Tiger's Eye

by Karen Robards

  She knew what the harm was. It was not in the kiss, it was in the man.

  He was kissing her breathless, stealing her reason, carrying her away with him on a tide of passion too strong to resist. She trembled in his arms, made soft, passionate sounds into his mouth, tangled her fingers in his hair.

  When he slid his lips across her face to her ear to nuzzle her sensitive lobe, then moved lower to make a meal of her neck, she could only lie with quivering abandon against his shoulder.

  When his hand slid up to cover her breast through the thin layers of her wrapper and nightdress, she trembled from head to toe.

  “Let me love you, Isabella,” he whispered against her ear.

  Her eyes fluttered open. His hand was dark and long-fingered as it splayed over the fragile white silk covering her breast. As she watched, his fingers tightened, squeezed her, sought and found the nub that was her nipple, rubbed it. Fire shot along her nerve endings. Her fingers curled convulsively into his shoulder.

  Then from somewhere, she never afterward knew where, she summoned the strength to do what she must.

  “No!” she cried, pushing his hand away from her breast and struggling to sit up. “No, no, no!”

  Her rejection caught him by surprise. He permitted her to scramble off his lap, while he leaned back in the chair and looked up at her with a flushed face and narrowed eyes.

  “I’ll not do this, Alec,” she said fiercely. “Do you hear? I’ll not do it!”

  “I hear.”

  “You promised that our relationship would be strictly business, and I hold you to your word. Do you not keep it, I’ll leave, I swear.”

  He forbore to point out that she had nowhere to go. “I’ll not force you to share my bed, Isabella. You need have no fear of that.” His head still rested against the back of the chair as he watched her.

  “No, I know you’ll not force me,” she said bitterly. “There’s no need for that, is there? No doubt you’re used to women melting like butter in your arms. But I cannot do it, do you understand? To let myself become your mistress would kill something inside me. I would be ashamed, Alec, bitterly ashamed. Every time I looked into a mirror I would think ‘whore.’ Do you have any smallest scrap of care for me, please don’t burden me with that. I’m asking you because I know now that I’m weak where you’re concerned. But you … you can have your pick of women. I’m just a novelty to you, and in a few weeks you’ll wonder what you ever saw in me. I … I couldn’t live with that. So I’m asking you, Alec, please leave me be. Please.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his lips compressed. “If that’s the way you want it.”

  “It is.”

  He inclined his head, but his eyes were angry. She looked at him, bit her lip, and turned on her heel.

  “Lock the door after me,” she said, and let herself out into the hall.

  XLIII

  By morning Isabella felt positively drained. She had slept very little the previous night, and the coming of dawn was almost a relief. At least she no longer had to lie in her bed and worry. She dressed herself—it was amazing how difficult some of her garments were to do up without the assistance of a maid, but as a mere employee of Alec’s, she did not like to presume to ring for assistance—and went downstairs in search of breakfast.

  To her surprise, both Alec and Paddy were in the small breakfast room to which Shelby showed her. As she entered, they looked up at her with varying degrees of displeasure.

  “Good morning,” she said with what she felt was creditable ease. The two men grunted something by way of a reply, but neither stood. Isabella supposed that it was her place to point out this omission to Alec—after all, it was he who had requested her help to turn him into a gentleman—but after the words that had been exchanged between them the night before, she did not feel quite up to launching what she was sure would be another sharp exchange.

  Besides, she would not embarrass him by correcting his behavior in front of Paddy.

  Isabella helped herself to a rasher of bacon, a spoonful of egg and a cup of tea from the sideboard. When she sat down, across the table from Paddy and at Alec’s left hand (she would have preferred to take her meal in solitary splendor at the opposite end of the long, rectangular table, but judged that doing so would have been too impolite), and began to eat, she saw immediately why most of the food still remained on Alec’s plate.

  The victuals were atrocious.

  She put down her fork and sipped her tea, which had the advantage of being hot and strong, at least.

  “Pray continue your conversation, gentlemen,” she said as Paddy, who had been speaking when she entered, had fallen entirely silent.

  Alec nodded. “You can talk in front of her.”

  Paddy shrugged. “I’ll be seeing what I can do then. It shouldn’t take more than a week or so, and then I’ll be back. If it’s concluded sooner, I’ll send word.”

  “Your pardon, Mr. Tyron.” Shelby stood at the door. Alec looked at him.

  “The seamstress is here for, uh, the lady.”

  “You may address me as Lady Isabella,” Isabella said, rising. In truth, she felt uncomfortable in Alec’s company, and was nothing loathe to escape it. As for Paddy, he seemed to regard her with a degree of wariness. Shelby, with his sneering, superior ways, was another source of irritation, but she knew she could deal with him.

  “Pray excuse me,” she said to the room in general, and swept out. Shelby followed her, his face a study in confusion as he tried to reconcile her obvious quality and the name she gave herself with her presence with his ill-bred master.

  “I put her in the little salon, if you will come this way, my … uh, my lady.”

  Isabella followed him. When he would have left her, she smiled serenely at him. “I’m sure Mr. Tyron would appreciate hot, well-prepared meals in future, Shelby. I know the cook must look to you for his orders, so I am confident that you will be able to see to it.”

  “Certainly, my lady.” Shelby sounded taken aback, but Isabella noted that there was no longer any hesitation in his voice as he addressed her properly. As she entered the little salon, Isabella smiled to herself. She had been managing a household for years. Handling servants was one service she could quite legitimately perform for Alec.

  The seamstress was a small, timid woman named Miss Stark. She was obviously ill at ease as Isabella walked into the parlor. Miss Stark was the daughter of a minister left on her own to make her way in the world, and she was clearly used to mistreatment by those she served. But Isabella’s gentle smile soon put her more at ease, and as she produced her pattern books and fabric samples, she chatted quite volubly.

  “There’s been such talk in the village about Amberwood lately. You know, you’ll laugh, I daresay, but some were saying that Lord Rothersham sold out to a Cit, or worse! Of course, I wouldn’t be telling you this if I couldn’t tell at a glance that you’re of the quality, Lady Isabella. They do say that gossip is a fearsome thing, and now I can go back and quiet their wagging tongues. Oh, do you look at this! This style would be quite ravishing on you, do you not think?”

  “It’s lovely, but I require something more serviceable than decorative, I’m afraid. Perhaps—”

  “Don’t be a goose, Isabella.” To Isabella’s horror, Alec strolled into the room and stood looking down at the pattern book thoughtfully. Miss Stark blushed, and tried to get to her feet, although the heavy pattern book foiled her.

  “Pray stay seated, Miss Stark,” Isabella said hastily. “Alec, I am sure our business will be concluded much more expeditiously without your presence.”

  “Are you, indeed?” The look he sent her was mocking. “I, on the other hand, am positive you’ll get nothing done without me at all. She has such conservative taste, you see, Miss …”

  “Stark,” Isabella said through her teeth before the little seamstress could reply. “Do go away, Alec.”

  “Your husband is most welcome on my account, my lady. After all, a gentleman’s view of ladies’
fashions is not to be despised. We do dress to please them, and I suppose they are the best judge of how we may do that.”

  “There, you see?” Alec grinned at Isabella in triumph, then disregarded the sizzling look she sent him to turn his attention to the pattern book. Isabella was left without a word to say. Miss Stark’s easy assumption that Alec was her husband had thrown her off balance. Of course, if he was anything but her husband or a male relative—and his proprietary attitude had apparently precluded the possibility of that to Miss Stark’s mind—then the gossip Miss Stark had related about Amberwood would be reinforced by the lady herself. And Isabella’s own character would be irredeemably blackened, although under the circumstances, she didn’t suppose that mattered. Best to hold her tongue and let the woman assume as she would.

  “Isn’t it fortunate that your wife has such a lovely, slim figure? She can wear the new high-waisted styles so gracefully! Take this gown, for instance. My lady would be lovely in it.”

  “I quite agree with you, Miss Stark. This style would be ravishing on Lady Isabella.”

  Over Miss Stark’s head, which was bent over the pattern book, Alec’s eyes met Isabella’s. The mocking glint in them made her grit her teeth. He was embarrassing her, the fiend, and he knew it. She was convinced he was doing it deliberately.

  “Ordinarily I do not involve myself in ladies’ fashions, of course, but I want my wife’s wardrobe to be slap up to the nines. She tends to favor quiet shades of blue and gray, but I would like to see her in warm colors: pink, maybe, and lavender, and perhaps soft yellow.”

  “You have a wonderful eye for color, sir! That is just what I would have recommended myself, had I dared to venture an opinion.”

  The little seamstress beamed at Alec, and the two proceeded to pour over the pattern book in perfect charity with each other. Isabella, left with nothing to do but silently seethe, was forced to either make a scene—which she was certain would be reported from one end of the countryside to another by Miss Stark’s gossip-hating mouth—or acquiesce.

  After styles were agreed upon between them—they seemed not to need Isabella’s opinion at all, but rather discussed her as if she were not even present—then there was the matter of accessories. Alec insisted on slippers to match each outfit, and reticules, redingotes and even a sunshade to complement particular gowns. To Isabella’s protests that she didn’t need this or that, and certainly not so many gowns, both turned a deaf ear.

  When, after about an hour, Miss Stark packed up her things to depart, Alec had ordered a complete wardrobe, from slippers to stockings to underclothes to outerwear and bonnets. Miss Stark was atwitter with excitement. She had already promised Alec one of the gowns by the following day, and the remainder within three more.

  “If I must work night and day, I will,” she said heroically as Alec escorted her from the room. “I shall carry out all we have agreed upon, sir, as quickly as it may be done.”

  “I am sure you will,” Alec murmured by way of answer, rewarding her devotion to duty with a dazzling smile. Isabella, left behind, sniffed. Alec’s charm had blinded Miss Stark to the truth of his character, just as it had Isabella herself and every other female she had ever seen him exercise it on. He used it quite deliberately, she was convinced, and when he returned to her, smiling, she told him so.

  “You’re turning into a regular scold, Isabella,” he admonished lazily, throwing himself down on the settee he had shared with Miss Stark and stretching his arms up to lock his hands behind his head. He watched her from half-closed eyes, crossing his booted feet at the ankles as though to emphasize how little her displeasure disturbed him.

  “Am I indeed?” she responded crossly from the other side of the room. “I suppose you will try next to tell me that a governess needs such a wardrobe?”

  “No,” he surprised her by saying. “But if you’re to have the fun of turning me into as near a gentleman as is possible to do, then I reserve the right to have a little amusement of my own.”

  “Such as?” She eyed him warily.

  He grinned at her, those golden eyes teasing. “Why, I mean to turn you into a regular little beauty, Isabella.”

  XLIV

  “I wish you will stop your everlasting teasing.” She crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture of annoyance.

  “Believe me, I am very serious.” That lazy smile matched his indolent posture.

  Fulminating, she looked him up and down. He smiled at her.

  “If I am to be your tutor, then I will give you my first lesson in decorum. A gentleman never sits while a lady stands.”

  “I make you my apologies.” With a lurking smile and a handsome leg, Alec got to his feet. “Pray go on.”

  “A gentleman never, ever, presumes to discuss, er, unmentionables with a dressmaker, or any other lady, for that matter.”

  “Er … unmentionables?” Isabella was quite sure he knew to what she was referring.

  “Underclothes,” Isabella elucidated, mentally grinding her teeth.

  “Oh. Ah, I see. I shouldn’t have told Miss Stark that you require a dozen chemises, all of silk, or three dozen pair of stockings, or—”

  “Hush, you devil!” Isabella crimsoned, and looked around to make sure that there was not the slightest chance that he had been overheard. Thankfully, they were quite alone.

  “Am I embarrassing you?” he asked innocently.

  “You know you are.”

  “Ah. Another solecism. I’m sure a gentleman would never embarrass a lady.”

  “No. A gentleman would not.”

  “What else would a gentleman do that I do not?”

  “He would not be a dreadful tease!”

  “Are you accusing me …? Isabella, you wound me; I protest you do!”

  Isabella fixed him with virulent eyes.

  “You—are—a—” She broke off, unable to come up with a word to properly describe the maddening creature.

  “Yes?” he encouraged, grinning.

  She set her teeth and refused to answer.

  “Bastard? Son of a—”

  “Stop!” Thoroughly incensed now, she marched up to him, finger pointing at him admonishingly. “So you want me to turn you into a gentleman, do you? All right, I’ll do my level best. On top of the points I’ve already mentioned, a gentleman does not swear in the presence of a lady. He certainly does not try to provoke a lady into following his despicable example.” Her eyes swept him. “You’ve mud on your boots. A gentleman would never come into a lady’s presence in all his dirt without first apologizing, and begging her leave. You are coatless, and you seem to have mislaid your neckcloth as well. A gentleman never comes into a lady’s presence unless he is fully clothed.”

  Her eyes swept him again, took in the breeches and shirt that, being too loose and too well-worn for fashion, had obviously been chosen strictly with comfort in mind. “You need a valet,” she pronounced with satisfaction.

  “A valet?” His tone was both dismayed and defensive as he looked down at himself. “Me? You aren’t serious.”

  “A valet,” she repeated with relish. “A gentleman’s gentleman will see that you are well turned out on all occasions. He will help you to dress, and undress, and see that your boots are shined, your linen clean, your neckcloths starched, your hair properly trimmed.”

  “I don’t need a bloody bishop to put my breeches on for me!”

  “Ah-ah! Two transgressions! You swore, and you mentioned breeches (they’re considered unmentionables, you know) in the presence of a lady! I can see that you’re going to have to do a great deal of hard work. You’re a sad case, indeed.”

  Alec’s eyes narrowed. “Are you enjoying yourself, Countess?”

  “Immensely.” She smiled in such a way that it was more a baring of her teeth. “You did hire me to teach you to be a gentleman, did you not? Or, when faced with grim reality, have you taken the coward’s route and changed your mind?”

  His lips compressed. His eyes met hers, and held. �
�I’ll tell you what, Countess. I’ll make you a deal: I will put up with your nonsense if you put up with mine. I’ll do whatever you say, within reason (and that means no bloody valet!) to be turned into a gentleman, if you will follow my dictates on how to become a beauty. Whatever I say, mind! Do we have a bargain? Or are you going to take the coward’s route and refuse now that the agreement’s become two-sided?”

  “We have a bargain!”

  He had deliberately goaded her into answering in the affirmative, and as soon as the words left her mouth she wondered if she was not being too hasty. Just how did he plan to turn her into a beauty? If he thought that she would fall for being told that the greatest beautifier of all was the exercise involved in warming a man’s bed, he was very much mistaken!

  “Within reason,” she modified cautiously. She didn’t trust the tricky devil one bit.

  “Within reason,” he echoed, grinning, and held out his hand. “I’ll have your hand on it, Countess. I’m sure reneging on a deal can’t be gentlemanly—or ladylike.”

  “No,” she agreed. “It isn’t.”

  And she gave him her hand. He shook it, briskly, and the deal was done.

  As he tucked her hand in his arm and escorted her from the salon, Isabella felt more like a participant in a battle that had just been thoroughly joined than a partner in an agreement. Alec’s very manner was unsettling to her nerves. He was acting the gentleman with outrageous punctiliousness, just to tease her again, she knew.

  She only hoped that she would not live to regret the bargain they had made. But she was afraid she probably would.

  XLV

  Alec was as good as his word. The first dress arrived, as promised, late the following morning. To Isabella’s dismay, a hairdresser, Mr. Alderson, showed up at Amberwood just after luncheon. Under strict orders from Alec not to cut the mass of her hair, he trimmed the ends and scissored a few strands so that they would curl about her face (despite Isabella’s adamant protest that her hair would never, under any conditions, curl), and twisted the rest up on the crown of her head in a soft topknot. The effect, when Isabella was at last permitted to look into the mirror, was astonishing. Piled high, her hair took on a silken gleam that was almost striking. It was still plain light brown, of course, but the way Mr. Alderson had styled it revealed glinting strands of red and gold that she had never suspected she had. To her further astonishment, the small strands that he had cut short around her face did curl, as he had promised, enough to form a flattering frame for her face and bring out the size and shape of her eyes.