by Laura Landon
The door opened and Alex turned. It was Boswick.
“Good morning, my lord.”
“Good morning, Boswick. Have you seen Mrs. Moore this morning?”
“Yes, my lord. She seems to have escaped her . . . er, exile, and is having her morning tea in the staff dining room. They look forward to having her look in on them. Did you have need of her?”
“No, Boswick. I’m sure I’ll see her later.”
“Yes, my lord. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, Boswick. Very well.”
“Good, my lord.”
If Boswick noticed that Alex had slept in his clothes, he was too discreet to mention it. If he knew that Isobel had spent the night in his bed, he didn’t comment on that either. But of course he wouldn’t.
Instead, he selected what Alex should wear, then made sure Alex was presentable before he allowed him to leave the room.
Alex walked down the hall with a lighter step than usual. He took the stairs to the ground floor almost with a bounce. His heart increased its steady beating as he made his way to the small dining room.
He hoped she would be there already. Hoped he didn’t have to wait long before she came to break her fast as she did every morning.
He stepped into the room and halted when he saw that she was already there.
She sat in her usual chair, with a plate in front of her. She again wore her black housekeeper’s gown, and Alex longed for the day when she would no longer be forced to wear black but could wear brightly colored gowns. He looked forward to the day when he could outfit her in the latest fashions.
“Good morning, my lady.”
Her breath caught as if he’d surprised her. And he realized that he had.
“Good morning, my lord.”
She lowered her gaze as if she wasn’t quite sure how to act after having slept in his bed the night before. Alex wanted to smile. In fact, he did smile.
He hid his grin as he walked to the sideboard, where Cook had provided enough food to feed ten people instead of only the two of them. Today, though, he felt as though he could do justice to the feast in front of him.
He filled his plate and sat in the chair at the head of the table. He dismissed the footman. When they were alone, he turned to her.
“Thank you for last night,” he said quietly after he’d taken a sip of his coffee.
His bluntness surprised her. Her cheeks turned a deep red, but she didn’t lower her gaze. In fact, she turned her head and faced him squarely.
“I do not need to be thanked, my lord. I find myself in awe of your courage. You have survived something that would have destroyed lesser men.”
Alex couldn’t stop a smile from forming on his face. “Leave it to you, Isobel, to say the perfect words. How do you do it?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my lord.”
“No, you probably don’t. But suffice it to say that you do. Say the perfect words, that is.” He took a healthy bite of the food on his plate, then followed it with a sip of coffee. When he finished he reached for the orange marmalade on the table and added some to the toast he’d taken from the silver caddy.
“Do you know my given name, Isobel?”
“Yes, my lord. It is Alexander Edward Andrew Linscott, Marquess of Halverston.”
The fact that she knew his full name surprised him. She must have realized it had, for she was quick to offer an explanation.
“I saw it written in your family Bible.”
“Ah,” he said, taking a bite of his toasted bread. “Quite an impressive title, isn’t it?” he asked when he was finished chewing.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then perhaps you’d consider calling me Alex when we are alone. I find I’d like that ever so much better than when you call me my lord.”
“But . . .” Her excuse died on her lips, then she smiled. “I suppose after last night that might be possible.”
At the reminder of what had transpired the night before, Alex’s heart shifted in his chest. What was there about her that seemed so perfect? “So, Isobel, how do we proceed from here?”
Her smile faded, then died. She lowered her fork to her plate and looked at him. The expression on her face turned serious. “We don’t, my lord. We can’t. You know why I’m here. You’re aware that I am fleeing my father, and you know the reason. Please, don’t think there can ever be anything more between us. There cannot be.”
A vice clamped around his heart and tightened its hold. “You are so sure there cannot be?”
She rose from her chair and walked to the nearest window. “Yes, I am sure there cannot be. My father can never know the part you played in harboring me. He will do everything in his power to destroy you if he ever finds out.”
“You assume a great deal if you think he has that power.”
She turned her head to look at him. “I assume nothing, my lord. I know what he’s capable of. I’ve seen him wield his influence to destroy anyone he thinks has aligned against him.”
Alex rose, then walked to where she stood. When he reached her, he clasped his fingers around her upper arms and turned her to face him. “This is the second time you’ve hinted that your father was involved in something that harmed another person. What do you know that you’re not saying?”
She turned out of his arms. “What I know cannot be repeated. What is important is your future. And mine.” She looked him in the eyes and refused to show any hint of weakness. “You asked how we would proceed from here. This is how it must be.”
Her expression changed. There was a confident rise of her shoulders, accompanied by a determined hardness in her eyes.
Alex waited for her to continue, knowing that it would be useless to argue with her. She’d made up her mind, and nothing he said would sway her from her resolve. No matter how much he wanted it to.
She attempted to speak but struggled to say her words. Then, with a deep breath that shuddered when she released it, she began. “I know you believe there is something special between us, but—”
He knew where she was going and wanted to stop her before she said anything definite. “You’re going to tell me there is not?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not going to say there is not. That would be a lie, and we both know it.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I am telling you that we cannot allow there to be anything between us.”
“You can turn off your feelings that easily?”
She lowered her gaze. “No, I’m not capable of that. Perhaps, though, in time I will learn to live with the decision I have to make. No matter how painful.”
“Then you’re the only one who can,” he said, failing to mask his anger. “I can’t.”
“You must, my lord. We do not have a future.”
“Tell me why! Make me understand!”
“You are the Marquess of Halverston. Your place is in London. You have certain responsibilities, certain obligations. You have a role to play in the running of the government. You have a duty to provide an heir who will succeed you, a son to whom you can pass down your title. I don’t fit into the life you must lead.”
“Then I will alter my life so that you do fit in.”
“You’re not the only one who would have to adjust their life. I would, too.”
“And you aren’t willing to try?”
“No. Because we would never be happy. My father would see to it that we are not.”
“I’m not afraid of your father.”
“You should be!”
Alex studied the panicked expression on her face. He didn’t know what her father had done, but it had terrified her.
“Please, Alex,” she said, using his Christian name. “Don’t make this more difficult than it already is.”
Wave after wave of fear and desperation consumed him. He didn’t want to lose her. He couldn’t lose her. He needed her. He . . . loved her.
He struggled to find the words that would make he
r change her mind and feared that there weren’t any. But he had to try. He had to make her see how desperate he was to keep her with him. To shield her and keep her safe.
He placed his finger beneath her chin and turned her head enough so she had no place to look except at him. He wanted her to see his sincerity, to recognize the truth in his words. What he saw when she looked at him broke his heart.
Her eyes were filled with tears that welled until they spilled over her lashes and streamed down her cheeks.
He pulled her into his arms and held her to him.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on to him as if she was in danger of losing him. As if she could see into the future and knew something he refused to accept. He was desperate to convince her that she was wrong.
“I can’t lose you, Belle. I love you.”
The words had barely left his mouth when her body stiffened and she pushed herself away from him.
“No,” she said, taking a step away from him, then another. “No,” she repeated, shaking her head. “No,” she said a final time, then turned toward the door and left him.
. . .
I can’t lose you, Belle. I love you.
Belle. He’d called her Belle. Vanessa was the only person who’d ever called her Belle. It had been a name Isobel had always loved, but no one had ever used. Not even her closest friends. And he’d told her that he loved her.
He’d admitted what she wasn’t brave enough to acknowledge. He’d revealed his true feelings when she thought if she refused to say the words, they wouldn’t be real. Now his feelings were out in the open, and so were hers. Even though she hadn’t uttered the words. Even though she hadn’t admitted that she felt the same about him, he knew how she felt about him.
She hugged her arms around her legs and rested her head on her knees. This promised to be the longest, most difficult day of her life. But he must have had the same thought. He’d left the house shortly after their talk and hadn’t returned until dark.
She didn’t know where he’d gone, but since he’d left on horseback with his steward, his day must have been taken up with estate business. Whether his absence was intentional or not didn’t matter. At least they’d had time apart from each other. Time to think through what they’d both said to the other. Except . . .
. . . nothing had been settled between them. If anything, there was a greater-than-ever divide that separated them.
The longer she thought about the way they’d parted, the more she knew she couldn’t let their differences go unresolved. She didn’t want to part with hostility between them. She didn’t want him to think she didn’t care for him.
She couldn’t let this night pass without telling him that she cared for him.
What troubled her most was the internal battle that waged inside her. Every instinct warned her how disastrous it would be if she went to him. Going to him would be her first step toward defeat. Her resolve wasn’t strong enough to talk to him and nothing more. If she went to him, she knew she would give in to the desires that consumed her.
She rose from the chair where she’d sat and turned. The door was so close. The distance down the hall wasn’t that far. The thought of seeing him was too great.
She took her first step.
She told herself she would only talk to him. She would only stay long enough to make sure he was all right. But as she opened the door and stepped out into the hall, she knew her words for the lies they were. Unless he ordered her from his room, her actions would lead to something more than words.
She reached his room and fought her desire to open his door. She lost her struggle.
The door opened easily, and her gaze found him quickly. He wasn’t in bed but stood in the darkness. The light from the window enveloped him in shadowed brilliance.
His chest was bare, and he wore only a pair of loose pants. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen him like this. When she’d come to him that first night, he’d been dressed the same. But he’d been covered with a sheet. This was her first unobstructed view of his magnificent body. Of the broad expanse of his back and the thick muscles that bulged across his shoulders and down his arms.
The effect on her was impossible to explain. Molten waves of emotion settled in the pit of her stomach, then traveled to her core.
He turned.
Isobel couldn’t move. She knew she should. She knew her wisest choice was to walk away from him, but she couldn’t force her body to do what her mind ordered her to do. She took a step into the room and closed the door behind her.
“You came,” he said. His voice held a sense of overwhelming relief and deep emotion.
“I tried not to.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” He opened his arms.
She didn’t hesitate but walked into his waiting embrace.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her next to him. The heat from his flesh seeped through her until she felt as if she was on fire.
He held her for several wonderful minutes, then tipped her face upward and brought his mouth down over hers.
His kiss was fraught with hunger and desperation, and she answered his demands with pleas of her own. The passion they shared intensified as their connection deepened. Isobel wanted nothing more than to take whatever Alex offered. She would give him whatever he asked of her. And give it willingly.
"Coming here wasn’t wise,” he said, lifting his mouth from hers.
“I know,” she answered, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her body close to his.
She pressed her face against his chest and listened to the rapid thundering of his heart beneath her ear. She breathed in his masculine scent and let her hands roam over the sinewy hardness of his muscled shoulders and back. There was no place on earth where she would rather be.
“Do you want to leave? I’ll only ask this once.”
She knew what her answer should be. Her mind screamed warning after warning, but her emotions chose to ignore the advice. “No, I don’t want to leave.”
He breathed an obvious sigh of relief, then picked her up in his arms and carried her to his bed. He removed her clothes, then his own, then came over her.
“I love you, Belle. You’ll never have to fear anyone. I’ll always be here for you.”
Gnarled fingers of terror clamped around her heart, then tightened with a viselike grip. She knew he thought he could protect her, but he couldn’t. Nor could she allow him to try.
There had been others who thought they could fight her father. There were gravestones to mark her father’s success at defeating them. She wouldn’t allow Alex to be one of her father’s victims. She couldn’t live with herself if something happened to him.
“Love me,” she whispered, cupping her palm to his face.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
She answered by wrapping her fingers around the back of his neck and bringing him down to her.
He kissed her, then moved over her and made her his own.
Chapter 19
Life had never been more perfect. Isobel went through every day pretending to be Mrs. Moore, the Marquess of Halverston’s housekeeper. And every night, she left her duties behind and became the Marquess of Halverston’s lover.
She’d never been happier, even though she knew the day would come when the role she played would end. There were only three weeks until her birthday. Three weeks until she reached her majority and was free of her father’s control. That would also be the day she’d have to leave Temple Hall. She couldn’t stay any longer and risk the chance that her father would discover Alex had kept her hidden.
But first she had to be assured that her sister was safe. Before she left to make a life for herself in Scotland, she had to know that Vanessa was betrothed to the Earl of Partmoore. Or maybe even married by now.
She’d scoured every newssheet that arrived, but hadn’t read any mention of her sister’s betrothal. Another paper should arrive in the post today. Maybe the announcement she s
ought would be there. Or perhaps a letter would come from Lord Halverston’s sister. It had been more than two weeks since he’d written her. Surely a letter would arrive soon.
Isobel carried the tea tray and pastries to the study as she did each morning. The half hour or so that she spent with him was her favorite part of every day. There never seemed to be a shortage of topics to discuss. Never a day that she didn’t discover something new about him. Or that he didn’t ask a question about her.
She hastened her steps to reach him, rapped on the door, then entered when he answered.
“Good morning, my lord.” She refused to address him by his Christian name during the day, even though he’d asked her to. She didn’t want to risk someone overhearing her refer to him so improperly.
“Good morning, Belle,” he greeted. “You look especially pleased this morning. As if Cook sent something you know I’ll enjoy.”
“Perhaps,” she said with a broad smile, then she placed the tea tray on the table between the two cushioned chairs where they usually sat.
“Ah, a piece of Cook’s peach cobbler. Be sure to tell Cook that I love her.”
“I’m sure she knows that you do, my lord. You tell her that every night after dinner. You’re terribly spoiled, you know.”
“Do you think so?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Yes, I do,” she answered as she handed him a cup of tea, then placed a large serving of the peach cobbler left from dinner last night on a small plate.
He allowed her to take a sip of her tea before he spoke. “I received a paper in the post this morning. I also received a letter from my sister.”
Isobel placed her cup and saucer on the table. Her heart raced as she reached for the paper he held out. “I’ll look at the paper while you read your sister’s letter.”
“Very well,” he said, opening the letter.
Isobel skipped the news on the first page and turned to the Society news and the gossip columns. Those were the most likely places she’d discover news concerning Vanessa. If there was any.
She skimmed the sections, praying she’d find a mention of Vanessa or Lord Partmoore or her father. If she didn’t on her first pass through the paper, she’d go back and read it more carefully. But she prayed she wouldn’t have to search so diligently. She prayed that this time she’d know that Vanessa was safely married to the Marquess of Partmoore.
