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“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
MILLS & BOON
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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
