To Catch an Heiress

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 Caroline'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."

"No, I'm sure you wouldn't," Blake murmured.

"Blake, darling," Penelope said, "I insist that you see Miss Dent home."

"A fine idea," he agreed.

Caroline nodded gratefully. She didn't much feel like facing his questions just now, but the alterna­tive was wandering the countryside with no place to go. "Yes, I would appreciate that."

"Excellent. It's not far, you say?" His lips curved ever so slightly, and Caroline wished she could tell whether his smile was one of irony or supreme ir­ritation.

"No," she replied. "Not far at all."

"Then I propose that we walk."

"Yes, that would probably be most convenient."

"I will wait here, then," Penelope put in. "I'm sorry I cannot accompany you home, but I'm most weary from my travels. It has been lovely meeting you, Miss Dent. Oh! But I do not even know your given name."

"You must call me Caroline."

Blake shot her a sideways glance, looking a bit surprised and intrigued that she had not used an alias.

"If you are Caroline," Penelope replied, "then I am Penelope." She grasped her hands and squeezed affectionately. "I have a feeling we are going to be splendid friends."

Caroline wasn't certain, but she thought she heard Blake mutter, "God help me," under his breath. And then they both smiled at Penelope and exited the house.

"Where are we going?" Caroline whispered.

"To hell with that," he hissed back, glancing over his shoulder to make certain'they were out of ear­shot of the house, even though he knew that he'd shut the front door behind him. "Would you care to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"It wasn't my fault," she said quickly, following his steps away from the house.

"Why I wonder, do I have trouble accepting that statement?"

"Blake!" she burst out, yanking on his arm and grinding him to a halt. "What do you think, that I sent your sister a note and asked her to pay you a visit? I had no idea who she was. I didn't even know you had a sister! And she wouldn't have even seen me if I hadn't stepped on that bloody twig."

Blake sighed, beginning to realize what had hap­pened. It was an accident-a great, big, huge, monstrously inconvenient and annoying accident. His life seemed littered with those these days. "What the hell am I going to do with you?"

"I have no idea. I certainly can't remain in the house while your sister is visiting. You yourself told

me that your family doesn't know about your work for the War Office. I assume that includes Penelope?"

At Blakes's curt nod, she added, "If she discovers that I have been staying at Seacrest Manor, she will undoubtedly learn of your clandestine activities."

Blake swore under his breath.

"I don't approve of your secretiveness with re­gard to your family," Caroline said, "but I will re­spect your wishes. Penelope is a dear lady. I shouldn't want her to worry over you. That would upset her, and it would upset you."

Blake stared at her, unable to speak. Of all the reasons that Caroline shouldn't let his sister know she'd been staying at Seacrest Manor, she had to pick the only one that was completely unselfish. She could have said that she worried for her reputation. She could have said that she was afraid that Penel­ope would turn her over to Oliver. But no, she wasn't worried about all that; she was worried that her actions might hurt him.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling awkward in her presence. Caroline was watching his face, clearly waiting for a reply, and he had no idea what to say. Finally, after she prodded him with a questioning, "Blake?" he managed to get out, "That is most thoughtful of you, Caroline."

She blinked in surprise. "Oh."

"Oh?" he echoed, jutting his chin out slightly to­ward her in a questioning manner.

"Oh. Oh... Oh." She smiled weakly at him. "I guess I thought you were going to scold me fur­ther."

"I thought I was, too.' he said, sounding just as surprised as she did.

"Oh." Then she caught herself and said, "Sorry."

" 'Ohs' aside, we're going to have to figure out what to do with you."

"I don't suppose you've a hunting lodge some­where nearby?"

He shook his head. "I've no place in the region where you can hide. I suppose I could put you in a carriage to London."

"No!" Caroline replied. She grimaced, a bit em­barrassed by the forcefulness of her reply. "I really cannot go to London."

"Why not?"

She frowned. That was a good question, but she wasn't about to tell him that she'd miss him. Finally she said, "Your sister is going to expect to see me. I'm sure she'll ask me to call."

"A tricky maneuver indeed, considering that you have no home to which she may send an invita­tion."

"Yes, but she doesn't know that. She will cer­tainly ask you for my direction. And then what will you say?"

"I could always say you've gone to London. In general, the truth is always the best option."

"Wouldn't that be lovely?" she said, sarcasm more than evident in her voice. "With my luck she'll turn around and head back to London and look for me there."

Blake let out an irritated exhale. "Yes, my sister is obstinate enough to do just that."

"I suppose it runs in the family."

He only laughed. "That it does, my dear, but we Ravenscrofts cannot hold a candle to the Trents when it comes to sheer muleheadedness."

Caroline grumbled, but she didn't contradict him because she knew it was true. Finally, thoroughly irritated with his rather smug smile, she said, "We can argue about our respective bad traits all we want, but that doesn't solve the problem at hand. Where am I to go?"

"I think you'll have to go back to Seacrest Manor. I know I cannot think of a suitable alternative.

Can you?"

"But Penelope is there!"

"We shall have to hide you. There is nothing else for it."

"Oh, dear Lord," she muttered. "This is a disas­ter. A bloody disaster."

"On that point, Caroline, we are in complete agreement."

"Will the servants be in on the ruse?"

"I should think they would have to be. They al­ready know about you. It's a good thing there are only three of- Good God!"

"What?"

"The servants. They don't know not to mention you to Penelope."

Caroline paled.

"Don't move. Don't move an inch. I'll be right back."

Blake took off at a run, but he'd barely covered ten yards, when another potential disaster found its way to Caroline's mind. "Blake!" she yelled. "Wait!"

He skidded to a halt and turned around.

"You can't go through the front door. If Penelope sees you she'll wonder how you managed to see me home so quickly."

He swore under his breath. "I'll have to use the side entrance. I assume you're familiar with it."

Caroline shot him an annoyed look. He knew very well she'd used the side entrance to make her escape earlier mat day.

"You might as well come with me now," Blake said. "We'll sneak you up through the side and fig­ure out what to do with you later."

"In other words, you mean for me to wait in your washing room indefinitely?"

He grinned. "I hadn't gotten that far in my plans, but now that you mention it, yes, that's an excellent idea."

At that point, Caroline decided that her mouth was altogether too big. Luckily, before she could of­fer up any more bad ideas, Blake grabbed her hand and took off at a run, practically dragging her be­hind him. They skirted the perimeter of the prop­erty until they were hidden among the trees facing the side entrance.

"We're going to have to make a run for it through the clearing," Blake said.

"What do you think are the chances she's on this side of the house?"

"Very small. We left her in the front sitting room, and if anything, she's likely to go upstairs and find a bedchamber."

Caroline gasped. "What if she finds mine? My clothes are there. I've only three dresses, but they clearly don't belong to you."

Blake swore again.

She raised her brows. "Do you know, but I've started to find your cursing rather comforting. If you weren't cursing, life would seem almost abnor­mal." .

"You're a strange woman." Blake tugged on her hand, and before Caroline realized what was happening, she was tripping across the lawn, her mind echoing with a stream of prayers that Penelope wouldn't see them. She had never been a particularly religious sort, but it seemed as good a time as any to develop a pious nature.

" They barreled through the side door, both heav­ing with exertion as they collapsed on the stairs.

"You," Blake said. "Up to the washroom. I'll find the servants."

Caroline nodded and dashed up the stairs, slip­ping silently into his washing room. She looked around with a good dose of chagrin. The Lord only knew how long she was going to be stranded mere. "Well," she said aloud, "it could be worse."

Three hours later Caroline had discovered that the only way to stave off boredom in the washing room was to entertain herself by listing all of the situations that would be worse than her current one.

It wasn't easy.

She immediately dismissed all sorts of fanciful scenarios, like being trampled by a two-headed cow, and instead concentrated on more realistic possibilities.

"He could have a small washing room," she said to her reflection in the mirror. "Or it could be very

dirty. Or... or or or... or he could forget to feed me." Her lips twisted into a peevish line. The bloody

man had forgotten to feed her! "The room could have no windows," she tried, glancing up at the aperture. She grimaced. One would have to possess an extraordinarily optimistic nature to call that little sliver of glass a window.

"He could have a pet hedgehog," she said, "which he keeps in the basin."

"It's unlikely," came a male voice, "but possible."

Caroline looked up to see Blake in the doorway. "Where have you been?" she hissed.

"I'm starv­ing."

He tossed her a scone.

"You're too kind," she muttered, wolfing it down. "Was that my main course or merely an ap­petizer?"

"You'll be fed, don't worry. I thought Perriwick was going to have palpitations when he heard where you were hiding. I imagine he and Mrs. Mickle are preparing a feast even as we speak."

"Perriwick is clearly a nicer man than you."

He shrugged. "No doubt."

"Did you manage to intercept all the servants be­fore they mentioned me to Penelope?"

"Yes. We're safe, have no fear. And I have your things. I moved them to my room."

"I'm not staying in your room!" she said, rather huffily.

"I never said you were. You're certainly free to remain here in the washing room. I'll find some blankets and a pillow for you. With a little inge­nuity, we can make this place quite comfortable."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're enjoy­ing this, aren't you?"

"Only a touch, I assure you."

"Did Penelope ask after me?"

"Indeed. She has already written you a letter ask­ing you to pay a call tomorrow afternoon." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small enve­lope, and gave it to her.

"Well, that is certainly a boon," Caroline grum­bled.

"I shouldn't complain, were I you. At least it means you can escape the washing room."

Caroline stared at him, really annoyed by his smile. She stood and planted her hands on her hips.

"My, my, we're looking militant this afternoon, aren't we?"

"Don't condescend to me."

"But it's so much fun."

She hurled a chamber pot at him. "You can use this in your own room!"

Blake ducked and then laughed despite himself when the pot broke into pieces against the wall.

"Well, I suppose one can take some comfort in the fact that it wasn't full."

"If it had been full," she hissed, "I would have aimed at your head."

"Caroline, this situation isn't my fault."

"I know, but you don't have to be so bloody jolly about it."

"Now, you're being just a bit unreasonable."

"I don't care." She whipped a bar of soap at him. It stuck against the wall.

"I have every right to be unreasonable."

"Oh?" He ducked as his shaving kit sailed through the air.

She glowered at him. 'For your information, in the past week, I have been, oh let's see, nearly raped, kidnapped, tied to a bedpost, forced to cough my voice into nothingness-"

"That was your own fault."

"Not to mention the fact that I embarked upon a life of crime by breaking and entering into my for­mer home, was nearly trapped by my odious guard­ian-"

"Don't forget your sprained ankle," he supplied.

"Ooooohhhh! I could kill you!" Another bar of soap flew by his head, grazing his ear.

"Madam, you are certainly doing an able job of trying."

"And now!" she fairly yelled. "And now, as if all of that weren't undignified enough, I am forced to live for a week in a bloody bathroom!"

Put that way, Blake pondered, it was damned funny. He bit his lip, trying to hold back his laugh­ter.

He wasn't successful.

"Stop laughing at me!" she wailed.

"Blake?"

He went utterly sober in under a second. "It's Penelope!" he whispered.

"Blake? What is all that yelling about?"

"Quick!" he hissed, shoving her back toward the side stairwell. "Hide!"

Caroline scurried away, and just in time, too, for Penelope pushed open the door to the washing room just as she closed the one to the stairwell.

"Blake?" Penelope queried for the third time. "What is all the commotion?"

"It was nothing, Penny. I-"

"What happened here?" she screeched.

Blake looked around and gulped. He'd forgotten about the mess on the floor. Chamber pot shards, his shaving kit, a towel or two...

"I... ah..." It seemed to him that it was far eas­ier to lie for the sake of national security than it was to his older sister.

"Is that a bar of soap stuck to the wall?" Penelope asked.

"Um... yes, it appears to be."

She pointed down. "And is this another bar of soap on the floor?"

"Er... yes, I must have been rather clumsy this morning."

"Blake, is there something you're keeping from me?"

"There are quite a few things I keep from you," he said with absolute honesty, trying not to think about Caroline sitting out in the stairwell, presum­ably laughing her bloody head off at his predica­ment.

"What's this on the floor?" Penelope bent down and picked up something white. "Why, it's the note I wrote to Miss Dent! What is it doing here?"

"I haven't had a chance to send it yet." Thank God Caroline had forgotten to open it.

"Well, for heaven's sake, don't leave it here on the floor." She narrowed her eyes and looked up at him. "I say, Blake, are you feeling quite the thing?" "Actually, no," he replied, seizing the opportu­nity she'd offered him. "I've been a touch dizzy for the last hour or so. That's how I knocked over the chamber pot."

She touched his forehead. "You don't have the fever."

'Tm sure if s nothing a good night's sleep won't cure."

"I suppose." Penelope pursed her lips. "But if you're not feeling better by tomorrow I'm summon­ing a doctor."

"Fine."

'Terhaps you ought to lie down right now."

"Yes," he said, practically pushing her out of the bathroom. "That is an excellent idea."

"Right, then. Here, I'll turn down your sheets."

Blake let out a huge sigh as he shut the bathroom door behind him. He certainly wasn't happy about the latest turn of events; the last thing he wanted was his older sister fussing over him. But it was certainly preferable to her discovering Caroline amid the chamber pot shards and soap slivers.

"Mr. Ravenscroft?"

He looked up. Perriwick was standing in the doorway, balancing a silver tray laden with a veri­table feast. Blake started shaking his head franti­cally, but it was too late. Penelope had already turned around.

"Oh, Perriwick," she said, "what is that?"

"Food," he blurted out, dearly confused by her presence. He glanced around.

Blake frowned. The damned butler was obviously looking for Caroline. Perriwick may have been dis­creet, but he was damned clumsy when it came to out-and-out subterfuge.

Penelope looked to her brother with questioning eyes. "Are you hungry?"

"Er... yes, I thought to have a bit of an afternoon snack."

She lifted the lid off of one of the platters, re­vealing an enormous roast ham. "This is quite a snack."

Perriwick's lips stretched into a sickly sweet smile. "We thought to give you something substan­tial now, since you requested such light fare for supper."

"How thoughtful," Blake growled. He'd bet his front teeth that that ham had originally been in­tended for supper. Perriwick and Mrs. Mickle were probably planning on sending up all the good food to Caroline and feeding gruel to the "real" occu­pants of Seacrest Manor. They certainly had made no secret of their disapproval when Blake had in­formed them of Caroline's new domicile.

Perriwick turned to Penelope as he set the tray down on a table. "If I might be so bold, my lady-"

"Perriwick!" Blake roared. "If I hear the phrase 'if I might be so bold' one more time, as God is my witness, I'm going to toss you into the channel!"

"Oh dear," Penelope said. "Perhaps he does have the fever, after all. Perriwick, what do you think?"

The butler reached for Blake's forehead, only to have his hand nearly bitten off. "Touch me and die," Blake snarled.

"A bit cranky this afternoon, eh?" Perriwick said, grinning.

"I was perfectly fine until you came along."

Penelope said to the butter, "He's been acting rather strangely all afternoon."

Perriwick nodded regally. "Perhaps we ought to leave him be. A bit of rest might be just the thing."

"Very well." Penelope followed the butler to the door. "We shall leave you alone. But if I find out you haven't taken a nap, I'm going to be very angry with you."

"Yes, yes," Blake said hurriedly, trying to usher them out of the room. "I promise I'll rest. Just don't disturb me. I'm a very light sleeper."

Perriwick let out a loud snort that was definitely not in keeping with his usual dignified mien.

Blake shut the door behind them and leaned against the wall with a huge sigh of relief. "Good Christ," he said to himself, "at this rate I'll be a doddering fool before my thirtieth birthday."

"Hmmph," came a voice from the washing room. "I'd say you're well on your way already."

He looked up to see Caroline standing in the doorway, an annoyingly huge grin on her face.

"What do you want?" he bit off.

"Oh, nothing," she said innocently. "I just wanted to tell you that you were right."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"Let's just say I've discovered the humor in our situation."

He growled at her and took a menacing step for­ward.

But she appeared unintimidated. "I can't really remember the last time I laughed so hard," she said, grabbing the tray of food.

"Caroline, do you value your neck?"

"Yes, I'm rather fond of it. Why?"

"Because if you don't shut up, I'm going to wring it."

She darted back into the washing room. "Point taken." Then she shut the door, leaving him fuming in his bedroom.

And if that weren't bad enough, the next sound he heard was a loud click.

The damned woman had locked him out. She'd taken all the food and locked him out.

"You'll pay for this!" he yelled at the door.

"Do be quiet," came the muffled reply. "I'm eat­ing."