broken loose. In the centre was a faded coat of arms stamped in gold. ‘A bride gift, if you like. My mother still has all the family heirlooms and jewellery. I will arrange for you to have the ones that suit. There are some very pretty earrings, I believe, and a pearl set that you would like. But this belonged to my grandmother. She left it to me to give to my wife. It is a trifle old fashioned and not very valuable, but it has considerable charm and I hope you will wear it until I can give you something better.’

Frances opened the box to reveal a faded silk lining. On it rested an oval silver locket on a fine silver chain. The workmanship was old and intricate with a delicacy of touch. Its surface was engraved with scrolls and flowers, the centres of which were set with small sapphires. She opened the locket. Inside she found the empty mountings for a miniature with the words engraved on the opposite side My Beloved is Mine .

‘It is beautiful,’ she said softly, tracing the delicate scroll work with a finger, unable to meet his eyes. ‘I have never been given jewellery before.’

He took the locket from her and moved to clasp it round her throat. ‘The roses seemed appropriate, Fair Rosalind.’

The brief touch of his fingers on her neck as he fastened the clasp sent a shiver through her tense body. Her eyes, wide and dark, met his fleetingly in the mirror. He nodded.

‘It suits you very well. There is a sapphire necklace the exact colour of your eyes.’ He hesitated, lost in their depths for the length of a heartbeat. ‘But I fear that my mother will refuse to part with it this side of the grave.’

The locket lay on her breast, the tiny sapphires catching the light like pinpointed stars with her heightened breathing.

She would have moved away from him, but he took hold of her wrist in a firm grasp, using his free hand to tilt her chin upwards. With one finger he traced the outline of her lips, his featherlight touch delicate and reflective. Her breath caught in her throat as she read the intention in his eyes. His arm slid around her waist, drawing her closer, and he bent his head to press his mouth to the pulse fluttering at the base of her neck, just above where the locket gleamed in the candlelight. Her immediate instinct was to raise her hands and push against his shoulders. Sudden fear engulfed her, surprising her in its intensity.

He raised his head. His eyes were devastatingly clear and possessive. ‘Don’t fight me, Frances.’

‘I am not fighting,’ she managed to gasp as he renewed his assault on her throat. ‘I did not expect—’

‘Of course. A business arrangement—that was what we agreed.’ There was no mistaking the sneer in his voice. ‘And it will be. You have my wealth and my name. And as long as you are discreet, I will not interfere with your … amusements . Neither will I impose myself on you overmuch.’ Her heart sank at this cold assessment of their future. ‘But I need an heir. And there must be no room for an annulment if your uncle decides to be uncooperative and you wish to escape from the clutches of Cousin Charles.’

‘Yes, my lord. I know my duty.’ Her reply was as cold as his, masking the misery in her heart.

‘That sounds very cold comfort. I believe it is possible to derive some pleasure from a wifely duty.’ A faint smile accompanied the mockery in the lines around his thinned lips. ‘Am I so unpalatable to you as a husband?’

‘No, my lord.’

He bent his head again to claim her lips with his own, at the same time releasing her hair from its ribbons in a perfumed cascade on to her shoulders. He wound his hand into the silken length of it to hold her in submission as he increased the pressure on her mouth. Against her will her lips opened tentatively under his. Shock swept through her as, withdrawing a little, his tongue traced the outline of her lips before invading again. He released her, but only so that his hands could deal with the fastenings of her gown.

‘It seems that I must be servant as well as lover tonight,’ he murmured against her throat.

He left a trail of feathery kisses from her jaw along the curve of her throat to her shoulder as his fingers expertly worked their way through the tiny buttons and laces. Frances was only aware of the heat spreading throughout her body from her toes to her hairline as the white sprigged muslin slipped into a pool at her feet. Her breathing was shallow and she gasped as his hard mouth returned to possess her lips once more. All she could hope for was that he would be understanding of her ignorance and lack of experience.