“But you cannot deny that he is an arrogant man,” Anna said.
“No, no, I will grant him his arrogance,” Susan said. “But it would be difficult to compete with Mr. Brummell, don’t you think? I can hardly picture Leo being so outwardly disparaging to innocent walkers-by.”
Lord Archer nodded. “It is true. Brummell was unique in his ability to ridicule others. I suspect the spot will go to Lord Alvanley, a fine dandy, but much less caustic a fellow than Brummell.”
“Caustic or not, I rather liked some of Mr. Brummell’s inspirations.” Anna said. “Lord Alvanley is quite dull in comparison, despite his…ah”—she paused, and then finished in the most delicate way—“hourglass figure.”
Susan arched an eyebrow. “That is the result of elephants pulling on his corset strings, I daresay.”
Isabelle’s cheeks burned. Surely this topic could not be appropriate for a gathering between gentlemen and ladies! Then again, Susan and Anna were not typical society ladies.
The conversation progressed from current masculine fashion trends to the theater, and the fashions to be viewed while in attendance there.
“Have you been to the theater since you’ve been in town, Miss Frasier?” Mr. Sutherland inquired.
Isabelle shook her head.
“The theater!” Anna exclaimed. “I haven’t been since we went to see that terrible farce back in May, Susie. We must go, don’t you think?”
“And you must join us,” Mr. Sutherland said. “They are performing Twelfth Night this week, I believe, and Archer and I are planning to attend tomorrow night. I would be delighted to share my box with three lovely ladies.”
Lord Archer’s lip curled. “I heard it was a ridiculous, frothy spectacle.”
Anna laughed. “Well, we are probably all rather familiar with Twelfth Night, regardless of the quality of the performance. I daresay it’ll be more interesting to observe the audience.”
“Quite possibly, Miss Tomkins,” Mr. Sutherland said.
“Well, isn’t that generally the case at the theater?” Susan said.
“It is.” Mr. Sutherland turned to Isabelle. “But it seems you ladies have been without that singular experience for far too long. I do wish you would join us, and we’ll all inspect the crowd through our opera glasses while the actors make fools of themselves.”
“Oh, lovely!” Anna exclaimed.
“We would love to, Mr. Sutherland,” Susan said.
Isabelle sat mutely, terrified at the prospect. All those people seeing her with Lady DeLinn and Lord Archer… There was no doubt there would be whispers about her identity. And when Leo was released…
Mr. Sutherland smiled at her and said in a voice so low only she could hear, “You’re blushing, Miss Frasier.”
She fidgeted under his inspection as he added, “And it’s very charming, indeed.”
***
Leo fumed.
He knew what they were doing.
They had kept him alone all day in this damned, stinking cellar, with only Hercules as company, and they had done so deliberately to torture him.
Hercules did not qualify as company, for he refused to say a word to Leo. He came first to give Leo a breakfast of uninspiring porridge, and later to replace his basin of water and leave him a book.
The book was entitled Vindication of the Rights of Woman.
Upon reading the title, Leo’s first impulse had been to toss it across the room, but he was too practical to so quickly discard his only source of entertainment, as dull and as exasperating as it might be. Trust Lady M to give him one of the books he felt least inclined in this world to read. The rights of women, indeed.
It was late afternoon, and Leo had grown desperate enough to taunt the giant. He knew that the man felt nothing for Mistress Jane, and Leo couldn’t countenance the idea that it might be Belle for whom the giant was participating in this enterprise.
It had to be Lady M.
“So,” he asked conversationally, “tumbling our Lady M, are you?”
The giant did not speak, but his silence tautened as he lit the hanging lantern.
“Lady M, Lady M,” Leo mused. “I wish I could remember her deportment between the sheets. But then, all aristocratic ladies are bores to bed, don’t you find?”
Water sloshed in the basin as Hercules retrieved it. He walked out of the cellar, slamming the door behind him.
Leo smiled.
Hercules returned a few moments later with the fresh basin.
“It is deuced tiresome to bed a cold fish,” Leo continued as if the giant had never left. “But I’d wager she pays well. At least there’s that, eh, Hercules?”
Hercules set the basin at Leo’s feet. Water splashed over the lip.
Leo chuckled. “Tell me who she is, and I’ll advise you on how to bed her properly. My techniques can render even the most frigid of ladies—”
Hercules grabbed the collar of Leo’s shirt and lifted him off the chaise. His lips set in a ferocious grimace.
“You will pay for those insults, monsieur.” Hercules shoved him back onto the chaise, tramped out the door, and didn’t reappear for the remainder of the afternoon.
Leo rubbed his abused neck and stared up at the ceiling.
All day, the floorboards above him had creaked with movement, and the delicious smells of cooking food had wafted down into the cellar: sage and thyme, cinnamon and sugar. His stomach gurgled with longing.
Lady M must be having a soiree of some kind.
Belle was somewhere up there. What was she doing?
Belle…Belle…Belle.
Now that he had given himself permission to use her name, it repeated incessantly in his mind. He wanted to see her. To touch her. To talk with her.
Had she dressed in a cornflower-blue silk to match her eyes? Did she stand between Lady M and Mistress Jane, quietly garnering the attention of every man in the room? Belle had been tragically shy, but wherever she went, she drew stares of admiration, all the while remaining totally within herself, reserved, quiet, utterly unaware of the powers she possessed.
But she had opened to him, and he had discovered her intense, hidden sensuality, her innate wildness, her internal beauty.
He closed his eyes, remembering her laugh. It was like a waterfall that made him thirsty for kisses—as if by kissing her, he could drink in her sweetness. Kissing a woman one only wanted to bed, he realized after many years of experience, could never be compared to kissing a woman one loved.
Would it be the same if he kissed her now?
Did he still love her?
He sank his head onto the back of the chaise. He loved the memory of her, for certain. But her? A woman who conspired with her friends to lock him in a cellar and torture him?
It didn’t matter how he felt about Belle. She hated him. She must. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here at all.
She had reason to hate him. Look at what he had become.
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and groaned.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Isabelle had hardly eaten since the night they’d taken Leo from St. James’s Park. Last night, she had barely touched the exquisite dishes created for the dinner party.
This morning, however, she was ravenous.
“You are positively glowing this morning,” Susan said.
“Am I?” She dropped a second baked egg onto her plate.
Anna leaned back in her chair and pointed her toast at Isabelle. “I do believe it has something to do with a certain black-haired, blue-eyed gentleman of our acquaintance.”
Susan’s eyes widened. “Truly? I did not notice. Did you find Mr. Sutherland appealing, Isabelle?”
Isabelle pretended to look down at the offerings of the sideboard.
“You did not notice, Susie, because you were so intent on arguing with your cousin. The man did nothing but fawn over Isabelle all evening long, and she encouraged it.”
“Oh goodness, Anna! I encouraged no such thing.” Isabelle
turned to take her seat and set her plate on the table.
“Come now.” Anna rolled her eyes. “All I heard last night were Mr. Sutherland’s attempts to get you into his bed.”
Isabelle nearly choked on a bite of egg. “Anna!”
“What’s this?” Susan asked.
Anna pressed her toast against her heart and spoke in an exaggerated, low voice. “Oh, Miss Frasier, I should so like to take you to my home in Bath. Alone. I should like to watch you floating completely naked like the Romans of old—”
Isabelle’s face was aflame. “He said nothing of the sort! He said all of us, all five of us.”
Susan looked aghast. “All five of us bathing naked?”
“No, of course not,” Isabelle said. “He said we all ought to take a holiday together.”
“I was watching him, Isabelle,” Anna said. “He could hardly contain himself. He kept flexing his fingers… Ooh, he wanted to touch you, I could feel it. He wanted you. Quite badly.”
“Oh dear!” Isabelle’s fork clattered to her plate. “That can’t be true.” But she heard the tinny uncertainty in her own voice.
“Isabelle, you must learn to read people more closely. Words are just the beginning. Don’t worry, I shall teach you.” Grinning, Anna took a large bite of toast.
“Well, well, well,” Susan said. “Philip Sutherland. He’s a bit of a rake, but he’s as rich as Croesus. You could do worse, Isabelle. Much worse.”
“Oh, Susan, not you too!” Isabelle covered her face with her hands. Heat transferred from her cheeks to the cold tips of her fingers. She should be horrified by this attention, but she was enjoying it, which she supposed should make the entire situation all the more appalling.
But she was not appalled. Last night had been…fun.
And Anna had confirmed it. Mr. Sutherland had been smitten with her. Her, a shy, ruined spinster. Miracles never ceased.
“He is a handsome man.” A smile played about Susan’s lips. “If he offered me the opportunity to climb his highest peak, I would not decline it.”
Isabelle dropped her hands, groaning. This was going too far. “You are teasing me, both of you. I’ve no intention of climbing any peaks, high or…not.”
Unless…nay. She banished that thought as soon as it materialized.
Anna descended into paroxysms of giggles. Isabelle shot her a quelling look and took a deep breath. “First of all, I know nothing about the gentleman—”
“Except that he’s a gentleman, and he’s rich and handsome, and he wants you,” Anna piped up.
“—Secondly, I would not, would never—” Oh, dear! How could she put it without being utterly crude? She threw up her hands in defeat.
“Never give yourself outside of marriage?” Susan asked.
“Exactly.”
Anna stopped laughing abruptly. She and Susan stared at Isabelle across the table. Then Susan asked, “Why?”
“It is immoral.”
Anna snorted. “But you did it before.”
“That was before I knew.”
“Knew that it was immoral?”
Isabelle sighed. “No. I always knew that it was immoral.”
“Before you knew what, then, Isabelle?” Susan asked. “The cost?”
“Aye.” The cost, the heartbreak, the suffering. If she and Leo had married, she would have been shielded from all that. “It is wrong, do you not think so? We women are warned of this from the instant we are able to understand the words.”
“Men aren’t. Or if they are, they do not listen,” Anna said.
Susan set her cup down, her gaze sharp with anger. “Exactly. So women are expected to maintain the moral standards for society, while men cavort, led about by their cocks.”
Isabelle could not respond. She stared down at her plate, too overwhelmed with embarrassment to meet her friend’s gaze.
Susan slapped her hand on the table. “Well, I am tired of it. I have a body, too, a body with needs. I shall not be a miserable soul living a moral standard impossible to attain in our society. For many of us, marriage is simply not in the cards. And I see no reason, none whatsoever, to deny oneself the simple pleasures in life just because one is unable or unwilling to marry.”
“Are you saying that taking a different lover every night, like Leo does, is acceptable?”
“No, Isabelle. What Leo did to us is an entirely different matter. He misled us, then abandoned us to our fates. I believe in exclusivity. Furthermore, I believe there ought to be understanding between the man and the woman, a communication, a joint knowledge of what they expect to achieve from the liaison. That way, nobody’s heart is at stake.”
Anna stirred her chocolate. “It is most important for the lady to guard her heart ferociously, even coldly. And to be ever so careful. One must remember that it is nearly impossible for a man to lose his heart, for they all seem to be missing that vital organ.”
“Do you despise men, Anna?” Isabelle asked softly.
Anna’s eyes sharpened into an intense, jade green. “All of them? No, I do not despise all men. But I cannot deny that their careless behavior simply infuriates me.”
“Leo infuriates you?”
She snorted. “Him most of all.”
“But we hope to cure him of his careless behavior, do we not?”
“Indeed.”
“And then will you despise him?”
“Then”—Anna smiled, but it was a false smile—“I will love him.”
Isabelle didn’t believe her. Anna would always loathe the man who had violated her so terribly. She couldn’t blame Anna—her hatred of Leo was pure, and he deserved it, after all.
Isabelle didn’t quite feel the same way about Leo. She did despise him in a way, knowing how carelessly he treated other women. But a small part of her blamed herself for what had happened between herself and Leo, for giving herself to him like a weak female, in defiance of all common sense and in spite of all the warnings she’d received since she was a small lass, and for whatever unknown flaw had caused him to abandon her.
This mysterious flaw sometimes kept her awake at night, wondering what it was about her that had been so inadequate. True, she didn’t have much of a pedigree, but if she were prettier, or witty or slender or charming enough, those virtues would have surely made up for her lack of blue blood.
Susan sipped her coffee. “We should decide how to approach him today. He will attempt to threaten us with his knowledge of Isabelle’s identity.”
“And of course, we will deny she is Isabelle at all,” Anna said.
Isabelle swallowed a bite of ham. “He won’t believe you.”
Susan smiled. “He won’t. But we will try, nonetheless. He’ll also be angry with us for ignoring him yesterday.”
Just then, there was a tap on the door. A footman appeared, balancing a large, beribboned box in one hand. “Excuse me, my lady. A package has arrived.”
Susan rose to take the box from the man, looking from Anna to Isabelle.
Isabelle shrugged. It couldn’t be for her. No one would send her a gift.
Susan arched a fine, dark eyebrow. “Who is it for?”
“It is addressed to Miss Tomkins, my lady.”
Anna shot out of her seat. “Who sent it? Who, who?”
“Lord Archer, miss.”
Isabelle held her cup in front of her mouth to hide the dismayed expression that must show on her face. A gift from Lord Archer could mean only one thing.
“Let me see!” Anna exclaimed.
“Leave us,” Susan snapped to the footman. He bowed and exited, shutting the door behind him.
“Oh, it’s been so long since a man has sent me a gift!” Anna wrung her hands. “What could it be, do you think?”
Susan set the box on the table. Her expression was implacable, her voice calm. “Why don’t you open it and find out?”
Anna yanked off the blue velvet ribbon and removed the lid. A folded note sat on top of the wrappings. Anna took it out and read aloud,
“‘Dearest Miss Tomkins, this is to keep you warm on your ride to the theater tonight, for I would loathe for you to catch a chill. With my fondest regards, T.A.’”
Anna blinked over the letter a few moments before setting it gingerly on the table and pulling open the stiff paper inside the box. She lifted out an exquisite green velvet mantle trimmed with black sable.
“Oh.” She set it gently on the table, trailing her fingers through the fur. “It’s so soft.”
“You must not keep it,” Susan said.
For a long moment, Anna stared at the mantle. Finally, she looked up at Susan with glittering eyes nearly as dark as her hair. “Why not?”
Susan set her hand on Anna’s shoulder. “Anna, this is not the kind of gift a man sends a woman he intends to marry.”
“Oh, Susie, really,” Anna huffed. “I know that. I’m no green girl, for heaven’s sake.”
Susan drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “You understand what he will expect in return?”
Anna nodded. “Of course.”
“Once I might have thought it a fine enough idea, but now I am not so certain,” Susan said. “Remember what we know of my cousin. He is a rake. We know the types of acquaintances he keeps. His circle consists of men like Leo.”
“Mr. Sutherland is not like Leo,” Anna said stubbornly.
Susan’s brows arched. “Do you really believe that? After the way you said he was fawning over Isabelle? Plus, they were gentlemen, visiting ladies. I would speculate their behavior might have been different had they been visiting a Drury Lane whorehouse rather than the home of a viscount’s widow.”
“Anyone’s behavior would be different in those two places, Susie. Even mine.” Anna still had not relinquished her hold on the mantle.
Isabelle spoke softly. “He holds orgies in his house, Anna.”
Anna transferred her gaze to Isabelle, and Isabelle thought she saw a glimmer of desperation in those dark eyes. “It does not mean he is a bad man—”
“Doesn’t it? It shows his moral depravity,” Susan argued.
Anna sank into a seat and pressed the mantle to her cheek. “How could he be morally depraved? You have known him all your life, Susie, but I truly know him, I think. He saved me.”
The Sweetest Revenge Page 9
