To Catch an Heiress

Chapter 14

nic-tate (verb). To wink.

I have found that nervous situations of­ten cause me to nictate or stutter.

-From the personal dictionary of

Caroline Trent

An hour later Caroline was feeling quite re­freshed-at least in the physical sense. The crisp salty air held remarkable restorative proper­ties for the lungs. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite as effective with the heart and the head.

Did she love Blake Ravenscroft? She certainly hoped so. She'd like to think that she wouldn't have behaved in such a wanton manner with a man for whom she didn't feel a deep and abiding affection.

She smiled wryly. What she ought to be consid­ering was whether Blake cared for her. She thought

he did, at least a little bit. His concern for her wel­fare the night before had been obvious, and when he kissed her... well, she didn't know very much about kissing, but she could sense a hunger in him, and she instinctively knew that that hunger was re­served solely for her.

And she could make him laugh. That had to count for something.

Then, just as she was beginning to rationalize her entire situation, she heard a tremendous crash, fol­lowed by the sound of splintering wood, followed by some decidedly feminine shrieking.

Caroline's eyebrows shot up. What had hap­pened? She wanted to investigate, but she wasn't supposed to make her presence here in Bourne­mouth known. It wasn't likely mat one of Oliver's friends would be traveling this little-used road, but if she were recognized it would be nothing short of disaster. Still, someone might be in trouble...

Curiosity won out over prudence, and she trotted toward the sound of the crash, slowing her pace as she drew close just in case she changed her mind and wanted to remain hidden.

Concealing herself behind a tree, she peered out at the road. A splendid carriage lay drunkenly in the dirt, one wheel completely splintered. Three men and two ladies were milling about. No one seemed injured, so Caroline decided to remain be­hind the tree until she could assess the situation.

The scenario quickly became a fascinating puzzle. Who were these people and what had happened? Caroline quickly figured out who was in charge- it was the better dressed of the two ladies. She was quite lovely, with black curls that spilled out from under her bonnet, and was giving orders in a man­ner that revealed that she had been dealing with servants her entire life. Caroline judged her age to be about thirty, perhaps a bit older.

The other lady was probably her maid, and the gentlemen-Caroline guessed that one was the driver and two were outriders. All three men were dressed in matching dark blue livery. Whoever these people were, they came from an extremely wealthy household.

After a minute of discussion, the lady in charge sent the driver and one of the outriders off to the north, presumably to fetch some help. Then she looked at the trunks which had fallen off the car­riage and said, "We might as well use them as seats," and the three remaining travelers plopped down to wait.

After about a minute of sitting around and doing nothing, the lady turned to her maid and said, "I don't suppose my embroidery is packed anywhere accessible?"

The maid shook her head. "It's in the middle of the largest trunk, my lady."

"Ah, that would be the one that is miraculously still fastened to the top of the carriage."

"Yes, my lady."

The lady let out a long breath. "I suppose we ought to be thankful that it isn't overly hot."

"Or raining," the outrider put in.

"Or snowing," said the maid.

The lady speared her with an annoyed glance. "Really, Sally, that's hardly likely at this time of year."

The maid shrugged. "Stranger things have hap­pened. After all, who would have thought we'd have lost a wheel the way we did. And this being the most expensive carriage money can buy."

Caroline smiled and edged away. Clearly these people were unhurt, and the rest of their traveling party would be back soon with help. Better to keep her presence a secret. The fewer people who knew she was here in Bournemouth the better. After all, what if this lady was a friend of Oliver's? It wasn't likely, of course. The lady seemed to have a sense of humor and a modicum of taste, which would im­mediately eliminate Oliver Prewitt from her circle of friends. Still, one couldn't be too careful.

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 to 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 men 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 mourn fell open.

Then he blinked.

Then he snapped his mouth shut again.

"Penelope?"