The Honorable Heir Read online

  He started to shake his head, twisted his face in pain and raised his hands to press his palms against his temples. “Our bargain. I can call on you now. Miss Selkirk.”

  Disappointment leadened her stomach. He’d only come because of the bargain and the jewels, not a wish to see her after his trip into the city. She must stop this, control her disappointment—if she could. “It could have waited until morning.” Annoyance with her foolish heart sharpened her tone.

  “But you sent for me.”

  “I did not. I never would have.”

  “Of course you did. I was glad of the excuse to call.”

  “But— We’ll talk tomorrow when you’re rested.” She started to step back.

  He caught hold of her hand. “Wait.” With surprising strength, he drew her closer. “Wait. I must tell you.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “No, please.” His grip, surprisingly strong, tightened. And his touch made her warm, tingling with current. “You know perfectly well.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t fall and hit my head.” He opened his eyes and held her gaze. “Someone hit me.”

  * * *

  Catherine’s hand jerked in his, but he didn’t let go. She stared at him with wide eyes and her face paled. “You must be mistaken.”

  He started to shake his head, remembered how much doing so hurt and chose to smile instead. “Not mistaken. I have been hit in the head before.”

  “But no one else was out in that weather.”

  “We were.”

  “Yes, but we’re...” She looked away, and her cheeks turned the color of a ripe strawberry.

  “Different from other people?”

  They were two of a kind. And therein lay the words he could not say to her, the true reason why, the instant the snow ceased, he ignored the message telling him to call in the morning and headed down the hill to Lake House—he wanted to see her right then. Freed from the Selkirks’ persistent round of activities, he longed for a moment with the Dowager Countess of Bisterne.

  He’d received a far different reception than he anticipated. And he was a fool.

  She drew her hand from his and her mouth tightened. “I’m not different from other people. I follow the rules now.”

  He laughed and raised his hand, but couldn’t reach her cheek. “You wouldn’t be here with me if that were true.”

  “I was looking in on you to see if you needed anything.” She took a step back. “Do you wish me to call the police? They’re right outside the gate.”

  “I have no enemies of which I am aware.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Except for you.”

  “However you got that blow on your head, my lord, it seems to have scrambled your wits. Tell the footman if you need anything.” Without bidding him good-night, she left the room.

  Tristram watched her go and laughed to himself. She might think she was following the rules, but she harbored a rebellious heart, a spirit that didn’t agree with society’s strictures that insisted ladies do nothing of much good. Wearing that mauve-and-green gown to the annual ball told him that the instant he set eyes on her.

  “I know more about you than you think, my lady.”

  According to information Estelle had shared with Florian, who then told Tristram in some confusion that neither he nor any of his family knew, Catherine hadn’t spent the four years of imprisonment at Bisterne doing nothing but complaining about her miserable life and choosing wallpaper for bedrooms. At least once a month, she had visited every family dependent on the estate. If they needed anything, she saw that they received it, paying for it from her own money.

  Another motivation for taking the jewels, for wanting to stop him from proving her guilt? Perhaps when the earl died, leaving her no right to remain in the house her money had restored, she thought the family owed her something.

  Or perhaps she was not guilty at all.

  The conflicting messages in his head made his bruised brain hurt more. He longed for sleep. Yet the picture of Catherine in her plain gray suit, so proper, so prim, yet standing beside him holding his hand, made him restless.

  He had to stop himself from saying her name aloud. Catherine, the name of so many queens throughout history, plain and simple yet regal. But nothing about Catherine was plain or simple. Nothing about his feelings for her was plain or simple. He adored her as much as he distrusted her.

  “Lord, I want peace, not this constant turmoil.”

  “Sir? My lord?” The footman spoke from his chair across the room.

  “Never mind. Just talking aloud, apparently.”

  “All right. I’m here if you need anything.” The young man settled back in the soft chair.

  Tristram again tried to sleep. He dozed some, only to wake with a start each time and again try to think up other options for how the jewels had gone missing. He grasped for others who might have bashed him on the head. And he failed at all.

  Morning, and the arrival of Florian, came before sleep claimed him.

  “What were you thinking, old man?” Florian drew the footman’s abandoned chair closer to the bed and lounged against the winged back. “Wandering about in the dark and snow?”

  “Walking about in the snow. It was a beautiful night.”

  “And what a convenient way to get into the lioness’s den. Shall I nip down the hall and search her room?”

  “While paying court to her sister? I think not.”

  Florian heaved an exaggerated sigh. “That’s the rub of it, isn’t it? She’ll never have me if she finds out I’ve been helping you prove her sister is a jewel thief.”

  “I suppose there’s an alternative.” Tristram sat propped against pillows with a breakfast tray laid across his lap. Tea and buttered toast were all he could manage. He poured more of the former from a blue china pot. “Like proving she isn’t a thief.”

  “What?” Florian shot upright. “What nonsense is this?”

  “Probably nonsense,” he said, turning the tea to acid and the toast to lead in his stomach.

  “You can’t possibly think she’s innocent, can you?”

  “I don’t know what to think, but I’m no good lying here.”

  “I suppose you can’t even talk to her.”

  Tristram said nothing of the midnight visit, nor his certainty that someone had struck him down. “I need to get back to the Selkirks’.”

  “Dr. Rushmore says not to move you for at least two days in this weather.” Florian yawned and stretched. “Gives me an excellent excuse to come by and stay for hours.”

  “And spend your time with your young lady rather than your ailing friend.” Tristram mock-scowled.

  “She appreciates my company. You, I think, prefer someone else’s.”

  “Whose company could I possibly prefer?”

  Florian laughed and departed.

  Pierce followed an hour later, his face tight as a footman showed him into the sickroom, relaxing only once he was alone with Tristram.

  “Managed not to see any of the VanDorn ladies, have you?” Tristram asked.

  “Not today.”

  “She won’t come in here,” he added.

  Pierce glanced around the room. “I didn’t think I’d ever find myself in this house again.”

  “Which makes no sense. Don’t you think the Lord wants you all to put this feud in the past? Ca— Lady Bisterne did something stupid, but it’s over with.”

  “It won’t be done with until Georgie marries.” Pierce’s long, narrow face grew even longer. “Her continued spinsterhood is a constant reminder that her fiancé was stolen out from under her nose by a member of this household.”

  Another reminder of the chasm that lay between him and Catherine.

  He crumbled a piece of toast. “I’ll leave as soon a
s I can. Meanwhile, you needn’t return.”

  “Oh, no, I need to keep an eye on Georgie’s interests.” Pierce laughed as though intending to make a joke, but no mirth rang through.

  “I would like to see the feud end for all your sakes,” Tristram said. “Carrying on the animosity hurts you all.”

  “You always were a benevolent fellow.” Pierce rose and opened a leather case he had brought with him. “Brought you your Bible and some other books you had in your room.” He laid the volumes on a bedside table easy to Tristram’s hand. “And a chessboard, if you’re not too concussed to play.”

  “You want to take advantage of me to finally win a game.”

  Pierce snorted. “It would be a fine change. But first I want you to tell me what you were doing out and about in the snow, and here, of all places.”

  Tristram shrugged, winced and laid his head back far enough that he was looking at the crown molding on the wall. “I like the snow, especially when it’s fresh. As for here? Will you believe coincidence?”

  “No. And neither will Georgette.” Pierce removed the dishes from the breakfast tray and began to set up the chessboard. “You paid a late call on Catherine the instant you could get away from us. I’d like to say it is none of my business, but since my sister has decided she would like to be Lady Tristram, I’m a little concerned about your interest in the lovely widow.”

  Tristram was more than a little concerned about his interest in the lovely widow.

  “I’ll take white this time,” he said by way of telling his friend he wouldn’t discuss Catherine.

  They began to play, but Tristram forgot half his moves and lost the first game far too quickly. Instead of concentrating on the game, Tristram thought about finding Catherine there when he gained consciousness, and further back, the thrill of receiving a message saying she wanted to see him. She didn’t even know he’d gotten Georgette to visit, and Catherine asked him to call. Foolish of him to go dashing through the snow, but...

  “You’re not paying attention.” Pierce began to pack up the chess set. “Mrs. VanDorn has told me by way of the butler that I may come anytime I like, so I’ll leave you to rest and return later.” He went to the door, but paused. “I’m not mentioning this incident to Georgette. She’ll be on the next train running from the city and I don’t think you want that right now.”

  Tristram rested after Pierce left, and woke with a dull throb in his head instead of crippling pain—an improvement. Sometime while he had slept, a footman had appeared. The man sprang up the moment Tristram opened his eyes and offered to fetch shaving water and fresh clothes.

  “The ladies would like to see you, my lord. Can you walk as far as the conservatory?”

  “I can.”

  It took him several minutes longer than the walk of forty feet should have, vertigo halting his steps. The view of snow-clad trees and a lake glazed with ice made the effort worth the journey.

  As did the appearance of Catherine in the doorway.

  She wore a dark blue dress trimmed in white lace around the high neck, and she carried a tray from which wafted the scent of chocolate. “My favorite snowy-day drink.” She set the tray on the table. “Estelle will be here in a few minutes. She and Florian have some notion that you need soothing music to heal your head. But I asked her to wait so I can talk to you about last night.” She hesitated a moment near him, then sat on the sofa cushion beside him. “If you don’t mind.”

  She appeared so domestic, so calm, so lovely, he wanted to shove the distressing notion of her as a thief out of his head once and for all.

  “I do not.” On the contrary, he liked having her near more than he should. He turned to face her. “I haven’t changed my mind about what I told you. Someone did strike me from behind.”

  “But who and why? And why have you told me and no one else?”

  “How do you know I’ve told no one else?”

  “Pierce Selkirk would have the police here thinking he could blame us for it.”

  “Which is why I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “Again, why?”

  He looked into her beautiful eyes and the answer caught in his throat. He swallowed and shook his head.

  “Shall I pour some chocolate for you?” She reached for the tall silver pot.

  “No, thank you. I feel bad enough accepting your hospitality under the circumstances.”

  “I think the Lord wants us to extend hospitality to those in need regardless of circumstances. Love our enemies and all.” She forced out a laugh. “Not that you’re my enemy yet, seeing as how you haven’t announced to the world that you believe me to be a jewel thief.”

  “That’s the problem at stake, though, my lady. It’s a bit worse than I originally thought....” His eyes felt scorched.

  “What could be worse than being accused of a crime you didn’t commit?”

  Tristram looked at her directly and said, “Being accused of two crimes.”

  Chapter 9

  Since it is not likely that anyone would go around the world being deliberately offensive to others, it may be taken for granted that obnoxious behavior is either the fault of thoughtlessness or ignorance—and for the former there is no excuse.

  Emily Price Post

  For a moment, Catherine could barely comprehend what the man had said. And then, in a rush, it came to her and she sprang to her feet.

  “Lord Tristram, are you suggesting that I am the one who struck you on the head?”

  He looked her in the eyes, then turned away. “I considered it.”

  “You considered it? You thought, even for a moment, that I am capable of—of—” Catherine slid to her knees beside the sofa. A lifetime of training kept her back straight when she wanted to bow forward under the weight upon her shoulders. “If you weren’t too injured to be traveling on these roads, I’d tell you to leave.”

  “And I would rather not abuse your hospitality.” He sounded so sad, she levered herself back onto the sofa and faced him. He gazed down at his hands clasping his knees. “I have been wrestling with this for hours. To take your kindness and then think something so heinous is unconscionable. I had to say something to you.”

  Unable to remain near him any longer for fear he would see the tears pooling in her eyes, she shot to her feet and stalked across the room to the window, where she could see the tree that had broken his fall. No footprints remained. Snow had drifted into the impressions and the sun had glazed over the surface, making it appear like icing on a wedding cake. She rested her forehead on the cool glass. “I saved your life. If I hadn’t come out there when I did, you would have frozen to death.”

  “Precisely. You went out there when you did.”

  “You think—” She couldn’t breathe. Spots danced before her eyes, and she pressed a hand to her chest, gasping as though someone had knocked a fist into her solar plexus.

  “I didn’t send you a note.” She managed to choke out the words. “Yet you think I did so to draw you here and hit you over the head?”

  “It made more sense when I wasn’t with you.” He spoke from right behind her, and she jumped. He curved one hand around her shoulder. “I had to be honest with you, as I am about the fact that my hunt for the missing jewels always leads back to you.”

  “You being struck in the head and left to perish in the snow leads you back to me.” Her voice sounded thick, as though her high-boned lace collar were too tight. “I suppose that would make sense from your side of the matter. But I know I’m innocent and think perhaps there’s someone else leading everything back to me.”

  “Who?” His tone was soft, gentle, warm enough to melt the snow on the lawn below them. “Do you think I like suspecting, even for a moment, that a lady as kind and lovely and generous as you is capable of harming me?”

  “You think I�
�m capable of theft.” Her words merely rasped past her lips though she wanted them to emerge with force.

  “Can you give me evidence to prove me wrong?” He used a fingertip to gather tears from beneath her eyes, then curved his hand around her cheek and turned her face toward him. “Please?”

  “I don’t know how.” Through a veil of more tears, she gazed into his beautiful green eyes. Her mouth went dry. “You can’t possibly want to...to...”

  But he could. He did. He smoothed his hand down her cheek to her chin, tilted it up and kissed her.

  She was a widow, and yet in that moment, she doubted she had ever been kissed, not with such tender warmth. Her knees wobbled, and she grasped his lapels for support. She inhaled his scent, and tasted bergamot and orange picot, and when he raised his head, she read wonder and confusion in his face. He blinked, gave his head a quick shake and flicked his glance from her to the windows and back.

  His lips parted, and she braced herself for the humiliation of his apology, his words of regret.

  “I probably shouldn’t have done that?” It sounded more like a query than a statement.

  “It’s rather improper.”

  “Rather.” He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and looked past her again.

  She drew her brows together and sighed. “Just say it, Lord Tristram. You’re sorry you kissed me. You regret forgetting that I’m a lady and therefore untouchable.” She forced a smile to her lips. “All right, then. Apology accepted. Now may we get back to the business at hand?”

  “No, I do not think we can.” He brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek. “My lady—Catherine—I regret a number of interactions in our brief acquaintance. I regret having to investigate you. I regret thinking for one second you were behind the incident last night. But I do not regret kissing you.”

  If a woman could fall in love in so short a time as they had known one another, then she fell in love in that moment. Even the idea of it robbed her of speech, of coherent thought. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and rest her head on his shoulder. She wanted to have him hold her and assure her they would find the person truly guilty. She wanted him to take her home, despite the fact that home, to him, was another English manor.