Constantine turned, a look of disapproval twisting his features as he pulled on his leather gloves with more force than necessary. ‘That does add colour to an already complicated situation, does it not?’
‘If you allow it.’ Meredith appeared determined to have her say. ‘You need to woo her.’
‘Woo her?’ he repeated the words, measuring them on his tongue.
‘Yes, woo her. Court her. Prove to Isabelle you are serious in your intentions and dedicated to a future together.’ Meredith took a step forward and her tone implored him to take heed.
‘Woo her.’ He smiled at the notion. For his entire life women swooned in his path and offered their favours. Wooing would require little effort on his part and he fully intended to capture Isabelle’s heart. He would put every shred of energy into making her his wife.
Lily peeked out from the doorframe with a giggle. ‘Woo her,’ she whispered.
Meredith motioned for her daughter to return to the drawing room although Lily did not budge. ‘Isabelle was wretched waiting for you to arrive and when you didn’t…’ She stopped and pushed a lock of hair from Lily’s forehead. When she began again, her voice held too much emotion. ‘When you did not return, she took it very hard. She loves you that completely.’
Chapter Twenty
‘What are the two of you about?’ A sense of mischief, charged and intangible, laced the air. Isabelle narrowed her eyes in suspicion. ‘Something peculiar is afoot.’
Meredith lingered near the front windows and Lily skipped through the hall. The child paused often to check the large window that offered a view of the tree-lined drive.
‘I am to receive a present. Theodora and I are waiting its arrival.’ Lily lifted the mouse to eye level and then turned again to the glass, all four little eyes trained on the outside world.
Isabelle quirked a curious brow in Meredith’s direction, but her stepmother replied as if nothing out of the ordinary existed.
‘Never mind Lily. You look lovely. I am happy to see you’re wearing the stylish gowns we purchased in London, and not that dreadful collection you once favoured.’
Isabelle forced something short of a laugh. ‘I had little choice. You gave them all away.’
‘It was for the best. Besides I knew your spirits would lighten, and then where would you be with sad sallow muslin hanging in your closet?’
‘At least pretty colours give the illusion of cheerfulness.’ Isabelle made no effort to disguise her morose tone and walked to the bookcase where the painting of red dahlias leaned against the topmost shelf. It was very well done. Her eyes slid to the signature in the corner, but it was impossible to decipher the artist’s name. Strange how the brushstrokes that formed the detailed flowers were meticulous and masterful, however not one letter of the scrawled signature resembled any symbol of the alphabet. She ran a fingertip over the line and stroked the texture. The smell of linseed oil filled her nostrils and an image of Constantine as he bounded down the stairs of his townhouse, a barefoot portrayal of unadulterated handsomeness, rose with fresh clarity. Brooks’ sharp admonishment echoed in her ears and an idea tickled her brain.
No, it didn’t make sense. Oh, how she’d misjudged him. And how she ached for him now. Her heart constricted with a familiar pain. She would manage, somehow, to overcome the love she haboured for the scoundrel even if it killed her to do so. It served as her singular goal the two days past, and would continue to consume her until all memory of the night spent in Constantine’s arms was forgotten. She summoned thoughts of Lord Lutts in an attempt to replace the consuming fantasies, and failed. At least their last meeting had been amiable.
Meredith moved beside her and Isabelle attempted a smile. She needed the diversion.
‘Let’s not discount the most dashing earl in London just yet. He appeared very determined when he left the other day.’ Meredith’s voice went wistful. ‘I suspect you haven’t seen the last of Lord Highborough.’
‘Merely because I’ve refused him. I am certain I represent nothing more than a challenge.’ Isabelle blew out a frustrated puff of breath. Lord Perfection was clearly not accustomed to hearing the word no. And oh, how she’d fallen into his trap.
‘Good heavens, Isabelle, be sensible. Can you not see how much he loves you?’ Meredith placed a hand on her arm and squeezed with a light touch. ‘He looked as though he rode through hell to get here. The man returned to London and went to straight to prison. Upon his release, he was wrongly accused of fathering a child. Do you discount he had a plausible excuse for not seeking you promptly? Yet he set out on a two-day journey and managed it in one. Little wonder he could stand by the time he reached Wiltshire.’
Upon her silence, Meredith persisted. ‘And do not dismiss that you burned his letters, where I suspect he explained his absence to some degree and perhaps, confessed his feelings. I’ve never believed you to be foolish. Do not prove me wrong now.’
No ready reply came to mind and Isabelle shifted her eyes to Lily who stood sentry in the front hall. Did she dare hope?
Constantine had said he loved her, but he was a master of pretty compliments. Were his words true? He had asked her to wait and as much as she believed it foolish, she never dissuaded her heart not to yearn for his arrival. When he did not arrive, old recriminations and self-doubt smothered all belief that he held her in high esteem.
It did not signify that she was absolutely in love with him and wretched without him. She had barely slept the past two nights from the anguish of knowing she sent him away when all she wanted to do was throw herself into his strong embrace.
But what of trust? He’d broken his word that night in his bedchamber when they’d made love. Logic insisted she amend her conclusion. She had invited him into bed and into her heart. It was unfair to place blame on his shoulders when she deserved blame also.
‘He’s here!’
Lily’s outburst pulsed through Isabelle’s woolgathering and a brilliant smile broke loose. She schooled her expression and fluttered to the windows alongside Meredith. Merlot stood in the drive. A groom came forward to tend the Arabian while Constantine removed a package from where it was tied to the saddle.
‘Oh, I hope it is for me.’
Isabelle took in his impeccable attire and breathtakingly handsome profile and Lily’s words echoed the same question of her heart.
He walked up the flagstone path, the brown wrapped package in his hands.
‘What do you think is in that box?’
‘Manners, Lily.’
‘I only ask because Theodora is curious, Mother.’
‘Then it will do you well to teach your mouse proper etiquette.’
They waited with patience, although it seemed an extraordinarily long time before Butler announced Lord Highborough’s arrival. Only then, when he was welcomed into the room, did Lily lose the war with her insuppressible enthusiasm. The child bobbed from foot to foot like an agitated sparrow.
‘Is that my present, Lord Highborough?’
‘Indeed it is.’ He handed Lily the package and she unwrapped the paper with lightning fast efficiency. ‘It is too big to be a button, isn’t it?’
Her excitement was infectious and soon all three adults huddled over Lily’s form on the settee as she opened the box with care.
Isabelle flicked her eyes upward. Constantine viewed Lily with genuine affection. Then he raised his blue gaze to hers and his easy smile dropped away. Unspoken emotion sparked his eyes and no matter how she chided herself, she could not tear her gaze from his. The room became decidedly warmer, and her clothes, significantly heavier.
‘It is a magic lantern, Mother. Isn’t it wonderful? Thank you so very much. I cannot wait for nightfall. Oh look, Theodora, we are to have a picture show on the wall,’ Lily spoke to her pocket where the mouse waited safe and secure. ‘Isabelle, did you see?’
Lily rose in a tumble of gratitude and exclamation, reverently holding the lantern higher so everyone could have a look.
All eyes fell to the child.
‘I chose slides with pictures of animals and landscapes, although you may add more to your collection the next time you visit London. I know the very best shop.’
‘Please say we will go soon, Mother.’ Lily’s sweet voice strained with a pleading tone.
‘I think we should bring your gift upstairs. I’m sure a maid can find a dark corner and practise with the lantern before we see your show after dinner. Come now.’ Meredith gathered what remained of the paper and tossed it behind the fireplace grate before she clasped Lily’s hand, the child reluctant to leave.
‘But you are staying, are you not, Lord Highborough? You just arrived.’
‘Actually I hoped your sister would give me the pleasure of a turn around the garden.’
Isabelle fidgeted under their scrutiny.
Then a knock sounded on the drawing room door and Butler entered on Meredith’s bid.
‘Lady Newby has arrived, milady. She is escorted by Lord Castling.’
Meredith brought a hand to her cheek with the announcement. ‘Oh dear, she is two days early. I invited her for the end of this week.’
Isabelle’s eyes volleyed from Meredith to the servant who waited at the door. Had she been so consumed by misery that she did not remember the invited guests? It was very likely.
‘Splendid.’ Lily broke free from her mother’s grasp. ‘Now we will have more guests for the show.’ Her smile broadened and she hugged the magic lantern tighter.
‘I did not anticipate Lord Castling’s company, but I can have the green guest room readied without delay. I wish I knew of Giddy’s plans sooner.’ Meredith turned to the waiting butler and issued directions, then sent Lily upstairs with a brisk wave of her hand before she turned to Isabelle. ‘And do not neglect your stroll in the garden. If you put it off much longer, the clouds dare to ruin your day. I will see to our houseguests.’ The words were hardly out before she rushed from the room.
Annoyance coloured Constantine’s face at the mention of Lord Castling.
‘It seems odd that Lady Newby would visit us here with someone we have never met.’
‘Odd, yes, although another word comes to mind.’ He spoke through gritted teeth.
‘Do you know the gentleman?’ Polite conversation worked wonders on her agitated pulse. Isabelle kept her distance. She knew better than to get to close, her resolve to resist him fast becoming threadbare.
‘Yes. Lord Castling is Lady Newby’s widowed nephew and father to the four charges you met while in London. They inherited their mother’s high spirit. Castling is at best, a reserved fellow.’
‘I see.’ She faltered before she continued. ‘It is not an easy way of life, to be raised without affection from one’s parents.’
The quiet statement spoke volumes, evoking echoes of their intimate conversations at Highborough House, and several ticks of the clock marked the time before another word was said.
‘Will you walk with me?’ he asked with solicitude and came forward to clasp her hand and place it in the crook of his elbow.
‘Of course.’
They exited through the back doors and began a leisurely pace on the flagstones.
‘Isabelle…’ His tone implied there was something on his mind, but when she glanced to his face, his lips were pressed together and a shadow of worry darkened his brow.
‘Yes?’
He looked out to the garden and his tone dropped low. ‘You are very much a part of this place, even though it does not hold pleasant memories.’
His statement was not what she expected. ‘Rossmore House is the only home I’ve ever known.’ Her eyes took in the surrounding landscape, the gentle sloping hill and narrow grassy meadows of the estate property. If she walked further south and followed the ribbon of stream, the profile of the Avon Canal would come into view.
Was it the house or her fears of the world that kept her neatly tucked in the countryside? Up until recently, the notion of surrendering her life and body to another’s control overwhelmed her on every level. Then she had met Constantine. He had opened her eyes and challenged every belief held tightly in her heart. She looked at him with an honest answer to his inquiry.
‘But I am ready for change.’
Constantine glanced at the lovely woman beside him. How she haboured any doubt of her appeal was beyond his comprehension. Hers was a face that encouraged men to slay dragons. Thank God she’d been hidden away in Wiltshire for years. It had taken him that long to find her and he had no intention of letting her go. Not to Lutts, Castling, or any other inconvenience that dared impede his path.
Conversation from an open window of the second-floor guestrooms intermingled with the low rumble of thunder and he clenched his jaw: Giddy and her sanctimonious tripe. How dare she arrive with Lord Castling in tow. Regardless of this wooing business, he would make Isabelle his, the sooner, the better; the betrothal ring in his pocket ready when needed.
He’d barely completed the thought when the clouds opened and the rain sent them scurrying towards the house. He held fast to Isabelle’s fingers wrapped around his elbow as they hurried up the slate path. When they neared the eaves in search of shelter, he turned to the left and his breath caught. Isabelle, delighted with the weather, laughed and smiled as raindrops danced on her cheeks and caught in her lashes. If he wasn’t already in love with her, he would have fallen hard, never to recover.
‘Hurry!’ she chided.
He needed no other encouragement and pulled her forward, under the back eaves, out of the rain, and flush against the sheltering warmth of his body. His hands cupped her face and wiped away the dampness as his mouth crushed hers with the same force as the powerful thunder of his heart. She responded with equal fervour and desire scorched through him. He wanted to strip her bare, to make love to her amidst the raindrops and flowers, and the erotic fantasy turned his kiss wild and hungry. His lips slid to her throat, damp and delicious. How he craved the taste of her, and needed the scent of her skin.
‘Isabelle, I am completely undone.’ His murmur vibrated against her ear.
She made a little noise, a rapturous whimper, and he pulled back the slightest space to pant, their hot breath intermingling before he laid claim to her mouth with stormy insistence. He slanted her head backward, the onslaught of his pent up desire matched by his tongue as it stoked the fire that burned between them. She threaded her fingers through his hair and melted against his length in sublime surrender, and he strained for control, no longer able to reason, the need too great.
After another long kiss, he forced himself away with a shudder, his breathing heavy and uneven, his mind clouded with images of Isabelle’s legs wrapped around him as he lifted her skirts and took her hard against the stone wall. Good God, what she did to him. He shook his head for clarity.
She seemed to find sanity the same way he did, with palpable reluctance.
‘We should go indoors. Meredith will look for us.’ Her voice sounded like his emotions, shaky and incomplete, but her statement spurred him into motion and they made their way to the backdoor with quick strides.
Once inside, Isabelle excused herself to change into dry clothes and Con found his way to the drawing room in search of the nearest brandy decanter. He removed his waistcoat and draped it over a chair before the fire, then scanned the room for the liquor service, soon located on the bookcase shelf below his painting. Did Isabelle know he was the artist? Too much remained unsaid.
The curator at The National Museum had finally listened to reason and relinquished his artwork and the dishonest hackney driver who thought to profit from the theft had been located and turned over to the authorities. Brooks had handled the messy affair. At last the concern could be put to rest.
Con opened the brandy decanter and poured a generous measure to level himself out.
‘Highborough, it has been some time.’ John Castling, Earl of Hereford, ambled into the room and nodded in welcome. ‘I’ll have one of those.’
&nb
sp; ‘As you wish.’ Con splashed two fingers of brandy into a glass and handed it to the man. ‘Your arrival here seems a bit unexpected.’
‘Not so. My aunt was invited by Lady Rossmore and no one would advise an aged woman to travel the countryside unescorted. The incentive she offered was worth my leaving the estate to make the trip.’
Con gripped his glass tighter. ‘What incentive?’
‘Oh, there you are.’ Giddy thumped her way into the room. Her cane marked her entrance with a drummer’s cadence. ‘Be a good man and fetch me a brandy, Castling.’ She lowered herself into the nearest seat aside a sturdy wooden end table, and leaned her cane against the edge.
‘Allow me.’ Con poured another glass and strode to where Giddy was seated. ‘How resourceful to summon Castling to accompany you.’
‘I thought I made my intentions clear when last we spoke.’ Giddy offered him a smile, but it held little warmth.
Meredith swept into the room before the conversation advanced. ‘I see everyone is becoming reacquainted. I don’t believe we’ve had such a full house in years. I’ve asked Cook to prepare lamb for dinner. It should be delicious.’
‘Milady?’ Butler tapped on the drawing room door and entered on Meredith’s bid. ‘These have just arrived for Lady Isabelle.’ Barely visible behind the ornate arrangement of orchids, Butler advanced with hesitant steps. ‘Where would you like them placed as to not cause you discomfort?’
The butler’s question prompted a brief explanation before Meredith instructed him to add the arrangement to the others displayed in the library.
‘Others? How often does Lady Isabelle receive elaborate floral displays?’ Giddy screwed her neck towards Meredith with the frowning question.
‘Lord Lutts has sent a steady stream of bouquets since last week. Isabelle is very fond of flowers.’
Giddy cast her nephew a severe scowl and the room went utterly silent, the ticking of the clock on the mantle the single disruptive sound.
‘Did I mention Cook is preparing lamb?’ Meredith persisted, her words unnaturally loud. ‘Ah, here comes Isabelle now.’
To Love a Wicked Scoundrel Page 24
