To Catch an Heiress

  Ironically, that was exactly what Caroline was saying to herself—still, one couldn't be too careful—when she took a false step, landed on a rather dried-up twig, and broke it in half with an extremely loud snap.

  “Who's there?” the lady immediately demanded. Caroline froze.

  “Show yourself immediately.”

  Could she outrun the outrider? Unlikely. The man was already walking purposefully in her direction, his hand on a bulge in his pocket that Caroline had a sneaking suspicion was a gun.

  “It's only me,” she said quickly, stepping out into the clearing.

  The lady cocked her head, her gray eyes narrowing slightly. “Good day, ‘me.’ Who are you?”

  “Who are you?” Caroline countered.

  “I asked you first.”

  “Ah, but I am alone, and you are safely among your traveling companions. Therefore, common courtesy would deem that you reveal yourself first.”

  The woman drew her head back in a combination of admiration and surprise. “My dear girl, you are speaking the utmost nonsense. I know all there is to know about common courtesy.”

  “Hmmm. I was afraid you would.”

  “Not to mention,” the lady continued, “that of the two of us, I am the only one accompanied by an armed servant. So perhaps you ought to be the first to reveal her identity.”

  “You do have a point,” Caroline conceded, eyeing the gun with a wary grimace.

  “I rarely speak just for the sake of hearing my own voice.”

  Caroline sighed. “I wish I could say the same. I often speak without first considering my words. It's a dreadful habit.” She bit her lip, realizing that she was telling a total stranger about her faults. “Like right now,” she added sheepishly.

  But the lady just laughed. It was a happy, friendly sort of laugh, and it put Caroline right at ease. Enough so that she said, “My name is Miss…Dent.”

  “Dent? I'm not familiar with that name.”

  Caroline shrugged. “It's not terribly common.”

  “I see. I am the Countess of Fairwich.”

  A countess? Good gracious, there seemed to be quite a few aristocrats in this little corner of England of late. First James, now this countess. And Blake, although not titled, was the second son of the Viscount Darnsby. Caroline glanced up toward heaven and mentally thanked her mother for making sure that she taught her daughter the rules of etiquette before she died. With a smile and a curtsy, Caroline said, “I'm quite pleased to meet you, Lady Fairwich.”

  “And I you, Miss Dent. Do you reside in the area?”

  Oh dear, how to answer that one? “Not too terribly far away,” she hedged. “I often take long walks when the weather is fine. Are you also from this area?”

  Caroline immediately bit her lip. What a stupid question. If the countess was indeed from the Bournemouth area, it would stand to reason that everyone would know about it. And Caroline would immediately be revealed as an impostor.

  Luck, however, was on her side, and the countess said, “Fairwich is in Somerset. But I am coming from London today.”

  “Are you? I have never been to our capital. I should like to go someday.”

  The countess shrugged. “It grows a bit hot in the summer with all the crowds. There is nothing like the fresh sea air to make one feel whole again.”

  Caroline smiled at her. “Indeed. Alas, if it could only mend a broken heart…”

  Oh, stupid stupid mouth. Why had she said that? She had meant it as a joke, but now the countess was grinning and looking at her in that maternal sort of way that meant she was going to ask an extremely personal question.

  “Oh, dear. Is your heart broken, then?”

  “Let's just say it's a bit bruised,” she said, thinking that she was getting far too good at the art of lying. “It's just a boy I've known all my life. Our fathers were hoping for a match, but…” She shrugged, letting the countess draw her own conclusions.

  “Pity. You are a darling girl. I should introduce you to my brother. He lives quite nearby.”

  “Your brother?” Caroline croaked, suddenly taking in the countess's coloring. Black hair. Gray eyes.

  Oh, no.

  “Yes. He is Mr. Blake Ravenscroft of Seacrest Manor. Do you know him?”

  Caroline practically choked on her tongue, then managed to say, “We have been introduced.”

  “I am on my way to visit him right now. Are we very far from his home? I have never been.”

  “No. No, it's—it's just over the hill there.” She pointed in the general direction of Seacrest Manor, then quickly brought her hand down when she realized it was shaking. What was she going to do? She couldn't remain at Seacrest Manor with Blake's sister in residence. Oh, damn and blast that man to hell and back! Why hadn't he told her his sister would be paying a visit?

  Unless he didn't know. Oh, no. Blake was going to be furious. Caroline swallowed nervously and said, “I didn't realize Mr. Ravenscroft had a sister.”

  The countess waved her hand in a manner that reminded Caroline instantly of Blake. “He's a wretch, always ignoring us. Our older brother just had a daughter. I've come to tell him the news.”

  “Oh. I'm—I'm—I'm certain he'll be delighted.”

  “Then you're the only one. I am quite certain he'll be beyond annoyed.”

  Caroline blinked furiously, not understanding this woman one bit. “I—I—I beg your pardon?”

  “David and Sarah had a daughter. Their fourth daughter, which means that Blake is still second in line for the viscountcy.”

  “I…see.” Actually, she didn't, but she was so happy she hadn't stuttered she didn't much care.

  The countess sighed. “If Blake is to be Viscount Darnsby, which is not entirely unlikely, then he'll have to marry and produce an heir. If you live in this area, then I'm sure you are aware he is a confirmed bachelor.”

  “Actually, I don't really know him very well at all.” Caroline wondered if she sounded just a bit too determined to make that point, so she added, “Just at—at local functions and all that. You know, county dances and the like.”

  “Really?” the countess asked with undisguised interest. “My brother has attended a provincial county dance? The mind boggles. I suppose that next you're going to try to tell me that the moon recently crashed into the channel.”

  “Well,” Caroline added, swallowing rather painfully, “he only attended once. It's a…small community here near Bournemouth, and so naturally I know who he is. Everyone knows who he is.”

  The countess was silent for a moment, and then she abruptly said, “You say my brother's house isn't very far?”

  “Why no, my lady. It shouldn't take more than a quarter of an hour to walk there.” Caroline eyed the trunks. “You'll have to leave your things behind, of course.”

  The countess waved her hand in the air in what Caroline was now terming the Ravenscroft wave. “I shall simply have my brother send his men to fetch them later.”

  “Oh, but he—” Caroline started coughing wildly, trying to cover up the fact that she'd been about to blurt out that Blake employed only three servants, and of them, only the valet was strong enough to do any heavy lifting.

  The countess whacked her on the back. “Are you quite all right, Miss Dent?”

  “Just—just swallowed a bit of dust, that's all.”

  “You sounded quite like a thunderstorm.”

  “Yes, well, I am occasionally given to fits of coughing.”

  “Really?”

  “Once I was even rendered mute.”

  “Mute? I can't imagine.”

  “Neither could I,” Caroline said quite honestly, “until it happened.”

  “Well, I'm certain your throat must be terribly sore. You must accompany us to my brother's home. A spot of tea will be just the thing to restore you.”

  Caroline coughed again—this time for real. “No no no no no no no,” she said, rather more quickly than she'd have liked. “That is really not necessary. I would hate t
o impose.”

  “Oh, but you wouldn't be imposing. After all, I need you to direct us to Seacrest Manor. Offering you tea and a bit of sustenance is the very least I can do to repay your kindness.”

  “It's really not necessary,” Caroline made haste to say. “And the directions to Seacrest Manor are quite simple. All you have to do is follow the—”

  “I have a terrible sense of direction,” the countess interrupted. “Last week I got lost in my own home.”

  “I find that difficult to believe, Lady Fairwich.”

  The countess shrugged. “It's a large building. I've been married to the earl for ten years now and I still haven't set foot in the east wing.”

  Caroline just swallowed and smiled weakly, having no idea how to respond to that.

  “I insist that you accompany us,” the countess said, linking her arm through Caroline's. “And I might as well warn you that there is no use arguing. I always get my way.”

  “That, Lady Fairwich, I don't find difficult to believe at all.”

  The countess trilled with laughter. “Miss Dent, I think you and I are going to get along famously.”

  Caroline gulped. “Then you plan to stay here in Bournemouth for some time?”

  “Oh, just a week or so. It seemed foolish to travel all the way down here and then turn right back again.”

  “All the way? Isn't it just a hundred miles?” Caroline frowned. Wasn't that what Blake had said that morning?

  “A hundred miles, two hundred miles, five hundred miles…” The countess did the Ravenscroft wave. “If I have to pack, what difference does it make?”

  “I—I—I'm sure I don't know,” Caroline replied, feeling as if she'd just been leveled by a whirlwind.

  “Sally!” the countess called out, turning to her maid. “Miss Dent is going to show me to my brother's house. Why don't you remain here with Felix and guard our bags? We shall send someone for you with all possible haste.”

  Then the countess took a step in the direction of Seacrest Manor, practically dragging Caroline along with her. “I daresay my brother will be surprised to see me!” she chirped.

  Caroline moved forward on wobbly legs. “I daresay you're right.”

  Blake was not in a good mood.

  He had obviously misplaced every shred of good sense he had ever possessed. There was no other explanation for his carrying Caroline off to his room and nearly ravishing her in broad daylight. And if that weren't bad enough, now he was aching with unfulfilled need thanks to his meddling butler.

  But the worst—the absolute worst—part of all was that now Caroline had up and gone missing. He'd searched the house from top to bottom, front to back, and she was nowhere to be found. He didn't think she'd run away; she had far too much sense for that. She was probably out wandering the countryside, trying to clear her head.

  Which would have been a perfectly understandable and indeed commendable pursuit if her likeness weren't depicted on bills plastered all over the county. It was a bad likeness, to be sure—Blake still thought the artist should have drawn her smiling—but still, if someone found her and returned her to Prewitt…

  He swallowed uncomfortably. He didn't like the hollow feeling he felt at the thought of her leaving.

  Blast that woman! He didn't have time for a complication like this, and he certainly didn't have room in his heart for another woman.

  Blake swore under his breath as he pushed aside a gauzy piece of curtain and scanned the side garden. Caroline must have left via the servants' stairs; that was the only exit she'd have had access to from the washing room. He'd searched the grounds completely, but he'd been checking the side the most often; for some reason he thought she'd come back the way she had gone. He didn't know why. She just seemed the sort who would do that.

  There was no sign of her, however, so Blake just cursed again and let the curtain drop. It was then that he heard a loud, rather strident knock at the front door.

  Blake cursed for a third time, unaccountably irritated that he'd incorrectly anticipated her behavior. He made his way to the door in long, quick strides, his brain filled to the brim with all the lectures he was going to pelt at her. By the time he was through with her, she'd never dare pull this sort of stunt again.

  His hand touched the doorknob and he yanked it open, his voice an angry growl as he said, “Where the hell have you—”

  His mouth fell open.

  Then he blinked.

  Then he snapped his mouth shut again.

  “Penelope?”

  Chapter 15

  so-ror-i-cide (noun). The action of killing one's sister.

  I feared sororicide. I truly did.

  —From the personal dictionary of Caroline Trent

  Penelope smiled breezily at him and strode into the hall. “It is so lovely to see you, Blake. I'm sure you're surprised.”

  “Yes, yes, you could say that.”

  “I would have been here earlier—”

  Earlier?

  “—but I had a slight carriage accident and if it weren't for dear Miss Dent here—”

  Blake looked back out the door and saw Caroline.

  Caroline?

  “—I should have been completely stranded. Of course I had no idea we were so close to Seacrest Manor, and as I was saying, if it weren't for dear Miss Dent—”

  He looked back at Caroline, who was frantically shaking her head at him.

  Miss Dent?

  “—who knows how long I would have remained sitting on my trunk by the side of the road, mere minutes from my destination.” Penelope paused for breath and beamed at him. “Doesn't the irony just kill you?”

  “That's not the only thing,” Blake muttered.

  Penelope stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “You're the same as ever, dear brother. No sense of humor.”

  “I have a perfectly fine sense of humor,” he said, a touch defensively. “It's simply that I'm not used to being surprised—completely surprised I might add—by an unexpected guest. And you've dragged along Miss—” Ah, damn. What the hell had Penelope called her?

  “Dent,” Caroline supplied helpfully. “Miss Dent.”

  “Ah. And have we been introduced?”

  His sister sent an angry look his way, which didn't surprise him in the least. A gentleman was not supposed to forget a lady, and Penelope took great stock in good manners. “Don't you recall?” she said loudly. “It was at the county dance last autumn. Miss Dent told me all about it.”

  The bloody county dance? What sort of tales had Caroline been spinning about him? “Of course,” he said in a smooth voice. “I don't recall who introduced us, though. Was it your cousin?”

  “No,” Caroline replied in a voice so sweet it might as well have been dripping honey, “it was my great aunt. Mrs. Mumblethorpe. Surely you remember her?”

  “Ah, yes!” he said expansively, motioning for her to enter the hall. “The magnificent Mrs. Mumblethorpe. How could I have possibly forgotten? She is a singular lady. Last time we dined together she was showing off her new yodeling skills.”

  Caroline tripped on the step. “Yes,” she said through her teeth, bracing her arm against the door-jamb to keep from falling, “she had such a brilliant time on her trip to Switzerland.”

  “Mmmm, yes. She said as much. As a matter of fact, by the time she finished her demonstration, I think the entire county knew how much she enjoyed her travels.”

  Penelope listened to the exchange with interest. “You shall have to introduce me to your aunt, Miss Dent. She sounds most interesting. I would so like to meet her while I am in Bournemouth.”

  “Exactly how long do you plan to stay?” Blake cut in.

  “I'm afraid I can't introduce you to Aunt Hortense,” Caroline said to Penelope. “She so enjoyed her travels to Switzerland that she has decided to embark upon another journey.”

  “Where to?” Penelope asked.

  “Yes, where to?” Blake echoed, enjoying the momentary look of panic on Caro
line's face as she groped for a suitable country.

  “Iceland,” she blurted out.

  “Iceland?” said Penelope. “How odd. I've never known anyone to visit Iceland before.”

  Caroline smiled tightly and explained, “She has always had a great fascination with islands.”

  “Which would explain,” Blake said in a perfectly dry voice, “her recent jaunt to Switzerland.”

  Caroline turned her back to him and said to Penelope, “We should see about sending someone to fetch your belongings, my lady.”

  “Yes, yes,” Penelope murmured, “in a moment. But first, Blake, before I forget to answer your rather rude question, I will tell you that I anticipate staying approximately a week, perhaps a bit longer. Provided that suits you, of course.”

  Blake glanced down at her with amused disbelief. “And when has my agreement ever determined your actions?”

  “Never,” Penelope replied with a carefree shrug, “but I must be polite and pretend, mustn't I?”

  Caroline watched as brother and sister sparred, a lump of wistful envy building in her throat. Blake was obviously irritated by his sister's unheralded arrival, but it was equally clear that he loved her beyond measure. Caroline had never known the affectionate camaraderie of siblings; indeed, she had never even seen it before that day.

  Her heart ached with longing as she listened to their interaction. She wanted someone who would tease her; she wanted someone who would hold her hand when times grew scary and unsure.

  Most of all, she wanted someone who would love her.

  Caroline caught her breath as she realized how perilously close she was to tears. “I really need to be off,” she blurted out, making a beeline for the door. Escape was foremost in her mind. The last thing she wanted was to find herself sobbing in Seacrest Manor's front hall, right in front of Blake and Penelope.

  “But you haven't had tea!” Penelope protested.

  “I'm really not thirsty. I—I—I must go home. I'm expected there.”

  “Yes, I'm sure you are,” Blake drawled.

  Caroline paused on the front steps, wondering where on earth she was going to go. “I don't want anyone to worry over me.”