Lady Isabella's Splendid Folly: a Fortune's of Fate story (Fortunes of Fate Book 7)

by Sandra Sookoo

  Damnation.

  He shrank between two wooden shelves and kept his attention on locating a particular volume of Keats’ poetry he’d misplaced during his move from the ship to Buckinghamshire. It was a favorite and he missed it, for he’d become used to reading through those passages over the years while out to sea. It was imperative he remain hidden, for he and that woman got on like oil and water, and he’d rather not be on the receiving end of her temper.

  But his luck didn’t hold.

  Since the bookshop was cozy, it was only a matter of time before the lady encountered him. Her sharp intake of breath warned him of her proximity, as did the gentle waft of orange blossoms.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes wide with shock.

  “Perhaps you find it hard to believe, but even men like me enjoy reading.” He shifted his glance to the shelves of poetry around him, clearly dismissing her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

  “I would be happy to do so, except in order for me to find the books I’m looking for, I need to pass by you.”

  He made a circular gesture with a hand. “You can go around by way of the other aisle.”

  “Must you be difficult?” She blew out a breath that ruffled the few curls on her forehead.

  “Apparently, I must.” In her company, he lost complete control of his tongue. But, remembering the words of his valet, he stifled a sigh and then stood aside, his back tight against a shelf in order for her to pass. “Please, continue on.”

  “Thank you.” Her skirting brushed his boots, and in the narrow aisle, her shoulder touched his chest for the briefest of moments. In the dim light, the glitter of gold flashed on the bodice of her violet gown, and the color deepened the hue of her eyes.

  That mattered not a jot in the face of a more pressing detail. Peregrine sucked in a breath. The fortune he’d had mere days ago danced in his head.

  …Know her by the flash of gold at her breast…

  Surely it was a coincidence, nothing more. Still, she was here and the words were fresh in his mind. He waylaid her with a hand slipped about her upper arm. “Where did you come by this?” With his free hand, he fingered the brooch, tracing its twisting lines with a gloved fingertip, telling himself that he would not look at the tempting curve of her breasts that flirted with the lace trim of her bodice.

  “I was… ah, at the gypsy fair days ago, as you have cause to know.” She swept her gaze upward to catch his. “The fortune teller invited me to choose a trinket from her wagon.” Then her plush lips pushed into a frown. “Why? Do you intend to rob me?”

  “What?” He caught the trace of humor in her expression and quickly released her. “Of course not.” Before he took a few steps back from her, he glanced at the golden brooch. Prickles of unease rolled down his spine, for the design was an exact match of a tattoo currently residing on his left shoulder, the ill-advised inking he’d received as an eighteen-year-old navy man on liberty in Jamaica. “Merely curious.” And growing more so.

  She slipped to the end of the aisle, her face hidden as she browsed. “You think having a fortune read is frivolous nonsense.” It wasn’t a question.

  “How can you possibly know that?” Yet his stomach muscles clenched in anticipation of another round of verbal banter.

  “Merely a feeling.” Lady Isabella ran a gloved fingertip along the shelf in front of her. When she turned to look at him, a calculating light appeared in her remarkable eyes. “Why were you at the gypsy fair, Captain? Did you have your fortune read as well?”

  “If I did, it was only on a lark. The paths in a person’s life cannot possibly be mapped out by a woman who doesn’t know that person intimately.”

  One of her eyebrows arched. “Then you believe that our lives are predestined, and that any actions on our parts will happen regardless?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  With slow, determined steps, she came toward him. “Then what do you believe? Do you live by the words of a fortune given, or do you forge your own path regardless?”

  “I rather like to think a man makes his own luck in this life. Good or bad, the choices he decides upon help to guide him.” Then he warmed to his topic. “Imagine how ridiculous life would grow if one lived only by a few scattered sentences given at a fair and only for as much coin as the one who wished for a fortune offered.”

  “That’s a rather skewed view of things. I’d like to think visiting a fortune teller is a form of hope.”

  He snorted. “Is that why you went? You parted with good coin for hope?”

  A faint blush crept into her cheeks. “I won’t deny I wanted to hear a bit of good news regarding my future.”

  Was she that naïve? “Surely you know that no one can divine the future. It is cemented by every step we take through life. How we think. What we believe.”

  “Then all the storms at sea you survived—I presume there were storms—that was all on you. Fortune played no part?”

  “I’m certain luck had a hand, of course, but my crew and I are well skilled for such things. The decisions we made together and individually saw us through such things.”

  “Ah.”

  Because he was curious, he asked, “So you make decisions in your own life based on the nonsense a fortune teller has given you?”

  “Perhaps.” The blush in her cheeks deepened.

  He shook his head. “That’s ill-advised, my lady, for you’ll miss out on so many things while fear of matching everything with a fortune—that may or may not come true—to the events around you.” When she had no reply to that, he rushed onward. “What is it that you’re afraid of, I wonder?”

  “Of making the wrong decision. What if I go one way but my destiny lies in another?”

  Peregrine raised his eyebrows at her stark honesty. “If it’s destiny you’re worried about, it has an uncanny way of meeting us regardless of whatever decision or path we choose.” He shrugged. “It is what it is.”

  “And you cannot avoid it?”

  “It’s been my experience that one cannot.”

  “What if that destiny is not what I want?”

  “You don’t have the option to decide such a thing.”

  “But I should, since it’s mine.”

  “True.” He shifted his attention to the books on the shelf nearby. “Just to play devil’s advocate, let me ask you this. If you assume that your destiny, your future if you will, is to avoid marriage, what if fate—for lack of a better word—puts the perfect man into your path? Would you avoid him for what you assume is your only course, due to the words of a stranger?”

  She sucked in a breath. “The fortune teller didn’t promise me a perfect man, nor did she say anything about love.”

  “Then what are you worried about?” He slid his gaze back to hers. “Seems to me you have nothing to worry about.” Really, it was insanity to continue this conversation. All he wanted was a book of poetry. Except, some of his own fortune wouldn’t leave his mind. She wore that damned brooch. What did that mean?

  The lady, apparently, couldn’t the let matter drop. She babbled on about fortunes and the future and how it was all very confusing and how was a person to know what to do without a guide.

  “Woman, for the love of God, stem your incessant blather.” Annoyed, and in need of quiet so he could think and sort out his own jumbled thoughts, Peregrine quickly closed the distance between them, grabbed her shoulders and brought his mouth crashing down on hers. Ah, finally, blessed silence.

  Lady Isabella wrenched away, her eyes round, her just-kissed lips forming a perfect “O” of shock. “How dare you, Captain.” Outrage quivered in her voice. “You could have asked my permission.”

  The same shock roiled through him. A charge of some sort still tingled through his blood from the brief contact. To hide his reaction, he retreated into familiar flippant sarcasm. “I could have, yet I didn’t.” He offered what he hoped was a cheeky grin. “It appears you are none the worse for wear.” When she didn’t offer a
reply, he returned to perusing the shelves even if he couldn’t concentrate on the spines of the books.

  Several moments of silence reigned, so thick he could almost feel her brooding. Then, “Why did you kiss me?”

  He shrugged, wanting to appear negligent. Perhaps then she’d leave him alone, for he much preferred her company when she was irritated with him. “To stem the flow of your copious and apparently never-ending stream of words.”

  She growled. The woman actually growled. “Pig.” In her annoyance, she stamped a slipper-covered foot and he couldn’t help but admire her high instep. “So there was no other motivating factor in that kiss other than you’re bothered by chatter?”

  Her ire amused him, but he tamped down on a reaction. There were too many would-be missiles around them she could throw at him. “None at all. Sorry to inconvenience you.”

  With a huff, she retreated around the shelf. Her footsteps indicated she didn’t go far, only to the next shelf over. When the silence in the shop remained unbroken, Peregrine relaxed by increments, only to have the brief respite shattered by her next words. “I apologize for asking, but did you, ah... did you enjoy the kiss?” There was a certain amount of vulnerability in those words that unexpectedly tugged at his chest.

  His curiosity once more aroused, he moved down the aisle until he could glance at her from between the breaks of books on the shelves. The blush on her cheeks gave her a life and interest she hadn’t had before. She was a rather fetching thing when she wasn’t angry. Too bad she was a harridan of the first order, and trouble besides. Otherwise, he might put an effort into flirting with her. “I don’t believe that brief peck deserves a rating of enjoyment. Quite frankly, that wasn’t the purpose of the kiss.”

  “Oh, you…”

  “Is that the best you can do? You called me worse the other day.” He grinned into the book he’d pulled off the shelf and cracked open. Damn, but it was too easy to bait her.

  A huff of frustration followed. She yanked a book from the shelf, widening the gap and allowing a greater glimpse of her. “Surely there are other ways of silencing a woman.”

  “Of course there are.”

  She frowned. “Why did you choose a kiss then?”

  “Why not?” He struggled not to laugh, for she was clearly at sixes and sevens, and not used to either being teased or kissed. He didn’t know. “I couldn’t very well muzzle you, for I am not a criminal.”

  “Yet you play at being a rogue.” It wasn’t a question.

  He did laugh at that, and surprisingly, it felt wonderful to do so. “My lady, if I were a rogue, that kiss wouldn’t have been chaste and it certainly wouldn’t have ended at one.”

  “Then you found it pleasant, this kissing me?” A hopeful note wound through her voice.

  How... odd. He frowned. The tug at his chest was even more strange. “Surely you’ve been kissed before.” Damn, if she hadn’t, he shouldn’t have been reckless about doing it.

  “Yes, but since none of those men came up to scratch, or their advances were vile or I didn’t enjoy how they did it, I assume either I’m kissing them wrong or they have no skill.” Another huff, and this one sent a tiny bit of dust into the air on his side of the shelf. “I’ve never had the courage to ask any of my suitors.”

  “I see.” A long stretch of silence followed her admission. There was no favorable way to answer her. “Like I said, that kiss wasn’t for enjoyment—mine or yours.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “However, I’m sure you are more than passable in that regard.” The soft press of her lips against his surfaced in the forefront of his mind.

  “Will you kiss me again to find out?”

  In different circumstances, perhaps. Peregrine snorted. It was chilling how her thoughts mirrored his. “A man cannot kiss on demand with such feeling behind it.” He peered at her from between the books that separated them. “Since you proclaim yourself on the shelf, I’m quite certain you are well aware of how such things work. Which is why you’re there to begin with.”

  Then an insight occurred to him, one that was quite startling. She was only hiding behind that facade but at the heart of the matter, she wished for love and romance and perhaps marriage.

  Another snippet of his fortune floated into his ears: Appearances are often deceiving.

  Oh, hell no. He reeled and was obliged to grip the shelf to keep from stumbling. By turns shock and relief mixed in his chest, for he wasn’t attracted to this woman at all, which meant he was in no danger of going down the marriage path again.

  “You, sir, are a cad by bringing up such a delicate subject.” She slammed her book back on the shelf. “The words you don’t say tell me everything I need to know about you.”

  “How the devil do you figure?” So intrigued, he forgot to watch his language in front of the lady.

  “You find me unattractive and not worthy of your notice. Which means my ill-fortune with men continues.” Her succinct summary left him even more curious.

  Damn her eyes.

  “If the heart is not engaged, nothing will ever work, no matter how much the head might wish for a thing.” Did he refer to her feelings or his? Difficult to say.

  “I’m sorry, but that explanation is quite rubbish.” The dulcet tone of her voice heated once more with ire. “There are times when a woman doesn’t wish for her heart to be engaged, when she only wants to indulge in a wild folly before retiring into contentment. In that prospect, feelings have no place.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Did she not wish to land a husband after all? It was deuced difficult to tell with the woman the way her mind bounced. When he looked again, she was gone and before he could question where she’d gotten off to, she rounded the shelf. “Care to explain that statement?” Then she was before him, her face a thundercloud, her eyes flashing dark blue fire, twin spots of colors on her cheeks.

  “Certainly.” Lady Isabella fisted her hands in his lapels, yanked him to her and she kissed him with more enthusiasm than panache.

  Heaven help me. Despite himself, despite his best laid plans, despite his recent epiphany regarding her, his traitorous heart gave a mighty shudder as if it was coming back to life after being frozen for so many years, and all because this spirited woman with the tart mouth kissed him without a by his leave. His cane clattered to the floor. The book slipped from his fingers.

  What the devil should he do with his hands? The second he decided to rest them on the swell of her hips, some of his control wavered. He pulled her against him, giving her plenty of time to end this bout of madness. But she continued to kiss him, and when her eyes shuttered closed and she probed the seam of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, an involuntary moan escaped him. He wanted to crush her in his arms and assume control of the embrace, give her a taste of her own manipulation, but when he moved a hand from her hip to cup her cheek, she wrenched away.

  “I think that proves my point, Captain St. John.” Her chest heaved, which called his attention to her creamy skin and the glimmer of the golden brooch.

  “Which is what?” His thoughts had scattered along with his decorum.

  “That feelings need not be engaged when all a woman wants is a right proper kiss.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, my lady, but that wasn’t a proper kiss.” If he’d been more aware, he would have shown her just that.

  “Ah, perhaps next time, then.” She smiled and he jerked his gaze back to her face in time to catch a knowing light in her eyes. “I must run. Do try and have a nice day. I’m sure you’ll find everything you desire in a volume of poetry. And thank you.” With a laugh he wasn’t sure was devious or light-hearted, Lady Isabella disappeared around the shelf. All too soon he heard the low murmur of her voice blending with the shopkeeper’s, promising to visit in a few days when the new shipment of books came in.

  I’ll be damned.

  Peregrine sagged against the shelf as his heart pounded out an erratic rhythm. What the devil was he to think of this most recent interactio
n?

  Chapter Six

  Isabella returned home after the interesting jaunt to the bookshop more confused than ever. What the devil had possessed her to forget manners and propriety and kiss a man she hardly knew, let alone couldn’t speak civilly to?

  Of course, he kissed her first, and not in the spirit that she had returned the overture. Still, something had transferred between them during that second meeting of lips, something she’d never experienced with any of the suitors who’d filled the London parlor. It both intrigued and frightened her. Now what to do about it?

  I need to talk to someone about this. But it couldn’t be one of her sisters, for they were known to keep secrets poorly, and they’d endeavor to throw her and the captain together at every chance.

  She didn’t want that. Especially when she didn’t know how she felt about him. Gathering handfuls of her skirts, Isabella dashed up the stairs and didn’t stop her flight until she was behind the closed door of her bedroom. “Molly? Are you about?” When her maid didn’t immediately answer or appear, Izzy paced in front of the windows while her thoughts spun. How could a man be so irritating but at the same time appear so interesting?

  It wasn’t possible, was it? Men weren’t that complex, nor were they as sharp or as intelligent as the captain. At least that had been her experience. She frowned. Perhaps that was the problem.

  Part of the fortune came back to echo in her ears: Heed me, girl: he is dangerous. But how? Was he a spy or involved in something covert? Or did the warning pertain to her personally? Then she shook her head. No, the fortune didn’t mean the captain. A shudder of relief sailed down her spine.

  When her maid finally appeared, Isabella sighed. The young girl’s red hair was held back in a tight knot, but a few tendrils escaped to frame her oval face. The lace of her mobcap drew attention to her delicate Irish features and the splash of freckles over the bridge of her nose and cheeks. “Did you need me, my lady? I had thought you’d be out longer, for you do so love the book shop.” The hint of a brogue clung to her voice, and it was soothing.