Louise Allen

by Rumors

  ‘No, but we have improvised by hanging curtains between the pillars in the Gallery.’

  ‘That was where we had the premiere performance of Mama’s play The Court of Oberon,’ Lizzie interrupted eagerly. ‘And then it was printed and has been acted upon the London stage! Is that not grand?’

  ‘It is wonderful,’ Isobel agreed. Many families indulged in amateur dramatic performances, especially during house parties. She caught Giles’s eye and smiled: he looked appalled at the possibility of treading the boards.

  ‘Perhaps on another visit, Lizzie,’ the countess said. ‘I am writing another play, so perhaps we can act that one when it is finished.’

  ‘The post, my lord.’

  ‘And what a stack of it!’ The earl broke off a discussion with his son to view the laden salver his butler was proffering. ‘And I suppose you will say that all the business matters have already been dispatched to my office? Ah well, distribute it, if you please, Benson, and perhaps my pile will appear less forbidding.’

  ‘Feel free to read your correspondence,’ Lady Hardwicke said to her guests as her own and her daughters’ letters were laid by her plate.

  After a few minutes Isobel glanced up from her mother’s recital of a very dull reception she had attended to see Giles working his way through half-a-dozen letters. He slit the seal on the last one and it seemed to her, as she watched him read, that his entire body tensed. But his face and voice were quite expressionless when he said, ‘Will you excuse me, Lady Hardwicke, ladies? There is something that requires my attention.’

  Isobel returned to her own correspondence as he left the room. It was to be hoped that whatever it was did not mean he would have to miss their ride. She told herself it was not that important, that she could take a groom with her, that it was ridiculous to feel so concerned about it, but she found she could not deceive herself: she wanted to be alone with Giles again.

  The earl departed to the steward’s office, Philip to his tutor and Cousin Elizabeth and Anne for a consultation with the dressmaker. Isobel followed behind them a little dreamily. Where would they ride this morning? Up to the folly and beyond, perhaps. Or—

  ‘Lady Isobel.’ Giles stepped out from the Yellow Drawing Room. ‘Will you come to the library?’

  It was not a request; more, from his tone and his unsmiling face, an order. ‘I—’ A footman walked across the hallway and Isobel closed her lips on a sharp retort. Whatever the matter was, privacy was desirable. ‘Very well,’ she said coolly and followed him through the intervening chambers into the room that was one of the wonders of Wimpole Hall.

  But the towering bookcases built decades ago to house Lord Harley’s fabled collection were no distraction from the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Isobel could not imagine what had so affected Giles, but the anger was radiating from him like heat from smouldering coals.

  ‘What is this autocratic summons for?’ she demanded, attacking first as he turned to face her.

  ‘I should have trusted my first impressions,’ Giles said. He propped one shoulder against the high library ladder and studied her with the same expression in his eyes as they had held when he had caught her staring at him in the hall. ‘But you really are a very good little actress, are you not? Perhaps you should take part in one of her ladyship’s dramas after all.’

  ‘No. I am not a good actress,’ Isobel snapped.

  ‘But you are the slut who broke up Lady Penelope Albright’s betrothal. You do not deny that?’ he asked with dangerous calm.

  When she did not answer Giles glanced down at the letter he held in his right hand. ‘Penelope is in a complete nervous collapse because you were found rutting with Andrew White. But I assume you do not care about her feelings?’

  Isobel felt the blood ebbing from her cheeks. That foul slander…and Giles believed it. ‘Yes, I care for her distress,’ she said, holding her voice steady with an effort that hurt her throat. ‘And I am very sorry that she chose such a man to ally herself with. But you must forgive me if I care even more that Lord Andrew mauled and assaulted me, ruined my reputation and that very few people, even those who I thought were my friends, believe me.’

  ‘Oh, very nicely done! But you see, I have this from my very good friend James Albright, Penelope’s brother—and he does not lie.’

  ‘But he was not there, was he? He knows only what Penelope saw when she came into my room that night: four people engaged in a drunken romp. Only one of them, myself, was not willing and the other three—the men—were set on giving a stuck-up spinster a good lesson, a retaliation for snubbing their patronising flirtation.

  ‘That is the truth and if you have not the perception to know it when you hear it, then I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do.’ Isobel turned on her heel. One more minute and she was going to cry and she was damned if she would give Giles Harker the satisfaction of knowing he had reduced her to that. A fine friend he had turned out to be!

  ‘Who would believe such a tale?’ he scoffed as he caught her by the arm and spun her back to face him. ‘No one there did and they were on the spot.’

  ‘You think it improbable they would be deceived?’ Yes, after all there was something she could do, something to shake that smug male complacency.

  ‘Of course,’ Giles began as Isobel threw herself on his chest, the suddenness of it knocking him off balance back against a bookcase full of leather-bound volumes. ‘What the devil—’

  As he tried to push her away she used the momentum of his own movement to swing around in his grip until she was pressed by his weight against the books, then she threw her arms around his neck, pulled his head down and kissed him hard, full on the mouth.

  For a moment Giles resisted, then he opened his lips over hers and returned the kiss with a ruthless expertise that was shocking and, despite—or perhaps because of—her anger, deeply arousing. Isobel had been kissed passionately by her betrothed, but that was four years ago and she had loved him. The assault of Giles’s tongue, his teeth, the fierce plundering exploration, fuelled both anger and the long-buried desire that had been stirring with every encounter they had shared. When he lifted his head—more, she thought dizzily, to breathe than for any other reason—Isobel slapped him hard across the cheek.

  ‘Now, if someone comes in and I scream, what will they think?’ she panted. His face was so close to hers that she could feel his breath, hot on her mouth. ‘What will they have seen? Giles Harker, a rake on the edge of society, assaulting an innocent young lady who is struggling in his arms. Who will they believe? What if I tear my bodice and run out, calling for help? You would be damned, just as I was.

  ‘I do not have to justify myself to you. But I was sitting in my room, reading by the fireside in my nightgown, and three men burst in. I thought I could reason with them. I did not want a scandal, so I did not scream—and that was my mistake. And for that I am condemned by self-righteous hypocrites like you, Giles Harker. So now will you please let me go?’

  For a long moment he stared down at her, then those gorgeous, sinful lips twisted. ‘Yes, I believe you, Isobel. I should never have doubted you.’

  Kiss me again, a treacherous inner voice said. Listen to your body. You want him. ‘You called me a slut. You just kissed me as though I was one.’ She did not dare let go of her bitterness.

  ‘I believe you now.’ He looked at her, all the anger and heat gone from his face. ‘I am sorry I doubted you. Sorry I called you… No, we won’t repeat that word. But I am not certain I can be sorry for that kiss.’

  ‘Unfortunately, neither can I,’ Isobel admitted and felt the blood rise in her cheeks. ‘You kiss very…nicely.’ And as a result her body had sung into life in a way it had not done for a long time. ‘No doubt you have had a great deal of practice. But kindly do not think that is why I…why I did what I did just now. I could think of no other way to prove my point.’

  ‘Nicely?’ Giles seemed a trifle put out by the description. ‘We will not pursue that, I think. I shoul
d not make light of what has happened to you. I was wrong and you have been grievously slandered. What is your family doing about it?’

  Isobel shrugged and moved away from him to spin one of the great globes that stood either side of the desk. It was easier to think away from all that intense masculinity. The man addled her brain. She had let herself be almost seduced into friendship and then he believed the worst of her on hearsay evidence. And instead of recoiling from her angry kiss he had returned it. He was not to be trusted. Not one inch.

  ‘They denied it everywhere they could, of course. But my brother is a schoolboy, my father a martyr to gout. Neither of them is going to be taking up a rapier in my defence! Besides, my hostess threw me out the next morning, so the lie is widely believed. There is nothing to be done except take refuge where I am trusted—here with old friends of my parents.’

  Chapter Nine

  Giles paced down the length of the library to the other globe, the celestial one showing the heavens, and spun it viciously. ‘Something should be done.’ Hell’s teeth, he had called an innocent woman a foul name, he had accused her on hearsay evidence. He was having trouble getting past his own self-loathing for that, and for wanting to kiss her again. Kiss her…and more. That made him a rutting beast like Andrew White and he was not. Please God, he was not that.

  ‘Why is your old friend not calling out the man who betrayed his sister? Andrew White seems to be getting away scot-free,’ Isobel demanded. It was a reasonable question.

  ‘James is almost blind. He can see well enough to get around, but that is all. His sight was failing when we were at Harrow and it has deteriorated since.’

  ‘Poor man. I had no idea. I was aware that he did not come into society, of course,’ Isobel said, instantly compassionate. She was sweet when she was soft—pitying for James, tender with the child. He wanted that softness, but all she would give him was the fire.

  ‘He is a scholar, a great mind. When we were children at school he held the bullies at bay because they were frightened of his rapier intelligence and his sharp tongue. He protected me with his wits when I was new, terrified and a victim because of my parentage. As I grew in size and confidence I defended him with my fists. Fortunately he can afford to keep secretaries and assistants so his studies are not affected by his sight. He is working on a new translation of the Greek myths.’

  ‘A true friendship,’ Isobel murmured, her head bent over the spinning globe, her long index finger tracing a route across continents. Was she imagining an escape from all this? ‘Will you help me? Tell Lord James you believe me? If he can convince his parents and Penelope, then it might do some good.’ She sounded doubtful that he would support her, even now.

  ‘Of course.’ Of course. But that is not enough. You are mine. I saved your life so you are mine. The anger boiling inside him became focused. He would tell James, of course, and Penelope, whom he had known since she was six, but there must be justice for Isobel. White and the other two had got off from this almost unscathed.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Isobel put back her shoulders and straighten her back as if bracing herself to carry this burden of disgrace. Alone, she believed. But she was not alone any more. The fierce sense of possessiveness was unsettling, but he had never saved someone’s life before—perhaps that accounted for the way he felt about Isobel now.

  ‘You are very brave,’ he said and her chin came up with a defiance that tugged at his heart.

  ‘I refuse to go into hiding because I am the victim of an injustice, so what else can I do but carry on? Besides, if I was truly courageous I would be in London now, brazening it out, would I not?’ Isobel threw at him.

  ‘I think you are too much of a lady to be brazen about anything. And what well-bred virgin would not shy away from such behaviour?’ Now, what had he said to make her blush so? ‘It takes a wicked widow like my mother to carry off that kind of thing.’

  She gave herself a little shake. ‘There is nothing to be done about the situation beyond you telling your friend the truth. Look, the sun is shining—I think I will ride after all.’

  ‘Then I hope the weather holds for you. I find I must go to London this morning.’ There was more he could do and it seemed that Isobel had no one else to do it for her. Besides, Giles thought, the fierce possessiveness burning hot inside him, this would be both his right and a pleasure. The experience of defending a lady was not new, but it was an ironic twist that this time he would be on the side of innocence instead of mitigating his mother’s latest outrages.

  ‘It is not a problem with your business that takes you there, I see,’ she said, watching him with narrowed eyes. ‘That was the smile of a man who positively relishes what is in front of him.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Giles agreed. ‘I am looking forward to it, although it is an unexpected development.’ It was easy to resist the temptation to tell her what he was intending to do. This could all be covered by his willingness to stand up for his friends the Albrights. Isobel’s name need not come into it.

  ‘How mysterious! Or perhaps you are simply missing your mistress.’

  ‘No.’ He made himself smile at the jibe. ‘It is a secret, but I will tell you when I get back.’ He would have to do that, for she needed to know that the insult and the calumny had been answered. Giles lifted a hand to touch her cheek, pale and sweetly curved, but she flinched away as though she feared even that caress.

  He wanted to protect her, needed to possess her. It seemed his wants might be satisfied, but never his needs. Nor should they be, of course, he thought with a stab of regret.

  Behind them the library doors opened and he let his hand fall away as Isobel pretended a renewed interest in the globe.

  ‘Ah! There you are, Harker.’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘Excuse me, Isobel my dear—a matter of urgent business.’

  ‘But of course. I hope your journey to London is uneventful, Mr Harker.’ Isobel smiled politely and turned from him. ‘I will see if they can spare me a groom—the morning is too fine to waste the opportunity of a ride.’

  In the silence that followed the swish of her skirts through the door the earl strode across the room and half sat on the edge of the big desk.

  ‘London? I need you here, Harker. My steward tells me that my banker is due the day after tomorrow to discuss how the financial affairs of the estate will be handled in my absence in Ireland. I need to confirm the figures Soane left with me for the further building work and to make a final decision on the Hill House and the other matters you were looking into for me. I must have the funds and authorities in place to allow matters to proceed without my agents having to endlessly send to Dublin for my agreement on every detail.’

  ‘I will be back by then, my lord.’ He could be in London by that night, have a day to do what he had to do and a day at most to travel back. ‘I assure you of it.’

  ‘You are certain? You will forgive me if I press you, but it would be extremely inconvenient if this were delayed and Delapoole had to return to town.’

  ‘My word upon it, my lord.’

  ‘Excellent. I will let you get on then. Safe journey, Harker.’

  *

  Giles walked up the steps into Brookes’s, one hand unobtrusively under Lord James Albright’s elbow. It was all the guidance his friend needed, other than a murmured word now and again to help him orientate himself in the blurred world he refused to allow to defeat him.

  ‘Good evening, my lord, Mr Harker.’ The porter came forwards for their hats and canes.

  ‘Evening, Hitchin. Lord Andrew White in?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. He is in the library with Mr Wrenne and Lord Halton, I believe.’

  ‘Excellent,’ James remarked as they made their way down the corridor. ‘Three birds with one stone. I’ve never felt so helpless before—I wish I could get my hands on that swine White myself.’

  ‘I’ll hold him for you,’ Giles offered with a grin as he opened the library door. The room was empty e
xcept for the three men lounging in deep leather armchairs by the fireside. They looked round as the friends entered and Giles saw the mixture of wariness and defiance on White’s face when he realised who his companion was.

  He guided James’s hand to rest on the back of a chair, then walked across. The three got to their feet to face him. ‘Harker. Do they let you in here? I thought this was a club for gentlemen.’

  ‘Quite patently it is not,’ Giles countered. ‘They appear to have admitted the three of you and you are lying scum who think nothing of assaulting a lady and blackening her reputation. Or perhaps you crawled in here through the sewers like rats?’

  ‘Wrenne, be so kind as to pull the bell, will you?’ White drawled, but Giles could see the wariness in his eyes. The beginning of fear. ‘Get a porter to throw out this bastard.’

  ‘And what about me?’ James asked. ‘Do you expect the porters to expel two club members on no grounds whatsoever?’

  ‘This is damned awkward, Albright.’ White’s bluff tone was at odds with the look of dislike he shot at James. ‘Your sister took exception to a situation that was completely misinterpreted, made a scene, accused me of lord knows what, broke off the engagement— If I had been permitted to come and explain at the time, this could all have been put behind us.’

  ‘You could hardly blame Penelope for her reaction,’ Albright said with dangerous calm. ‘You were found in another woman’s bedchamber.’

  ‘All a bit of fun that got out of hand. If Penelope had been a bit more sophisticated about it, we would still be betrothed.’

  ‘And what a pity that would be,’ James remarked. ‘This is bad enough, but at least she discovered that you were a philandering cheat before she was irretrievably tied to you.’

  ‘The devil!’ White strode across the room until he stood immediately in front of James. Giles shifted his position so he could watch the other two—he did not want a brawl in the club, but if James lost hold of the threads of his temper, that is what they might well have. ‘No one calls me a cheat! If you weren’t as blind as a bat I would call you out for that, Albright.’