The Missing Heir. Gail Ranstrom

      “Nenemoosha. The Chippewa word for sweetheart.”

      “Nenemoosha,” she repeated. Then more slowly, softer, “Nenemoosha…” with a wistful sigh.

      He leaned toward her, unable to resist the word said so sweetly. “Say, metea.”

      “Metea?” she asked.

      “Do not say it like a question,” he instructed.

      “Metea,” she repeated.

      He leaned the rest of the way across the little tea table and deposited a kiss on her lips.

      “Again?” he asked.

      “Metea.”

      Again he kissed her, deeper, fuller.

      When he sat back, she smiled. Ah, she understood that the word was an invitation.

      “Metea, metea, metea,” she said.

      Tugging her into his arms, he took intense satisfaction in the feel of her against him. God forgive him, it did not matter if she was telling the truth. He wanted her. And that was all that mattered at this moment.

      “You owe me, Mrs. Forbush,” he said against her lips. “And I want payment…!”

      Praise for Gail Ranstrom

      Saving Sarah

      “Gail Ranstrom has written a unique story with several

       twists that work within the confines of Regency England…. If Ranstrom’s first book showed promise, then Saving Sarah is when Ranstrom comes of age.”

      —The Romance Reader

      A Wild Justice

      “Gail Ranstrom certainly has both writing

       talent and original ideas.”

      —The Romance Reader

      The Missing Heir

      Gail Ranstrom

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Dedicated to The Hussies,

       for their unfailing friendship, nurturing and support.

      Special thanks to Eileen G., Lisa W. and Suzi S.— the Wild Writers. Thanks for keeping me focused, writing and laughing.

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

       Prologue

      Wednesday, May 24, 1820

       “B ut there was something relentlessly methodical in the way my brother was fleeced, and that is why I suspect cheating.” Miss Laura Talbot sat primly on the edge of her chair, an air of expectancy hovering about her like a storm cloud. “Can you help me?”

      Grace Forbush glanced at the four other women in her parlor. Annica Sinclair, Lady Auberville, merely blinked. Charity MacGregor arched her eyebrows and tilted her head to one side. Lady Sarah Travis shook her head in sympathy, and Dianthe Lovejoy shot a worried glance back at Grace.

      Grace delicately cleared her throat and set her teacup aside. “Before we undertake any case, Miss Talbot, you must understand that the Wednesday League is devoted to obtaining justice for women. Justice. You must be completely candid with us, and you must accept that, should we discover your brother’s gaming debts are honest, we can do nothing to help you. We cannot alter the truth, merely uncover it.” And Grace more than half suspected the debt was honest. Who, after having lost his entire fortune, did not cry “foul”?

      “Yes, of course.” Miss Talbot nodded eagerly. “I have been candid, and though I would not like the consequences, I am willing to abide by them.”

      “What are the consequences to you, Miss Talbot?” Lady Annica asked. “Aside from reduced circumstances?”

      “Two and a half weeks hence, on the tenth of June, I am to wed Lord Geoffrey Morgan. You see, I was a part of my brother’s last desperate wager.”

      “Lord Geoffrey Morgan?” Lady Sarah frowned and shot a glance at Grace. “He must have been desperate, indeed.”

      Grace nodded. Her own experience had been remarkably similar to Miss Talbot’s, down to the blend of old and new bruises on Miss Talbot’s arms, and likely other, less exposed, places. And, like her own brother, Grace saw this as evidence that Miss Talbot’s brother delighted in the infliction of pain and complete domination. Unlike Miss Talbot, however, she had found marriage to a stranger an escape rather than an unacceptable fate.

      “I gather Lord Geoffrey is not a choice you would make for yourself?” she asked.

      “Heavens no!” Miss Talbot gasped. “I’ve met him only once, the day after my brother’s losing wager. He is a gambler, and when I asked my friends about him, I learned that he has a very murky reputation. The very idea of marriage to such a man is abhorrent to me.”

      The Wednesday League knew Geoffrey Morgan. He had been close to Constance Bennington, a member of their group, before her death. He’d disappeared for several years after her death, and then returned under a rather dark cloud. Grace studied Miss Talbot closely. The girl was perhaps ten and seven, and very pretty in an ordinary sort of way. She had a lovely complexion, even features, wide brown eyes and a trim figure. Grace could only imagine what marriage to a man who had to gamble for a bride would do to an innocent like Laura Talbot. Well, not while she breathed! Laura would have the chance that Grace never had.

      Grace leaned forward and patted Miss Talbot’s hand. “If Lord Geoffrey has been cheating, we shall discover it, my dear. Meantime, I would like you to think about simple refusal of your brother’s debt. It is his debt, after all, and not yours. I do not think the courts would look kindly on this sort of thing.”

      Miss Talbot glanced down at her lap. “If this were taken to the courts, the scandal would ruin what is left of the family reputation. Regardless, my integrity and reputation would be stained. I cannot decide which I dread more at the moment, Mrs. Forbush—my brother’s wrath or Lord Geoffrey’s attentions. I suspect my brother has the capacity to make my life exceedingly more unpleasant than Lord Geoffrey. And, since I have not reached my majority, I am obligated to my brother.”

      That, too, was familiar territory! But Grace had not been gambled away by her brother. She’d been arbitrarily bartered for land adjoining their estate.

      Charity MacGregor stood and went to glance out the parlor window at the park across the street. “Strategically speaking, Grace, how are we to accomplish this task? We cannot march into gaming hells and demand to see betting books, nor can we cast dice or bet on the