To Catch an Heiress

Chapter 8

quaff (verb). To drink deeply; to take a long draught.

I have found that when a gentleman grows ill-tempered, oftentimes the best antidote

is to invite him to quaff a cup of tea.

-From the personal dictionary of

Caroline Trent

Freshly cut flowers were strewn on the floor, a priceless vase was overturned but thankfully not broken, and a wet stain was seeping across Blake's very new, very expensive Aubusson carpet. "I just wanted to smell them," Caroline said from her position on the floor. "You were supposed to stay still!" Blake yelled. "Well, I know that but-"

"No Twits'!" he roared, checking to see that her ankle wasn't twisted in some hideous fashion.

"There is no need to shout."

"I'LL SHOUT IF I-" He stopped, cleared his throat, and continued in a more normal tone. "I will shout if I damned well please, and I will speak like this if I damned well please. And if I want to whis­per-"

"I'm sure I catch your meaning."

"May I remind you that this is my house, and I can do anything I want?"

"You don't need to remind me," she said agree­ably.

Her friendly and accepting tone needled at him. "Miss Trent, if you are going to remain here-"

"I'm extensively grateful that you're going to let me stay," she interjected.

"I don't care about your gratitude-"

"Nonetheless, I'm happy to offer it."

He gritted his teeth. "We need to establish a few rules."

"Well, yes, of course, the world needs a few rules. Otherwise, chaos would ensue, and then-"

"Would you stop interrupting me!"

She drew her head back a fraction of an inch. "I believe you just interrupted me."

Blake counted to five before saying, "I'll ignore that."

Her lips twisted into something that an optimistic person might call a smile. "Do you think you might lend me a hand?"

He just stared at her, uncomprehending.

"I need to get up," Caroline explained. "My-" She broke off, not about to say to this man that her

bum was getting wet. "It's damp down here," she finally mumbled.

Blake grunted something she doubted she was meant to understand and practically slammed the tea service, which he'd clearly forgotten he was still holding, down on a side table. Before Caroline had time to blink at the crash of the tray against the table, his right hand was thrust in front of her face.

"Thank you," she said with as much dignity as she could muster, which admittedly wasn't very much.

He helped her back to the sofa. "Don't get up again."

"No, sir." She gave him a jaunty salute, an act which didn't seem to have any sort of improving effect on his temper.

"Can't you ever be serious?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Saluting me, knocking all of my books down, little paper birds -can't you take anything seri­ously?"

Caroline narrowed her eyes, watching him wave his arms wildly as he spoke. She'd only known him a few days, but that was more than enough to know that this burst of emotion was not characteristic. Still, she didn't much appreciate having her at­tempts at friendship and civility tossed back in her face like so much dirty bathwater.

"Do you want to know how I define serious?" she said in a low, angry voice. "Serious is a man who orders his son to rape his ward. Serious is a young woman with no place to go. Serious is not an over­turned vase and a wet carpet."

He only scowled at her in response, so she added, "And as for my little salute- I was just trying to be friendly."

"I don't want to be friends," he bit off.

"Yes, I see that now."

"You are here for two reasons, and two reasons only, and you'd best not forget that."

"Perhaps you'd care to elucidate?"

"One: You are here to aid us in the capture of Oliver Prewitt. Two-" He cleared his throat and actually blushed before repeating the word. "Two: You are here because, after abducting you through no fault of your own, well, I owe you that much."

"Ah, so I am not supposed to try to help around the house and garden or in any way be friendly with the servants?"

He glared at her but did not reply. Caroline took that response as an affirmative, and she gave him a nod that would have done the queen proud. "I see. In that case, perhaps you'd best not join me for tea."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I have this terrible habit, you see."

"Just one?"

"Just one that would offend you, sir," she shot back, her tone not particularly nice. "When I take tea with other people, I tend to converse with them. And when I converse with people, I'm likely to do so in a polite and friendly manner. And when then happens-"

"Sarcasm doesn't become you."

"And when that happens," she continued in a louder voice, "the strangest thing occurs. Not all the time, mind you, and probably not with you, Mr.Ravenscroft, but I'm sure you wouldn't like to chance it."

"Chance what?"

"Why, becoming friends with me."

"Oh, for the love of God," he muttered.

"Just push the tea service toward me, if you please."

Blake stared at her for a moment before doing as she asked.

"Would you like a cup to take with you?"

"No," he said perversely. "I'll stay."

"The consequences could be deadly."

"It seems to me that the consequences could be even deadlier to my -furnishings if I leave you alone."

Caroline glared at him and slammed a teacup into a saucer. "Milk?"

"Yes. No sugar. And do try to be gentle with the china. It's a family heirloom. Now that I think of it..."

"Now that you think of what?" she snapped.

"I really should do something about the mess on the carpet."

"I'd clean it up myself," she said sweetly, "but you've ordered me not to help around the house."

Blake ignored her as he stood up and crossed to the open door. "Perriwick!" he bellowed.

Perriwick materialized as if Blake had conjured him. "Yes, Mr. Ravenscroft?"

"Our guest had a slight accident," Blake said, waving his hand toward the wet spot on the carpet.

"Our invisible guest, you mean?"

Caroline watched the butler with undisguised in­terest. All Blake did was say, "I beg your pardon?"

"If I might be so bold as to make a deduction based upon your behavior of the past few days,

Mr. Ravenscroft-"

"Just get to the point, Perriwick."

"You clearly did not want it to be made public that Miss... ah... Miss... er... shall we call her Miss Invisible-"

"Miss Trent," Caroline supplied helpfully.

"-Miss Trent is here."

"Yes, well, she's here, and that's that," Blake said irritatedly. "You needn't pretend you don't see her."

"Oh, no, Mr. Ravenscroft, she is clearly visible now."

"Perriwick, one of these days I am going to stran­gle you."

"I do not doubt it, sir. But may I be so bold as to-"

"What, Perriwick?"

"I merely wanted to inquire as to whether Miss Trent's visit to Seacrest Manor is now meant to be made public."

"No!" Caroline answered, loudly. "That is, I would prefer you keep this information to yourself. At least for the next few weeks."

"Of course," Perriwick replied with a smart bow. "Now, if you will excuse me, I will see to the mishap."

"Thank you, Perriwick," Blake said.

"If I might be so bold, Mr. Ravenscroft-"

"What is it now, Perriwick?"

"I merely wished to suggest that you and Miss Trent might be more comfortable having your tea in another room while I tidy this one."

"Oh, he's not having tea with me," Caroline said.

"Yes, I am," Blake ground out.

"I don't see why. You yourself said you didn't want to have anything to do with me."

"That's not entirely true," Blake shot back. "I very much enjoy crossing you."

"Yes, that much is clear."

Perriwick's head bobbed back and forth like a spectator at a badminton match, and then the old man actually smiled.

"You!" Blake snapped, pointing at Perriwick. "Be quiet."

Perriwick's hand went to his heart in a dramatic gesture of dismay. "If I might be so-"

"Perriwick, you're the boldest damned butler in England, and you well know it."

"I merely intended," the butler replied, looking rather smug, "to ask if you would like me to re­move the tea service to another room. I did suggest that you might be more comfortable elsewhere, if you recall."

"That is an excellent idea, Perriwick," Caroline said with a blinding smile.

"Miss Trent, you are clearly a woman of superior manners, good humor, and a fine mind."

"Oh, for the love of God," Blake muttered.

"Not to mention," Perriwick continued, "excel­lent taste and refinement. Were you responsible for the lovely rearrangement of our garden yesterday?"

"Yes, I was," she said, delighted. "Did you like the new layout?"

"Miss Trent, it clearly reflected the hand of one with a rare sense of the aesthetic, true brilliance, and just a touch of whimsy."

Blake looked as if he might happily boot his but­ler clear to London. "Perriwick, Miss Trent is not a candidate for sainthood."

"Sadly, no," Perriwick admitted. "Not, however, that I have ever considered the church to be of impeccable judgment. When I think of some of the people they've sainted, why, I-"

Caroline's laughter filled the room. "Perriwick, I think I love you. Where have you been all of my life?"

He smiled modestly. "Serving Mr. Ravenscroft, and his uncle before him."

"I do hope his uncle was a little more cheerful than he is."

"Oh, Mr. Ravenscroft wasn't always so ill-tempered. Why, when he was a young man-"

"Perriwick," Blake roared, "you are perilously close to being tossed out without a reference."

"Mr. Ravenscroft!" Caroline said reprovingly. "You cannot think to dis-"

"Oh, do not worry, Miss Trent," Perriwick inter­rupted. "He threatens to terminate my employment here nearly every day."

"This time I mean it," Blake ground out.

"He says that every day, too," Perriwick said to Caroline, who rewarded him with a giggle.

"I am not amused," Blake announced, but no one seemed to be listening to him.

"I'll just move this to the other room," Perriwick returned, piling the teacups back on the tray. "The service will be in the green room, should you desire to partake."

"I didn't even get a sip," Caroline murmured as she watched the butler disappear into the hall. "He is quite-Oh!"

Without a word, Blake scooped her up into his arms and thundered out of the room. "If you want tea," he growled, "then you'll get tea. Even if I have to follow that damned butler to Bournemouth."

"1 had no idea you could, be so agreeable," she said in a wry voice.

"Don't push me, Miss Trent. In case you hadn't noticed, my temper is hanging by a very fine thread."

"Oh, I noticed."

Blake stared at her in disbelief. "If s a wonder someone hasn't killed you before now." He strode across the hall, Caroline clutching his shoulders, and into the green room.

No sign of the tea service.

"Peniwick!" Blake bellowed.

"Oh, Mr. Ravenscroft!" came the butler's disem­bodied voice.

"Where is he?" Caroline could not help asking, twisting her head to look behind her.

"Lord only knows," Blake muttered, then yelled, "Where the devil- Oh, there you are, Perriwick."

"You do creep up on a soul," Caroline said with a smile.

"It's one of my most useful talents," Perriwick replied from the doorway. "I took the liberty of moving the tea service to the blue room. I thought Miss Trent might enjoy a view of the ocean."

"Oh, I should like that above all else," Caroline said with obvious delight. "Thank you, Perriwick. You are ever so thoughtful."

Perriwick beamed.

Blake scowled.

"Is there anything else I can do to see to your comfort, Miss Trent?" Perriwick inquired.

"She's fine," Blake growled.

"Clearly, she-"

"Perriwick, isn't the west wing on fire?"

Perriwick blinked, sniffed the air, and stared at his employer in dismay. "I do not understand, sir."

"If there is no fire that needs putting out," Blake said, "then surely you can find some other task to complete."

"Yes, of course, Mr. Ravenscroft." With a small bow, the butler left the room.

"You shouldn't be so mean to him," Caroline said.

"You shouldn't tell me how to run my house­hold."

"I wasn't doing any such thing. I was merely tell­ing you how to be a nicer person."

"That is even more impertinent."

She shrugged, trying to ignore the way she was jostled against him as he carried her through the house. "I'm often impertinent."

"One doesn't need to be in your company for very long to appreciate that fact."

Caroline remained silent. She probably should not be speaking so boldly to her host, but her mouth very often formed words with no direction what­soever from her brain. Besides, she was fairly cer­tain now that her place here at Seacrest Manor was secure for the next five weeks. Blake Ravenscroft might not want her here -he might not even like her -but he definitely felt guilty over having mis­takenly abducted her, and his sense of honor required him to provide her with a place to stay until she was safe from Oliver Prewitt.

Caroline smiled to herself. A man with a sense of honor was a very good thing, indeed.

Several hours later Caroline was still in the blue room, but the blue room no longer bore anything more than a passing resemblance to the chamber she'd entered earlier that day.

Perriwick, in his desire to make "the lovely and gracious Miss Trent" as comfortable and happy as possible, had brought in several trays of food, a se­lection of books and newspapers, a set of watercolors, and a flute. When Caroline had pointed out that she did not know how to play the flute, Perri­wick had offered to teach her.

Blake had finally lost his patience when Perriwick offered to move the piano into the room -or rather, offered to have Blake, who was quite a bit younger and stronger than he was -do it. That had been bad enough, but when Caroline asked if Perriwick was going to play for her, Perriwick had answered, "Goodness no, I don't know how to play, but I'm sure Mr. Ravenscroft would be happy to entertain you for the afternoon."

At that point, Blake had thrown up his arms and stalked out of the room, muttering something about how his butler had never been so courteous and concerned about him.

And that was the last Caroline had seen of him. She had managed to keep herself quite happy for the afternoon, however, munching on pastries and thumbing through the most recent copies of the London Times. Really, she could get used to such a life.

Even her ankle wasn't paining her so much any longer.

She was quite entranced by the society pages- not, mind you, that she had a clue who they were talking about, except, possibly, for the "Dashing and Dangerous Lord R-" who Caroline was be­ginning to suspect might be her new friend James, when the marquis himself walked into the room.

"You have been gone quite a while," she said. "Would you like a pastry?"

James looked around the room with undisguised curiosity. "Have we arranged for another feast without my knowledge?"

"Perriwick merely wanted to make certain I was comfortable," Caroline explained.

"Ah, yes. The servants do seem rather besotted with you."

"It is driving Blake mad."

"Good." James picked up a pastry off a plate and said, "Guess what I found?"

"I couldn't possibly."

He held up a sheet of paper. "You."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your guardian appears to be looking for you."

"Well, I'm not surprised," she commented, taking the notice and looking down at it. "I'm worth quite a bit of money to him. Oh, this is funny."

"What?"

"This." Caroline pointed to the drawing of her, which was situated underneath a headline reading: missing girl. "Percy drew this."

"Percy?"

"Yes, I should have known Oliver would have Percy do it. He is far too tightfisted to spend money on a proper artist."

James cocked his head and looked at the drawing a bit more carefully. "It's not a very good likeness."

"No, it's not, but I expect Percy did that on pur­pose. He's actually quite handy with pen and paper. But remember, he doesn't want me to be found any more than I do."

"Silly boy," James murmured.

Caroline looked up in surprise, certain that she must have misheard. "I beg your pardon?"

"Percy. If s quite clear to me from what you've said that he isn't likely to do any better than you. If I were he, I would certainly not have complained about my father's choice of bride."

"If you were Percy," Caroline said wryly, "Percy would be a much finer man."

James chuckled.

"Besides," she continued. "Percy thinks I am highly unattractive, morbidly interested in books, and he never ceases to complain that I cannot sit still."

"Well, you can't."

"Sit still?"

"Yes. Just look at your ankle."

"That has nothing to do with-"

"It has everything to do with-"

"My, my," drawled a voice from the doorway. "Aren't we cozy?"

James looked up. "Oh, good day, Ravenscroft."

"And where did you disappear to this morning?"

James held up the posted bill he'd brought back from town. "I went out to investigate our Miss Trent."

"She isn't our Miss Tr-"

"Forgive me," James said with a wicked smile. "Your Miss Trent."

Caroline immediately took offense. "I'm not-"

"This is an exceedingly asinine conversation," Blake cut in.

"My thoughts exactly," Caroline muttered. Then she pointed to the notice about her and said, "Look what the marquis brought back."

"I thought I told you to call me James," James said.

"'The marquis' is just fine," Blake grumbled. "And what the hell is this?"

James handed him the paper.

Blake dismissed it immediately. "This looks noth­ing like her."

"You don't think so?" James asked, his expres­sion positively angelic.

"No. Any fool could see that the artist put her eyes a bit too close together, and the mouth is all wrong. If the artist really wanted to capture her on paper, he should have shown her smiling."

"Do you think so?" Caroline asked, delighted.

Blake scowled, clearly irritated with himself. "I wouldn't worry that anyone is going to find you based on this. And besides, no one knows you're here, and I'm not expecting any guests."

"True," James murmured.

"And," Blake added, "why would anyone care? There is no mention of a reward."

"No reward?" Caroline exclaimed. "Why that cheap little-"

James laughed out loud, and even Blake, grumpy as he was, had to crack a smile.

"Well, I don't care," she announced. "I just don't care that he isn't offering a reward. In fact, I'm glad. I'm much happier here than I was with any of my guardians."

"I would be, too," Blake said wryly, "if Perriwick and Mrs. Mickle treated me this way."

Caroline turned to him with a wicked smile, the urge to tease him too strong to ignore. "Now, now, don't get snippy because your servants like me best."

Blake started to say something, then just laughed. Caroline felt an instant happy satisfaction spreading within her, as if her heart recognized that she had done something very good in making this man laugh. She needed Blake, and the shelter of his home, but she sensed that maybe he needed her just a little bit, too.

His was a wounded soul, far more so even than her own. She smiled up into his eyes and mur­mured, "I wish you'd laugh more often."

"Yes," he said gruffly, "you've said as much."

"I'm right about this." On impulse, she patted his hand. "I'll allow that I'm wrong about a great deal, but I'm sure that I'm right about this. A body can't go as long without laughing as you have."

"And how would you know?"

"That a body can't go without laughing, or that you haven't laughed in a long, long while?"

"Both."

She thought about that for a moment, then said, "As for you, well, all I can say is that I can just tell. You always look a bit surprised when you laugh, as if you don't expect to be happy."

Blake's eyes widened imperceptibly, and without thinking, he whispered, "I don't."

"And as for your other question..." Caroline said, a sad, wistful smile crossing her face. There was a long silence, as she tried to think of the right words. "I know what it's like not to laugh. I know how it hurts."

"Do you really?"

"And I know that you have to learn to find your laughter and your peace wherever you can. I find it in-" She blushed. "Never mind."

"No," he said urgently. "Tell me."

Caroline looked around. "What happened to the marquis? He seems to have disappeared again."

Blake ignored her question. James had a talent for disappearing when it was convenient. He would not put it past his friend to play matchmaker. "Tell me," he repeated.

Caroline stared at a spot just to the right of his face, not understanding why she felt so compelled to bare her soul to this man. "I find my peace in the night sky. It's something my mother taught me. Nothing more than a little trick, but-" She shifted her gaze to meet his eyes. "You probably think that is very silly."

"No," Blake said, feeling something very warm and very odd in the vicinity of his heart. "I think that might be the least silly thing I've heard in years."