“Perhaps they should.”
Realizing that open battle was achieving little success, Mrs. Lawford forced a stiff smile to her lips.
“You are simply distraught,” she attempted to soothe. “It has been too long since you have seen Lord Wickton. Once you have been together, those silly fancies will soon be put to rest.”
The familiar argument did little to appease Isa. “These are not foolish fancies, Mother. I desire more from my husband than neglect and being the subject of scandalmongers.”
The heavily jeweled hands waved in an anxious motion. “You are too young to know what you wish. Becoming Lady Wickton is an honor any maiden would envy.”
Isa did not doubt that for a moment. Lord Wickton was precisely the type of man to stir a susceptible maiden’s heart. And even the hardened sophisticates of London had proved they were no more immune to his devilish charm. His notorious reputation was proof of that. But Isa had discovered there were far more worthy qualities than charm to admire in a gentleman.
“Then Lord Wickton should have no difficulties in discovering another gullible ninny to fill the position.”
The smile abruptly fled at Isa’s sharp tone. “It is all that . . . interloper’s fault,” Mrs. Lawford accused. “Until he arrived, you were perfectly content to marry Lord Wickton.”
Isa battled the urge to blush. “If you are referring to Mr. Effinton, then I will admit that he revealed how a true gentleman should behave.”
“Fah,” Mrs. Lawford said angrily. “He is a tedious bore with no thought to anything beyond his musty books.”
Isa stiffened at the insult to her beloved. Peter was worth a dozen Lord Wicktons.
“Mr. Effinton is an intelligent, kind, thoroughly dependable gentleman.”
Mrs. Lawford gave a faint snort. “He is the youngest son of a mere vicar.”
“What do I care?” Isa gave a toss of her head. “He is the most delightful gentleman I have ever encountered.”
At her wits’ end, Mrs. Lawford raised her vinaigrette to her nose.
“You are behaving like a spoiled child, Isa,” she complained in aggrieved tones. “You are marrying Lord Wickton, and that is the end of the matter.”
“Never.” Isa crossed her arms in a manner that made her mother’s anxious heart sink a notch lower. “I would rather be locked in a dungeon than wed to Lord Wickton.”
Her defiant words rang through the air; then, with the timing of a well-written farce, the door was abruptly thrust open, revealing a uniformed butler and an absurdly handsome gentleman.
“Lord Wickton,” Rushton announced.
Attired in a dark gold coat and buff breeches, he was precisely the image of a gentleman of nobility—proudly carved features, glossy chestnut hair, and broad frame. Only the hazel eyes revealed the boyish humor within.
An awkward silence fell as Mrs. Lawford blushed, and even Isa shifted uneasily at the knowledge that Lord Wickton was bound to have overheard her impetuous declaration.
There was nothing, however, to be detected on the handsome male features, and with an effort, Mrs. Lawford moved forward to greet her guest.
“My lord,” she breathed. “Welcome.”
“Mrs. Lawford.” Lord Wickton offered a graceful leg before turning to Isa with a quirk of a chestnut brow. “Isa.”
Absurdly, Isa felt a tiny shiver. She had not forgotten how sinfully handsome this gentleman was, but somehow she did not recall the sheer power of his presence. The entire room seemed suddenly filled with a tingling heat that pressed against her tense body.
“My lord,” she muttered.
“Am I early?”
“Not at all.” Mrs. Lawford gave a forced laugh. “How handsome you look, sir. I presume your coat came from Weston?”
Lord Wickton’s gaze never wavered from Isa’s pale countenance. “Yes.”
“I thought so. Quality always shows. I shall insist on Isa traveling to London when it comes time to chose her trousseau.” Mrs. Lawford determinedly ignored her daughter’s angry glare. “Perhaps, my lord, you will suggest the most talented mantua maker?”
The hazel gaze narrowed. “I should be happy to, if Isa wishes.”
Isa opened her mouth to declare that she had no interest in his undoubted expertise with female clothing or in purchasing a trousseau, but her determined mother gave her no leave to speak.
“Isa should be delighted. She could hope for no better counsel. You possess the most exquisite instinct for fashion.”
Lord Wickton’s lips twitched. “You are too kind.”
“And how is your dear mother?”
“Quite well.” Lord Wickton at last turned to regard the persistent Mrs. Lawford. “She sends her regards.”
Isa gave a muffled snort. Lady Wickton was an overly proud woman who considered the Wickton family far superior to any other. It was only her desperation for Isa’s vast fortune that made her condescend to acknowledge the unfortunately connected Mrs. Lawford. And then only when necessity demanded.
Mrs. Lawford, however, preferred to ignore the various slights and snubs she had endured from Lady Wickton over the years and instead spoke of her as her dearest friend.
“How delighted she must be to have you home again. The poor dear was quite distraught to have you so far away fighting those ghastly French.”
“I cannot conceive of my mother being overly distraught,” Lord Wickton said in wry tones. “Not even the danger of her only child in battle could ruffle that Wickton composure.”
“Naughty boy.” Mrs. Lawford gave a giggle. “Lady Wickton is a most charming lady.”
“She begs me to remind you of her invitation to dinner later this week.”
“We have thought of little else. Isa absolutely insisted on acquiring a new gown for the occasion.”
Isa had endured enough. Despite the sharp unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach at the arrival of Lord Wickton, she was not about to allow her mother to pretend that nothing had altered in the past five years.
“You were the one to insist, Mother,” she corrected in firm tones. “I argued that I already possessed several adequate gowns for the occasion.”
Those disconcerting eyes returned to her set countenance even as Mrs. Lawford gave a strangled cough.
“Absurd. Isa is simply nervous at meeting with you again, my lord. It has been quite some time since you were in Kent.”
Isa frowned in exasperation. “Please do not speak of me as if I am not here, Mother.”
Clearly unhinged by her daughter’s unruly manner, Mrs. Lawford fluttered to Isa’s side.
“I speak no more than the truth, Isa. What young lady would not feel somewhat ill at ease?” Turning toward the suspiciously composed gentleman, the older lady attempted to steer the conversation to less dangerous waters. “How do you find London, my lord?”
There was a long pause, and Isa held her breath as she prepared to be confronted by the answers shimmering in the hazel eyes. Then Lord Wickton was giving an elegant shrug.
“Filled with revelry. There seems to be no end to the celebrations planned throughout the season.”
“And I suppose your presence will be much missed?” Mrs. Lawford conjured up a coy smile. “Lady Wickton mentioned that the prince was much put out that you would not be joining his dinner.”
Lord Wickton grimaced with surprising humility. Isa would have supposed he would revel in his brief moment of glory.
“I played but a minor role in the war, Mrs. Lawford. There are others far more deserving of such lavish celebrations.”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Lawford gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Every brave soldier is a hero. Isa and I prayed every evening for your safe return.”
Lord Wickton cast a deliberate glance over Isa’s stiff frame. “Indeed?”
“I prayed for the safe return of every soldier, my lord,” she said primly.
“Of course,” he drawled.
A dangerous glint entered Isa’s eyes, and with a nerv
ous cough, Mrs. Lawford edged toward the door.
“Perhaps I should see what is keeping lunch,” she murmured as she slipped from the room.
Isa resisted the urge to shift beneath Lord Wickton’s unwavering stare. Although she had anticipated this moment for months, she discovered that her nerves were oddly tense. It did not improve matters to realize that she hadn’t the least notion what was going on behind that rather sardonic smile.
Strolling close enough for Isa to smell the scent of his cologne, Lord Wickton regarded her pale features.
“I must say you have changed, Isa.”
She drew in a steadying breath, overtly aware they were alone.
“Have I?”
“When I left, you were but a child, and now you are a woman.” The gaze briefly skimmed her slender form. “A most beautiful woman.”
It was not at all what Isa had been expecting, and she felt her heart give a queer leap.
“Yes, I have grown up.” She unconsciously squared her shoulders. “Hardly surprising considering that it has been nearly five years since we met.”
Easily detecting the edge in her tone, Lord Wickton tugged at his ear in a manner Isa recalled from childhood.
“Is something the matter, Isa?”
For goodness’ sake, did he have no notion of how badly he had behaved? she seethed. Did he think she would be there waiting for his return year upon endless year? Well, ifhe didn’t know, she wasn’t about to inform him.
“What do you mean?”
He gave a shrug. “You appear annoyed. Have I done something?”
“What could you possibly have done, my lord?” she mocked. “You haven’t even been here.”
“Ah.” He possessed the audacity to smile. “You are angry that I did not write while I was gone. It was reprehensible of me, but to be honest, I am a shockingly dull correspondent. I would have bored you beyond bearing within a few lines.”
Her temper flared at his condescending tone. She had hoped to keep the encounter as composed as possible. After all, they were now mature adults who could discuss their uncomfortable situation in a reasonable manner. But a prickly antagonism raced through her blood at his casual disregard for her finer feelings. He was not remotely sorry he had abandoned her for five years.
“I did not care a whit whether you corresponded or not,” she gritted.
A brow arched. “Then you feel I should have visited more often?”
“You misunderstand, my lord. I am not annoyed with you.”
“No?”
“No.” Tilting her chin, Isa met his gaze squarely. “I fear I am simply and utterly indifferent to you.”
Two
No one regarding Lord Wickton would have realized that he was anything but mildly curious at the bald statement that had just been tossed in his face. In truth, the young gentleman had been hard-pressed to maintain his composure since overhearing Isa’s shrill claim that she preferred the dungeon to becoming his wife.
What the devil was wrong with the chit?
He was the one being forced into this marriage. It was his freedom that was to be sacrificed so she could claim the title of countess. And it was his existence that would be altered beyond all recognition with a wife and family. Anyone would think she was the one making the sacrifices.
Besides which, what had happened to the sweet, utterly biddable creature he had left? In her place was an iron-willed chit with a sharp tongue and unpleasant manner of regarding him as if he belonged in the stables. Hardly qualities a gentleman desired in his intended.
Not that he disapproved of all the changes, he reluctantly acknowledged. Who would have suspected the pale child would bloom into such a lovely maiden? One who would stir the blood of any gentleman.
With an effort, he reined in his unruly thoughts. He had been decidedly thrown off guard by Isa’s strange manner and was far from certain how he wished to respond.
“Well, well.” He withdrew an enamel box to measure a delicate amount of snuff. “I must say that this is rather a surprise.”
She regarded him for a long moment, as if surprised by his bland tone.
“I do not comprehend why,” she at last said stiffly. “It has been years since we last spoke. We are strangers to one another.”
“Hardly strangers,” he drawled, puzzled by her sharp references to their time apart. Had she expected him to wait about Kent until she grew up? Ridiculous. “As I recall, on my last visit to Cresthaven, I held you in my arms as you pleaded undying love.”
A flood of heat added a delicate color to her countenance. “I was a child.”
“Your kisses were not those of a child.”
“You were also the only gentleman I was acquainted with,” she charged in defense. “It is not surprising I would consider myself violently in love with you.”
Why, the impudent jade.
“And now you are not so violently in love?”
“No.”
“May I be so bold as to ask why your affections are no longer engaged?”
A hint of embarrassment rippled over her features before she turned away to hide her expressive countenance.
“Over the years I realized we have very little in common.”
“Hardly a necessary asset in marriage,” he pointed out in reasonable tones.
“It is for me,” she insisted.
“I see.” A surge of suspicion rushed through Barth. There was something more to her change of heart than she was admitting. “This would have nothing to do with your regard for another gentleman, would it?”
His suspicions were immediately confirmed when she stiffened in alarm.
“I hardly think that any of your concern.”
Barth battled a flare of fury. She had fallen in love with another.
How dare she!
“Considering that we were intended to wed, I would consider it very much my business,” he retorted in biting tones.
She slowly turned to face him with a militant expression. “My private feelings are my own.”
“So there is another.” He narrowed his gaze to dangerous slits. “Who is he?”
“I will not discuss the subject.”
With an effort, he maintained his composure. He was a gentleman accustomed to ladies who rushed to please him in all matters. No doubt he was spoiled by his undoubted success among the fairer sex, but he certainly did not expect a maiden to toss him aside for another, especially not one he had agreed to make his wife.
“Do your parents know of this mysterious suitor?”
The amber eyes flashed at his mocking tone. “My father is unconcerned with anything beyond his own pleasures in London.”
“And what of your mother?”
“My mother is aware of my feelings.”
“And she approves?”
The tiny chin tilted. “Of course not. She desires a connection with your family and is willing to sacrifice me for that dubious honor.” She met his glittering gaze squarely. “She, however, cannot force me into marriage.”
Force? This maiden had once been eager to become his wife.
“Certainly not.” His expression was unreadable.
Clearly unable to determine his reaction to her blunt confession, Isa reluctantly tempered her words.
“I am sorry if I have disappointed you, my lord.”
“Are you?”
“Certainly. Although Icannot imagine you are anything but relieved at my decision.”
Barth deliberately folded his arms across his wide chest. “And why should you presume any such thing?”
A frown marred her brow. “You cannot wish to marry me.”
Barth easily thrust aside the knowledge with which he had devoted years to railing against the arranged marriage. He had at last complied with the inevitable; the least Isa could do was be suitably grateful.
“I must wed eventually.”
Absurdly, her features tightened with annoyance. “And it does not matter to whom?”
“On the contr
ary, I am quite particular,” he informed her.
“Fah.” She gave an inelegant snort. “A gentleman interested in wedding a lady does not disappear for five years without once attempting to contact her.”
Really, the chit had grown into the most unreasonable of creatures, he told himself. There wasn’t a single reason for him to feel a stab of guilt.
“Perhaps I wished to give you the time and freedom to mature.”
“Really?” Her lips thinned. “I must warn you that I am no longer a gullible fool, my lord. Your practiced charm is no longer sufficient to convince me of your sincerity. The moment you left Kent, you pushed all thoughts of me aside.”
There was little use in denying her claim, not when he had indeed neglected to send so much as a missive, so Barth followed Napoleon’s strategy and went on the attack instead.
“At least I did not allow my emotions to become entangled with another.”
“What emotions?”
His eyes widened at the provocative challenge. “You believe I lack finer feelings?”
“I think you are an incurable rake who devotes himself to his own needs and pleasures.”
A thoroughly unexpected urge to prove how a true rake would respond to such a provocative maiden raced through his body. How would she react if he bent her over his arm and kissed those venomous lips to sweet compliance? Would she murmur with pleasure, as she had years ago? And press her soft body close to his?
Abruptly realizing where his thoughts were straying, Barth stiffened with annoyance. Good lord, he could feel his muscles stirring at the mere thought of holding her in his arms.
“I am disappointed, Isa,” he forced himself to chide. “I presumed that you were wise enough to dismiss such common gossip.”
Her arms crossed her bodyin a manner that echoed his own. “Then it is untrue that you are renown for accepting any dare, no matter how shocking or dangerous?” she demanded. “Or that you possess an excessively expensive mistress by the name of Monique?”
The London rattles had certainly been busy, he acknowledged with a flare of unease.
“Those are hardly fit subjects for a delicately reared young lady.”
“How convenient for gentlemen that the pursuits they enjoy cannot be curtailed or even acknowledged by a proper lady,” she mocked.
Here Comes the Bride Page 18
