Page 33 of Scandalous Heiress
Chapter 6
Victor watched Ada take her croquet stick from the rack and make her way toward the first hoop.Richard, curse him, stepped up right beside her, too close behind her, advising her on how to hit the ball.
Bright woman, she shot him a look that could freeze a man in the jungle.“I’ve played this before, sir.Move aside.”
No doubt about it.Miss Ada Hanniford, late of New York and Baltimore, had spotted Richard’s game…and she didn’t play it.His half-brother had been eliminated.
She hit her ball and sent it in a straight line to the next hoop.
Victor rejoiced and walked over to queue his ball.
Three days into this charade of a house party, Richard did not dance attendance on Esmerelda Moore.One of their other guests, another school chum of Victor’s, Sir James Edgecombe appeared to find Esmerelda delightful and she flirted with him, inviting all his attentions.Richard noticed, but did not indicate he cared.Instead, he hung like a puppy dog on the heels of Ada Hanniford.
Victor rebelled at his brother’s advances.Choking on anger at Richard’s sexual misconduct, he determined to protect her.Jealous for the first time in his life, he stayed close to Ada and caused her to stifle many a smile.Richard, seeing his game, turned mean and aggressive.
The other twenty-two guests shared sly glances and refrained from public comment.The elders muttered to each other of Richard’s behavior.The younger were watchful if discreet, most being friends of his and Richard’s from school.One was an old pal of Victor’s, George, Lord Pinkhurst now married to an acquaintance of Ezzie and Ada, an American heiress from New York.
Meanwhile, Victor watched over his brother like a sentinel at the gate of hell.Ada was no novice at protecting herself.She played cards or croquet, charades or dice with the cool head of a practiced gambler.She seemed able to predict Richard’s approach and his next moves to back her into corners or monopolize her attention.Yet, she turned him aside and escaped him all too easily.Richard caught her in the foil but could not best her.
But Victor found himself in need of her smile, her humor, the roll of her eyes as his brother attempted another invasion of her person.The man was rather insufferable.She restrained herself out of good manners and slid away from him on any occasion as if he had the plague.
Undeterred, however, Richard plowed on.
And Ezzie?Dear woman.Esmerelda Moore, late of New York, and armed with fifty thousand of her daddy’s dollars, did not blink an eye.She smiled, she laughed, she conversed, she played cards and whatever else with as much aplomb as Ada.That she was flattered by Edgecombe’s attentions suited her.Victor could even say she welcomed that man’s regard.To her credit, she showed nary a sign that she was jealous of her friend Ada.She trusted her friend implicitly.
And rightly so.
Amusing to watch, Ada rejected Richard at every turn.His ardent glances, his hand to hers lingering too long, returning to try again.He had set his cap for her.His leading words as he engaged her in conversation in the drawing room, his solicitous attentions to provide her with her shawl for a walk on the veranda, his decision to rise early just to catch her to himself at breakfast.Of course, he didn’t get her alone.
Victor was there.He made a point to be.
Truth was, however, she didn’t need him to protect her from him.
“Take your shot, dear boy!”Richard waggled a finger at him to hit the ball.
“Give it a proper whack, would you, please, Victor?”Ada asked, her crystal blue gaze meeting his with meaning and laughter.He and she had begun to address each other by their given names that first afternoon after they had all walked along the river.He welcomed the familiarity.She was American and used to such informal address.Richard, he knew, disapproved of such friendly behavior.
But Victor gladly called her Ada.He liked her name, strong as she, fluid and bright.He liked the way her lips formed as she called him by his own name.Victor, she’d utter in dulcet tones that struck the harshness from the consonants and brushed his senses with desires he hadn’t felt in years.
Victor, do tell me about Shanghai.
Victor, do tell me about your business.
Victor,he wished she’d say,do kiss me.
“Victor?”She called to him, her eyes sliding to one side to indicate Ezzie next to her and Richard who gloated over a good move of his ball down the grassy lane.
He understood her.Implicitly.Her dislike of his brother’s attentions.Her concern for her friend.Her affinity—yes, he’d say it—her appreciation ofhim.
He’d never been any woman’s Sir Galahad.But hers, he was happy to be.Long a man of athletic inclinations, from riding to cricket to tennis, Victor was happy to show up his brother.Taking overlong to examine the angles, to mentally measure the distances by which to knock his brother out of the running, he crouched and bent and pondered.
“Good god, dear boy!”Richard cried, his hand to his hip.His brother had even dressed for the game.Wishing to impress Ada, he looked foppish in white trousers, white shirt and yellow sweater.“Get on with it.If you’re about to pound my ball, please do it.”
Victor glared at him.In his words stood risqué meanings.So be it.Let me show you,dear boy,you must not pursue a lady who finds you unprincipled.
He struck it straight and hard.And rejoiced at how far it traveled and so true, add to that.
“I say, Cole,” his friend George Pinkhurst approached and hit him on the shoulder.They’d been at Eton together and Pinkie had gone on to inherit his father’s barony.Married to the American Priscilla van de Putte a few years ago, he seemed more dour than he had as a youth, as if he’d had his wings clipped.Marriage had soured Victor on connubial bliss so he was not surprised at George’s distaste for it.
