“My father’s journals are not for sale,” she said in a clipped voice. “We have discussed this in the past, and I have not changed my mind on the matter.”
“Be reasonable, Isabel. Those old books are merely collecting dust sitting on a shelf. Fawson’s offer was fair. Your family could use the money.”
“Why do you care if I accept Mr. Fawson’s offer or not?”
His somber eyes conveyed his disappointment in her. “There was a time when you called me Malcolm.”
“That was before I caught you kissing my sister.”
“So you were jealous!” Mr. Ruddel glanced at the open doorway to ensure no one was listening. “Isabel, what you saw … it was regrettable. I can assure you that it will never happen again. Let us put this behind us and be friends again. I miss our discussions.”
“I miss our conversations, too, Mr. Ruddel. Nevertheless, it does not alter my decision about selling my father’s journals to Mr. Fawson.”
“Then forget Fawson!” he said fervently. “Sell them, keep them … I was only concerned about your welfare, Isabel.”
A soft sound at the doorway had both of them glancing up.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” Mrs. Allen said, entering the room carrying a small basket. “There was a delivery at the back door for you, Miss Thorne.”
“What is it?”
“More like who, I’d say,” she muttered as she placed the basket on the table.
Warily, Isabel untied the ribbons used to secure the cloth covering. Mrs. Allen was correct. Whatever was beneath the cloth was moving. She peeled back the cloth and let out a soft gasp. Within the basket an orange tabby kitten stared up at her with large opaque green eyes.
“Well, well … look at you,” Isabel cooed as she picked up the kitten. “Goodness, aren’t you a darling?”
“Who would send you a kitten?” Mr. Ruddel demanded.
Rubbing her chin against the animal’s head, Isabel noticed the calling card at the bottom of the basket.
Vane.
Turning it over, she read aloud, “Not quite blue-green, but it will suffice for when—uh…” She glanced uncomfortably at Mr. Ruddel, refusing to read the rest. For when I cannot cuddle you properly was too intimate to be shared with anyone else.
Isabel could not help herself; she suddenly grinned. She had told Vane that blue-green was her favorite color. He had promised to find her a jewel that matched the color of his eyes, but she preferred a kitten to jewelry.
“Let me see that calling card,” Mr. Ruddel said, plucking it from her fingers before she could stop him. “Lord Vanewright. Arrogant scoundrel, thinking he has the right to send you gifts. Do you want me to have a word with him, Isabel?”
Isabel stopped smiling. A meeting between Vane and Mr. Ruddel would be disastrous. “Mrs. Allen, could you take the kitten to the kitchen and give him some cream.” She handed the kitten to the housekeeper and turned to Mr. Ruddel. “We must talk.”
Delia walked into the room, wearing one of her favorite morning dresses. “What have I missed?”
“Mr. Ruddel,” Isabel replied. “He is leaving.”
* * *
The afternoon did not improve Isabel’s disposition. Lady Netherley paid her an unexpected visit. She had learned that her son had left Lord and Lady Fiddick’s masquerade early, and there were rumors circulating that he had not left the house alone.
After her encounter with Mr. Ruddel, Isabel had little strength to engage the elderly marchioness. Delia sat between the two ladies with an uncharacteristic owlish expression pasted on her face until an annoyed Isabel ordered her sister to retire to her bedchamber. Once her sister had gone upstairs, she tried to comfort Lady Netherley by denouncing the lady’s suggestion that her son had taken up with his mistress again. If Lord Vanewright had left the ball early, Isabel speculated, he had departed with his friends.
By the time Isabel had said her farewells to the marchioness, she had developed a terrible megrim in her right eye. Mrs. Allen added a medicinal tonic to Isabel’s tea, and urged her to drink it. The scent reminded her of her mother, and she dumped the contents out the nearest window.
The notion of spending a quiet evening at home sounded appealing, but she and Delia had promised Lady Netherley that they would join her in her private box at the theater. Isabel assumed Vane would drop by to pay his respects.
The gentleman rarely disappointed her.
* * *
Vane entered his mother’s private theater box, his gaze immediately settling on Isabel. She and Delia had their heads together as they shared a private conversation. Both his sisters had joined his mother—and apparently Susan’s husband had been forgiven, for he was also present with two male companions.
His father was noticeably absent. For once, he was relieved. With his father’s threats dangling over Vane’s head like a hangman’s noose, he wasn’t in the mood to quarrel with the man or yield to his dictates.
Vane’s gaze settled on his mother.
“Christopher.” She motioned him to her side, patting the side of his face as he bussed her cheek. “You have been spoiling, of late. If this persists, you will have me believe you are a reformed rake.”
Vane cast a side glance in Isabel’s direction. She had yet to acknowledge him, but he was not discouraged by her coyness. He knew how to break down the barriers she erected to keep everyone at a distance. “Then I will have to do something truly wicked and depraved to convince you otherwise.” He straightened and bowed to his brother-in-law and companions. “Pypart. I see your wife has accepted your apology.”
“Leave him alone, brother,” Susan scolded. He noticed that his sibling had an expensive new bauble adorning her neck. “Pypart is striving to get back into my good graces, and it shall prove more entertaining than what is transpiring below on the stage.”
Ellen touched him on the wrist. “Are you joining us, Vane?”
His smile had a trace of regret. “No, I’ve come to steal away one of your charming companions. Isabel, the Moirae desire an audience.” At her blank expression, he swiftly explained, “Lady Rainecourt, Lady Sinclair, and Lady Pashley hope you will join them in their box. Lady Pashley, in particular, missed your entrance at the masquerade and she wanted to hear the tale from your lips since she believes Saint and Frost are exaggerating.”
The look Isabel sent his mother was apologetic. “I will accept only with Lady Netherley’s permission.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to brusquely remind his interfering family that Isabel was not bound by their dictates unless she chose to be, but the marchioness was already waving Isabel off.
“Go. We will look after your sister,” his mother assured her. “It is good that you are making friends, my dear.”
Delia stirred in her seat. The look she gave Vane was withering. “And what about me? Do I not deserve to make new friends?”
Isabel hesitated, conflicted about leaving her younger sibling.
Vane, on the other hand, had no such compunction. Delia was a spoiled young lady who got her way much too often. He extended his arm to Isabel as he managed to keep her sister from rising with a menacing glance.
“Behave yourself, Delia. Else I’ll send Frost over to keep you from getting lonely,” he said over his shoulder as he stole Isabel away from his family’s watchful gazes.
* * *
Vane did not seem to notice the curious stares as they strode down yet another one of the numerous dim, narrow corridors that split off into the private theater boxes of the ton.
“Vane,” Isabel whispered, making a soft hissing sound when she realized he had no intention of slowing down or releasing her. “Delia should have joined us. It must have seemed peculiar to your mother that you only invited me—”
“Not at all. In fact, I am certain my mother is giddy with relief that I am paying attention to you since she and my father have decided that I will select a bride this season or—” Vane abruptly halted in front of one of the curtained doorw
ays.
“Or what?”
He focused on her face. Some of the bleak anger faded from his expression as his hand slid down her arm and captured her palm. “Or nothing. It is not important. Let me look at you, Isabel.”
She blushed at his brazen stare. There was an intimacy that had not been there before. It was as if he could peer beneath her flesh and see the secrets she kept hidden in her heart.
“By God, you are beautiful.” Vane stepped closer, breathing in the scent she had dabbed at her throat. He nuzzled her ear. “I have thought of nothing but you, sweet Isabel, since our parting. Our night together haunts me. When I close my eyes, I can summon the sensation of your skin as it rubs seductively against mine, the subtle musk of your desire … your soft cries of pleasure when I fill you.”
Isabel pressed her gloved fingers to his mouth.
“You cannot speak of it,” she cautioned, stunned that her body was warming to his words alone. “Your mother would never speak to me if she learned that I left the Fiddicks’ masquerade with you.”
Annoyance crept into his gaze. “Do not concern yourself with my mother’s opinion.”
“But I must,” Isabel countered, unaware that she was caressing his hand. “My sister and I do not really belong here.”
“What utter rot!” he began.
“I have no reason to lie,” she said, silencing him. “We do not possess the wealth or family to weather a scandal. We both know that your mother hopes you will find a bride this season.”
“Do not fret about my mother,” Vane said dismissively. “She is acquainted with disappointment and tolerates it admirably.”
“We both know that a casual dalliance is not what your mother is asking of you.”
“At the moment, I do not care what Lady Netherley wants, Isabel, so neither should you.”
“You should.” Isabel angled her chin as her gaze hardened. “And I should as well. I do not want to be just another silly miss who allows you a little playful tickling behind a drawn curtain.”
It was difficult to tell for certain in the gloomy corridor, but Vane’s cheekbones darkened at the reminder of what he and his female companion had been doing behind the curtain at the dressmaker’s shop.
“What are you asking of me, Isabel?” Furious and defiant, Vane seized her by the shoulders and shook her. “Marriage?”
“If I said yes, it would undeniably solve your dilemma of finding a bride.” Isabel’s smile was insincere, but Vane was too panicked by the notion that she might have bedded him to gain an offer of marriage to notice. “However, you will understand if I ignore your insulting unspoken accusation. I have no desire to be forced into marriage any more than you, Lord Vanewright.”
Vane gave her an unfathomable look as Isabel braced for his angry retort. He surprised her by saying, “Perhaps it would be prudent to reserve this discussion for another time.”
“Shall we reserve it for before or after you find your bride?”
Any response Vane might have made was quelled when Lord Sainthill parted the curtain and stuck his head through the opening.
“Thought I might find you out in the corridor with Miss Thorne,” the marquess said, noting the placement of Vane’s hands. “Stealing a few kisses, eh? Well, now, there’s no time for that. Dare is threatening to toss Frost out of the box. Headfirst if he gets his way.”
Vane’s grip on her arms relaxed, and then his hands slid away. “No one will take your wager?” He stepped away and Isabel was grateful for the reprieve.
“Hunter isn’t here,” Lord Sainthill said simply, opening the curtain for them. “Regan is counting on Miss Thorne to add a little respectability to our box.”
He smiled at Isabel, and she shyly returned his friendly overture.
“Your charm is wasted on Miss Thorne,” Vane said, glaring at his friend. “The lady claims to be almost betrothed.”
Isabel glowered at Vane. “How convenient of you to recall that bit of information now.”
He tried to place her hand on his arm, but she resisted. “It seemed appropriate that one of us should, Miss Thorne.”
“Oh, really?” Lord Sainthill glanced curiously from Vane to Isabel. “Who is the lucky gent? Anyone I know?”
“Well, it certainly is not Lord Vanewright!” she snapped before she marched through the parted curtains.
Chapter Twenty-five
Although Isabel was being polite about it, Vane knew when a lady was vexed at him. She was now seated at the front of the private box with Regan to her left and Juliana and Sophia to her right; his friends’ wives had taken her under their collective wing and banished him to the back of the box with Reign, Sin, Dare, and Saint. Frost had been present when he and Isabel had entered the box. It wasn’t long before the earl pronounced the gathering too domesticated for his tastes, however, and wandered off in search of Hunter. Half an hour later, Saint also excused himself claiming that he was too restless to remain.
Last spring, Vane would have happily joined Saint and Frost as they prowled the theater looking for a willing lady or mischief. It surprised him how content he was now to merely observe Isabel as she watched the play and quietly shared her observations with her new friends. He had not really understood that bringing her had been an unspoken challenge, both for Isabel and for him.
He suspected she would be startled if she were aware of his thoughts.
“You could do worse for a bride,” Reign said, his gaze resting thoughtfully on Isabel.
Dare snorted in disbelief. “I cannot believe you would accept any lady handpicked by your mother.”
“Lady Netherley believes Miss Thorne’s sister would be a suitable bride for me.” Vane did not add that Isabel was his choice. Her presence this evening conveyed his unspoken feelings about the lady in question to his friends, even if he had no intention of keeping her. “Regardless, someone else has already claimed Miss Thorne’s hand and affection.”
But not all of her, Vane thought with grim satisfaction.
Isabel had willingly shared a part of herself with him. Her innocence and first passion were his alone. Vane had given her something of himself, though it was not as simple to define as a lady’s virginity. He doubted Isabel had noticed, but when she took another lover, she would be able to compare …
Vane grimaced at the thought of another man bedding Isabel.
Perhaps they had more in common than the lady was willing to admit. She had claimed that she did not wish to be forced into a marriage, but she seemed resigned to marry her mysterious betrothed. Vane suspected the gent was the reason why Isabel had fled the country and brought her sister to London.
She was shirking her responsibilities, too.
Isabel leaned closer to Regan, and nodded as Dare’s wife whispered something in her ear. Sensing she was being watched, Isabel glanced back and their gazes collided. For a few precious seconds, the world fell away and all he saw was Isabel. Vane grinned at her, and Isabel returned one of her own before she realized that Sin, Dare, and Reign were also observing the exchange. Her entire face reddened before she turned away.
“Do you think it is wise to seduce another man’s bride?” Sin asked.
Vane detected concern more than disappointment in his friend’s question. He shrugged. “I have never been particularly wise when it comes to women. There seems little point to starting now.” He rose from his chair, unwilling to listen to his friends’ reasons why he should leave Isabel alone.
He had enough of his own, but it did not prevent him from approaching her chair. From leaning over and brushing his lips against her ear as he whispered, “I should return you to Lady Netherley’s box before she accuses me of kidnapping.”
Isabel said farewell to the ladies. Vane waited impatiently as Juliana invited Isabel to an afternoon gathering the women had planned next week. He would find out the details from Sin later. If gents were included, he would make certain that he received an invitation. Vane gritted his teeth while Isabel moved on to paying he
r respects to his friends. He had to remind himself that all three gentlemen were happily married. Their smiles and courtly manners were not meant to provoke him.
Vane realized that he was jealous.
It was an irrational emotion. All he wanted to do was plant his fist in Sin’s face and drag Isabel out of the box.
Vane managed to avoid committing violence, but his firm grip on Isabel’s elbow appeared possessive to any onlooker. When he held open the curtain for her, she used his divided attention to break free.
“What is wrong with you?” Isabel asked as she whirled around to confront him.
“This!”
Before she could protest his mouth slanted over hers as he pushed her back up against the closest wall.
“Mmph!”
She thumped her fist against his upper arm twice in a halfhearted protest before she sighed and allowed her body to melt against his. Kissing Isabel was more satisfying that taking his frustrations out on his friends’ faces. Vane used his hips to hold her in place while his fingers idly explored the contours of her jaw and neck. Their tongues tangled and teased in a silent, desperate dance that caused his cock to swell, reminding him that the open corridor was no place for a tryst.
With regret, he ended the kiss. Both of them were breathless.
“Isabel, I—”
A firm hand clapped his shoulder. Vane turned to snarl a reprimand at one of his friends, but the unknown gentleman had him swallowing the oath that bubbled to escape.
“You might want to remove that hand, gent,” he said crisply. “Otherwise, I will view your oversight as an invitation to see to the task myself.”
The man immediately released Vane, but he did not scurry away as most men would have. He took a nervous step forward, then belatedly comprehended that his actions could be misconstrued as another invitation so he hastily retreated. “Do what you will with me, but I must insist that you unhand Miss Thorne at once!”
“Mr. Ruddel?” Isabel squeaked, peeking around Vane in utter dismay. “What are you doing here?”
Suddenly recalling his manners, the gentleman bowed. “Forgive me for intruding on your evening. I—I saw Delia in one of the private boxes and came upstairs to pay my respects. I had expected to find you at your sister’s side, but the kind owner of the box directed me to your whereabouts.” From his expression, Vane could tell the man had not been pleased with the company Isabel had been keeping. “I offered my services and told your companions that I would escort you back to their private box. I was concerned for your well-being, so you can imagine my shock to discover that this brute had shoved you against the wall and was pawing you without regard to your reputation.”
Sunrise with a Notorious Lord Page 16
