The Earl's American Heiress. Carol Arens

I give you will belong to your husband. But a title will protect you.”

      “But why is this business in Scotland so important to you? Surely there is money to be made back home.”

      “Diversification. You’ll recall that I’ve lost a fortune and then gained it back again. By having ventures in more than one country I am not depending upon only one country to be prosperous. I’ll be more likely to stay afloat financially with ventures in other parts of the world.”

      “If your business succeeds, I’ll be financially secure on both sides of the ocean and have no need to marry.”

      “Did you not hear me when I said money can vanish in an instant? Look at your cousin. She was a wealthy young woman a short time ago, and now? You must marry well, Clementine.”

      She must not have looked suitably convinced, for a worried expression flitted across his face, which made her more than uncomfortable.

      Grandfather was the most confident man she’d ever met. She had never seen the anchor of the family defeated in anything. His strength had always been her refuge.

      Many years ago—she’d been only three then—he had snatched both her and Madeline from certain death while a flash flood washed the rest of the family away. He had held them secure in his strong arms while hell surged all around. He would not give them over to the killer current. She vaguely remembered how his muscles trembled, how he groaned with the effort to keep them locked to his chest. Even though he was being pelted and cut by debris, he’d shielded them and refused to let death have them.

      Afterward, those wounded arms had held them through the grief of losing their parents, even while he dealt with his own. Over the years he had kept them fed and clothed, despite being busy rebuilding the fortune he’d lost.

      He’d raised them and loved them. Truly she and Madeline owed him complete devotion.

      And now he was asking her to give up everything.

      While she did owe him everything, could she really pay the price he wanted?

      “We’ll have word of a good outcome soon enough,” she said, focusing the conversation on Madeline.

      Someone came into the dining room and set a plate of bacon on the table between them.

      Grandfather did not speak again until the servant had left the room.

      “Do you understand the reason you will marry the earl?”

      She understood why he wanted her to. Things from her perspective looked a bit different.

      “You cannot assume that I will. I do have a say in it. For all we know the earl might be as greedy as most of the suitors I’ve already crossed paths with. You are aware that they wanted your fortune and not me?”

      “I am, indeed. Still, you’ll need to marry someone. And have you forgotten that I’ve met Fencroft? I’d hardly arrange a marriage that was not in your best interest. I will not see you bound to a common fortune hunter.”

      “But you would a titled one?”

      “Yes, indeed, I would. Please understand that a title is more enduring than money. No matter what, your children will never face one day of humiliation. They will never go to bed wondering about their next meal or what might go bump in the night. The respectability that comes with being a peer will be a hedge about them.”

      “My children! Surely you are ahead of yourself. The earl is a complete and utter stranger.”

      And surely not half as compelling as the stranger in the garden last night. Given that she was here in London to consider wedding an earl, she was giving far too much thought to the intriguing fellow.

      “He’s not a stranger to me. I spent considerable time with him during the negotiations. He’s a decent sort, and while not in the best of health, he enjoys his entertainment. In fact, he would have suited your cousin quite well had she given the union a chance.”

      “And you truly believe I would be happy doing so?”

      “I do, Clemmie. We would not be here if I thought otherwise.”

      “While that assurance might be fine for you, I can’t simply hand my life over to some man! Why, I don’t even know what he looks like.”

      “Oh, he has a pleasant face. Fair hair and friendly brown eyes. He’s slight of build.”

      Quite unlike the tall, muscular man in the pond whose eyes were—well she didn’t know the color, but they were quite mesmerizing.

      “He seems a merry fellow who laughs easily and does not look at life in an overserious manner. He attends all the grand balls.”

      “You know I dislike grand balls.”

      “Yes, I do know that, Clemmie. The earl would have suited your cousin grandly. It’s why I picked the man for her. But here we find ourselves. Try to look at the good side of this. You will have a fine London town house—there it is. You can see it just out the window across the garden. If you don’t like that there is a lovely country estate, even a seaside cottage, I’ve been told. I’m certain that would be to your liking. A lovely spot by the seashore?”

      Truly, there was not much she would not do for the man she loved above anyone else—but this?

      How could she possibly?

      * * *

      As he walked in the garden late at night, Heath’s steps felt heavy. His fate was nearly sealed.

      He was to become betrothed, again.

      As much as he tried not to think of Willa it was impossible not to, given the turn his life had taken. He’d always been smitten by her, he supposed. As a boy his heart had swelled whenever she deigned to look his way. He’d grown and given his heart to a few others for a time, but he’d never really forgotten her.

      Nor would he now. She continued to influence his life in a way he would never have imagined.

      Heath walked slowly about the perimeter of the garden, reliving what had happened.

      He shook his head. For once the tinkling of the fountain did not bring to mind his former fiancée’s desperate weeping.

      Apparently Cinderella in all her dripping glory had replaced the grim reminder with something delightful. She had become a happy vision in his mental angst.

      He didn’t often dwell on Willa’s betrayal, but with another marriage looming, it all came back.

      It had seemed a miracle at the time: his Willa seeking him out after so many years. They had become engaged within a week—she was in a hurry to marry him. Not for any tender feelings she had toward him, he’d discovered later on, but because she was pregnant. She confessed it before they wed, so he thought she must have come to care for him a bit. Even so, it was not the fact that she was expecting a child that made him break the engagement. He might have accepted it had Willa loved him. But she did not. He’d been broken for a bit by the way she’d used his affection.

      Heath sat down on a bench and watched as wispy clouds drifted across the moon.

      While he hadn’t gone through with the marriage, he could not find it in him to cast her out. He’d put her up in an apartment away from everyone she knew, so that her shame would not be exposed. He visited her, brought her what she needed to live in comfort. Oddly enough, a friendship had grown between them during that time, a true one. He wanted to confront the cad who had left her in this state, but she would not say who it was.

      One day, when he paid his weekly call, Willa was huddled in her bed, weak and feverish. She admitted to giving birth the day before and walking two miles to Slademore House to give her baby over to the charity there, run by Baron Slademore. As soon as she’d done it, she regretted it. She looked in desperate condition, cursing Slademore in her near delirium. Perhaps he was the culprit and that was why she had taken her child to him and not because it was a well-reputed orphanage? Willa claimed it was