Free The Elusive Heiress by Gail Mallin Page A

in the Gillman Players agreed that Kate could not offer such a sorry object as a credential to Messrs. Hilton, Tyler and Dibbs, particularly as to do so might arouse the very suspicions they were trying to avoid.
    ‘This is scarcely conclusive. Do you have any official papers?’ Lord Redesmere laid the letter back on the desk.
    ‘Not on me, no. My uncle insisted on taking my certificate of American citizenship into his care. He said he would keep it safe for me.’ Kate shrugged lightly, praying that they wouldn’t guess how tension was knotting her stomach. She could feel Crawford watching her like a hawk.
    ‘Why didn’t you ask for it back?’
    ‘I was scared of him! Why else do you think I ran away?’ Kate glared at him. What was the matter with the man? He must have a heart of stone!
    ‘I see.’ Apparently unimpressed by her plight, his lordship flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his immaculate sleeve. ‘In that case, can you offer us any other proof?’
    Kate’s temper slipped its tight leash.
    In a swift gesture she pointed to the gold locket which she wore around her neck. ‘I suppose I also forged these,’ she snapped, flicking it open to reveal two miniature portraits.
    With a slow deliberation Randal raised his quizzing glass and proceeded to stare intently at the locket lying upon her creamy bosom.
    Her cheeks flushing, Kate reached up to undo the chain, meaning to hand the locket to him, but in her agitated haste her fingers fumbled the task.
    ‘Allow me.’ Before she could frame a protest, he rose swiftly to his feet and came to her aid.
    She had washed her hair with jasmine. He could smell the delicate sweetness as he gently moved the heavy, shining ringlets aside. How soft they felt, like the finest silk!
    A quiver of unexpected pleasure shot through Kate at the touch of his warm hands, quenching her anger. She sat very still, acutely consciously of his strong, well-muscled thighs brushing against her shoulders. To her horror, she suddenly realised that she wanted to turn round and clasp him in her arms.
    ‘Please bend your head forward a little.’
    In a daze Kate obeyed the quiet command and felt his fingers move to the clasp. Her heart began to thump. She knew she ought to have more sense, but it made no difference.
    Randal undid the clasp and the chain fell away. For an instant he remained motionless staring down at the tender curve of her bare nape. Mastering the crazy impulse to press a kiss upon her satiny skin, he turned away and sat down again.
    The locket had fallen into her lap. With an effort, Kate pulled herself together and picked it up. Avoiding his gaze, she held it out to Randal. ‘My father gave this to my mother on their wedding day. I believe it originally belonged to his mother.’
    Her hand was trembling. Why? Was it guilt, or had she too felt something at his touch? And why should that particular thought please him so much?
    Randal sternly quelled his irrational speculations and took the locket. He stared down at the twin portraits. Charmingly executed in watercolours, they depicted a young man and woman clad in the styles of some twenty years ago.
    Silently, he handed the locket over to the lawyer.
    ‘Mama commissioned a travelling artist to paint them soon after their arrival in Massachusetts. Do you recognise my father, sir?’ Kate asked, fixing her great dark eyes on Alan Hilton’s face.
    ‘Indeed. The likeness is excellent.’ The lawyer paused. ‘That is to say, I recognise this as an accurate portrayal of Mr Charles Nixon.’ He shifted uneasily in his seat. ‘The locket is also known to me. I was present when Mr Charles received it from his father. However, my dear young lady, in itself this locket does not prove that Charles Nixon was your father.’
    ‘Oh come, sir!’ Kate gave him her most charming smile. ‘Is it likely that an impostor would possess such a family heirloom? And what about Mama’s letter? How do you account for that?’ She shook