Chapter Thirteen
Constantine swallowed the last of his brandy as Brooks entered the study. The valet carried correspondence and an appointment book, his discerning gaze as sharp as his pencil. Business needed to be conducted regardless of the late hour of half past three. Brooks indulged Con’s unorthodox schedule and he, in turn, overlooked his valet’s frequent impudence. In truth, he enjoyed Brooks’ cocky audacity, but he would suffer a thousand deaths before he’d admit it to the man.
‘Did you find the letter I left for you from the curator of The National Gallery?’ Brooks removed Con’s empty glass and gave his attention to the desktop. He wiped a nonexistent water ring with his handkerchief, then picked up the appointment book and scanned the page.
‘I did. And my patience grows shorter. The curator claims the artwork arrived anonymously and is to be considered a donation. He refuses to release the pieces unless he discusses the matter with the owner. It is possible my visit and subsequent questions evoked his nervous nature into automatic defence, yet the whole bloody mess leaves my hands tied unless I reveal myself as the artist.’
‘Would an imposter suffice?’
The servant straightened his shoulders as if he offered his services and the action provoked Con to chuckle. He had no idea what type of trouble Brooks dabbled in during his first lifetime, but he certainly would not encourage him to revisit the past.
‘No, I am afraid that will not resolve the issue. As long as the paintings are safe, I see no urgency to settle the matter until I decipher the best way to proceed. In the meantime, I am considering a change of scenery.’
It would be difficult to leave London, to leave Isabelle, but he did not plan to be gone long. Other issues demanded his attention and he would somehow make her aware. Were she not an innocent, he could have taken her along for the trip. A smile turned his mouth as his thoughts clouded with memories of the sleek softness of her beautiful body, her skin as delicate and fragrant as a newly opened rose.
If he didn’t distract himself with purpose, the same ardent condition would plague him whenever Isabelle invaded his thoughts. And that was too damned often.
‘Milord?’ Brooks’ voice obliterated the fantasy.
‘Send word ahead to alert the staff.’
‘The townhouse in Paris?’ The servant began to write in his book.
‘No. Paris is more crowded than London at this time of year.’
‘Your estate in Hampshire then?’ The valet crossed out a line with vigour.
‘No, the vineyards there are thriving.’
‘Then I presume we speak of Highborough House?’ Brooks held his pencil motionless.
‘Yes, a visit is long overdue. Although I won’t be hanging artwork, will I?’ He muttered, exasperated with the recent turn of events. ‘I need to check on the vineyard and I am sure Gillie wonders at my absence.’
‘Very good then. I will make all the necessary arrangements and notify the staff.’
‘Thank you.’ A reluctant smile curled Con’s lips as he continued to think aloud. ‘I am sure to be in for a lambasting. Gillie will skin me alive if I do not show my face soon.’
‘May I be present?’ Brooks’ low utterance did not hide his zeal.
‘Absolutely not.’ The echo of Isabelle’s ready phrase caused another quirk of his lips. ‘That will be all.’ The valet persevered and Con barked with impatience. ‘Was there something else?’
‘Yes, milord. I have this.’
Brooks produced a note from his waistcoat pocket and extended it in his direction.
‘What the devil are you about?’ He snatched the folded paper and scanned the writing. Then his head whipped up and he pierced the servant with an intense stare, all earlier conviviality lost. ‘How did you come by this information?’
‘I am acquainted with the lady’s maid. Janie informed me of these travel plans.’
‘Are you sure this news is accurate?’
‘Yes, milord. She and I…’
‘You know better than to dally with the Rossmore servants.’ He muttered the words and opened the paper to scan the words a second time.
‘She is a pretty little thing. Hard to resist.’ Brooks offered no other excuse and moved towards the doorway. ‘Besides, I would not have come by this information otherwise.’
Constantine nodded his head in agreement. ‘Bloody hell, Brooks. This changes everything.’
***
Isabelle knocked gently on Lily’s bedchamber door. The little sprite had snuck into her mother’s dressing room and overheard orders issued to a maid in connection with Isabelle’s leaving this morning. Confused, Lily had fled, brushing past Isabelle in the hallway before she reached her bedchamber and slammed the door. The very last thing Isabelle wanted was for Lily to be hurt because of her careless actions.
She knocked again and when no one answered, Isabelle turned the knob and entered. Lily sat on a cushion near the window, her body curled into a ball, arms and legs crossed against her as if to block out hurt and deflect unwanted news.
‘Lily?’
Her head shot up and for a moment, a glint of hope shone in her eyes. ‘Have you decided to stay?’
‘I’m afraid I cannot.’ She crossed the room and settled beside her sister.
‘I’m sorry, Isabelle. I’ll be better, I promise. I’ll come when you call me.’ Her cheeks were flushed and unshed tears threatened to spill as quickly as her apologies.
‘Oh, sweetling, my leaving has nothing to do with your behaviour. You’re perfect in every way.’ Isabelle’s voice trembled as she pulled Lily onto her lap and nestled her close. ‘Your mother…’ She broke off, unable to continue while emotion clogged her throat.
‘Shall I ask Mother if you can stay?’
The innocence of Lily’s question served as her undoing and Isabelle looked away, the burn of fresh tears coming fast. ‘No, it will all be all right.’ She soothed her palm in small circles against Lily’s back, a rhythm of comfort long forgotten from her cradle days.
For a time they remained silent and when Isabelle noted Lily’s even breathing, she gathered her up and carried her to bed. Then she finished collecting her belongings to prepare for home.
By mid-morning the carriage had been packed. Isabelle shifted her position for the umpteenth time, the banquette just as uncomfortable on her bottom as when she journeyed towards London. With a sigh of resignation, she considered the long ride ahead and settled her eyes on Janie, her maid, already asleep although they’d traveled no more than one half hour. She should be grateful for the silence. Words and images whirled through her mind in emotional chaos, a stark reminder of Meredith’s accusations and hurtful words. Isabelle had cried herself to sleep the night before. Now she could only rub her sore eyes, all emotions exhausted.
Her heart tore as she replayed Lily’s disappointment, the child unable to comprehend why she wished to leave their grand adventure. Worse, Lily appeared flushed and discomforted, refusing breakfast, and soon after claiming illness to return to bed. She hadn’t paused for Isabelle’s kiss goodbye.
Meredith, on the other hand, held back nothing, her every sentence laced with hurt and disapproval.
What a fool she had been. And still was. Despite the upset she had caused with Meredith, Isabelle regretted her inability to explain the most recent events to Constantine. Would he wonder where she’d gone? She banished the hopeless wish for the umpteenth time. It did not matter. They owed each other no explanation, had no plans and confessed no tender sentiments. If Meredith’s words proved true, he would move on to his next conquest, their tryst in the gardens meaningless.
A part of her, a small sliver of hope buried under layers of doubt and self-conscious inadequacy, remained resolute and persisted in the belief that Constantine was as affected as she by their romantic embrace; that he too had experienced the intense undercurrent of emotion when they matched lips.
She’d considered the same emotions in The National Gallery two weeks earlier.
Was it the way of all sensual embrace? Or were her intimacies with Constantine something rare to be cherished?
Isabelle stifled a morose sigh. The most logical conclusion, that it was lonely, wishful thinking, invented by a grown woman who unwittingly lost her heart to a scoundrel despite every sensible reason to avoid his attentions, pummeled her heart.
She’d never considered her life dull. She enjoyed its solid predictability, then like pure serendipity, Constantine appeared as if she’d silently prayed for someone to love, someone to fill her quiet life with vibrant colour. Now she would never feel his arms around her again, taste the glory of his lips or tremble with the miraculous sensations he aroused with no more than a seductive smile.
A solitary tear overflowed and rolled down her cheek. She hurried to wipe it away. She had already cried too many tears. It made no sense to lament what could not be changed, no matter how the problem twisted her heart. She had fallen in love with the man and the emotions left her on untried ground. She would have to find her way.
She readjusted herself on the bench as a familiar feeling of loneliness blanketed her. Then she pulled the curtain across the small square window. With a trusted driver and an additional outrider, she did not worry about their late-night travel in the same way Janie did. She rested her head against the soft squabs and begged sleep to overtake her.
Since the day she could record memories and comprehend insults, she understood her existence to be a disappointment. A smarter woman would cherish the beauty Constantine showed her in London. Only a fool would believe a lifetime of such pleasure could be had.
***
Isabelle woke to complete darkness and turned the key in the oil lamp to allow for more light. The coach had stopped and restarted, as the jaunty motion never failed to rouse her whenever she fell asleep in a carriage. On the opposite bench Janie stirred, but did not wake.
She forced away the lingering remnants of her confusion and moved the curtain aside to look out into the black night. Hardly a star twinkled in the night sky although a slice of moon shed a glow of silver light. The fleeting thought that they should have reached their destination rippled through her with unexpected trepidation. She strained her eyes to focus on the passing landscape to no avail and reached towards the ceiling, her forceful knock meant to summon the driver. Without hesitation, the carriage halted and Janie roused, her sleepy questions mingling with the male voices on the driver’s box.
‘What is happening? Is something amiss?’ Janie sat up and adjusted her white cap, her eyes flared wide in alarm.
‘Shush, I will determine just that.’ Isabelle opened the door a crack, leaned out, and strained to decipher the male voices above.
A deep timbre, familiar but not of her driver, drifted to her ears. Goose bumps prickled her skin. She would not be betrayed by an overactive imagination and rapped on the roof with determination. Surely her mind played tricks on her.
Almost immediately, the carriage rent to the side, an indication someone had hopped from the perch. The door opened and Isabelle gasped: Constantine stood in the doorframe. The shadowed moonlight cast an ethereal glow around him, conjuring a conflicted image of angelic rescuer and devilish rogue. With the help of the shallow lantern light, she could just decipher the half smile that hitched the corner of his mouth.
Heavens, what a vivid dream.
She rubbed her eyes and refocused on the doorway, but Con was still there. She took in his confident posture in full detail, right down to the reckless lock of hair that lazed over his left eyebrow. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. He leaned into the carriage and her first inclination was to reach forward and sweep the misplaced wave back into place. She became lost in her struggle to repress the urge, but then he spoke and all attention shifted to his perfectly formed mouth.
‘I relieved your driver. I hope you do not mind.’ His voice implied his actions were of the most natural kind. Isabelle could not help but view him in alarm.
‘What have you done with him?’ She attempted her most reproachful glare. The one that never failed to send Lily scurrying to her bedchamber.
Con smiled in return. Oh, but he was a scoundrel.
‘My coach will return your driver and outrider to Rossmore House. Everything is in order. I am a very skilled horseman.’ He leaned in closer as if he offered a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I can take you where you want to go.’
Even in the fractured moonlight, she detected the mischievous glimmer in his eye.
‘Why would you?’ Isabelle hushed whisper seemed to amuse him.
‘I do not understand. Are we not journeying to Wiltshire?’ Janie’s woeful mutterings rose from the corner of the coach and Isabelle silenced the girl with a reassuring pat to her knee.
Then she turned her attention back to Con. ‘What is happening here? You are scaring my maid.’
Her heart pounded as if it might leap from her chest. To admit she remained befuddled and equally euphoric would serve no good purpose. Besides, Janie depended upon her to make a sensible decision concerning their welfare.
‘Brooks informed me you meant to leave London.’ He arched a brow and eyed Janie in the corner. The maid squeaked a small sound before she looked down to her shoes. ‘I could not let you leave without seeing you again.’
His honest admittance stole Isabelle’s bluster, but she needed to voice some kind of objection. ‘You cannot just – ’ She grappled for the right word. Seize? Invade? Ravage? Heavens, not that one. ‘ – overrun my carriage and lead it astray.’ She strove for an indignant tone, but by the laughter dancing in the scoundrel’s eyes, she suspected she failed miserably.
‘I think he already has.’ This came from Janie in the corner.
‘I am taking you to Highborough House. We are nearly there.’ He uttered the explanation as if absconding with a lady and her maid in the middle of the night played a part in his usual roguish activities. The notion soured once Isabelle considered it very well may be true. He moved closer at her pensive silence, his delicious mouth exactly in line with her vision.
‘Give me two days.’ His lips turned a crooked smile and her resolve weakened significantly.
‘Absolutely not.’ She employed her most reproachful tone, but a bark of laughter burst from his throat to interrupt her answer. Isabelle ignored it and persisted. ‘Most gentlemen would just ask for one.’ She eyed Janie to warn not a word of the conversation could be repeated. With good sense, the maid studied the tips of her slippers.
‘An intriguing thought, but I have never been one to follow convention.’
‘I’ve noticed.’ Her mutter mingled with her exasperation.
‘And most gentlemen would never take the initiative to go after the woman they most desire.’
His honeyed words registered in her heart. The woman they most desire.
He offered her his hand, this man, a mysterious mixture of danger and delight, and turned to speak to Janie. Isabelle noticed he donned a very convincing expression.
‘I need to speak to your lady.’
Then he tugged her forward and assisted her down, before he closed the carriage door with a sharp rap. They walked in silence, a few steps further down the roadway and she could not help but see the situation for anything but ridiculous. It was the middle of the night for heaven’s sake. She glanced up to Constantine’s handsome face and the sudden realisation that he was here for her, caused a shock of excitement to skitter straight down her spine.
Her eyes fell to their entwined fingers and she remembered the heat of his caress when his palm smoothed over her skin against the silk covered curves of her breast, an incredible yearning left in its wake. A rush of heat enhanced the memory and the exquisite sensations returned with vivid urgency.
‘You are very beautiful when you are flustered.’ He pushed a wayward curl from her temple and his fingertip traced the line of her cheek. His tone dropped low when he spoke again. ‘It is only two days, Isabelle.’
She knew the risk if she accepted hi
s offer and succumbed to his charms. Hadn’t she already caused upset? A wave of indecision pressed tight against her heart until sensibility overrode hesitation and reminded her with prim logic that it was the middle of the night and Con did state they were practically arrived at his home. It made good sense to continue there and sort it all out in the morning.
Besides, Janie traveled with her and no one knew of her leaving London, aside from Meredith, who made it very clear she cared not what happened to her. Therefore no one, save the people here on the roadway, would ever know about this unexpected midnight episode.
She glanced at Con’s profile in the shimmering moonlight and a soft sigh escaped. Here lay her last opportunity to create memories that must suffice a lifetime. Here was her adventure. Not in the ballroom or in the gardens, right here at the request of a breathtakingly handsome rogue. As a woman who always sought to make sense of things, she’d never seen things clearer.
A genuine smile graced her lips. ‘Two days.’ Her voice whispered through the air and she could not believe what she promised. ‘Nothing more.’
He leaned down and pressed a swift kiss to her lips. Had Lord Wonderful ever doubted her assent? They walked back in view of the carriage where he opened the door and deposited her safely inside.
Just before the door clicked closed the handsome devil spoke, more to himself than to her because the words were so soft she wasn’t sure he said them at all.
‘Two days is all I need.’
Chapter Fourteen
Isabelle woke as a young maid drew the drapes and generous sunshine flooded the room. She hoped the brilliance of the new morning would return her sensibility and vigorously rubbed her eyes as she muddled through her capricious decision of the evening before. Everything had occurred far too swiftly. Isabelle and her maid were shown to a large bedchamber where a warm fire waited. Janie helped her undress and then was whisked away before they shared a word. Isabelle tried desperately to remain awake, yet once she’d climbed between the beckoning sheets, divine sleep overtook her. She awoke now, refreshed, but somewhat confused.
To Love a Wicked Scoundrel Page 14
