To Catch an Heiress

“Six of them?” he asked doubtfully.

“I'm quite literate.”

“I never doubted that.”

She pursed her lips, wanting to say that she was electing to read so that she might remain in her chamber and never have to see him again, but she had a feeling that would lead to a long, drawn-out argument, which was the last thing she wanted. “Was there anything else you desired, Mr. Ravenscroft?”

Then she blushed, really blushed. He'd made it quite clear the night before what he desired.

He waved his hand expansively—a motion she found annoyingly condescending. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all. If you want to read, be my guest. Read the whole bloody library if it suits you. If nothing else, it will keep you out of trouble.”

She bit back another retort, but it was growing difficult to maintain such a circumspect mouth. Hugging her books to her chest, she asked, “Has the marquis risen yet this morning?”

Blake's expression darkened before he said, “He's gone.”

“Gone?”

“Gone.” And then, as if she couldn't grasp the meaning of the word, he added, “Quite gone.”

“But where would he go?”

“I imagine he would go just about anywhere that would remove him from our company. But as it happens, he went to London.”

Her lips parted in shock. “But that leaves us alone.”

“Quite alone,” he agreed, holding out a sheet of paper. “Would you like to read his note?”

She nodded, took the note into her hands, and read:

Ravenscroft—

I have gone to London for the purpose of alerting Moreton to our plans. I have brought with me the copy of Prewitt's file. I realize this leaves you alone with Caroline, but truly, that is no more improper than her residing at Seacrest Manor with the both of us.

Besides which, the two of you were driving me mad.

—Riverdale

Caroline looked up at him with a wary expression. “You can't like this situation.”

Blake pondered her statement. No, he didn't “like” this situation. He didn't “like” having her under his roof, just an arm's reach away. He didn't “like” knowing that the object of his desire was his for the taking. James hadn't been much of a chaperone—certainly no one who could have salvaged her reputation should word of their uncommon living arrangements get out—but he'd at least created a buffer between Blake and Caroline. All that was now standing between him and the end of this damned frustration and lust was his own conscience.

And his body was starting to get rather frustrated with his conscience.

He knew that should he make a concerted effort to seduce Caroline, she would be helpless to stop him. The little innocent had never even been kissed; she'd never know what hit her if Blake used all the sensual weapons in his arsenal.

Of course one couldn't discount the presence of Perriwick and Mrs. Mickle. The pair of servants had taken to Caroline like clotted cream to scones, and Blake had no doubt that they would guard her virtue with their very lives.

He looked back at Caroline, who also appeared lost in her thoughts. Then suddenly her chin lifted and she said, “We were acting rather juvenile, weren't we?”

Before Blake even had a chance to nod, she added, “Of course, it was nothing that should require the marquis to feel the need to put a hundred miles between us, or however long it is to London. I say, how far is it to London?”

He stared at her in amazement. She had the most remarkable talent of making the most serious topics rather mundane. “Actually, a hundred miles is about right,” he answered.

“Is it? I've never been to London. I've been shuttled about between Kent and Hampshire, with a brief spell in Gloucestershire, but never London.”

“Caroline, what are you talking about?”

“I am trying to be polite,” she replied, using much the same condescending tone he had. “You, however, are making it extremely difficult.”

He let out a frustrated sigh. “Caroline, we are going to be living in the same house together for the next five weeks.”

“I am well aware of that, Mr. Ravenscroft.”

“We are going to have to make the best of a rather uncomfortable situation.”

“I see no reason why it should be uncomfortable.”

Blake disagreed. In fact his body was disagreeing rather strongly that very second. He was quite uncomfortable, and he could only give thanks to the current fashions for hiding it from her so well. But he wasn't about to go into all that, so he just flayed her with his most supercilious stare and said, “Don't you?”

“Not at all,” she replied, clearly unintimidated. “There is no reason why we should be uncomfortable if we simply take pains to avoid one another's company.”

“You really think we can avoid one another for three weeks?”

“Is that how long the marquis plans to be gone?”

“From the tone of his letter, I'd venture to guess that he plans to stay away as long as possible.”

“Well, I suppose we can do it. It's a big enough house.”

Blake closed his eyes. The entire county of Dorset wasn't big enough.

“Blake? Blake? Are you feeling quite all right? You look a bit flushed.”

“I'm fine,” he said.

“It's really quite remarkable how well you can enunciate even when you talk through your teeth. But still, you don't look at all the thing. Perhaps I ought to put you to bed.”

The room suddenly felt stiflingly hot, and Blake blurted out, “That is a very bad idea, Caroline.”