To Seduce a Bride (25 page)

Heath smiled his appreciation. “I knew I could count on you, love.”

Eleanor shook her head. “My contribution will be of small moment compared to Miss Loring's efforts. I think her compassion for those women is exceedingly admirable. I didn't realize she was so involved in philanthropy, however, although I knew her friend, Miss Blanchard, advocates for several charities.”

Heath had to admire Lily's compassion as well. This was just the latest instance of her championing the helpless and the downtrodden, he reflected, remembering how her eyes had sparked when she spoke of the young women she had befriended.

“Lily says the same thing about Miss Blanchard,” Heath commented.

“Perhaps I will ask Miss Blanchard how I might aid her charities,” Eleanor said thoughtfully, before she sent Heath a curious glance. “So does this mean your courtship of Miss Loring is prospering?”

Heath shrugged. “Well enough.”

“Well enough?”
The raven-haired beauty flashed a mock scowl. “Is that all you mean to tell me? You are too cruel, Heath! I am
dying
to know if I may soon wish you happy.”

He couldn't help but chuckle at her teasing. A lively minx, Eleanor was like the sister he had never had. He'd known her since she was born, and she had managed to wrap him around her finger from the time she was a toddler.

In some ways she reminded him greatly of Lily, for they shared many of the same qualities; both young ladies were charming and endearing, forthright, independent, and generous in nature. At twenty, Eleanor was actually a year younger than Lily, but she had far more experience with the courting game, having been on the Marriage Mart for two Seasons. And since her comeout, Nell had been betrothed twice. Both times she'd broken off the engagement, much to the dismay of her aunt, Lady Beldon.

“As soon as I have anything of consequence about my courtship to report,” Heath offered, “you will be among the first to know.”

“That doesn't sound very promising. Are you certain you don't need my help in wooing Miss Loring? I was able to advise Drew on how to romance Roslyn.”

“For someone who has jilted two suitors, Nell, you make a odd matchmaker.”

Eleanor smiled impishly. “Indeed. But merely because I have resolved to remain single, doesn't mean I cannot aid the course of true love.”

“Ah, yes. You are a hopeless romantic.”

“So I am. Which is precisely why I ended my betrothals—because neither of my fiancés could love me the way I wished to be loved. But miraculously, Marcus and Drew found love, so I still hold out hope for myself, and for you as well.”

Heath had no ready reply for her. He'd never lost his heart, but the notion that Lily could inspire that particular malady had a definite appeal. If anyone could tempt him to fall in love, it would be Lily. He wondered if he could tempt her to love him in return….

“Perhaps,” he drawled in response to Nell's observation, “you should concentrate on your own affairs of the heart and not worry so much about mine.”

Eleanor made a face at him. “I expected you to say that. But I still am rather stunned that you are considering donning marriage shackles.”

He was a little stunned as well, Heath reflected. He'd never wanted to be tied down to just one woman. Until recently he had been a dedicated bachelor, devoted to a life of freedom and adventure, resolutely determined never to be locked in a tedious, insipid, passionless union merely for the sake of carrying on his illustrious title. But since his courtship of Lily, he had come to the realization that he could be content with the chains of matrimony if she were his jailor.

“But I
can
comprehend,” Eleanor continued, overriding his thoughts, “why you would be attracted to Miss Loring. And from what I know of her, I think she might make an ideal match for you. The two of you seem highly compatible.”

That was certainly true, Heath agreed. He'd never expected to find a wife who could be such a perfect match for him, as Lily would.

His own parents had been poorly matched, nearly opposites in character and outlooks on life. His mother had been gay and charming and full of laughter; his father staid and proper and dull to the point of grimness. A grimness that only compounded after Lady Claybourne's death as the marquess retreated further into himself.

As a child, Heath had cherished his mother's joie de vivre, although admittedly she had been concerned with her own pleasure above all else. Unlike Lily, who was concerned for everyone
but
herself.

Whether or not he could have a love match with Lily, however, he wanted her for his wife. Not just to bear him heirs, as he'd first planned. Not merely to alleviate his boredom or to grace his bed, either, although those were excellent reasons to wed her.

No, he wanted Lily for herself. Her liveliness, her intensity, her passion for life called to him. As did her fierceness, since it was tempered by warmth and softness and compassion. Lily stirred him like no other woman ever had.

Yet it would be unwise, he warned himself, to let his feelings for her grow any stronger when she had closed off her heart to any possibility of love. For the first time in his life he had met a woman whose defenses might be insurmountable.

Which frustrated the devil out of him, since he wanted his union with Lily to be much more than the cold marriage of convenience his parents had known.

He wanted more from his courtship of Lily, as well. He wanted to be able to venture out in public together, to ride with her in the park as he did with Eleanor, to attend plays and garden parties and enjoy all the other small intimacies that normal suitors were permitted. Most of all, he wanted to claim Lily for his own.

Yet that moment seemed a long way off.

Hell, perhaps his decision to stop overtly wooing Lily was a mistake. He had visibly slowed his pursuit of her to allow time for her feelings toward him to soften, reasoning that he could lower her resistance if she felt less pressured by his courtship. But his strategy might be having no effect at all.

Shaking off his frustration, Heath returned his attention to his charming companion. As close as he was to Eleanor, however, he didn't want to discuss his relationship with Lily any longer.

“You stun me also, Nell,” he said to change the subject. “Since when would you rather amble along at this snail's pace, chattering about matrimony instead of enjoying a good gallop?”

“You make an excellent point,” Eleanor replied, gathering her reins.

“Shall we race to the end of the lake?” he challenged.

“You are on!” Eleanor exclaimed, digging her heel into her horse's side, leaving an amused Heath to eat her dust and make yet another comparison with his spirited Lily.

         

He called on Lily that afternoon to report on Eleanor's progress: A meeting had been arranged for Peg with Madame Gautier the following morning. When summoned to the parlor to hear the news, Peg was overjoyed at the prospect of finding respectable employment at the modiste's shop, and she thanked Heath profusely.

Betty's response, however, was altogether different at first. The girl appeared nervous and intimidated when Heath questioned her about her wishes for her future, stammering out her replies. Yes, milord, a husband might be welcome at some point, and yes, she would be very happy to return to the country. But for now she only wanted safety for herself and the chance to bear her baby without fear of finding herself on the streets again. When Heath offered her sanctuary at his family estate under the aegis of his housekeeper, Betty stared at him for a long moment and then burst into tears.

Lily immediately wrapped her arm around the girl in an effort to ease her distress, but startlingly, Betty eschewed the proffered comfort and got down on her knees to Heath instead.

“Oh, milord!” she sobbed, taking his hand to kiss it fervently. “You are a saint, just like Miss Loring. You won't regret taking me in, I swear it. And I will repay you somehow, every penny.”

Disconcerted by her abject display of gratitude, Heath gently drew the girl to her feet, assuring her that he didn't want recompense, that serving his housekeeper well would be payment enough.

When Betty could at last be pried away from him and had left the parlor, still sniffling with joy, Lily stood there gazing at him, her expression soft.

“I cannot thank you enough, Heath,” she murmured in a voice rife with gratitude.

Heath stilled as he became lost in those melting dark eyes of hers. Struggling against the urge to take Lily in his arms, he merely shrugged. “Don't refine on it.”

“Of course I will refine on it. You may possibly have saved her life, and you undoubtedly saved her baby's life.” Lily hesitated. “Such generosity is rare, especially coming from a nobleman.”

His mouth twisted at her unconscious disparagement of his class. “You may make a philanthropist out of me yet,” he said lightly.

Lily cocked her head as she studied him thoughtfully. “I imagine that would be a very good thing. Just think, Heath, you could put your enormous wealth to noble purpose. There are so many people who could benefit…not to mention the immense satisfaction of doing a kindness for others.”

It was even more satisfying to win her regard, Heath reflected. When Lily looked at him that way, he was willing to give away his entire fortune.

Heath shook his head mentally at the image of him doling out alms to the poor and oppressed, yet the thought of sharing Lily's cause held surprising appeal. She had accused him of wanting to play hero, and it was true; he wanted to be a hero in her eyes. And he wanted the right to slay her dragons.

“Will you stay for tea?” she asked in that same soft voice.

He hadn't meant to remain, but he found himself agreeing. And as Lily led the way upstairs to Fleur's sitting room, her words about putting his wealth to noble purpose echoed in his mind.

The possibility hadn't seriously occurred to him before now. No doubt because he'd been wrapped up in his own pursuits.

Perhaps, however, it was time to take stock of his life. Seeing Lily's concern for the less fortunate, Heath couldn't help but question his own goals and desires.

He had been born to vast privilege and wealth, receiving too much, too easily, with too few responsibilities to keep him grounded. His doting mother had spoiled him as a child, and like her, he'd been more concerned with his own selfish gratification.

And after losing his mother when he was ten, he'd taken refuge from his anguish in anger, rebelling against his father's dictates at every opportunity, sometimes on sheer principle, recklessly pushing the boundaries of civilized behavior to the point of physical danger.

But even as he grew older, he hadn't used his talents or resources very wisely. He'd treated life as a game, with the quest for pleasure and excitement his primary aim. He'd been adamant that he wouldn't become like his sire, mired in a grim, joyless, passionless existence.

But Heath could see now that he'd gone overboard trying to repudiate his father's influence. And he realized he ought to make more of his life.

Indeed, Lily was the first thing he'd ever had to work for, to strive to win—and the challenge had opened his eyes. Thanks to her inspiration, he wanted to contribute something productive to society, to a cause greater than himself. She made him want to do better, to be better, to prove himself worthy of her.

Perhaps when he returned home, he would pen a message to Tess Blanchard and ask how he could aid her charities—

Heath's ruminations were interrupted just then when they reached the sitting room. Surprisingly, Fanny was there with Fleur and Chantel. The women had been speaking in low tones, but all conversation stopped when Heath entered behind Lily.

And when Fanny turned her face toward them, Lily went rigid with shock.

The Cyprian's lower lip was split and bloody, Heath saw, while bruises in the shape of fingerprints disfigured the creamy skin covering her jaw.

“Good God, Fanny—whatever happened?” Lily exclaimed in tones of anger and dismay.

Obviously embarrassed, Fanny ducked her head. “It is nothing, Lily, truly.”

“What do you mean,
nothing
? Someone
struck
you!”

“It wasn't like that…. Mick just didn't realize his own strength.”

Lily took a step forward, her fists curled in rage, and Heath knew she was moments away from exploding.

Chapter Thirteen

I have no intention of wedding him, but I confess that the notion of becoming his mistress has a certain appeal.

—Lily to Tess Blanchard

“Mick O'Rourke?” Lily demanded, clearly appalled and furious. “
He
did that to you, Fanny?”

Heath saw Fanny wince. “Yes,” the Cyprian replied, “but I doubt he meant to hurt me. When I refused his patronage again, Mick became angry and tried to kiss me.”

“Of course he meant to hurt you!” Lily retorted. “That brute hurt Fleur when she ordered him from the house last week—”

“Because she called him an ill-bred oaf. It incenses Mick when he thinks someone is insulting his origins.”

“It incenses
me
when I see a man assaulting a much weaker woman!”

“I know, Lily,” Fanny said soothingly. “But he doesn't know any better. He was raised in the London stews and always had to fight for whatever he wanted, so he has different notions of civilized behavior than we do.”

Heath felt his jaw tighten at that unpersuasive justification, while Lily stared at Fanny in disbelief. “Are you actually making excuses for that lout? I cannot credit it!”

“No,” Fanny said a trifle defensively. “I only thought to explain his point of view.”

“I don't give a fig for his point of view! He has no right to brutalize you.”

Fanny's smile was pained. “Mick doesn't see it quite that way. He believes I am spurning him because his money isn't good enough for me, which is not the case at all. It is his possessiveness that I dislike. But truly, I am not concerned for myself. I am worried for Fleur and Chantel. Mick says he will make good his threat to put them in debtors' prison. I went to his club to ask him for another fortnight to repay the funds, but he wouldn't listen.”

“Well, he will listen to me!” Lily declared, turning abruptly toward the door. “I will
make
him listen.”

Not liking her implication, Heath stepped into her path, blocking her exit. “Just what do you intend, Lily?”

“To go down to that brute's gaming club this instant and confront him—give him a piece of my mind at the very least.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“What the devil do you mean?” she demanded, her fists clenching.

Lily was practically breathing fire, she was so angry, but she obviously was not thinking clearly. “I mean that you will allow me to handle O'Rourke. He will take me far more seriously.”

She looked as if she would dispute him, but then she hesitated, as if knowing he was right.

Taking advantage of her fuming silence, Heath pressed harder. “You can sheathe your sword for now, angel. I promise to deal with him.”

Lily gazed up at him warily, clearly reluctant to accept his help. “This really is not your concern, you know.”

“I am making it my concern.” Heath's gaze intensified. “You don't want to fight me on this, Lily. You won't win.”

“You promise to stop O'Rourke from hurting Fanny again?”

“You have my solemn word.”

He waited as Lily debated with herself, feeling an overwhelming need to wrap her in his arms and protect her from herself. She was magnificent in her fury, and he admired her loyalty to her friends, but he wanted to know that she was safe. Accosting O'Rourke in his lair was only asking for trouble, if not actual danger, and he was not about to let her attempt it.

When Lily nodded once, brusquely, Heath tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and hid a smile of relief and satisfaction.

He had wanted the chance to slay dragons for Lily. It was merely that the opportunity had arrived much sooner than he'd planned.

         

O'Rourke's gaming club was situated just off Bond Street, not far from the boardinghouse, so Heath's carriage reached it shortly. The decor was expensive with pretensions to gentility, he saw when he was admitted by a well-muscled bruiser. He found O'Rourke in his office at the rear of the gaming rooms, sitting behind his desk.

Sporting ebony hair and a burly build, O'Rourke somewhat resembled the ruffians Lily had confronted in the alley last week. His facial features were square and rugged, with a nose that had been broken at least once.

When Heath was shown in, the gamester's expression registered surprise and wariness, but he rose politely.

“Lord Claybourne…to what do I owe this honor?” he asked, taking obvious care with his diction.

“I gather you know who I am,” Heath replied.

“Naturally. I make it my business to know all the nabobs in London.” O'Rourke hesitated. “And I saw you at the jades' house last week.”

Heath raised an eyebrow. “Jades?”

“Fleur and Chantel. You were on the stairs as I was leaving.”

“When you were unceremoniously evicted, you mean.”

A muscle flexed O'Rourke's jaw, but he held on to his temper as he gestured at a wooden chair set in front of his desk. “Would you care to be seated, milord?”

“Thank you, no. My business won't take long.”

Heath had kept his hat and walking stick upon being admitted, and O'Rourke surveyed the stick measuringly before locking gazes again with his guest. “I'll wager I know the purpose of your visit, milord.”

“Do you?”

“You've come on behalf of those bawds.”

“In part. I am more concerned about your mistreatment of Miss Irwin.”

The heavy black brows snapped together. “What do you mean, mistreatment? I never laid a hand on Fanny.”

“Indeed? You split her lip and left bruises on her jaw from your grip.”

His expression turned bewildered. “I never meant to. I would never hurt Fanny. I love her.”

“You have a curious way of showing love.”

“Is that so?” O'Rourke's tone held a hint of belligerence. “What is it to you, your lordship? Fanny hasn't taken up with you, has she?”

“If you mean, am I enjoying her services, then no. But she is under my protection all the same. Miss Irwin is a friend of a friend.”

Nodding as if in understanding, O'Rourke sank back into his chair. “So that's the way of it? You're hot for that little firebrand who attacked me.”

Heath felt his mouth twitch at the suitability of the term for Lily. “You might put it that way. I hope to make that little firebrand my wife someday, and the well-being of her friends is of grave importance to her, and therefore to me.”

“Did she send you here?”

“I volunteered.” Heath smiled rather coldly. “You should consider yourself fortunate that I stopped her from coming here herself. She was quite eager to have your blood.”

“And you are not?”

“Let us say I am willing to settle for a warning. If you hurt Miss Irwin again—if you so much as damage a hair on her head—you will answer to me.”

The gamester stared back. “What will you do, your lordship, call me out? That would hardly be fair, considering that you're one of the premiere swordsmen in London.”

“I daresay in England,” Heath returned mildly. “And I am accounted a fair shot as well.” In truth he was a deadly shot, as he suspected O'Rourke would know.

The man glanced down to where Heath had rested his hands on the gold knob of his walking stick. “That is a swordstick, or I miss my guess.”

“I make it a policy never to confront an opponent unarmed.”

“I am not your enemy, milord.”

“You will be if you persist in ill-using Miss Irwin.”

O'Rourke visibly clenched his teeth. “So you will meet me at dawn some morning?”

“That is one possibility,” Heath replied. “Or I could pursue an alternate course. It might pain you more to be forced to close the doors to your club.”

The threat made O'Rourke scowl harder. “You mean you would drive me out of business.”

“If I must. I have no compunction about crushing a man who abuses women.” Heath paused to let that sink in before saying in a leading tone, “A gaming hell's reputation is a fragile thing, wouldn't you agree, Mr. O'Rourke? If word were to get out about certain dishonest dealings….”

“I run an honest establishment!”

“So I understand. But rumors of cheating are difficult to quell.”

His anger was evident, but he merely demanded, “What do you want of me, Lord Claybourne?”

“I told you. I want you to keep your hands off Miss Irwin.”

“Very well, I will!” he snapped.

“And I want you to withdraw your threat of imprisoning her friends.”

“Why the devil should I? That debt was entirely legit.”

“Legal perhaps, but still underhanded. You lured them to your Faro table and staked them well beyond their means to pay. But regardless of how the debt came about, they should have the funds to repay you shortly. If not I will cover the debt in full.”

When O'Rourke continued to glare, Heath smiled amiably. “I could have brought a draft from my bank today, but my ‘firebrand,' as you call her, is rather proud and independent and wishes to handle the problem on her own, so I won't interfere unless absolutely necessary. But one way or another, Mr. O'Rourke, you will be repaid.”

O'Rourke shook his head in irritation. “I don't want your blunt, milord.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Fanny. I want Fanny.”

Heath settled into the proffered chair after all. He had suspected something of the sort. “Would you care to explain?”

O'Rourke's grimace was part vexed, part rueful. “I've been head over ears for Fanny since the first time I saw her. I was her first protector, in fact.”

“But she didn't return the sentiment.”

The gamester's mouth twisted bitterly. “Not back then. Even when I offered to make her respectable and wed her, Fanny turned me down cold. She was sixteen and wanted the grand life I couldn't give her at the time. I'm rich as Croesus now and could set her up in comfort for life, but she still won't bite at matrimony. Says she doesn't want me for a husband, even though she'll be whistling a fortune away. I fancy it's because she thinks herself too good for the likes of me. But I know I can make her see reason if I keep after her.”

“So you are using that debt as leverage to persuade Fanny to return to you,” Heath mused.

“Yes. I don't care about the blunt. And I wouldn't really send those old bawds to prison. But you see why I don't want you settling their debt. If you pay, I'll have no chance to convince Fanny to wed me.”

Heath gave a brief nod. He could at least sympathize with the man's dilemma, since he'd been trying earnestly to convince Lily to marry
him.
But sympathizing was not the same as condoning.

When O'Rourke continued, his tone was more congenial. “You seem to be a reasonable gent, milord. Surely we can come to a mutual agreement?”

“I believe so, since my terms are simple.”

“I won't hurt Fanny again, you have my word.”

“Good. And if you mean to continue trying to win her hand in marriage, you will accomplish it without threatening her friends. This afternoon you will write to Fleur and Chantel and inform them of your willingness to wait for repayment for as long as they require. And you will be gracious about it.”

“Very well, milord,” O'Rourke said reluctantly. “I suppose you leave me no choice.”

Heath smiled. “That was precisely my intention, Mr. O'Rourke. I am gratified that you are such an astute businessman.”

         

Lily heard from Heath that afternoon, but his brief missive only reported that he had dealt with the problem of O'Rourke. Lily couldn't feel entirely satisfied by the news. She had wanted the brute severely punished for hurting Fanny but suspected Heath had let him off with merely a stern warning.

An hour later, however, Fleur and Chantel received an effusive apology from O'Rourke, saying that he regretted causing them distress and that he would no longer insist on immediate payment of their debt, so Lily had to be content with that.

And truly, she
was
grateful to Heath for helping her friends avoid the threat of prison. And for being willing to protect Fanny against O'Rourke. She was even more grateful for what he'd done for Betty and Peg. Seeing his gentleness when he'd consoled the sobbing prostitute had nearly melted Lily's heart. Heath had promised the girl she would be safe in her new life, and Lily trusted that it would happen.

Yet he apparently didn't want gratitude for his kindness, since he declined Fleur's special invitation to dine at the boardinghouse that evening. Lily couldn't help but believe that
she
was the cause of his refusal. He was deliberately avoiding her, it seemed.

And while his seductive games had once driven her to distraction, the cessation was now highly unsettling, since she worried about the reason for his retreat—the possibility that he had taken a mistress. The notion was beginning to trouble Lily greatly. She couldn't help wondering how Heath was occupying his time these days, couldn't stop picturing him in some perfumed beauty's arms, satisfying his carnal needs with the same sensual tenderness he had shown
her
…perhaps at this very moment.