Free In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL) by Maggie Robinson Page B

of experience. Some men don’t mind another’s leavings.”
    Louisa set her wineglass down. “It is the twentieth century, Richard. Women have as much right to enjoy themselves as men, not that being with you was remotely enjoyable. I know that now, after all my
experience
. You should really get a few tips from Max. I’m sure Blanche would appreciate it.”
    Richard’s face darkened to the color of his wine. “You bitch.”
    “Well, you did call me a spaniel. I really don’t see how we are going to be able to get through the next seven courses, do you? Which of us shall leave the table? I can plead exhaustion from my travels, or you can pretend to be concerned for Lady Blanche. Or we’ll vow to stop speaking altogether—I
am
hungry and the food is always good at Rosemont even if the company isn’t.”
    “You’ll pay for your insolence. Do you think just because you ran away for a year that people have forgotten your reputation? Don’t think you can come back here and start fresh.”
    “I have no wish to remain at Rosemont under the present circumstances. Max’s château is heaven on earth.”
    Richard snorted. “I almost feel sorry for him.”
    “Oh, don’t bother—he’s a
very
happy man, if you know what I mean. Thank goodness. Here is the footman with the next course. Work your charm on Mrs. Naismith and I’ll watch Uncle Phillip chew.”
    How had she ever found Sir Richard Delacourt attractive? Louisa had no excuse for herself, except that she’d been trapped at Rosemont with little to amuse her and she had been hopelessly young. Seventeen-year-old girls were idiots, full of romance and possibilities that had no relation to the real world. Richard had been tall and didn’t have that horrid curly red beard then, and his haughty gray stare had made her want to appear worthy of him. However, getting down on her knees and getting caught was not the way.
    Oh, it had been so mortifying. Aunt Grace had been wild with fury. Dr. Fentress was called for to examine her in the most humiliating way. Her party was canceled and her freedom curtailed. Louisa had not even been allowed to ride for fear she’d venture onto Priory land and disgrace herself further. She was locked in at night, although eventually Louisa escaped now and again.
    Grace had blamed it all on Louisa’s “American blood,” although the Americans Louisa had met in her travels were nowhere near as stupid as she had been. In fact, she had admired them. They were fresh-faced, confident, lively. Courageous, too, for leaving their homes in Boston, New York, or Philadelphia to marry some impoverished, inbred lord. Money for a title—it’s what her mother Lily and her cousin Isobel had been after two decades ago in that first wave of American brides. Byron Stratton had no title but captured Louisa’s mother’s heart nonetheless.
    Maybe Louisa should reverse the trend and go to America, find a nice young man from a good middle-class family and settle down in one of the leafy suburbs that were springing up. Garden cities, where everything was new and one did not have to get tangled in the past.
    Once she got rid of Maximillian Norwich. Max would eventually have to die as originally planned, perhaps tumble down the château stairs like Antoine—only he’d break more than a leg. It did seem a shame to have to get rid of him, though—Captain Cooper was a very dashing man. She hoped he was enduring being partnered with Aunt Grace and Isobel. Between the two of them, he was earning his hefty fee tonight alone.
    The table was suddenly quiet, and Louisa looked up from her champagne sorbet. All eyes were upon her. Now what?
    “Louisa, your husband was just telling me the most shocking story about your stay in Monte Carlo. Do tell me it’s not true,” Aunt Grace said in ringing tones.
    Louisa leaned forward but could not catch a glimpse of Charles. “M-Max is generally truthful, aren’t you, darling?” She sat up as tall as she could and could