To Love A Wicked Scoundrel
Anabelle Bryant
Is there a Lady in the land that can resist this scoundrel’s charms…?At her step-mother’s command, Isabelle – and her irrepressible step-sister Lily – are leaving the pleasantries of the English countryside behind them, and heading straight to the bustling heart of a London season. Isabelle couldn’t care less about fashionable society, and is even less interested in the name on the lips of every ballroom gossip - Lord Constantine Highborough, reputedly a scoundrel of the highest order! But once he sets eyes on the stunningly beautiful Isabelle, London’s most notorious rake knows exactly where to direct his devilishly bewitching smile.And everybody knows that Constantine always gets what he wants, usually leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him…Praise for Anabelle BryantPraise for Anabelle Bryant:'Anabelle Bryant’s books just keep getting better! Duke of Darkness is the epitome of what a romance novel should be – sexy, steamy and heart wrenching.' -Elder Park Book Reviews' storytelling rivals any established author in the market' 5* for 'To Love a Wicked Scoundrel' from historicalromancelover.blogspot.co.uk'This book was sweet, enjoyable, and absolutely fantastic. Romance lovers, this is a must read book.' - 5* from Farah (Goodreads) for 'To Love a Wicked Scoundrel'
Is there a Lady in the land that can resist this scoundrel’s charms…?
At her step-mother’s command, Isabelle – and her irrepressible step-sister Lily – are leaving the pleasantries of the English countryside behind them, and heading straight to the bustling heart of a London season. Isabelle couldn’t care less about fashionable society, and is even less interested in the name on the lips of every ballroom gossip - Lord Constantine Highborough, reputedly a scoundrel of the highest order! But once he sets eyes on the stunningly beautiful Isabelle, London’s most notorious rake knows exactly where to direct his devilishly bewitching smile.
And everybody knows that Constantine always gets what he wants, usually leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him…
To Love A Wicked Scoundrel
Anabelle Bryant
www.CarinaUK.com (http://www.CarinaUK.com)
ANABELLE BRYANT
Anabelle Bryant began reading at the age of three and never stopped. Her passion for reading soon turned into a passion for writing and an author was born. Happy to grab her suitcase if it ensures a new adventure, Anabelle finds endless inspiration in travel; especially imaginary jaunts into romantic Regency England, a far cry from her home in New Jersey. Instead, her clever characters live out her daydreams because really, who wouldn’t want to dance with a handsome duke or kiss a wicked earl?
Though teaching keeps her grounded, photography, running, and writing counterbalance her wanderlust. Often found with her nose in a book, Anabelle has earned her Master’s Degree and is pursuing her Doctorate Degree in Education. She proudly owns her addiction to French fries and stationery supplies, as well as her frightening ineptitude with technology.
A firm believer in romance, Anabelle knows sometimes life doesn’t provide a happily ever after, but her novels always do.
She enjoys talking with her fans. Visit her website at AnabelleBryant.com (http://AnabelleBryant.com).
Acknowledgements
A first book is a dream come true and a goal hard won. It’s been a long journey and I owe thanks to many cherished people in my life. To my parents and sister, thank you for believing in me when I gave up on myself. I value your confidence in my ability above all else.
To BB and KB, the most loyal friends on the planet, my sincere gratitude. You always listened, knowing the right things to say and not to say; a most valuable gift indeed. Thank you for replenishing my spirit and reminding me first I had to climb the mountain before I could enjoy the view.
To my Facebook friends, you span the globe and I love you all. You make every day brighter and prove the world is filled with glorious, generous people. I know you in my heart no matter the distance.
Lastly, I’d like to thank Eloisa James. You inspired me first with your writing and then with your heartfelt advice to never compromise my dream. Your words made all the difference. Thank you for taking the time.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the loved ones in my life – David, Nicholas, my family and friends – for their endless encouragement and support. Thank you with all my heart.
Contents
Cover (#u670f227d-5be7-5dee-9a65-c8c2cfb26202)
Blurb (#u5b78f293-6f4a-5260-859c-26c7964dacdc)
Title Page (#u635148a4-12ca-5f83-bfb9-541a2b99ea8b)
Author Bio (#u1a84b8e1-810f-57ea-8ebc-f3903f0ea744)
Acknowledgements (#u64d67c16-de2d-5f2c-9893-77817bb96bb6)
Dedication (#ud9c816b1-a0e9-5367-ac62-66a10ce74dfd)
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
Epilogue
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u410de057-446c-5138-948a-e7894bb1c088)
Isabelle pushed the trowel into the soft earth and uprooted the offensive weed that dared sprout between her prized yellow wood violets. A smile curled her lips as she viewed the twin petal blooms with their dainty heart-shaped leaves. A gloomy spring had caused her worry the delicate plants would not survive, but now, seeing the results of her attentive ministrations, she delighted in the cheerful addition they made to her modest garden. She glanced to the narrow plot of flowers, rich in variety but limited in number. How lovely it would be to have a larger landscape to tend and a greenhouse to protect her most precious blooms.
At times, she indulged in daydreams and envisioned herself the mistress of an elaborate estate where extensive lawns brimmed with exotic flowers of every colour imaginable. Usually a firm shake of the head dismissed these thoughts as fanciful. As a twenty-six-year-old genteel lady, Isabelle Rossmore took pride in her sensibility and often chided herself she was too old and too logical to permit far-fetched illusions to waste her precious time. Refusing to allow temptation to woo her, she removed her gardening gloves and stroked the velvety petals of the violet before her.
The introspective moment did not last and a squeal of delight pealed through the afternoon solitude. Isabelle smiled as her sister Lily – stepsister, if one strove for exactitude – scurried down the garden path and flitted towards her as sharply as a bluebottle. Her nursemaid was nowhere in sight, left behind again, no doubt. She stood as Lily approached and tucked away the wayward curls that always escaped her braid.
‘Isabelle!’
The six-year-old never failed to cheer her with an enthusiastic welcome. Lily was the offspring of her father’s second marriage to Lady Meredith, and Isabelle and Lily held a great affinity for each other’s company.
‘Do be careful or you will tumble straight into the violet bed.’ Her affectionate tone removed any threat of admonishment and she brushed free the small bits of earth that clung to her skirts before she pressed a kiss to Lily’s head. ‘Your mother will not be pleased if she discovers I insisted the gardener occupy himself with other tasks so that I complete the weeding.’
Fortunately her stepmother rarely ventured into the garden as most flowering plants caused her to sneeze, and in this way the inconvenience of having an aversion for all things botanical saved Isabelle from Meredith’s vociferous chatter. She enjoyed the serenity found among her plants, except of course, if Lily chose to join her.
‘Mother is packing.’
Isabelle reached forward and plucked a forgotten leaf from her gown. She cast it aside before she gathered Lily’s hands in hers, the child’s eyes bright with excitement.
‘We are going to London!’ Lily tilted her head and her dark curls tumbled in disarray as she bobbed with impatience.
Isabelle’s brows rose with curiosity, the exuberance of Lily’s announcement unsettling. ‘Whatever are you talking about? We are not going to the city, of that I am sure.’
London was the last place Isabelle wished to visit. She preferred her comfortable life, tucked away in her childhood home in Wiltshire, a clear one hundred miles from the bustling clamour. No reason existed for her not to continue doing so. Theirs was a county family and Rossmore House the only home she’d ever known. Modest by most opinions, the house was composed of titian-coloured brick with few mullioned windows and an overgrown chestnut tree. Yet the entrance boasted a charming trellis of wisteria and clematis intertwined. Isabelle glanced towards the house and her heart warmed.
Releasing one of her sister’s hands, she bent to retrieve her gloves and the metal trowel, before placing both in the wooden box under the bench near the dog rose bushes. Then the two strolled the flagstone path towards the house as Lily’s maid arrived just in time to turn around.
‘It is true. We are going straightaway. Mother said she doesn’t want to wear black bobzine any more.’
‘Bombazine. It is called bombazine.’ With a wry smile at the mispronunciation, Isabelle considered the news. It was time for Meredith to come out of mourning. She had stopped wearing mourning gowns a few months prior. Certainly she could not dispute whether her stepmother was tired of the horrid black frocks. At thirty years, a mere four years older than she, Meredith was too young to be confined to widowhood. One did not always have the luxury of planning the path of life. No one expected her father to wake up on that particular Thursday, eat a vigorous breakfast and then clutch his heart, expel a few ragged breaths, and fall forward onto the damask tablecloth. Much to her dismay, life was full of unexpected experiences. Isabelle preferred predictability.
‘I think London will be grand.’
Isabelle eyed her stepsister’s enthralled expression and bit back an immediate retort as she fought hard against the leap of fear in her chest. London was crowded and busy and terribly noisy at the height of the season. Perhaps Meredith merely wished to shop for a new wardrobe. They could well afford it, her father having provided for them handsomely. But if it were just a matter of a new wardrobe, why would they all need to journey to the city?
Her thoughts raced as they entered the main house. Lily pranced to the centre stairs, her never-ending energy a challenge to any adult, even one accustomed to the child’s enthusiastic nature.
They found Meredith in her bedchamber, tossing gowns into a large traveling trunk as she hummed a cheerful melody. Two maids appeared equally busy in the adjoining dressing room. Lily climbed upon the four-poster bed and fell back onto the overstuffed pillows in delight as Isabelle swept her eyes across the room. Her gaze settled on the open trunk already halfway filled.
‘What is this about?’ Trepidation snuck into her voice.
‘I am so tired of these widow’s weeds. I need to embrace the life I hoped for before I married your father. And do not tell me I am not making sense.’ Meredith threw a glare in Isabelle’s direction as if to abbreviate any ready rebuttal; she paused, distracted by a tangle of stockings.
For once Meredith did not voice her true sentiments, but Isabelle knew well her stepmother’s opinions: My marriage to your father was a business deal more than a love match and I did my best to make him happy and give him the son he desired.
It was no secret in the household. Lord Rossmore wanted an heir above all else and viewed Isabelle, and later Lily, as disappointments. Isabelle suffered the worse for it and learned at an early age how to disguise her melancholy and accept her father’s disapproval under layers of practical rationalisations. When he remarried, her father selected his second bride for her youth and presumably fertile lineage partial to male offspring. How Isabelle hoped things would change and her father would come to love her once Meredith bore him a son, but that day never came. Unlike Isabelle, Lily was too young to experience the hollow ache of knowing she’d given her father nothing aside from unending displeasure by being born female.
Busy deciding between two pairs of shoes, Meredith offered no kind glance to soften the mention of the painful memory and prattled on, shoving the discarded brown boots to the side much like the former subject.
‘Surely you cannot expect me to live out the remainder of my days hidden away in the countryside without social interaction. Without male interaction.’
‘Meredith!’ Isabelle’s eyes flared as she nodded towards the bed where Lily remained preoccupied with piling ruffled pillows into a lopsided tower. Nary a word passed those tiny ears undetected.
‘Oh posh. You are for ever the worrier. This is an opportunity to live, truly live. Lily is excited to go and I will be taking her with me, so you need to make a decision. Do you stay here in the middle of nowhere tending your flowers or do you embark on a grand adventure with the two of us?’ Meredith paused and pinned her with a stare, expecting a prompt response.
The matter of Lily’s welfare weighed upon Isabelle’s conscience and the decision as to whether or not she would spend the season in London. They were inseparable, and Isabelle embraced the role of older sister, frequent mother and constant companion.
The trunk lid closed and startled Isabelle back to the conversation.
‘I think it is rather impetuous.’ She dared not suggest selfish. ‘To uproot Lily and bring her to London at the onset of the season.’
‘But I want to go. Mother told me there will be shops with new dresses and ribbons and toys and sweets!’ Clearly the child had been plied with inaccurately detailed visions. ‘And I can bring my collections!’
Isabelle arched a satiric brow at her stepmother. It wasn’t that she disliked Meredith or did not get along with her; the problem lay in their opposing natures. Meredith was vivacious, indulgent and, at times, reckless. Isabelle believed herself more practical, careful, and reserved. She held these attributes in high esteem as her very best qualities.
‘As usual, you foster unnecessary worry. I have everything planned from beginning to end, and Lily wants to go. Children are resilient and born to change. It is you who does not want to leave your quiet little existence here at Rossmore House. But I am finally rid of my widow’s weeds and I yearn for satin and silk and taffeta. I need scintillating conversation, tea parties, and most especially to dance in the arms of a fine gentleman. I am a countess and such socialising is my due.’ Meredith gave the tiniest sigh before she continued. ‘If I do not do it now, the years will pass and what remains of my beauty will be wasted. I need to live life while I can.’
The silence in the room spoke to Isabelle. Meredith likely believed the same would do her a world of good, but the thought of arriving in such a large city with no ready plan caused her pulse to skitter. She grasped onto the last argument to be made, now that the matter of Lily appeared resolved.
‘What of my Tuesdays with Lord Lutts? What will he think when he arrives at Rossmore House for tea and we have all hauled off to the city?’ She hoped her words held the smallest degree of conviction.
‘Lord Lutts? You are not entertaining the notion he is courting you? He has visited every Tuesday at precisely four-thirty in the afternoon for two years and I am convinced it is solely because we have such a fine selection in our tea box.’ Meredith latched the trunk in front of her and reached for the smaller valise near her feet. ‘Were I of a more suspicious nature I would believe he contrived the same arrangement with any number of hopeful females across the county so he needs never to purchase tea.’
‘Do not be unkind.’ Isabelle would never admit it but on occasion she considered the very same apprehension. While Lord Lutts appeared a gentleman beyond reproach, he never actually indicated he held her in affection. He did seem a very congenial man though, and a future with him would not be unpleasant.
‘I merely speak plainly. There is a difference. If this is Lord Lutt’s cloddish attempt at courtship, I could never allow my stepdaughter to commit to such a life of boredom. How would I visit your home without perishing from ennui?’ Meredith offered an entreating smile from across the room. ‘Come with us. You will like it. I have it all arranged.’
‘You really must come!’ Lily bounced forward from the bed. ‘I will need you there. Who will walk with me in the park? Mother says there are wonderful botanical gardens, but they will all make her sneeze. I shall never see them if you do not come with us. You must say yes!’
As suspected, Lily had followed every word of their conversation, and the child’s encouraging plea caused her to relent. She nodded in agreement and could not prevent a small smile as Meredith and Lily released a high-pitched squeal. But the celebratory cheer was short-lived.
‘Excellent, we will leave tomorrow. According to The Morning Post – ’ Meredith waved a few sheets of newsprint through the air ‘ – this year’s social calendar promises to be the very best. I have followed his scandalous exploits for two seasons now and I no longer wish to read about him. I wish to flirt with the scoundrel. I wish to dance in his arms.’
‘Who? Where? What scheme are you hatching?’ Isabelle wrinkled her nose as she accepted the scandal sheets thrust in her direction. She never spared a glance to what the haute ton considered amusing. Her world remained so detached from the glittering exploits of the aristocracy she saw no good reason to fill her head with frivolous rubbish. Unfortunately, her stepmother thrived upon every word.
‘I intend to capture the attention of London’s most notorious rake. If I am to re-enter society, I seek to do so in grand style. From what I have read, Lord Constantine Highborough, Earl of Colehill, is the exact tonic required for my malaise. He is the ton’s charmed darling. A devil-may-care rascal. A man beyond handsome. Don’t you see?’ She released a self-satisfied sigh and sat down on the corner of the largest portmanteau.
Isabelle tossed the scandal sheets on the bed’s coverlet with disinterest. ‘Love does not grow in such a manner. Affection begins with friendship and then cultivated with care becomes – ’
‘Good Lord, spare me the garden references. I am seeking a grand adventure, not a love affair. And if I may say, Lord Lutts included, you would not know love if it bit you. Now go pack your things. London is waiting for us!’
Chapter Two (#u410de057-446c-5138-948a-e7894bb1c088)
Park Lane, Grosvenor Square
Mayfair, London
‘Brooks!’
Constantine Highborough, Earl of Colehill, pulled a pillow forward to shield his eyes as his valet opened the heavy drapes and drenched the otherwise dark room in instant daylight. His menacing complaint resounded throughout the silent townhouse grandly situated near the eastern corner of Grosvenor Square. Attempting a shred of tolerance, he squinted across the room to ascertain Brooks, his valet, stood within his bedchamber. There was an incident some time ago when a misguided widow entered through the servant’s door and found her way into his rooms. While the outcome of that happenstance proved pleasurable, as a general rule Constantine despised surprises. He was a man of little patience, accustomed to getting whatever he desired whenever he desired it, whether in reference to his own interests, the plethora of women who pursued him, or the sycophantic adoration of London’s chosen society.
Upon seeing his valet, he barked a ready order. ‘Close the drapes! I just climbed abed a few hours ago.’
Brooks walked to the grate, stirred the fire, and returned to the window, his attention held by some distant point Constantine could not fathom.
‘Forgive me, milord. It is nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. I had no idea you just stumbled in. I recall two weeks past when you discovered Lady Wilmington waiting in your carriage. I did not see you for several nights thereafter. Good of you to send the messenger, though.’
Constantine groaned. It would appear his valet was in rare form this morning. His final sentence was clipped and spoken rather pithily, and worse, the man persisted.
‘No one can blame me for jumping to conclusions. At times it is a difficulty to keep a schedule of your frequent trips to the vineyards, never mind on occasion when your carriage or your attentions are waylaid by a pretty face.’
‘Brooks, please.’ His words, nothing more than a muffled grumble, accomplished little. His valet had yet to draw the drapes and Con’s irritation continued to build.
‘And too, there is your terrible habit of burning the candle at both ends. You move about society until the wee hours of the morning and then closet upstairs in your studio painting until well into the day. It is no wonder you are tired. But when the entire city hangs on your every word, styles after your mode of dress, and overlooks the impropriety of females loitering in front of your house in hopes of catching your eye, I can readily understand your exhaustion. You are human, are you not?’
Disgusted with Brooks’ condemning diatribe, Con threw back the sheets and strode to the windows, heedless of the fact he wore very little clothing. He yanked the draperies closed. ‘Believe me, I am human and, as such, experience many human emotions, including anger and annoyance. Keep the drapes closed, cease complaining about my reputation, and aspire to adhere more closely to my schedule as it is the central reason I have you in my employ.’ He strode to the bed and climbed back under the blankets.
Undaunted, Brooks continued his chastisement. ‘Now you have done it. If any of the flirtatious females out in the square glanced up to these windows in that instant, they would have been scandalised by your unclothed form.’
‘I rather doubt it.’ He pulled to a sitting position in bed, and tucked the sheets and counterpane around him, resolved no sleep would occur. ‘The women who hide in my carriage, skulk by the window or throw themselves fortuitously in my path would be far from scandalised by my naked body. It is, in fact, their main objective.’
He did not add how apathetic he’d become to the tedious antics of these same females. Their constant attention complicated his life and while he thoroughly enjoyed the female body in all its beauty, he cared little for the jaded manner in which these same women approached him. Over the past several years Brooks had become accustomed to turning them away and deflecting their pursuits, so Con had no idea what caused the valet’s surly mood this morning. He reached for the coffee steaming on his bedside table, another courtesy of Brooks’ attention, and viewed his valet who peered out the window, where something held his keen interest captive.
Nearly of the same age, their friendship was stronger than the alliance of their eight-year association as employer and servant. While it remained highly uncommon for a peer to employ a valet born almost in the same year, Con prided himself on doing little that could be labeled ordinary.
Brooks opened the drapes wider and turned in Con’s direction. ‘I am watching the Bilmont townhouse across the square. It appears it has finally been rented. Three carriages and quite a bit of luggage arrived earlier, along with an efficient staff and extra outriders. I could not help but observe the scurrying servants unloading excessive amounts of baggage. I surmise it is a large family by the sight of all the trunks. Still, I suppose the place has fallen into hideous condition in the two years since old Duke Bilmont went bankrupt.’
‘And that is what holds your attention? A bunch of luggage and servants? You, my friend, are a busybody.’ Con wiped his palm over his face and exhaled his opinion, almost missing his valet’s disgruntled snort. A half smile quirked his lips.
When he had fished Brooks out of the Thames where cutthroats meant to end his life, and offered him employment as his personal valet, he had asked for loyalty and discretion in return. Brooks had proved both qualities too many times to tally. Their friendship evolved with seamless ease and Con came to realise the man possessed a sly sense of humour and clever perspective on life. Despite the difference in their levels of birth, he considered Brooks one of his very best friends.
He finished his coffee, setting the cup down on the bedside table.
‘I was upstairs painting until a few hours ago.’ His tone expressed exhaustion more than anything else. ‘I completely lost track of time, but it is good of you to wake me. I have business to attend to this afternoon and my correspondence has lingered too long. By the by, I need fresh canvases. See to the purchase.’
Aside from Brooks, few people knew of his passion for painting, and he chose to keep it that way. His affinity for artwork was a private pleasure in a life filled with reluctant celebrity. His studio served as a much-needed sanctuary: the room locked with Brooks in possession of the single extra key. The valet delivered food and drink as well as replacing linens or delivering supplies.
By no instigating of his own, society had adopted him as their chosen darling. Often in the gossip pages and sought after for all social events, Con was labeled the most eligible bachelor in London. He paid little attention to it all unless it interfered in his otherwise enjoyable lifestyle, as in the case of Lady Wilmington. His elaborate barouche with its distinguishing red wheels had made him an easy mark for her schemed escapade that past evening. He smiled at the pleasant remembrance.
‘You need more rest. I should never have entered without knocking.’
Wise to Brooks’ anxious departure, Con sought to redirect him before the servant escaped from the room with the same speed as he had entered.
‘I need a hired hack this evening. I cannot take the chance of using my own carriage to transport my work. As before, arrange for the vehicle’s arrival in the middle of the night and we will load my paintings. They are better off at Highborough House where there is ample wall space.’ His eyes swept from one framed painting to the other hanging within his bedchamber; the two pieces of art were among his favourites. Then he snapped his eyes to Brooks before he continued. ‘Besides, when I grow bored of the season I will likely retire to Highborough House and visit the vineyards. I can sort through my artwork then.’
‘As you wish, milord. Shall I arrange for three in the morning?’
‘Yes, three will be fine. Did you visit the costermongers? Did you purchase what I need?’
Resigned to the fact sleep would be sacrificed, Con stood to dress and turned to Brooks in wait of his answer.
‘I will obtain your canvases and order your supplies but I am sorry to tell you the costermonger sold no poppies. Daisies, primroses, elder, there were plenty, but I enquired throughout the market and no one had a single bloom.’
Constantine grunted in response. Fully clothed in a comfortable cambric shirt and loose trousers, he was quick to forego the need of cravat and waistcoat. He waved off Brooks as he approached with the linen cloth in hand.
Having his valet purchase his supplies and obtain botanicals was indispensible. Were he to send another servant or venture to the flower mart himself, unending speculation would begin as to why he needed quantities of linseed oil, or to which special lady the bouquets were being presented. Most of what he did was lionized by the ton. In this manner any strange habits were linked to the one servant he trusted never to compromise his privacy; even though that very same servant proved a meddling gossip in every case.
Accustomed to his master’s frequent requests for flowers to incorporate into his paintings, Brooks suggested an immediate solution. ‘If you merely need to look at them, there are poppies growing in the centre of Grosvenor Square.’ He walked to the window, parted the curtain, and glanced to the left. ‘Towards the far corner, across from the Bilmont townhouse.’
Con turned towards his valet and offered one of his most convincing smiles. The kind that caused ladies to request he undo their corset strings. ‘Do me a favour and go fetch a few.’
Brooks released a short laugh. ‘That smile won’t work with me. I will do no such thing. Regardless of the fact I remain curious as to the activity near the corner, I will not tread on the manicured lawns of London’s finest square and callously pick flowers from the viewing garden. What type of riff-raff do you believe me to be?’ Not allowing an answer, he excused himself to run errands and slipped from the room.
Constantine walked to the window and looked below. It was early in the afternoon for the general parade of strollers who frequented the square, yet three ladies twirled parasols at the corner right outside his front steps. It would be of no use to leave without catching someone’s attention, but then he noticed Brooks as he strode to the front of the house after having exited through the servant’s backdoor. A half-baked and inordinately bird-witted idea formed within his mind. Without another minute spent on reason, he dashed to the back stairs.
With a beaver cap pulled low on his brow and his loose fitting shirt and beige trousers, he appeared more the delivery person than the impeccably dressed earl expected to emerge from the front door of the townhouse. He exited through the servant’s door and cut long strides across the street into the parterre gardens with its many walkways and paths. Preoccupied with reaching the poppy garden without being recognised, he startled when something collided with his legs, and belatedly pushed his cap past his forehead to ascertain what occurred.
A child stood before him; a lovely little thing actually. He noticed she clutched a stick, the hoop having bumped into his legs and veered off into a nearby garden, one containing a vast bed of pert coquelicot poppies.
Without pause he retrieved the young lady’s wooden toy and plucked a few poppies while he leaned into the flowerbed. ‘Here you are. It is my pleasure to be of service.’ He handed the child the hoop and one flower. She smiled sweetly at his favour.
‘Thank you, sir. I shall give this poppy to Isabelle.’ The child turned and looked over her shoulder to a nearby bench where a dowdy looking woman sat, her nose buried in a thick book.
‘I believe your governess will be very pleased.’ His mission accomplished, he offered her a quick nod.
‘That is not my governess. That is my sister. Stepsister actually, but we do not regard the first four letters. Isabelle is not fond of four-letter words. She says most are utterly distasteful.’
Taken off-guard by the youngling’s forthright appeal, Con stalled, the little miss was quite a charmer. ‘Is that so?’ His eyes skimmed over the woman seated on the bench, taking in the long loose gown and pale green pelisse. Her hair remained hidden under a conservative straw bonnet and the shadow of its long brim obscured her face. She appeared unremarkable, and his attention returned to the child who continued to converse with him even though his mind wandered.
Her expectant expression prompted him to reply. ‘I do understand about four letter words.’ That was a flat out lie. Some of his favourite words were comprised of four letters. Still, he managed a suitable answer. ‘Okra. I despise that one.’
The child gazed at him with beseeching eyes, seemingly reluctant to release him from their conversation. For such a young female, she certainly knew how to flutter her eyelashes.
‘It has been my pleasure, milady, but I do need to leave. If you will excuse me?’ He extended his hand to bid farewell, but she did not take it. Instead she pointed to the ivory engraved button on his cuff before she ran her dainty fingertip over the raised horse head in reverence.
‘That is a very fine button, milord. I collect buttons and I do not have one in such sharp detail.’ She touched it again as if afraid she imagined its existence and Con couldn’t help but smile at her unrehearsed charm.
‘Then you shall have it.’ He spared not a moment to consider Brooks’ anger at finding his shirt in need of repair and snapped the button from its threads to hand to the child. He watched as she secured it in her apron pocket and picked up the ash wood hoop from where it had dropped when she had accepted the flower.
‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’ In a scuttle of muslin and eyelet, she turned and ran further into the park towards the woman on the bench.
Constantine wasted no time making his way across the street, not wishing to engage the reserved looking sister and receive another scolding that afternoon.
Chapter Three (#u410de057-446c-5138-948a-e7894bb1c088)
Isabelle filled the last of the drawing room shelves with her most treasured books and stepped back to view the progress within their new living space. Meredith had spoken the truth. While the rented townhouse appeared musty at first and in need of repairs, it was otherwise a very fine property. Once the initial cleaning had been completed and they’d directed the servants in furniture arrangement and drapery restringing, the house revealed great potential for splendour. There were solid mantelpieces in all the rooms, showy grates and attractive wall papers, and while one could argue that as a whole the interior begged for a thorough redecorating, they planned to reside there for a few scant months and voiced no complaints.
‘I knew we could transform these empty rooms in no time. It was good of my solicitor to secure the address I desired.’ Meredith breezed in with a quick glance at the interior. ‘It is coming along, wouldn’t you agree?’ Her eyes flitted to Isabelle and swept over her from head to toe before she continued to speak, her tone harbouring a thoughtful note. ‘The beauty is there. It just needs to be uncovered, polished, and refined a bit.’ She walked over and gently pushed a few strands of hair back from her stepdaughter’s forehead and rubbed a smudge of dirt from her cheek.
Isabelle smiled having just considered the townhouse’s hidden appeal. She moved to the window and gazed out into the square. ‘I am so pleased we are close to the park. Such excellent planning on your part! It was lovely to sit in the gardens earlier while the carriages were being unloaded. I presumed London’s air to be thick and the traffic hectic, but the square provides Lily a refreshing place to play.’
As if conjured at the mere mention of her name, the child bounded down the staircase, her small face abeam with satisfaction. ‘I have set out all my collections. Would anyone like to come and see? My new bedchamber has a huge cupboard and I gave each jar and bottle its very own space.’
Isabelle moved towards the stairs. ‘Of course I want to see. Now your pebbles, feathers, shells, and buttons have as cozy a home as we do.’
Meredith greeted her daughter with a kiss on the cheek and continued the conversation. ‘It is not just the park that caused me to request this address, although I agree it is wonderful to have such a lovely view. It is more that Lord Highborough resides on the opposing corner. His is a very grand house, as polished as he. I saw his infamous barouche with its golden crest and bright red wheels earlier this morning.’
‘Meredith, you can’t mean to imply you brought us to this address so you could live across the lane from Lord Highborough. You would not be so bold.’ Isabelle rushed to the window and peered out. Overcome with consternation, she turned to view her stepmother.
‘Do not look at me like that. While I do not doubt my feminine charms, one should never underestimate the power of proximity.’ Meredith patted Lily on the head before she paced across the room. ‘Lord Highborough will know we have arrived soon enough. Lady Newby, who also lives across the square, is securing our names on every invitation list of importance. I am grateful she recalled your father and their friendship. She is also in care of her four young nieces and they will make fine friends for Lily. It is an advantageous association as she will arrange for all the right introductions.’
Isabelle was hardly reassured. ‘I have the sneaking suspicion there is only one introduction you seek and from the tales you shared during our carriage ride you have convinced me Lord Highborough’s reputation is very well earned. Therefore the man should be avoided, not enticed. Sometimes your behaviour does not make sense.’
Meredith’s laugh dismissed her protestation. ‘Not everything makes sense. I trust you will discover that some day. Would you not find it enjoyable to spend a few evenings dancing the night away or conversing with polite society? You know – ’ she reached forward in a swift movement and removed the pins holding Isabelle’s flowing auburn tresses confined to a severe bun ‘ – we could style your hair differently and allow everyone to see how very unique it is.’ She continued to rearrange the lengths until Isabelle reached up with an assertive grasp and removed her stepmother’s hands.
‘You mean allow everyone to see it is such a hideous shade of red.’ Making quick work of the task, she pinned her bun back into place.
‘Your hair is every shade of auburn imaginable and that is worthy of any woman’s envy and every gentleman’s compliment. You have no idea what a trial it is to keep myself satisfied with ordinary brown hair and equally common eyes. Now your eyes are such a lovely shade of grey, they remind me of a stormy winter sky.’
‘How very depressing.’ Isabelle released a long-suffering sigh. ‘I do not know why you insist on romanticising my unfortunate appearance.’
Unwilling to accept her comments, Meredith continued. ‘What rubbish. Your eyes are one of your best features.’
Best features? Plural? Ridiculous. Her stepmother exaggerated on her behalf. If pressed, Isabelle would concede her eyes were interesting; mostly in the way they lightened or darkened depending upon the shade of dress she wore. But other than that, she was at a complete loss. Her father told her ever since she could remember that her unusual colouring would have been more forgivable on a boy and as a lady she was at a great disadvantage with her fiery locks and soft, lilting features. But what an incredible waste of time it was to consider her appearance in great detail. She lived a very quiet and content life and preferred it so.
‘I think you are beautiful,’ Lily offered.
Isabelle almost forgot Lily was present. It served as a testament to childhood innocence that her sister would interrupt her self-deprecating thoughts with a compliment, and she offered her a gentle smile. ‘Thank you. It is kind of you to mention.’
As an afterthought, Isabelle noted Lily found beauty in everything from feathers to little round pebbles. She turned to speak but Meredith snatched the waist of her muslin gown and pulled it together with a tight twist at the back.
‘Of course we will visit the most exclusive dressmakers now that we have arrived, but if you choose fabrics and colours to compliment your flawless skin and accentuate your figure.’
‘I think you know what is wrong with my figure.’ She attempted to swat away her stepmother’s hands from where they held her gown captive, but failed miserably.
‘You have no idea what you are talking about. Women would do anything to have your full bosom.’
Lily’s burst of giggles prodded Isabelle to a darker shade of pink. Her figure was as confused as the colour of her hair. Full breasts, a slim waist, and the gentle curve of her hips remained hidden under the respectable loose gowns she favoured. Shamelessly, her father remarked more than once about the irregular development of her body. She should have been born a boy. She might have made her father happy then. If only the midwife announced ‘It is a boy!’ Isabelle’s entire life would have taken a different path.
‘Well, if you think for one moment I will allow you to leave any respectable modiste without flattering gowns and undergarments, then you need to reconsider the matter with care. We are no longer in Wiltshire. Resign yourself to the fact.’ Meredith’s eyes flared in emphasis. ‘You cannot embrace true adventure in plain fabrics and last year’s fashion.’
From the corner of her eye, Isabelle noticed Lily nod her head in emphatic agreement.
‘Since we will attend a gathering two nights from now, we have no choice but to modify something off the rack, but from every point forward our wardrobe will overflow with the finest silks and the latest designs. Lest you forget, I have London’s favourite scoundrel to entice.’
Isabelle clamped her hands over Lily’s ears unsure what other nonsense her stepmother might utter and with a gentle nudge steered her sister up the stairs, anxious to examine every wondrous piece of her collections and escape Meredith’s ambitious plans.
***
Constantine brushed his gloves together in an effort to rid them of dust and opened the hack door as he spoke to Brooks in a low tone. ‘There is one painting left in the studio. It is large and I’ll need your help bringing it down to the street.’ His command cut through the unsettling quiet of the night.
The two men had already made several trips from the third-floor studio to the hired hackney with eleven of his most recent works of art. Unframed they weren’t very heavy. Now arranged with care, each wrapped in a tarp so the long ride to Highborough House would not cause damage, their work was almost complete.
Without a word, the two men turned and took the steps. They manoeuvered the last canvas down to street level. It took a bit longer than anticipated, but eventually they placed the painting on the curb.
‘Bloody hell, why did the driver leave? I mentioned we needed to bring one more painting out.’ Con grunted his disapproval, aggravated with the tedious day.
‘I cannot explain it, milord. Did the driver give you any indication how long it will take him to reach Highborough House? Although the lamps are well lit in Grosvenor Square, I doubt the less traveled roadways will be serviceable until sunrise.’
‘I did not speak to him, but I thank you for arranging this appointment. It seems the best way to transport my paintings without detection.’
‘Milord?’ Brooks voice held a note of apprehension. ‘You did not speak to the driver? Nor did I. I arranged for him to meet us here at three o’clock but did not furnish a destination address. I assumed you would direct him once we finished the task.’
Con jerked his head up and he eyed the anxious valet with a steely glare. ‘Then where the devil are my paintings? And how the hell will I get them back?’
Chapter Four (#u410de057-446c-5138-948a-e7894bb1c088)
‘Good heavens, it is crowded in here.’ Isabelle’s eyes scanned the room with reluctant enthusiasm, her barely contained excitement at war with her natural pragmatism. ‘Hasn’t anyone given a thought to safety? Lady Rochester has invited far too many people to this event. I can scarcely move in the crush.’
Beside her, Meredith smiled at a passing guest. ‘Crowded and wonderful. I am thankful Lady Newby kept her word and secured this invitation. The Rochester Ball is the most prestigious event of the season.’ She placed her hand on Isabelle’s arm and squeezed. ‘Oh this is a terrible crush and utterly exciting.’
Isabelle looked at her stepmother with mild confusion. During the entire carriage ride she’d endured Meredith’s incessant chatter explaining her strategy for attracting the attention of Lord Highborough. She failed to comprehend how any female could become so infatuated by reading of a man’s exploits having never set eyes on the individual. Wouldn’t one need to know him on a personal level before falling helplessly in love?
‘Won’t this ridiculous crowd hamper your search for the wicked earl?’ She inflected just enough drama into the final three words to express her opinion of Meredith’s goal for the evening. She just couldn’t help herself. The idea of hunting down the man and stalking him until he noticed her seemed immature and absurd.
Granted, Lord Highborough was likely very handsome. The few gossip papers she’d suffered through on Meredith’s insistence described him as dashing and well built, and favoured by every member of the ton, including distinguished gentlemen and aged dowagers. Such a unilateral collection of admirable traits struck her as uncommonly rare. Rather like a unicorn or a four-leaf clover. Surely LordPerfection possessed some kind of flaw. Yet every article craftily depicted his clandestine indiscretions as romantic, his excessive indulgence as grandiose.
‘Well, I wish you luck in your conquest. I believe if we become separated we will never find each other until the dinner bell rings. There are far too many people crammed into this ballroom. I sincerely hope no one overturns a candle.’ Isabelle ended her complaint with a little squeak and moved her slipper before a nearby gentleman trod upon her toe.
‘I agree, isn’t it wonderful?’ Meredith scrutinised each passing guest in search of her quarry.
Isabelle was happy to leave her to the task as she had no intention of crossing the wicked earl’s path. And if ever she had the notion, which she absolutely did not, how would she even approach him? It sounded as though the man was forever surrounded by dozens of twittering females and raucous upstarts. Perhaps the obsequious mob was needed to support his exaggerated reputation.
The musicians took up their instruments and as she stood on the cusp of the marble floor, dance card on her wrist and champagne glass in hand, Isabelle could almost hear Meredith’s rehearsed plan of strategy and see her stepmother’s diligent gaze darting around the room. Any stranger would assume the lady had something in her eye or was bothered by the huge candle filled chandeliers that bathed the dance floor in soft golden hues. Isabelle rolled her eyes and caught a glance of the elaborate crystal lighting overhead. The shimmering display gave her pause.
The ballroom did look uncommonly beautiful if she allowed herself to appreciate it. Every colour of the rainbow was represented by the beau monde’s extravagant mode of dress. Ample arrangements of flowers graced each available surface not covered with syllabub, sweets and savouries. Much to her delight, Isabelle had noticed a rare bouquet of tulips on the entryway chiffonier as they had whisked though the doorway earlier. Servants bustled about and elegant laughter wafted over the delicate strains of the orchestra. The evening did feel a little enchanted. She took a small sip of champagne and rationalised how it proved impractical to be ensconced in the ballroom and not take full advantage of the situation. Isabelle prided herself on resourcefulness.
With a bemused smile, she relaxed in her new satin slippers. How she had fussed and complained throughout the entire shopping trip to Bond Street, protesting she had no time for foolish vanity. But now she could not be happier she had heeded Meredith’s advice. Dressed in a deep glittering shade of green, she complemented the lovely ladies surrounding her. An unfamiliar, but welcomed feeling washed over her.
***
Constantine Highborough, Earl of Colehill, was not currently ensconced in conversation with a bevy of fluttering females, nor otherwise occupied with a Johnny raw anxious to copy his style or listen to tales of his exploits. Instead, he’d retreated to the study with his closest friends to enjoy an aged brandy courtesy of Lord Rochester’s liquor cabinet. Beside him, Devlin Ravensdale, Duke of Wharncliffe, and Phineas Betcham, Viscount Fenhurst, discussed the purchase of a new barouche. The three of them enjoyed a solid friendship although Devlin rarely mixed with society. Phineas, the tallest and most reserved, balanced family obligations with social responsibilities. He presented himself as a fine gentleman and was considered a prime husband candidate by those who compiled such lists. A stark contrast to Devlin, a dark, reclusive man who lived in secret and shadow. Yet no matter their differences, the men had formed a strong bond, one for which Constantine was grateful.
For the umpteenth time his thoughts returned to the runaway hack and the loss of his artwork. He did not fear discovery as no one in their right mind could decipher the scrawled signature in the lower corner of each work as his name. But the paintings were a part of him, an expression put upon canvas, and he wanted them returned. The hackney yard had record of Brooks ordering a hired vehicle, yet two had shown instead of one, the second carriage arriving nearly twenty minutes later than the first, the driver flustered and apologetic. The entire situation vexed Con immensely.
Taking a long sip of brandy, he glanced to where his friends played at the bagatelle board. The clicking noise of the ivory balls as they struck the pins distracted him from his dark thoughts and he snatched up the cue stick as soon as it was thrust in his direction.
‘How is it that you never tire of these evenings? Were you to take count, how many events of the ton have you attended over the years?’ Devlin asked the question, although his tone implied he did not expect a serious answer.
‘Do you regret your abrupt absence from the social scene, or do you merely prod me towards wedded bliss to help me avoid the monotony of these evenings?’ Constantine paused and realigned his stick. ‘It is not all as it appears. While I attend these functions out of obligation, there is little to spark my interest. I suppose the ton and I share an unhealthy dependency. Lately, more than anything else, these gatherings feel an exercise in tedium.’ He completed a difficult shot and grinned with confidence. ‘Although last week Lord Croft accidently dropped his quizzing glass down the bodice of Lady Hemphrey’s dress. I might not have known anything had happened as I was seeking fresh air on the terrace, but Lady Hemphrey cornered me and made me aware of the mishap. She proceeded to suggest I be the one to retrieve the monocle. I narrowly escaped. She is much stronger than I presumed a sixty-year-old woman to be.’
‘Better that than to be pursued by a matchmaking mama at her daughter’s first come out.’ Phineas missed his shot, but appeared no worse for it.
‘Con? With an innocent?’ Devlin stifled a laugh. ‘I cannot imagine such a thing. Too much potential for disaster there: angry fathers; duel-threatening brothers. Our friend is all about pleasure easily found.’ He aligned his cue and took the next shot.
‘Indeed, you have a point.’
The three men shared a chuckle and the evening continued in a jovial manner. When they had completed two rounds of bagatelle and knew they could no longer remain preoccupied in the study, the men walked to the main ballroom and out among the crush. Too many couples occupied the dance floor now the event was in full swing. As Con contemplated escape, he eyed the double doors leading to the foyer and stalled. His entire body pulsed with awareness.
‘Who is she?’
Bloody hell, she was a goddess.
He waved his gloved hand towards the doorway and his friends turned in the direction indicated, although Con was hardly aware of anyone talking beside him.
‘Haven’t the foggiest?’ Phineas spared a fleeting glance.
‘I have never seen her before. Leave it to you to find the newcomer in the crowd. There are easily three hundred people crammed in this ballroom. Your attention to detail is a gift.’ Devlin excused himself and Phineas remained, his expression dark as he considered the dense crowd.
A footman walked by and Constantine paused him with a touch to his shoulder. ‘Do me a favour, good man, and inquire as to the name of the lady near the arched doorway. I will await your return. If she will allow it, inform her Lord Highborough requests the last waltz of the evening.’
The footman scurried away without hesitation and Phineas whirled in his direction, his brows raised and eyes wide.
‘I have just witnessed a miracle. No one will believe me when I retell the story.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘The profligate Earl of Colehill enlisted the assistance of a footman to secure the midnight waltz.’
‘And it was good of me to do so,’ Con rebutted in defence. ‘The crowd is so thick I have already lost sight of the lady. I can only hope she has an opening on her card.’
‘Indeed, this is something new altogether.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Con refused to shift his focus, although he could no longer locate the breathtaking beauty under the arch.
‘Nothing. The footman is a very useful device when considering how dangerous it is for you to move about society with all the ladies falling at your feet.’ Phineas smiled, seemingly pleased with himself.
Con speared him with a cautionary stare.
His friend continued. ‘Take heart, the evening is already half spent. In no time I suspect you will find the lady in your arms and later in your bed.’
His friends were well aware of his habits. There seemed little sense in denying what he hoped would come to pass. He dismissed the comment with a curt nod and continued to scan the dense crowd.
***
With reluctance, Isabelle conceded Meredith had played her part to perfection and accomplished exactly what she sought before they journeyed to London. Her stepmother struggled to contain her excitement at being asked to dance the last waltz of the evening with Lord Highborough. From what Isabelle could understand, having listened to the story several times in succession, Lord Highborough saw Meredith across the room and sent a footman to her directly. Isabelle had the sneaking suspicion that the earl’s refusal to adhere to convention as closely as etiquette dictated heightened his appeal with the ton. Having yet to lay eyes on the purported capturer of hearts, she reserved a cynical view of how all the discussion of his rakish appeal could possibly be warranted.
She recalled an episode in Wiltshire when a cow broke loose on the county road. By the time the story reached Rossmore House it sounded as if a horrible, deranged monster roamed the streets and every civilised person needed to lock themselves up until the beast could be destroyed. Isabelle suspected Lord Highborough’s exploits had endured years of embellished and bloated acclaim akin to the lost cow episode. She doubted he was a rake or a rogue or any other label the ton attached to his name.
She smiled with chagrin and glanced at her card. She had no partner for the upcoming country dance which was the last number before the much anticipated Lord Highborough waltz, so she strolled into the foyer where earlier she had spotted the lovely tulip arrangement. The ballroom was adorned in roses and violets, easily enjoyed in her home garden. The bouquet of tulips could only have been imported from Holland so she could never deny herself the rare treat of their fragrance.
The bouquet proved to be everything she’d anticipated and curious if other rare flora begged to be discovered, she meandered down a nearby hallway and away from the bustling front foyer, delighting in each elegant arrangement found along the way. As she reached the end of a long corridor, she glanced around in doubt, unable to discern where she’d managed to bring herself within the large home. Straining to detect the orchestra, she heard instead the hushed whispers of two approaching party guests and, swamped with panic, opened the first door on her left. She swept inside and sagged against the closed panel with a sigh of relief.
Isabelle quickly reclaimed her wits and noted she stood in a library. No sooner did she walk further into the room to admire the elaborate pattern of leaves and vines woven into the plush carpet, than she heard the knob turn and the door sweep open.
***
Constantine closed the library doors with force, but the action did not assuage his emotion. He possessed a temperamental temper, if such a quality existed. Any number of things could happen and he held not a care of the mishap or the effort it took to right the matter. Not even the troubling situation of his missing paintings ignited his anger in as much as it challenged him to find a solution. But tonight, his smooth plan to insure he danced with the lovely stranger he’d seen standing under the archway, proved the disaster to spark his temper. The footman delivered his message to the wrong person. He discovered the error too late to rectify the situation and there was little help for it, as the lady accepted his invitation with unabashed enthusiasm.
Lady Newby initiated introductions and while making the acquaintance of Lady Meredith Rossmore proved pleasant, by no means would he consider spending time with the overtly friendly widow. Her thinly veiled attempts at flirtation bespoke of the exact reason he preferred the study to the ballroom. To make matters worse, he’d kept an astute eye on the room for little over an hour and the magnificent beauty he sought was nowhere to be found. With every intention of enjoying another glass of Lord Rochester’s superior brandy, he planned to extend his apologies to the host and leave before dinner was served.
He made long strides to the sideboard, a curse on his lips, and dropped his gloves on a nearby chair. So enmeshed was he in his frustration, he might never have noticed he was not alone, but a sudden intake of breath and the delicate scent of perfume assailed him and heightened his awareness. He replaced the brandy decanter and turned in the direction of the fireplace, unable to stop the slow, satisfied smile that curled his mouth. His temper dissipated completely and another more urgent emotion jolted to life.
Before him, looking just a little surprised, stood the enchanting goddess he had noticed in the ballroom earlier. The unmistakable beauty with whom he intended to dance. When he tried to match eyes with her across the dance floor, she glanced over her shoulder, as if she believed he viewed someone else. The unexpected action struck him as so utterly charming it fueled his curiosity as to her identity further, but then the unforgiving crowd interrupted and prevented him from finding her.
Now she stood half a room’s length away, a shimmering vision in soft green silk and delicate lace. Her hair, captured in a neat chignon, left a few wayward tendrils to dangle enticingly near her ear and neck. Candlelight caught in each delicate curl and reflected the colours of sunsets, rose petals, and passion. Vibrantly intrigued, he resisted the urge to reach forward and undo the lacy netting containing the fiery tresses. How long did her hair flow and what other shades of red would he find in the silky waves were he to act on impulse?
He continued his assessment with a nonchalant sweep of the eyes.
Her dress fit exquisitely, sheathing her in silky elegance without the flounces and ruffles so many women affected to enhance their figure. This gown hugged in all the right places, and he anxiously considered the women beneath the layers, underneath the lace and silk, the tapes and ribbons. She released a hitch of breath and he became distracted by the sheer chemisette covering her lush bodice. Her face was perfection. He could imagine how lovely the rest of her body would be.
‘What are you doing here? Have I interrupted a theft in Lord Rochester’s study?’ He had no doubt the beguiling beauty standing before him stole hearts as a preoccupation. ‘Or are you here awaiting a prearranged lover’s tryst?’ That too, posed a definite possibility.
She startled for less than a heartbeat before she smoothly replied, ‘Nothing as interesting or exciting as you suggest, I assure you.’ Then after a short pause she continued. ‘Of course, I could ask you the very same question.’
Caught off-guard by her belated challenge, Con smiled and strode further into the room. Her voice, melodic with a warm pitch, affected him in an almost sensual way and he had no way to explain the uncommon reaction. He stepped closer still, determined to ascertain the colour of her eyes. ‘I am after a late-night brandy.’ At least that was his original plan. He met her gaze, as silky as a lover’s caress.
She let out a little sound that indicated she thought his answer complete rubbish. ‘You might have requested one from a passing footman in the ballroom.’
He scoffed at her suggestion. If the servants proved as unreliable as earlier, he’d have been left unsatisfied once again. Clearly, the fates intended otherwise. ‘I meant to waltz with you this evening.’
The lady pursed her lips as if she contemplated how to respond. Then vivid eyes matched his, twinkling with a touch of restrained amusement and viewing him as if he might be dimwitted.
‘Then you needed to write your name on a line.’ She raised her delicate wrist and the dance card stilled against her ivory skin.
‘I know.’ He grinned, acknowledging the foolishness of his response. Her inquisitive gaze met his and held. Then one narrow brow arched as if she awaited the rest of his explanation. ‘Things did not work out how I wanted them to.’
Her lips dared a brief smile. ‘I take it you are accustomed to getting everything you want.’
‘Yes.’ He chuckled. Females usually vied for his attention and simpered in his company. The feisty verbal quips of the lovely stranger before him awakened an immediate temptation to discover more. ‘Would you have accepted had I asked?’
‘Absolutely not,’ she replied without hesitation.
‘Then I suppose there is no cause for me to request a servant reset the clock to midnight.’ He mused under his breath.
He surmised she wished to soften her answer because she smiled slightly and made a quick rejoinder. ‘A charming idea, one that likely brings about your desired result, although I could not accept because we have not had a proper introduction.’
Con needed no other invitation. Taking a long stride forward, he watched with chagrin as the lady took a quick step back. She appeared no debutante or young miss at her first come out, and her immediate retreat sparked his growing interest.
‘Come a little closer.’ He extended his hand towards her. ‘I do not bite.’ His voice dropped to a low tone as he continued. ‘At least not here in Lord Rochester’s study.’
Her eyes flared and he held back a smile. She was lovely and intriguing. Very intriguing. Her chin notched higher and she boldly did step forward although her hands fluttered at her sides and belied her show of bravado.
‘I have not seen you at any assembly of the ton.’ Her eyes were grey, a beautiful shade, stormy and secretive, and right now reflecting hints of gold from the nearby candle flames.
‘We are newly arrived to the city, a few days past.’ Her answer, a throaty whisper, revealed she wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to answer him at all.
He captured one glossy curl between his thumb and forefinger and released it slowly, allowing the silky strands to slide across his fingertips. ‘Your hair is magnificent.’
Her ivory skin warmed with a charming tinge of embarrassment and she looked very fetching in the throes of her unease. As ludicrous as it seemed, she appeared unaccustomed to compliments. Still, such a serene loveliness embodied her it was unlikely she did not draw great attention.
‘Perhaps we should share our dance right now?’ He voiced the words before he considered them.
‘Absolutely not.’
As before, her succinct reply urged him to smile. ‘Do you always deal in absolutes?’ He watched her rosebud mouth open and close as if about to answer with the same retort and then realise the error of her ways. If an absolute existed, it was more so that this temptress was absolutely enchanting.
***
Isabelle knew without a doubt she stood face to face with the legendary Lord Highborough, as no other man imaginable could carry himself with such smooth confidence and exacting control. And she had fallen under his spell as quickly as her breath caught when he entered the room and offered her his devastating smile. Foolish, foolish notion, to be so taken by a man’s appearance. Still, no matter how she berated herself, her heart beat triple time whenever he glanced in her direction.
Rakes were supposed to be dark, brooding men with raven locks and a cutting profile to match their wicked reputation. The man before her appeared more the fallen angel. His thick, barely brown hair laced through with golden threads and fell well past his collar to lend him an easy, affable charm. His crystal blue eyes invited her to become entranced and likely not realise a seduction was in play. And his words, dangerously clever and filled with tempting innuendo, caused her mind to race with the same rapid tempo as her pulse.
He reached forward and brushed his fingertips against the side of her jaw with the lightest caress. The pad of his thumb grazed the corner of her mouth and all sensible thought evaporated rendering her unable to object to his boldness. Instead she stood as beguiled as any fool she had previously mocked in the gossip pages.
He tipped her chin up so their eyes matched and his gaze, soft as cashmere, held her spellbound. In a last desperate effort, she blinked hard and attempted to recover her composure.
‘I should not be in here with you.’ She stepped backward and caused him to drop his hand. ‘I should not be in here at all.’
‘So you are a rule follower? I thought when I found you here and not in the ballroom you had escaped for the same reason as I.’
The seductive tremor in his voice whispered over her skin and she looked at him directly, catching the silver blue light that sparkled in his eyes. He did not expound on the comment and she remained too determined to extricate herself from the present predicament to give it further consideration. Forcing a cleansing breath, she tried not to look at his mouth. Doing so caused a strange quivering of sorts in all her nether regions.
‘You say that as if following rules is a terrible thing. Order is necessary in life.’ Yes, discussing a practical topic ought to do the trick in leading her thoughts far away from his tempting lips, never mind the experience of his kiss. Isabelle focused on her new mission. ‘Not everyone can live a scandalous lifestyle and be admired while doing so.’
Isabelle expected him to remark on her impertinence. Instead his eyes glittered with a hint of humour and his lips twisted in a half smile. She might not have noticed, except she had yet to convince herself to look away from his mouth.
‘What is your name? I cannot wait any longer.’
He leaned forward, just a little bit closer, and Isabelle smelled his shaving soap and some other unidentifiable scent. An undercurrent of virility radiated from him, nevertheless she experienced no fear. How odd. Her prudent, mannerly lifestyle always followed the safest path and this fair-haired devil presented danger in every form. That in itself proved perplexing. Then an unfamiliar yearning curled within her and caused her thoughts to tumble one over the other.
‘Isabelle.’ While she knew it went against all propriety to offer him her Christian name, he’d just danced with her stepmother and would recognise their shared surname. How had the evening become so complicated? She had no experience of the game Lord Highborough played and she’d rather keep it that way. Her heart thrummed a chaotic beat and it was a wonder she managed to remain upright. Each time he looked at her with his smile full of sin, her knees grew weaker still.
‘Isabelle.’ He said her name as if he savoured it and she shivered from the effect. ‘It suits you, although you know you just broke another rule.’
He smiled again and Isabelle had a keen awareness of the moment. He stood before her and watched her as if he could peer straight into her soul. Against all reprimand, her traitorous body grew wondrously warm under his scrutiny.
‘So tell me, beautiful Isabelle, why is it as such an ambivalent rule follower, I find you far removed from the ballroom and enticing me with your first name, as beguiling as it may be?’
She couldn’t very well tell him she wanted to smell the tulips, yet the more she forced herself to focus, the more she couldn’t hold a thought. Good heavens, the man proved distracting. She scrambled for a suitable reply.
‘I will keep your secret if you will keep mine. In that manner, neither one of us need reveal the true reason we escaped the crush.’ She took a small step and regained a shred of confidence with her ability to string words into an intelligent sentence. ‘I really must return. I am certain the dinner bell has rung.’ Maybe it would be that easy. He would step aside and allow her to pass. Surely Meredith searched for her.
But he did not move, not even a hair’s breadth. Instead his gaze slid down her length. Slowly.
‘And end our intriguing little interlude? We have yet to make our agreement official and seal it with a kiss?’
His improper suggestion was scandalous to say the least. How else could she explain her riot of emotions? Yet the fact he wooed every female with his fancy words and polished appearance afforded her the opportunity to find reason with expedience. She knew better than to take even one step onto such a dangerous path, no matter the temptation of kissing Constantine Highborough’s sensual mouth. Adventure, indeed.
Resorting to a feminine ploy far below her level of intelligence, Isabelle wriggled her wrist until her dance card fluttered to the floor at their feet. The embossed paper landed near his right boot. Then taking full advantage of the situation as he bent to retrieve the fallen card, she skirted around his prone form and out through the double doors. Isabelle thought she heard rich laughter, in tune to the thunderous beat of her heart, but she could not be sure.
Chapter Five (#ulink_27940144-7660-588e-a6fb-18599c14179f)
True to Isabelle’s prediction, Meredith described her midnight waltz in every minuscule detail during the carriage ride home. The few minutes spent within Lord Handsome’s embrace secured her determination to seek his affection and become his newest paramour.
Meredith continued to discuss the experience in a dreamlike tone at the breakfast table the following morning. Isabelle neglected sharing any mention of her brief interlude in the library. She was grateful she escaped the room without having to reveal her last name and held no desire to interfere with her stepmother’s plotting. The new day brought with it rational thinking and a sensible solution was easily found. From now on, she would steer clear of the devil with his hypnotic blue eyes and long golden hair. No matter how she itched to gather the lengths together where it overrode his collar.
Good heavens, she was behaving like a ninny. She forced the vivid images from her mind and helped Lily make her plate from the sideboard server, aware a change of topic was in order for no other reason than that the child had joined them.
‘I have a wonderful idea.’ Isabelle confirmed her sister had everything she needed for the meal before she filled her own plate and brought it to the table. ‘After I return from the flower mart this morning, let us plan to spend the afternoon in the square. You may take your hoop or we can walk the paths and look for interesting items to add to your jars.’
Lily’s favourite pastime stemmed from adding items to her vast collections. Isabelle was anxious to give the best part of the afternoon to her sister having spent so much time out of house the day before. ‘I am sure we will discover a rare feather or pretty pebble.’
The child clapped her hands and excitement lit her eyes. ‘That is a grand idea. I will be ready as soon as you return. I do hope we will find a lost button. I always wonder about the person who wore it before it fell off.’
Isabelle recalled the black glass button on Lord Highborough’s cuff when he reached forward to touch her hair the night before. She’d had the fleeting thought Lily would adore the sleek glass fastener, but had lost the idea once her gaze settled on the earl’s entrancing mouth.
Even in the light of a new day, the remembrance of his perfectly formed lips continued to haunt her. And his suggestion that they kiss. It was downright inappropriate. She ascertained its scandalous nature served as the reason she could not chase the persisting proposition from her mind.
‘What time are you going to Covent Garden?’ Meredith took a sip of tea with distracted attention. Would her stepmother hear her answer this time? She had mentioned her plans twice already.
‘After seeing the tulips last evening, I am anxious to explore the variety of flora available. On the rare occasion Father brought me to London, he always said a trip to Covent Garden was a waste of time. I’ve always wanted to go.’ A knowing smile teased her lips. The Rochester tulips had proved the perfect excuse for her absence from the ballroom upon Meredith’s inquiry of her whereabouts. She turned to Lily who looked quite adorable, her huge bites of currant toast having left smudges of sticky red jam on her cheeks.
‘Would you like me to bring you anything special from the flower market? Something we could keep upstairs in your bedchamber and will not cause your mother to sneeze?’
Lily giggled and leaned forward as Isabelle cleaned her sister’s face with a linen napkin. ‘You decide. I love surprises.’ Then she paused and cast her eyes downward in a compelling pose. ‘Although I do want a dormouse more than anything in the world.’
Meredith interjected, her tone adamant. ‘We are not getting a pet mouse. Most people work hard to keep mice out of their homes. I have told you as much before.’ She dismissed her daughter’s request and continued. ‘It will be terribly crowded at Covent Garden. Are you sure you wish to go?’
Isabelle stood and placed her napkin on the table, anxious to be on her way. ‘Yes, the market will be busy but I do not mind. Janie knows the area, as well as many other servants who shop there each week. She promised to show me the best merchants.’
‘Hurry back. I cannot wait to walk with you in the square.’ Lily’s appeal to return with haste was lost in another bite of toast, her cheeks again smudged rosy.
Isabelle moved to the front door and pulled on her gloves as Janie joined her. It would prove refreshing to take the quiet coach ride to Covent Garden. She missed the peacefulness of her flowers at Rossmore House and although the city promised a whirlwind of pleasant distractions, she enjoyed working her hands through the soil and nurturing the tiny seeds she’d planted until they reached full bloom. Gardening afforded her the opportunity to reflect upon life without the ubiquitous noises that filled the city streets on any given day. They’d resided in London for less than a week but already she grew restless. How would she ever keep herself sensibly occupied throughout the length of the season?
It took less than an hour for the coach to bring them to the famous shopping square and Meredith’s prediction of the crowds proved true. Janie kept her word and manoeuvered them through the market with ease. They headed towards the last stop of the day, a small vendor located at the far end of a narrow lane. The shopkeeper did not look busy even though the flower arrangements in the storefront display burst forth vibrant and abundant, the finest shown thus far.
Isabelle chose daisies, perfect for Lily’s bedchamber, and then spotted the loveliest bundle of red dahlias. Dahlias were her favourite flower and rather uncommon in England. The bouquet sat alone in a cobalt glass vase as if it awaited her attention. She walked to the table and reached to gather the flowers, but in a blur of red, the dahlias were scooped up from behind as a man dressed in servant’s attire reached over her shoulder in a brisk movement and collected the bouquet. Isabelle objected and Janie rushed to her side at once.
‘Indeed, that was not well done of you. I mean to purchase those. May I have them please?’ Isabelle hoped the servant would do the sensible thing and hand her the flowers under discussion. He already held several other selections in his over laden arms.
‘I am sorry but I cannot do that. My master made it clear I was to purchase dahlias this morning. It is unfortunate for you that I acquired the last bunch.’
Janie interceded, assuming the man would hear reason from a fellow servant, but it proved to no avail. The man refused to relinquish the dahlias no matter the discussion presented. Then, in an unexpected gesture, he offered Janie a wink at the conclusion of the exchange.
‘Well, there is nothing for it.’ Disappointment coloured Isabelle’s words. ‘I will simply purchase dahlias another day.’ She turned towards the rude servant as he paid for his purchase and watched him brush past and walk to the curb. ‘Apparently for some, impertinence is a requirement for service. I feel sorry for the fool who hired him into the household.’
Her words faded as a large coach pulled to the end of the roadway and the detestable little man who had stolen her dahlias hopped onto the driver’s box next to the coachman. The vehicle sped away with nothing more than the blur of revolving red wheels left in its dusty wake. Isabelle stared after it for several breaths, a vibrant complaint stalled on her tongue.
Lily was waiting at the front window when she returned. Her hair was slightly mussed from an impromptu nap, her skin flushed with the warmth of sleep, as if she’d fallen asleep while awaiting Isabelle’s return. Delighted with her daisies, but eager to venture into Grosvenor’s Square, Lily prodded Isabelle out the door promptly. The weather was uncommonly mild and Isabelle strolled down one of the parterre’s many paths, while Lily darted back and forth investigating leaves, pebbles and bits of nature. The child held her complete attention and exemplified childhood innocence combined with an inquisitive intelligent mind. The simple awareness brought Isabelle joy and reaffirmed her vow that Lily’s youth be filled with pleasantness. A pang of dismay shadowed the thought and she forced away the intrusive remembrance of her father.
They walked the length of a flourishing rose garden and exited the path near the corner of Park Lane, where a small group of pedestrians huddled near the curb and watched something of interest in the middle of the roadway. Lily ran ahead and Isabelle followed swiftly after.
They came upon an interesting scene unfolding in the centre of the street. Isabelle’s brows climbed as she spied a small group of women tittering with excitement near the curb. The ladies were stationed across from Lord Highborough’s grand townhouse. Perhaps the pretentious gawkers hoped to get a glimpse of the infamous rakehell at a window or exiting down his front steps. Good heavens, one would think Prinny was in town. She rolled her eyes and huffed out a short breath.
Loud voices returned her attention to the roadway and as she held Lily’s hand in a firm grip, she surveyed two carriages stopped in the middle of the thoroughfare where they were causing a tangle of traffic. The smaller coach, ornate and painted a glossy white, contained several small faces that peered from the tiny box window as if the passengers were equally as anxious to see what occurred outside. Among them was Lady Newby’s. The other carriage was his. The red wheels were unmistakable, even though the rude servant and outrider from Covent Garden remained on the driver’s box. Lady Newby’s driver seemed to have inadvertently hitched the coach’s wheels fast and tight with Lord Highborough’s carriage as they attempted to avoid the same rut in the middle of Park Lane. A smug smile traced her lips as she watched all three servants attempt to dislodge the secured wheels and become dirtied with dust in the process.
When it was clear no progress prevailed, four young girls emerged from the white coach with a maid in tow. They ran willy-nilly towards the crowd on the curb and then farther into the park behind them. Lily twisted her neck to watch them pass. Did her sister realise how similarly she laboured her own maid?
She had no time to consider it. A wave of murmuring and excitement whispered through the small crowd. She followed the motion of the others and raised her eyes to see Lord Highborough leap from his front steps and out into the street where the coach wheels remained helplessly locked no matter the effort of the three servants.
‘Oh la, just look at the superb cut of his navy blue waistcoat. The shade is the perfect selection for the crystalline hue of his eyes.’
Isabelle swung her head to the lady at her left in time to catch the wave of twittering giggles that followed the statement.
‘Yes, and note his tight buckskin breeches and polished Hessian boots. He is a walking dream.’
This observation came from her left and Isabelle turned as a hint of a smile itched her lips. Then a gentleman spoke in a sympathetic tone and remarked how he hoped the earl would not become angered at having to intercede and spoil his fine attire.
Isabelle raised an eyebrow at the speculation his lordship spurred. The ridiculous nature of the comments surrounding her instigated a bubble of laughter to rise to the surface. She let it free and gazed down at Lily to share a bright smile. Then they both returned their eyes to the street where much to everyone’s awe and admiration, Lord Highborough removed his waistcoat and cravat, rolled up both sleeves of his fine lawn shirt, and positioned himself alongside the servants at opposite ends of his carriage to lift the heavy wheels and disentangle the lodged spokes.
A hush swept over the crowd and a small round of twittering and applause followed. Isabelle declined to offer accolades, deeming the spectacle absurd and refusing to become another babbling ninny on the corner of Park Lane.
True, she hadn’t missed the way his shoulders tensed when he lifted the coach or the striking silhouette of his upper arms as they strained against the fabric when he braced himself to adjust the wheel, but she could appreciate his form without melting and cooing like the foolish ladies surrounding her. Honestly, one couldn’t help but notice how his not quite sable hair fell forward over his brow before he swept it back in a fluid nod of his head. She swallowed heavily as the earl glanced upward to converse with the outrider atop Lady Newby’s carriage. True, he did appear dangerously rakish and devastatingly handsome. For a fleeting moment, her mouth went dry.
‘Isabelle?’ A tug at her arm shifted her attention to Lily. Having stayed near the edge of the crowd, they remained in a good position to back away from the corner unnoticed.
‘What is it, sweetling?’ Her heartbeat slowed to normal, along with her pulse. How unlike her to become so concerned with traffic patterns. Her eyes returned to the street.
At first, she would have agreed Lord Highborough might become angered at having to assist his coachman and ruin his very fine attire, but instead, he’d laughed and chatted with his driver as if helping to keep traffic flowing in the city’s streets was an everyday occurrence. Even Lady Newby waved a pink handkerchief out her coach window before it rolled to a stop in front of her residence down the lane. It would appear all of London adored the Earl of Colehill. The society pages had not exaggerated. For some strange reason, the realisation made her feel a trifle ill.
Lily pulled on her arm again, anxious to continue their stroll and Isabelle set her feet into motion. She dared a quick glance to the second-floor windows of Lord Highborough’s townhouse to discover him peering at her from above. How long has she lingered? Good heavens, did he believe her to be one of the bird-witted ninnies who stood on the corner outside his residence hoping to catch a glimpse of His Royal Handsomeness? She turned and scurried after Lily as fast as her slippers could carry her.
***
Constantine completed his change of clothes and hurried to the window to see if the chaos in the street had dissipated. A few people milled about but with the excitement over, the square would soon return to normalcy. About to turn away, a flash of red under the white lace of an onlooker’s parasol caught his eye. It took less than a minute to recognise the lady below as the lovely stranger who verbally sparred with him last night in Lord Rochester’s study.
Isabelle.
Her image had taunted him throughout the remainder of the evening, and when he awoke this morning, the remembrance of her sultry grey eyes, vibrant hair and lush figure tightened his body with yearning. He regretted not capturing her tempting heart-shaped lips in a long, heated kiss when he had had the chance.
He chuckled aloud, assured he would have earned himself a set down. Isabelle appeared unlike the many ladies willing to offer him their casual favours. He learned her first name, but the minx distracted him so thoroughly, he never discovered her last. That problem wanted a remedy.
He caught up to her and the bewitching child he met during the poppy incident at a narrow turn in the path, near the bodkin bench under a flowering bergamot tree. The child was consumed by a bird’s nest and she refused to proceed further down the path no matter what type of inducement Isabelle offered. A wry smile quirked his lips at her thwarted hasty retreat. He had believed her to possess a bit more spunk. True, it likely proved awkward to be caught staring up at his second-storey window.
He remained a good distance from them and wished to enjoy Isabelle’s pleading tone a bit longer, but the child spotted him and with a squeal of delight pointed in his direction and raced forward with excitement. He smiled upon discovery, as he had committed the same crime as she, shamelessly watching from afar.
‘Hello, good sir.’ The child fell into a polished curtsy and then thrust out her palm, over which a delicate feather lay, the thinnest plume, a gentle shade of grey with hints of gold near the edges. He looked up to see the same soft hues in Isabelle’s eyes.
‘Lily, how many times have I warned you never to talk to strangers? We are not in Wiltshire. This is a very large city. All types of libertines and blackguards may be lurking in the shadows. Dangerous men who lack morals and tempt disaster are hiding everywhere ready to deceive any trusting young lady.’
He bit the inside of his cheek to stifle a smile at the dreadful picture Isabelle drew with her words. While the underlying message was one worth championing, he doubted it necessary to portray him as the worst kind of threat.
Lily glanced from one adult to the other with a perplexed look on her face. ‘This is my friend,’ the child said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘He gave me a button simply because I admired it.’
Isabelle arched a narrow brow in his direction and challenged him with her eyes. Lord, he’d rather challenge her with his body.
The child continued rightfully unaware of the sparks that danced between the two adults above her head. ‘My name is Lily and this is my sister, Isabelle.’
‘I am very pleased to meet you. I am Lord Highborough. I live over there on the corner.’ He waved in the general direction of Park Lane as he glanced from child to the adult. ‘But I believe you know that already.’ Isabelle’s skin warmed to a lovely shade of pink. He crouched down to Lily’s height and questioned her in a discreet tone. ‘I thought I saw your sister with you two days past. How many sisters do you have, little one?’
Lily giggled and offered him another sweet smile. ‘Just one.’ She raised her palm beneath his nose. ‘Do you like my feather? Do you think it is from a wagtail? There is a nest in the tree. Won’t you come and see?’ She grasped his hand and he followed obediently.
The three of them stood under the bergamot tree in silence as Lily stood on her toes in an effort to see inside the bird nest buried in the V of two low-lying branches. Meanwhile Isabelle looked utterly fetching in a simple ivory gown with chocolate brown trim and short puffed sleeves. The close-fitted bodice outlined her enticing curves and he took in her delicious profile with pleasure.
Grosvenor Square was a fashionable place. It made sense anyone visiting on holiday would choose to spend the day strolling the flower gardens. Con knew without a doubt that her viewing him in the window was a chance coincidence, but he would not waste the opportunity handed to him. He still did not know her full name, where she lived, or how she planned to spend her time while in London. And he wanted to know all of it, anything concerning Isabelle.
With little effort, he clasped Lily beneath the arms and hoisted her up to allow her to peer curiously into the nest on the bergamot branch.
‘There are eggs, Isabelle! Three little green eggs!’
He held the child securely, but his eyes never left the woman before him. A graceful smile curved her lips and her head tilted the smallest degree as she viewed her sister. Her beautiful hair, left unbound, fell in rippling auburn waves behind her. In that quiet moment, Con wished he could paint her portrait. He would always remember how she appeared in the waning sunlight that filtered through the branches.
‘Have you visited Hyde Park to see the upside-down tree?’ A brief flash of excitement lit Isabelle’s grey eyes then, almost as if she forgot herself. Quickly she re-established an expression of extreme patience. He gently placed Lily on the grass and continued as though he had received an answer to his original question. ‘Hyde Park is filled with all sorts of wonderful sites, but the weeping beech is a botanical oddity everyone should view at least once in their lifetime. It appears as if the tree grows from the ground upside down.’
Intrigued, Lily clasped her hands together and a wistful smile graced her face. Con suspected Isabelle shared the same excitement but he doubted she would ever confess the feeling. No matter. He had laid the bait, now he needed only to lure his prey forward. ‘I propose we go there tomorrow for a picnic, and I shall accompany both of you on your very first viewing of the upside-down tree – ’
Isabelle’s refusal overrode the end of his sentence. ‘Oh, no thank you, milord. We could never impose upon you.’
‘Oh, please.’ Lily’s soft plea would be hard to resist, but Isabelle would have none of it.
‘Perhaps another time. Now we really must be going. If you will excuse us, I am sure Lily’s mother is wondering what has happened to us. We merely intended to take the air.’
He watched as Isabelle grasped Lily’s hand in a firm hold and led her back to the pathway with brisk steps. Would she gift him with a glance over her shoulder, her fiery locks trailing behind her, the ends lifting in her wake? To his disappointment, she slipped out of sight as soon as the path curved. They could never hear his chuckle and that was more the reason he allowed a hearty laugh as he turned to make his way back.
Chapter Six (#ulink_b382cabd-8763-5f3e-9a50-a213b2491298)
Isabelle mumbled the entire walk home. ‘That man is as vexing as he is handsome and a menace to females everywhere.’
‘What is the matter?’
‘Nothing at all, sweetling.’ She did not expect Lily to understand her infuriation and strove to lighten her tone, although her words continued in the same vein. ‘Insufferable, ridiculous man.’
She entered the drawing room, her sister in tow, and almost collided with Meredith who paced the carpet in front of the hearth.
It took few words of explanation to understand her stepmother’s worry. According to Lady Newby, invitations were sent for one of the largest balls of the season and while the Windlesham affair would not be held for two months, Meredith fretted she would not receive a card.
Meredith brushed away her daughter’s attempt to display the wagtail feather, and summoned a maid to take Lily into the kitchen for a snack. Isabelle removed her gloves and gauged which sensible words to share before her stepmother worked herself into a full-blown panic.
‘We have just arrived. You must give it a little time before your expectations climb so high.’
‘That could be true.’ Meredith’s woeful tone sounded too self-indulgent to be considered sincere. ‘But I will double my efforts to make acquaintances and participate in all social circles. By my doing, we live across the street from the most popular man in London.’ She jerked her gaze to the window. ‘I wish I could accompany the ladies who linger in the square but those dreadful flowers make me sneeze. If I dare to venture out there, I will look wretched in no time; my eyes red rimmed and my nose horribly runny.’
‘I doubt his lordship gives a care to the conspicuous women who mill about his corner. I suspect he hardly takes them seriously.’ A twinge of unbidden guilt chased her words but she refused to offer credence to the preposterous situation in the gardens.
‘In truth, I cannot depend upon your advice.’ Meredith’s tone expressed complete exasperation. ‘When you venture into the square, you actually look at the scenery, not the fashion and definitely not the gentlemen. So lost in your botanical explorations, I wonder if you see anything beyond the flowers in your path.’
An image of Lord Highborough’s flexed muscles beneath the fabric of his lawn shirt rose with startling clarity. Flowers, indeed. Meredith’s flippant remark struck a sensitive chord and all charity evaporated. She did not want to believe her stepmother meant the unkind words with intention, so she did her best to disguise the emotion in her voice in a practice born of habit. A change of subject was in order. ‘I plan to take Lily to Hyde Park tomorrow. The botanical sights promise to be uncommonly rare.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Meredith offered a distracted nod. ‘Enjoy the day. I must work harder to further my pursuit. I am having tea with three ladies I met at the Rochester ball. By association, if in no other way, I will obtain the Windlesham invitation. The event remains several weeks away. There is plenty of time for me to garner Lord Highborough’s attention, but a fool would take unnecessary chances. If I have not managed to attract him before then, it will be imperative I attend.’ She stopped pacing and placed a finger against her chin in deliberation. ‘I suppose you are right. It has been less than a week. It may take a little more effort on my part. You possess such a practical way of looking at things.’
With her stepmother mollified, Isabelle climbed the stairs to change her clothes and consider her spontaneous decision to visit Hyde Park in the morning. Certainly, it had nothing to do with Lord Highborough and his very blue eyes and charming likeability. He did seem at ease with Lily when he brought her up to discover the bird’s nest, but his goal was likely to disprove her immediate assumption he was a wicked seducer of women. If only when they stood together, she could ignore his delicious mouth, then she’d keep a thought in her head and manage a sensible conversation with the man.
She sat down on the corner of her bed with a sigh. Why would he choose to tease her with such persistence? In most ways, the male mind remained a mystery to her, although she did understand resentment and cruelty due to the years spent with her father. Lord Highborough’s jests were nothing like that. Somehow his cutting words managed to please, even while she knew he wished to get the better of her.
Isabelle fell backward and hit the mattress, deep in thought. She promised herself as she packed her luggage in Wiltshire, that were she to be dragged away from home she would embrace new experiences. Every adventure begins with a first step. And she was curious to see the upside-down tree. It mattered little how she came by the information.
However, the secrecy of it all made her incredibly uncomfortable. At least she’d effectively declined Lord Highborough’s invitation and therefore would be able to enjoy the park without preoccupation over another accidental meeting. Or worse, why when the overlong wisps of his hair edged over his collar he did not brush them back as she wished to do.
His hair. How incredibly soft it must feel. Foolish thought, she chided. She brought herself up in a swift motion to ring for her maid and change her clothes for supper.
Janie was accustomed to her no-nonsense style and Isabelle was dressed for dinner, her hair in a tidy bun, in no time at all. When she came down the stairs, she found Meredith seated near the front window. A fashion magazine lay open on her skirt but her focus strayed to the window twice in the time Isabelle crossed the room and sat in the chair beside her.
She drew her stepmother’s attention with a light touch to the arm. ‘I am glad you are here. I wished to speak to you concerning Lily.’
Meredith brought her eyes from the window. ‘What has my daughter requested now? A pet elephant? A trip to Paris?’
‘No, nothing at all.’ Isabelle shook her head to confirm Meredith misunderstood.
‘Very good.’ She dropped her gaze to the magazine on her lap. ‘Look at this exquisite design.’ She turned towards Isabelle with a smile on her face and held up the fashion plate, her index finger tapping the left page. ‘I cannot decide whether to have this gown made in amber or byzantium silk. They are my best colours and this is the latest design. With a more daring neckline, it would make a lasting impression.’
‘It is very pretty.’ Isabelle watched Meredith give the window another glance. ‘I am sure the modiste will accommodate you.’
‘Yes, I shall order it when next we shop. I think a silver underskirt would be the thing, just a tad longer than the hem. What a splendid gown it will be.’
Meredith continued to study the picture, a pleased gleam in her eye, and Isabelle prompted a return to the topic that concerned her. ‘Lily has kept very late hours since we’ve arrived in London and I worry that she is not getting enough rest. She appears tired soon after she wakes and sometimes wishes I lie down with her after luncheon, when usually it is she running circles around me all afternoon.’
Meredith flicked her gaze upward. ‘Posh, I wouldn’t think twice on it. If Lily wishes to nap more often, I relish the fact. It is the only time when the house is utterly quiet.’ She shook her head to dismiss the subject, then turned the page, and reversed the magazine to provide Isabelle with a view of another design. ‘Now this is the perfect gown for you. The square neckline will flatter your full bosom, yet show enough skin to charm any gentleman that asks you to dance.’ She narrowed her eyes and studied the sketch in deliberation. ‘Perhaps in a pale blue water silk. It would complement your colouring and bring out the natural blush of your skin.’
‘Thank you. It does sound lovely.’ She pushed to regain Meredith’s focus. ‘There are evenings when I hear Lily singing or telling stories far past her bedtime.’
‘Yes, she is a fanciful child, but I don’t see a cause for concern.’ Meredith offered her a tolerant grin. Then her eyes returned to the magazine on her skirt and she grinned in unabashed pleasure. ‘If you are going to worry about something, worry about fashion. It is ever changing. You know, we could have scallop shaped sleeves added to this dress. It would be magnificent.’
When Isabelle made no reply, Meredith continued. ‘I think you should heed your own advice and put a little more effort into your pursuit of adventure. This gown would fortify your cause.’
Meredith’s words persisted the next morning when Isabelle and Lily set out for Hyde Park. The sky was overcast, but the dull clouds did not dampen their excitement. Lily carried a velvet bag for keeping safe all the treasures she hoped to find and her animated chatter filled the carriage as they rode through the city streets.
Meredith slept in and did not see them off. Relieved, Isabelle considered what her stepmother would say were she to discover who had told them about the weeping beech and the spectacle of its strange growth. Had Meredith shared the same witty conversation with Lord Highborough as she? The lingering question excited and troubled her at the same time. Good heavens, she needed to stop her ridiculous behaviour. If only she could dismiss his words with the same ease with which she scolded herself for remembering them.
The evening they met in Lord Rochester’s study, Lord Highborough had called her hair magnificent. She’d never received a compliment as grand. No matter that his opinion did not signify, a tiny part of her brain insisted on repeating his words like a litany, even as Lily filled the carriage with chatter.
The park bustled with activity although the hour had just turned eleven. The driver knew the area well and took them in a direct route to the upside-down tree where he parked alongside the thoroughfare. One couldn’t help but be amused while viewing the tree. It did appear as if it sprouted from the ground backward, the base quite narrow and the top grown wide. Lily investigated the area around the tree’s trunk and Isabelle delighted in the serious expression her sister donned as she combed over every blade of grass in search of treasure.
‘I hoped you would come.’
Isabelle’s breath caught when she heard his voice behind her. She almost dropped the little velvet bag Lily had entrusted to her for safekeeping. With simple logical, she dismissed the obvious question as to how he found them and the realisation of his masterful play of the scene took hold. She whipped around to abrade his trickery.
‘It does not seem an especially clever notion to mention an upside-down tree in the presence of a six-year-old child and not expect there to be an urgency to see it.’ She hoped her tone echoed the condescension of her words. The rakish devil merely quirked his lips before he offered a deep bow and his silence compelled her to continue. ‘Or do you normally malinger here in the park and lurk behind trees, ready to pounce upon unsuspecting females?’
He appeared amused by her admonishment. ‘I am at your service, milady. Not just here in Hyde Park, but for the entire day if need be. I am happy you have acted upon my first suggestion. Mayhaps there are other natural sites that hold your interest this morning.’ He offered her a slow, lazy smile.
Impossible man. She refused to look at his finely formed face and turned her attention to where Lily frolicked under the tree branches. ‘Be careful what you wish for, milord. Lily will keep you busy for hours.’ She couldn’t know he meant to keep her busy for just as long in a different manner, but something in the way he looked at her – his eyes full of mischief, his lips curled with a saturnine grin – caused an uneasy ripple of apprehension to surface even as she spoke the warning.
‘Constantine.’ He said the word as if a command. ‘I can no longer call you Isabelle, and not offer you the same kindness. We should be of equal accord. Please call me Constantine. Con, if you prefer.’
There seemed such finality to his statement she saw little reason to disagree. Besides, she already thought of him in that manner. Meredith’s incessant babbling removed all formality from the man’s mention. The sudden thought of her stepmother paired with the handsome man before her gave her conscience a firm shake, and an uncomfortable foreboding shadowed her earlier appreciation of his appearance. She pushed the uneasy feeling aside, unwilling to let it take hold. For then she’d be forced to offer foolish excuses and flee.
‘Lord Highborough!’ Lily bounded towards them. Adoration graced her angelic face. ‘It really is upside-down. It is an upside-down tree.’
Saying it aloud seemed to cause Lily unending delight and she twirled with excitement. Constantine reached into his waistcoat pocket and extended his open palm towards her. The motion caused Lily immediate pause.
‘Oh, it is lovely. May I have it please?’
‘Lily, where so ever are your manners? I apologise.’ Embarrassed, Isabelle did not quite meet his eyes, but she detected he stayed her with the barest shake of his head.
‘There is no need to apologise. I brought this especially. Lily told me about her penchant for buttons. My valet will never miss this one.’ He placed the gleaming gold button into the child’s waiting palm and then Lily did the most astonishing thing, and flung herself against his legs in a fierce embrace. Isabelle watched and something tight twisted in her chest.
‘I will treasure it always. Thank you so very much.’ Lily’s tone was all adoring worship. Then in a flash of pale yellow muslin she ran beneath the upside-down tree and settled to examine her newly acquired prize.
‘You certainly have won her affection.’ Isabelle did not disguise her genuine appreciation. Lily owned most of her heart. The sudden realisation turned bittersweet, as if as a grown woman she should have made room for more people, a husband or a lover. At least a cherished friend. She blinked hard and forced the regretful thoughts from her mind.
‘Had I known it would take a single button I would have brought you one as well.’
Against her wishes, a smile escaped. Good Lord, he cut a fine figure standing amidst the wild flowers in Hyde Park. Her heart stuttered into a heavy rhythm and no matter how she demanded it cease, her traitorous body refused to obey. The infamous Earl of Colehill proved nothing at all like she’d assumed. This man was at complete odds with the urbane seducer described in the scandal sheets. Her conflicted assumptions scrambled to rearrange themselves and she sensed danger indeed. The rake who purportedly kept several mistresses and wagered rashly, rebel rousing until the wee hours of the morning, was easy to treat with disdain. This man, the real man in front of her, with hair the colour of sweet honey, and eyes that twinkled even under a cloudy sky, presented a captivating contradiction.
His thoughtfulness in wishing to please Lily by bringing an addition for her treasured collections touched Isabelle deeply. At times, Meredith did not show such consideration for her daughter’s feelings. In that one small expression he elevated her esteem, despite the fanfare that surrounded his reputation, or her earlier vow to dismiss him as ridiculous. How many intriguing layers were there to the breathtaking man before her, the same one who chose to portray himself as having the world on a string, his life an ongoing amusement?
Her eyes trailed after him as he moved to where Lily played. Had society failed to look deep enough to discover the truth beneath the easy perception of confidence and self-assurance? The puzzling notion held her entranced, as if by solving the paradox, she would be led to discover herself. There was no denying they’d become unwittingly intertwined somehow; by fate or just plain coincidence, it did not signify. And the promise of adventure never seemed more within reach.
***
Constantine glanced over his shoulder and paused as Isabelle approached where he and Lily conversed under the tree branches. She looked lovely. She wore no elaborate jewelry, nor fanciful bonnet covered with frivolous adornments. Instead her choice of fashion appeared tasteful and attractive. Her breathtaking hair, hidden under a narrow straw hat, was secured with a thin sash that matched her gown. He could imagine its glory. Without a doubt, her features were her most becoming accessories: creamy ivory skin and all soft feminine curves.
‘What do you see?’ Lily’s innocent question interrupted his considerations and it proved a good matter as he suspected Isabelle noticed he stared in her direction.
‘Does your sister have a beau?’ He smirked as he voiced the question, unaccustomed to showing concern over male competition.
‘Oh yes. She has many.’
Annoyance rippled through him at the youngling’s reply. While he didn’t know what he expected with his foolish question, the undesired words sharpened his retort. ‘Here? I thought your family just arrived a few days past?’
He glanced in Isabelle’s direction. She’d stopped to admire the primrose clusters growing beside a wrought-iron bench. Refreshing as she appeared, how could he have thought she would not have a long list of admirers?
‘Yes. She has many in Wiltshire so Mother insisted she bring a few to London. Isabelle likes them well enough, although Mother tells her she can do much better here in the city. Mother says a lady should always be pretty and never mind witty.’
Lily bent and plucked a handful of buttercups from the grass. She twirled them between her palms, unaware of the scowl that masked his face.
Could he have perceived her innocence in error? Only an experienced woman would ask her lover to escort her to London for the season. But more than one beau? The very idea clashed with everything he surmised concerning Isabelle and she all but consumed his mind since their first invigorating meeting in Lord Rochester’s study. Much to his own body’s discomfort, he’d thought about her sweet heart-shaped lips every minute they hadn’t been together. Along with other entrancing aspects of her anatomy. It was unwise for him to draw quick conclusions, as he always proved intuitive when discerning another’s true nature. This new contradiction did not sit right.
‘My sister believes herself plain, no matter how I tell her different.’
The child’s innocent confession was charming, although he failed to understand how her words could be true. Plain? Preposterous. Isabelle’s uncommon colouring and lush figure conjured images of mermaids. Her flawless ivory skin would be envied by fairies. She presented a hauntingly erotic muse before anything else.
He diverted his eyes as Isabelle met them under the tree limbs. Then, unwilling to allow her escape, he stepped closer to the lane and let out a sharp whistle. His carriage turned the corner and a coachman hopped down from the box with a small basket and blanket in slapdash fashion. Con instructed the driver to take a long ride elsewhere in the park and far from their picnic. By Isabelle’s remarks in the study, he knew she cared little for the undesired attention that followed him and he wished for her to be at ease. Let the gawkers and flirtatious widows dodge his carriage on a different lane, while he remained where he most wished to be.
Without pause he snapped the blanket open and spread it beneath the branches of the upside-down tree, much to Lily’s delight. He noted Isabelle’s smile too. The three of them settled on the blanket but Lily did not remain and soon rose to treasure hunt in the nearby field of flowers.
He watched with acute interest as Isabelle removed her bonnet and placed it on the flannel alongside her gloves. His breath caught at the outright beauty of her hair. The clouds parted and a stream of sunshine flashed through the tree branches to reveal a kaleidoscope of colour in its auburn waves. He’d always had a fancy for red. Loathe to tear his gaze away, he feared he would reach across the blanket, pull her to him and plunder her mouth with a long, searing kiss if he did not distract himself. It was a good thing she had her hair all caught up in a satin bow, otherwise he would never be able to resist tangling his fingers in the lengths.
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