After dinner, Lady Fletcher suggested that the company stroll through her conservatory. “To view my orchids, you know,” she murmured. “I have a new and quite unusual specimen, and I should like your opinion of it, Lord Chiswick. But I must not hurry you, gentlemen. Take your time, and join us at your leisure.”
Isabel wanted to chime in and encourage the gentlemen to sit over their port until dawn—for if they stayed in the dining room drinking, she wouldn’t have to deal with Maxwell. Even if she had to listen to Lady Fletcher for the rest of a long evening, the trade seemed to her well worth the cost.
As she meekly followed their hostess out of the dining room, relief surged over her. She’d have a few minutes—an hour if she were lucky—without Maxwell’s gaze fitting over her every time he turned his head. It seemed to Isabel that throughout dinner, he’d looked her way a great deal more than was suitable for a gentleman who was supposed to be paying full attention to his dinner partners.
Not that he’d seemed to be enjoying the sight of her, any more than she had liked being looked at. She hadn’t expected smiles, of course—but the cool appraisal had puzzled her a little.
Emily linked her arm in Isabel’s and said softly, “Since when is our father an authority to be consulted about orchids? The last I knew, the greenhouses at Chiswick grew mainly hothouse grapes.”
“He may have a new pastime.”
“Or Lady Fletcher is determined to defer to him on all matters. I must warn you—if she starts to consult him about new draperies for her drawing room, I shall not be responsible for what I say.”
Isabel was barely listening. The cool air of the hallway washed over her, clearing her head, and the farther she got away from Maxwell the easier it was to laugh at her own foolishness. It must have been her imagination hinting that he was looking at her in a particularly meaningful way. She’d been sitting directly across the table from him; how could he have avoided looking in her direction now and then?
The fact was that the entire day had gone by without a word passing between them—or at least, not a word that couldn’t have been overheard by the entire household without embarrassment. Of course, he had gone out with her father and a pair of shotguns and spent most of the day away from the castle.
Almost as though he had wanted to avoid her—and though that possibility did not bother her in the least, it did make her curious.
She did not truly remember when he had left her bed, though she had a vague sense that it had not been long after he had finished with her. She had been too stunned, too exhausted, to calculate the time—but this morning she had noted that the sheets had not been crumpled except around her. So though she had slept, it seemed he had not.
Had he found her distasteful? He had not seemed to enjoy their encounter; he had even seemed to be in pain. She supposed if that was the case, he might even intend to wait a few weeks to see whether their coupling bore fruit, in the hope that he might not need to return to her bed.
Not that she cared, of course—in fact, a reprieve should please her. Except that Isabel was reasonably certain he wouldn’t change his mind about wanting an heir, and she’d just as soon have the whole thing over with as soon as possible. If in a few weeks she proved not to be with child, and all of this simply started over again…
Her head was spinning by the time Lady Fletcher showed them into the conservatory, where despite the lateness of the hour, the air remained warm and humid. She duly admired the prize orchid and moved slowly on to look—without seeing—as Chloe showed her Lady Fletcher’s other pet plants.
“You must like flowers,” Isabel said finally. She was annoyed with herself for the inane comment.
But Chloe seemed to take it seriously. “I prefer drawing plants to growing them. But I suppose I shall feel the lack when I am no longer able to ask the gardeners for blooms whenever I like.”
For the first time Isabel pushed aside her own concerns and focused on the girl. “You sound quite certain of your plans. Is everything agreed, then?”
Chloe’s body seemed to freeze into a statue. “That is not what I intended to convey, Lady Isabel. I only meant that at some time, a girl must leave her father’s home.”
Emily and Lady Fletcher came into sight around a corner. “And you will be sadly missed, my dear Chloe,” Lady Fletcher said, “when the day comes that you remove to…ah, to your husband’s home.”
Emily took Isabel’s elbow and drew her away. “There’s something back here you must see, darling.” She let her voice drop. “And do keep me away from Lady Fletcher. The hypocrisy of her scolding her husband when she herself has tossed out hints left and right…Thank heaven, here are the gentlemen.”
The conservatory seemed suddenly overrun with people. Gavin and Lucien, Mr. Lancaster…and Maxwell. Her husband’s gaze captured hers; Isabel’s breath caught in her throat and she deliberately looked away.
Mr. Lancaster kissed Emily’s hand and murmured something about wishing to have a guide as lovely as the flowers. Emily dimpled prettily as she laid her hand on his sleeve.
Gavin made a sound that could charitably be called a snort and turned away down a winding path with Lucien in his wake, and Isabel was suddenly alone with her husband.
“If I didn’t know better,” Maxwell said softly, “I’d wonder if you purposely sought out the perfect spot for a tryst.”
Isabel looked around. She hadn’t realized until that moment that she’d reached the farthest corner of the conservatory. She could barely hear the murmur of voices, for the foliage absorbed sound as well as screening the paths until the conservatory was almost a maze.
He didn’t wait for an answer. “You look warm, my dear. Quite uncomfortable, in fact.”
“The humidity makes the air heavy.”
“Are you certain that is the cause? Or is it the fact that we’re alone together which makes it difficult for you to breathe?”
“It has nothing to do with you.” She realized that he had moved directly into her path. “If you will step aside, sir—I am perfectly capable of finding my way back to the entrance.”
“I don’t want to step aside.”
“Surely you don’t mean that after ignoring me all day—”
He smiled. “Did you not want me to leave you alone today?” He moved closer. “I thought you would prefer if I was not underfoot. I had no notion you would feel abandoned.”
Isabel could have bitten off her wayward tongue. “I merely meant—” She tried to move back, but it seemed she already had retreated, for she was standing so close to a glossy-leafed bush that she had no place to go. “You cannot have sought me out here on purpose.”
“Of course I have. Come away from that bush, Isabel, before you catch your skirt on the thorns.”
“Thorns?” A picture flashed through her mind of going back to the drawing room with a rip in the only decent dinner gown she still possessed, and the looks—and comments—that would evoke. She took a quick step and looked over her shoulder. “What do you mean? I don’t see thorns on that bush.”
“I was certain I caught sight of something prickly. Ah, yes—there’s one.” He was suddenly so close that the low rumble of his voice made her skin tremble.
Isabel gasped. “Sir! This is not a bedroom!”
“Do you wish it was, my dear?” His lips moved softly up the side of her neck until he could nip at her earlobe.
“I do not. This conduct of yours is perfectly pointless, for it only serves to upset me.”
He slid an arm around her, pulling her farther away from the bush. She tried to resist but ended up off-balance, half-afraid that if his hold loosened she would fall. She flung one hand up around his neck to steady herself.
His eyes went dark, and he bent his head to take her mouth. His lips felt hot against hers—but how could that be, when she was already overheated? She held herself rigid. This wasn’t happening. It could not be happening.
“Stop pretending to be a statue and let me kiss you, Isabel.”<
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His hold had shifted so she was no longer afraid of falling—but she knew she could not free herself because his arm was locked around her.
She could hear no one else—had they all left the conservatory? She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.
“Did you learn nothing last night, my dear?”
“I learned you will not stop at anything to get what you want,” she choked out.
“Then why fight me, unless you enjoy being coerced? Kiss me, and I’ll let you go.”
She stood on tiptoes and pressed her mouth against his, lips sealed.
“Give me a real kiss, or I shall take more.”
She was horrified. “Here?”
He gave a low laugh. “You have much to learn about the pleasures of lovemaking.” His hands slid slowly down over her shoulders, past her waist, to cup her hips and pull her tightly against him. She could feel the hard bulge of his erection nestling against her belly, and to her shame she felt a rush of wetness between her legs.
She let him nudge her mouth open and she gasped as he explored, his tongue delving firmly and reminding her of a different sort of invasion, last night. He raised his head, and she saw that his eyes were gleaming. “You’re not upset, Isabel. You’re aroused.” His breath was warm on her skin as he traced the line of her jaw with his tongue. He slid his hand under the edge of her bodice and with one fingertip teased her nipple. It peaked at his touch, and he whispered, “You will learn the difference, my dear—with practice.”
Chapter 8
By the time the ladies left the dining room, Gavin was feeling seriously out of sorts. He thought it bad enough that Lady Emily had been carrying on like a flirt of the first magnitude all evening, to the point that the Lancaster chap was barely able to stop himself from drooling whenever she smiled at him. And as for the way the man had looked down her neckline every time she took a full breath—did she not understand what she was doing? Surely she hadn’t changed her mind about accepting him as a husband. But the duke might have been right, and she was setting out to attract a man purely to make his life hell.
The Fletchers’ butler set out the port, and the gentlemen moved closer to the head of the table, clustering around their host for easier conversation. Finding himself sitting beside Lancaster, Gavin twisted the signet ring on his little finger and concluded it was his duty to drop a word of warning in the man’s ear. “If I were you, I’d watch myself where Lady Emily is concerned,” he said quietly.
Lancaster looked him over with something like pity. “But then you’re not me, are you? You may be in line for a title one day, which I am not—but the Earl of Chiswick knows blue blood when he sees it. As does Lady Emily, I am persuaded, so when she tires of this girlish game, I’ll be waiting.”
“You think your blue blood is enough to break down her aversion to marriage?”
“She’ll marry me,” Lancaster said shortly. “One way or another.”
Gavin’s blood turned so icy that he thought it might just be blue after all, regardless of Lancaster’s opinion of him. He drained his glass to give himself a moment to think, and then kept his tone casual. “Her dowry is worth that much, is it?”
“Considering her circumstances, her father has agreed to sweeten it.”
“Noble of you to overlook her past.” Gavin could feel the pulse pounding so loudly in his ears that he thought it odd no one else seemed to hear. “Lucien, pass the port, will you? Lucien?”
Across the table, Lucien jolted upright, almost knocking over the decanter. “Better watch out for that stuff, Gavin,” he muttered. “It’s bloody bad, as port goes.”
By the time they’d all trailed through the conservatory to admire the flowers, and then dawdled over a tea tray in the drawing room, he had gone from concern for Emily’s well-being to barely contained rage at her foolishness. She must be no more than half-witted to lead on a man like Lancaster under any circumstances, but it was sheer madness to make herself so obvious about it that her father was watching her with something like approval.
Not your concern, Waring. He decided that on the drive home he’d bring the situation to Lucien’s attention. Surely she’d listen to her brother…though Gavin wasn’t altogether certain he’d trust Lucien not to make the situation worse.
But when the company broke up and the carriages were brought to the door, he surprised himself by sidestepping Lucien and confronting Emily directly. “It’s a fine night, Lady Emily. Would you care to accompany me on an open-air ride?”
Never taking her eyes off Gavin, she allowed the butler to assist her with her cloak. She looked as though she was contemplating how best to skewer him for his impudence even to have asked, and he felt like a fool.
Then she smiled and said, “It is a fine night, with a lovely moon. Thank you, Cousin Gavin—I would enjoy taking the air.” She turned away to make her farewells to Sir George and Mr. Lancaster, who had seen them to the door.
Lucien sidled up to Gavin. “A moonlight drive? Are you trying to get caught up in a duel? Lancaster looks as if he’d like to call you out right now, and my father seems to be groping for his horsewhip!”
Gavin wasn’t about to admit his own conviction that this ranked high among his worst ideas ever. “Your father should keep the horsewhip handy all right, but not for me.” He strode out the door to wait beside his curricle.
Emily appeared a minute later with the hood of her cloak already drawn up. She was obviously in the midst of a disagreement with the Earl of Chiswick. “Surely my cousin can drive me in an open carriage, in full sight of the rest of the party, without endangering either my reputation or his,” she said with a laugh, and held out a hand to Gavin so he could help her into the curricle.
He didn’t speak until they were well down the avenue of lime trees. “The cool air will do you good, I should think, after the very heated evening you have had.”
Her face was shadowed by the deep hood, but her voice was light. “Oh, dear. That sounds awfully like a scold. If you’d warned me that you intended to take me to task—”
“In that case, you would no doubt have preferred the company in the carriage. I am certain your father would not have scolded over seeing you bringing Lancaster around your thumb. What were you thinking, to carry on like that?”
“Is it my flirting you object to, or Mr. Lancaster?”
“Both!”
“Flirting, Cousin Gavin, is considered a polite pastime in the ton. You would be well advised to cultivate the knack before you go to London to seek a bride.”
“We are not talking about me.”
“You cannot have such hidebound ideas as to think that a lady of the ton must never—”
He cut across her protest. “After the ladies left the dining room, Mr. Lancaster as much as announced that you will marry him.”
That silenced her—for a few moments. “If that is what he believes, he is sadly mistaken. I’ve no mind to marry.”
“Then what are you about, tormenting the men like that? You were even flirting with Maxwell, before dinner! Not that he seemed to notice.”
“Sadly, he didn’t,” Emily agreed. “Apparently I, too, need to refine my technique.”
Gavin took his gaze off the road to stare at her. “You admit that you were attempting to captivate your sister’s husband?”
“Well, she doesn’t seem to want him. Of course, I don’t, either, if it comes to that. Anyway, you’re the one who put the idea into my head.”
“I am almighty certain that I did not suggest you flirt with Maxwell. Or with Lancaster, either.”
“Well, no, not exactly. Must you sound like a thundercloud, rumbling and roaring all the time? You did, however, point out that Maxwell might have a mistress already. That’s why the idea occurred to me—for if he has one, why not another?”
“And you’re putting yourself forward for the position? Lady Emily, have you run mad?”
“Of course I’m not aiming to be Maxwell’s mistress. I have merely reali
zed that since I have no need to preserve my virtue for marriage…” Her voice wavered for an instant. “I am free to contemplate taking a lover.”
She couldn’t be serious, of course. She hadn’t actually said she was going to take a lover, only that she was thinking about it. And lady that she was, she’d had to work herself up even to utter the words. She was trying to shock him—her sense of humor must be more like that of her madcap brother than Gavin had credited. No doubt she would go off into peals of laughter when he reacted with outrage.
Therefore, he swore, he would not be shocked. He swallowed hard and played along. “Is that why you were going after Lancaster, trying to enmesh him in your toils? Because you believe he might make an adequate lover?”
“I’ve always wondered,” she said carelessly. “What are toils, anyway? And don’t be silly—Mr. Lancaster was a distraction for my father, no more.”
He didn’t want to ask what she meant. Was this drive never going to be over? He was beginning to deeply regret putting his oar in.
“It is a beautiful moon, isn’t it?” she went on cheerfully. “It could be quite a romantic evening, if only—”
“If only you were with Mr. Lancaster?”
He could hear her smile in her words. “If only you weren’t trying quite so hard to correct my flaws.”
“I beg pardon, Lady Emily,” he said stiffly.
“Accepted.” She gave a little sigh. “In any case, I’m not looking for an adequate lover. I want a very good one.”
Gavin’s hands twisted convulsively on the reins, and his team broke step and pulled to the side, almost putting a wheel off the edge of the road. He devoted himself to the horses for a full minute, and wanted to swear when the duke’s carriage drew near enough that the coachman hailed him.
“Nothing wrong,” he called back, and flicked his whip a bit closer to his team’s ears than he was in the habit of doing. The animals picked up their rhythm again and began to draw away from the carriage.
The Birthday Scandal Page 12
