“I beg your pardon?” His cant went over her head.
“Never mind. Is your marriage happy?”
“Whether it is or not is certainly none of your concern!” Isabella replied, taken aback.
“I’m simply attempting to determine who would want you dead. If your marriage is unhappy, then that needs to be considered along with everything else.”
“I told you, none of my family would want me dead.”
“St. Just dropped a packet at the tables a few months back.” It sounded like an idle observation, but in the context of the conversation it was sinister. Isabella blinked.
“How do you know that?”
“Let’s just say that it’s my business to know what goes on in London.”
“Who are you, anyway? You don’t sound like a—a …” Her voice trailed away as she recollected that what she had been going to call him might just possibly be considered an insult.
“A …?” he prompted. She thought he might be amused again.
“A ruffian,” she came up with, and this time he laughed aloud.
“Oh, I’m very definitely a ’ruffian,’ my lady, believe me. Although I’ve never thought of myself in exactly that way.”
“I beg your pardon if I offended you.”
“Not in the least. I’ve never been one to quibble at calling a spade a spade—or a ruffian a ruffian.”
He was grinning; she could tell he was. Her eyes narrowed. She was providing him with a great deal of amusement, it seemed!
“Besides ’ruffian,’ do you have another name?”
“Indeed I do, my lady. Alec Tyron, at your service.”
“How do you do, Mr. Tyron?”
“Very well, thank you, my lady. And now that the formalities have been observed, and your fears of imminent murder have been laid to rest, may I suggest that we light a candle? If we are to continue this fascinating conversation, that is.”
“Oh, no!” His suggestion brought home all the hideous impropriety of the situation. Clad in another of the diaphanous nightdresses, she was the next thing to naked—and he was a (probably dangerous, and certainly wicked) stranger, for all he was sitting so companionably on the end of her bed, and for all the unaccountable feeling of security he gave her in doing so.
“Why not?” The question was reasonable.
“I am not … dressed.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’re sitting there talking to me stark naked? Dear me, I’m shocked!” From the mock-horrified tone of his voice, Isabella knew that he was teasing her. But the image his words conjured up was vivid, and caused a queer little tightening in her belly. Mortified at both the conversation and her response, she struggled for words.
“No, I am not na—completely unclothed! Of course I am not! I have on a nightrail, but it is—it is not …”He knew perfectly well what she was trying to say, she thought. After all, he had seen her nightrail—and what lay beneath it—for himself. The memory made her flush.
“You relieve my mind. For a minute there I thought that I was to be subjected to the sight of a naked—no, I beg your pardon, the word was ‘unclothed,’ wasn’t it?—an unclothed lady.”
“You are not to be subjected to the sight of a lady at all, for I refuse to allow the candle lit!”
“And if I insist?”
That silenced her. For all his good-humored bantering, he had the upper hand here, not she. If he chose to light the candle, she had not the means to prevent him.
He must have sensed the uneasy quality of her silence, because after a moment he sighed.
“Nay, I was but teasing you. I forgot you’re just a chick, not yet up to snuff. You’ve naught to fear from me, I give you my word. If you do not wish the candle lit, why, then it will stay unlit. Never let it be said that I failed to honor a lady’s wishes.”
“I wish you will let me go home.” The plea, born of her confusion, the growing flame of liking she felt for him and the dying embers of fear, sounded heartfelt.
“Certainly you may go home, in no more than a day or two. I give you my word on that, too. Although, were I you, I would want to know who was trying to put a period to my existence before I put myself within their reach again.”
“I cannot believe—”
There was a sound at the door, then the grating of a key turning in the lock. Isabella’s eyes riveted on that dark portal as light slowly began to show around the edge of it. At her feet, she felt Alec tense.
XII
The man who stepped through the door was carrying an oil lamp in one hand. The wick was turned down low, so that the lamp shed just enough light to permit him to find his way. His features were in shadow, but there was no mistaking that huge form.
“Over here, Paddy,” said Alec, confirming Isabella’s guess.
Paddy turned up the lamp. Isabella blinked, then gasped as she realized what the lamp must reveal. Hurriedly she grabbed at the bedclothes and jerked them up around her neck, where she held them securely in place. Her unconfined hair tumbled in a riotous mass over the blue silk coverlet which she held to her chin. Above it her eyes were wide, and a softer, deeper shade of blue when she dared look first at Alec and then at Paddy. As she had feared, both men’s eyes were upon her, and she wondered just how much of her person they had seen. Although, she thought with dubious comfort, they could not have seen more of her than they had already, the night before.
“I fear you’ve compromised the lady’s modesty with your lamp, Paddy.” There was a wealth of amusement in Alec’s voice. Those golden eyes shifted from her to twinkle at his friend.
“What are you doing from bed? The sawbones told you to stay put for at least another week.” Paddy frowned at Alec as he took another step into the room. Then, apparently remembering, he reached around to turn the key so that the door was securely locked again. He was dressed in what appeared to be the same crumpled frock coat and breeches he had worn the day before, but he was clean-shaven and his linen was fresh. A bottle of what appeared to be brandy was tucked under one arm, and both pockets of his coat bulged suspiciously. From the clinking sound the contents made when he moved, Isabella suspected that one pocket held glasses. What was in the other pocket, she couldn’t be sure, but from the shape of the object, she would guess it was a pistol.
Alec shrugged. Lamplight played on the bare width of his shoulders, delineating solid muscles and painting them gold. The hairs on his chest were tipped with gold by the light as well, and for a moment, forgetting herself, Isabella stared. He was so very masculine, so completely different from herself. His skin looked as if it would be sleek to the touch.… Her fingers curled into involuntary fists as if she fought the sudden impulse to discover the texture of that skin for herself. Such thoughts must be a product of some lingering weakness of the brain from her delirium, she decided, because she had never had any remotely resembling them before.
Except for the sheet he had twisted around his middle, and the bandage around his chest, Alec was as bare as a babe. Apparently he had not taken time to pull on his breeches before coming to check on her. At the thought that she’d been sitting here in the darkness, visiting cozily with him when they were both next to naked, Isabella felt her throat grow dry.
She decided she still must be weaker than she knew. There was no other way she could think of to account for such disturbing physical symptoms.
“To hell with the bloody sawbones.” Alec’s voice was still perfectly amiable, but there was a steely note to it that told Isabella that he was accustomed to having his preferences deferred to. She eyed his profile with reluctant interest as he frowned at Paddy over one shoulder. His features were as perfectly carved from the side as they were from the front, his forehead high, his nose long and straight, his chin firm. What appeared to be a good week’s growth of beard roughened his jaw, making him look in truth like the ruffian she had called him. His tawny hair, like hers unconfined, waved almost to his shoulders. “I’ve had a bellyful of skulking in here.”
“You know what we decided. Until we discover who put Hardy up to shooting you, you’re to remain in hiding. ’Tis best, Alec, and you know it.”
“To hell with what we decided. I’ll find the bloody blighter in my own way.”
“They’ll be on you like jackals on a corpse if they see a chance to get to you while you’re weakened. ’Twill be easier to smoke them out if they don’t know where you are, or whether or not you still live.”
There was a moment’s silence as Alec scowled at Paddy. Paddy met the golden eyes steadily, and after a moment Alec sighed.
“Aye, I know it. But it chafes me to hide away, while you’re out scouring the woodwork for the vermin who got to Hardy.”
“Can’t be helped, Alec. Unless you’ve a hankering for a pine box instead of the gibbet I’ve always said would be your earthly reward.”
Isabella made a sound of shock at such plain speaking between friends, and Alec’s attention shifted back to her. Embarrassed to be caught ogling him, she quickly switched her attention to Paddy. But despite her best efforts to be as seemingly nonchalant about their unconventional situation as Alec was—although, of course, sitting half-naked on a bed with an equally unclothed female was probably nothing out of the ordinary for him—she felt warm color stain her cheeks.
“Now, why is she blushing?” Alec remarked on a surprised note, apparently to the world at large.
Of course, this made Isabella color up still more.
“I—I …” Isabella could come up with no response to that. How did one tell a gentleman—no, he was certainly no gentleman!—but a man, that his lack of clothing bothered her in the most inexplicable way? Isabella was lost for words. Her eyes met Alec’s almost shyly. He returned her look, his own eyes suddenly intent.
Paddy cleared his throat. “Well, we’d best be letting you get back to sleep, miss. Alec had no business waking you in the first place.”
Alec’s eyes shifted to Paddy, and when he spoke his words were light. But Isabella could not shake the notion that something—she didn’t know quite what, but something—had just passed between Alec and herself that was quite beyond her experience. Something that was hot, and secret, and sent the heat that had blushed her cheeks surging clear down to her toes.
“The shoe’s on the other foot, my friend. She woke me, squalling like a bloody kitten. And she’s ‘my lady,’ not miss, Paddy.”
“Beg pardon, my lady,” Paddy said, bowing in her direction and turning an inquiring eye on Alec.
“Countess of Blakely. St. Just’s relic.”
“Oh.” Paddy frowned, started to say something, and apparently thought better of it.
“Is something the matter, Paddy?”
“Tell you later,” Paddy said under his breath, with a warning look at Alec. Isabella sat a little straighter. As she pressed against the headboard, her back throbbed beneath the neat square bandage that protected the healing wound, but she ignored the pain, fixing Paddy with wide eyes.
“If it is something to do with me, I would prefer that you tell me as well as Mr. Tyron,” she said with quiet dignity.
Paddy looked unhappy.
“Go on, Paddy, it can’t be too bad for her ladyship to hear, can it?”
“Alec …”
“Tell her.” Despite the quiet timbre of Alec’s voice, it was an order.
“St. Just was below tonight.”
“What?” Isabella could not believe she had heard correctly.
Paddy obligingly repeated what he had said, more loudly this time.
“But why? What is this place? Why would Bernard come here? Is he looking for me?” She felt strangely disappointed that that should be so. Bernard was her husband; if he had come looking for her, she would have to go to him. And she was astonished to discover that, all of a sudden, she had no wish to go home after all.
Alec and Paddy exchanged long looks.
“I don’t think he was looking for you,” Paddy said slowly, watching her face with troubled eyes.
“Then why was he here? What is this place?”
Alec frowned. Those golden eyes gleamed at her in the candlelight.
“Have you ever been to the theatre? In London?” he asked.
“I’ve never even been to London,” she admitted slowly.
“Well, we’re in London’s theatre district.”
“Sort of,” Paddy amended, sounding uneasy. Alec flashed him a look. Isabella couldn’t decipher its meaning.
“If there’s something you’re having trouble telling me, I wish you’d just say it.” Isabella was looking at Alec, who unexpectedly gave a wry grin. “Why don’t you start with where we are. Precisely. I’m already aware that this is not—not a respectable place.”
“No, it’s not respectable,” Alec agreed. Paddy looked embarrassed. “It’s called the Golden Carousel, and it’s a combination gaming hell and bawdy house.”
A hell was bad enough—indeed, she had never expected to be inside one—but a bawdy house! Her eyes widened as she remembered the young female in the hall—and Pearl. Why, they must be … Her face went scarlet.
“Oh,” Isabella said faintly after a moment, feeling that some response was called for, and unable to think of anything more adequate. Then she frowned. “I suppose Bernard came to gamble, then.”
Paddy looked uneasy, but nodded.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” she asked, her eyes on his face. “If he came to … to … if he came for… female companionship, you needn’t try to hide it. I’m more up to snuff than either of you think. I know such things are common with gentlemen.”
Alec made a sound under his breath. Isabella saw that his eyes were dark with pity for her. She lifted her chin at him.
“ ’Tis the way of the world,” she said steadily.
“Alec, could I see you for a minute?” Paddy still looked uneasy.
“If you have anything else to report on Lord Blakely, you can say it in front of me. After all, he is my husband.”
“Say what you have to say, Paddy. Whatever it is, ’tis best that she knows.” Alec’s voice was abrupt.
Paddy looked at Isabella sorrowfully. “St. Just was dressed in full mourning, my lady. He told one of the bawds that he was newly widowed.”
“What?” Isabella was stunned. “But … how could he say that? He is certainly not!”
“Apparently he thinks you dead.” Alec got up from the bed, absently hitching the sheet higher around his waist. “If I were you, I’d think about that.”
Isabella said nothing. There was nothing she could say. That Bernard was calling himself a widower had many possible ramifications. She had to examine them all before she knew what to think.
Alec watched her for a moment, then turned to Paddy.
“Let’s go crack open that bottle, friend, and let the lady go back to sleep.”
Isabella was scarcely aware as they padded silently toward the dressing room. She was too busy turning what she had learned over in her mind. Did the fact that Bernard thought her dead mean that it was he who had schemed to have her killed? But why? Surely, surely, there was some other explanation.…
“You don’t have to be afraid, you know. We have you safe here, and you can stay as long as you like.” It was Alec who spoke from just outside the dressing room door. As she looked in the direction of his voice, Isabella became aware that Paddy had carried the lamp away with him, and the room was once again dark. Alec was no more than a tall silhouette against the light that now shone from the dressing room behind him.
She could find nothing to say to that. She merely stared blindly at the tall, dark shape of him without answering. He waited a minute, then turned away, speaking over his shoulder as he left her alone.
“Good-night, then,” he said softly. Then, softer still, he added, “Isabella.”
XIII
Isabella slept for most of the next week. Pearl, Paddy, and Alec were in and out of her chamber, but she was only occasionally aware of them. Finally, she wa
s awakened, rudely, by a hand shaking her shoulder. Isabella blinked, and opened her eyes to see Pearl bending over her.
“What is it?” Isabella asked, turning over gingerly. The soreness in her back was much lessened, she discovered, but it still ached if she put too much pressure on it. The bedclothes fell away from her shoulders as she moved, and Isabella was left looking down at a vast expanse of her own bare skin. Though she was grateful for the use of the nightrails (and wondered if perhaps they were standard issue for the girls at the Golden Carousel), she would much have preferred something a little more similar to her own neatly pin-tucked muslin ones. Or if such was not available, and upon reflection, she did not suppose it would be in a bawdy house, then at least something with a modicum of decency to it.
Pearl was thoughtful as her eyes ran over Isabella. “If you find yourself in need of employment, angel, I can always use you belowstairs. A great many gentlemen seem to enjoy the young, innocent-looking ones. Probably reminds them of their daughters.”
Isabella gasped and grabbed the bedclothes to tuck around herself.
“No, I thank you,” she managed. Pearl shrugged, and went to part the curtains so that pale, cold sunlight filled the room. Through the frosted panes of glass Isabella could see a coating of ice on the iron bars that caged both windows.
“Why are the windows barred?” From what Alec had said, there had been no time to fit the windows with bars just to keep her imprisoned, even if they had wanted to, which Alec had assured her they did not. Strangely enough, Isabella found that she trusted Alec to tell her the truth, however painful. Though the truth as he saw it might not always be the truth as it was.…
“Oh, sometimes ’tis necessary to lock a new girl in until she learns the rules of the establishment and gets used to her duties, so to speak. Not that I have to do it very often, but the room’s here when ’tis needed. And a good thing, too, for Alec. He don’t have to worry about anyone comin’ in the windows after him. That just leaves the door to watch.”
“Do you really think someone will be coming here to try to kill him?”
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