Forbidden in February

by Suzanna Medeiros

  Isabel knew without a doubt that her cousin would repeat his lies, telling anyone who might hire her that she couldn’t be trusted. Of course, he was too smart to admit to spreading lies in his most recent correspondence.

  She wanted to throw something more substantial than the crumpled letter but resisted the impulse. She’d hardly get a letter of recommendation from Robert if she destroyed the furnishings in her room.

  She collapsed onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, her mind whirling with thoughts of worst-case scenarios for her future. If she should find another position, her cousin was correct in his assessment that it was unlikely she would retain that position once he started spreading lies about her character. No one wanted a wanton or a thief caring for their sick or elderly relations.

  But the alternative was too horrible to bear. Of all the men her cousin could have chosen for her to wed, she shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d wanted her to marry someone three times her age. She supposed she could have borne it if she liked the man, but she couldn’t think about Mr. Windham without shuddering. She’d heard the rumors of his cruelty to his first wife. When she’d mentioned it to her cousin, however, Bertram had laughed at her concerns. All he’d cared about was aligning himself with a wealthy family.

  She’d hoped he would cease to press her when she turned of age, but that hope had proved fruitless. What would it take for him to finally leave her in peace to live her life?

  She could try to flee north, but she had no way of knowing how long she could live on fifty pounds. Would it be enough?

  If she wed someone else, Bertram would have no choice but to abandon his plan to use her in furthering his own future. But who would she marry? The only person she’d met who she’d even consider marrying was Robert. She couldn’t stop a half-hysterical laugh at the thought. She could just imagine the expression on his face if she proposed marriage to him.

  He may not want to marry you, but there is something else he wants from you.

  Her amusement died abruptly as soon as the errant thought entered her mind.

  If Bertram was going to tell all and sundry that she was a woman of loose morals, she might as well be ruined. Mr. Windham was a lecherous old man, but he was also one who liked to present an outward façade of piety. He would never marry her if he learned he wouldn’t be getting a maiden on his wedding night.

  The only way to win this battle was to call Bertram’s bluff.

  There’s nothing to stop him from trying to find another suitor, one who won’t care about the state of my maidenhead.

  She shook off the thought. It was true, but hopefully by the time he found someone wealthy enough to suit his needs, she’d have saved enough money to travel north and set herself up somewhere he’d never find her.

  With renewed determination, she rose from the bed. Bertram had left her with no choice… she had to proposition Robert Milton.

  Chapter Seven

  She’d tried to hide it, but Robert had seen her worry when he’d given her the letter from her cousin. Worse, if he wasn’t mistaken, he’d also seen a spark of fear. That didn’t contradict what she’d told him about the reason for her concern, but he couldn’t help thinking there was more to the situation than she wanted him to know. He’d respected her need for privacy, however. Heaven knew he’d received more than his share of correspondence from his mother that he’d also wanted to keep private. Remembering now how dread had settled over him each time he’d received a letter and how he’d ignored those last missives when he’d thought his mother was lying about her illness, he could well understand how something as simple as a letter could have so much power over one’s mood.

  Disappointed when Isabel didn’t come to see him, he made his way downstairs, his thoughts turning to the fact that it had started to rain. He didn’t mind the cold and even enjoyed snow, but there was nothing worse than rain on a cold day.

  When he didn’t see Walters, he started toward the wardrobe that housed his greatcoat and hat, but halted midstride when Isabel stepped into the hallway from the front room. His heart warmed when he realized she’d been waiting for him.

  Looking at her, he was struck once again by just how much this woman tested his control. He wondered if he had a similar effect on her. Given how he’d botched their introduction, it was impossible to tell if the bouts of self-consciousness he’d witnessed came about because she felt a similar attraction to him or because she was worried about another unwelcome advance. It made interacting with her, much as he enjoyed it, more than a little uncomfortable.

  At least she wasn’t avoiding him, though he supposed he wouldn’t blame her if she were.

  “If you have a moment, Robert, I need to speak to you about something.”

  Her use of his first name took him aback, but he very much liked the sound of it on her lips. He couldn’t tell if she was even aware she’d done it.

  He followed her into the front room. When she sat on the settee, some instinct prompted him to take the chair opposite so he could examine her expression. He didn’t miss the way she clenched and unclenched her hands together in her lap, nor the fact that she found it difficult to meet his gaze. What on earth could have been in that letter to make her so tense?

  Half-afraid she would burst into tears or change her mind about confiding in him if he pressed her, he waited for her to speak. When she finally did, she still didn’t meet his gaze.

  “I find myself at a loss as to how to broach this subject with you.”

  It almost seemed as though she was embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed, and from what he’d seen of her eyes during the fleeting looks she’d aimed his way, it didn’t appear as though she were on the verge of tears.

  “I promise not to bite your head off… again.”

  She smiled, and this time when her gaze met his, she didn’t look away. “Your mother was very kind to me. And no, I’m not referring to the money she left me. She allowed me to remain in service here when many others would have turned me out.”

  He didn’t know what he’d expected her to say, but he wouldn’t have guessed she was about to confess some secret to him. His thoughts went immediately to his mother’s letters. She’d mentioned Isabel a few times, but rarely as her companion. Instead, she’d dangled Isabel beneath his nose as an inducement for him to return to London. He’d assumed that, like his mother, she was a woman who was looking for a protector, but her reaction to his proposition had led him to believe otherwise. Was it possible he’d been correct in his original assessment?

  No, he thought. The woman before him now was no light-skirt. He would stake his life on that.

  “What did my mother overlook?”

  There was no mistaking her embarrassment when her chin dipped and heat colored her cheeks.

  “My cousin sent Mrs. Milton a letter telling her that I wasn’t a person of good character.” His eyes widened in surprise, and she rushed on, her words stumbling over each other in her rush to reassure him. “He wasn’t telling the truth. I don’t know what exactly was in that letter—your mother never said—but I can guess. I do know it was filled with lies.”

  “Lies that my mother didn’t believe.”

  Isabel’s eyes searched his, and he saw the moment she realized he believed her. Her shoulders relaxed and she took a deep, somewhat shaky breath. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to lower his eyes to her chest.

  “No, thankfully.”

  When she didn’t continue, he asked, “Any why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because I thought that was the end of my dealings with Bertram. I hoped he would move on with his life and forget about me, but he hasn’t. He wants me to return home and has threatened to tell any future employer whatever it was he told your mother.” Color drained from her face as another realization came to her. “What if he tells the agency? I’ll never get another interview, let alone another position, if he contacts them directly.”

  “Surely he’s only concerne
d about your welfare.”

  Isabel forced a laugh. “I assure you, my cousin cares about no one but himself.”

  “Still, wouldn’t you be safer at home?”

  The irony was not lost on him that they appeared to be two sides of the same coin. Both of them in service but with family who were determined to see them give up their independence and return home. From the way her brows rose in disbelief, she’d come to the same realization. She didn’t comment on it, however.

  “My cousin is determined to see me married to a man old enough to be my grandfather. One who, by all accounts, was cruel to his first wife when she was alive.”

  He knew that marriages were arranged all the time, but it never ceased to surprise him that families continued to make such alliances, essentially sacrificing their young women to a lifetime of unhappiness all for the sake of a better position in society. He’d seen it to an extent with the Duchess of Beckworth.

  “And he hopes to force your hand by ensuring you have no means by which to support yourself.”

  Isabel nodded, her shoulders sagging as she considered the truth of his words.

  He repeated his earlier question. “Why are you telling me this, Miss Durham?”

  He waited, expecting her to ask for money. And if she did, he’d give it to her. It was the least he could do after she’d sacrificed her own savings to look after this house and the other servants within without knowing if she’d ever see that money again. What he wasn’t expecting, however, were her next words.

  “Because I’d like you to ruin me.”

  She’d found her courage again, because her eyes never wavered from his as she waited for his response. Her request rendered him unable to speak as he registered the effect her words had on him. His initial reaction was to oblige her. He imagined leading her upstairs to his old bedchamber, which was larger than hers and, more importantly, had a bed that would allow them to make love without worrying about falling out of it. But even with the surge of lust flowing through his body, his mind wouldn’t allow him to ignore the fact that the woman seated opposite him did not appear as though she would go with him willingly. As much as he desired Isabel Durham physically, he was not about to force himself on a woman who didn’t truly want to be with him.

  Isabel drew in a breath, then released it slowly when he didn’t reply. “Is the thought that distasteful to you? I thought… after what happened when we first met…” She shook her head and stood. “Never mind.”

  He stood as well. “You surprised me, and I can’t help but think that what you’re suggesting is the last thing you truly want.”

  Isabel sighed. “I’m not very good at this, I fear. I’ve never tried to seduce a man before, and so I thought it would be better to be straightforward about what I want from you.”

  For some reason, watching Isabel flounder for words, so unsure about the power she held over him, made him want to take her into his arms and shield her from any negativity that could touch her. And that thought terrified him. The last thing he wanted was to become embroiled in a relationship, and he feared that would happen if he followed through with Isabel’s request.

  “As you’re so fond of telling me, you needn’t stay in service. With the bequest my mother left you…”

  Isabel shook her head again. “My cousin won’t stop. I fear this has become a game to Bertram, and knowing him as well as I do, I can assure you that he always wins. If I’m to have any hope of living free from his influence, I must ensure that he no longer sees me as an asset he can barter away to the highest bidder.”

  “And to do that you must lose you virtue.”

  “Yes,” she said with a firm nod of her head, and he could see that she truly believed that. “Sir… well, it doesn’t matter what his name is. Just know that the man my cousin is so determined to have me wed is very wealthy, and he’s told Bertram that he wants me. But while he may be cruel, he is also a very pious man. Well, outwardly, at any rate. He wouldn’t want me without my virtue, which is why I must shed it. With any luck, my cousin will leave me alone once he can no longer use me for his own gain.”

  She’d started to pace, her agitation growing with each word she spoke. When she turned to look at him again, he knew he was lost. Yet he needed to give her time to weigh her actions. She was acting out of desperation, and much as he wanted nothing more than to make love to her, he didn’t want her to regret it afterward. It was clear to him that, unlike the other women he’d consorted with, Isabel wasn’t someone who could couple with a man and then carry on as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  “I’m not agreeing—” Isabel’s face fell and she was about to interrupt him, but he held out a hand to stop her. “I’m also not disagreeing. I don’t want you to rush into something you’ll regret later.”

  She tilted her head and stared at him. The weight of her measured gaze almost had him reaching out and pulling her into his arms, regrets be damned.

  “I won’t change my mind.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m going to suggest that you take at least the rest of the day to consider your request carefully before we proceed. It’s only been an hour since you received your cousin’s letter.”

  Her face lit up with her first genuine smile since he’d stepped into the room. “So you agree.”

  “Only if you’re absolutely certain. And for that, you’ll need time.”

  “I don’t need any more time, but your concern tells me I’ve chosen the right person to… well, to help me.”

  Her smile dimmed, and he realized it was because he was scowling. Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to him that she might approach someone else with the same request, and that thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. He managed to smooth his frown before taking his leave. She didn’t follow him out into the hallway, where he gathered his outerwear from the wardrobe.

  Instead of hiring a hackney to take him to Mayfair, he decided to walk for a bit. The rain had stopped while he and Isabel had been talking, but darkness had descended. A bitter wind swirled around him, a reflection of his inner turmoil—was it his imagination, or did the weather seem colder that year?

  Isabel was definitely a threat to his resolve not to become involved with any woman. He wasn’t in any danger of falling in love with her, of course, but he already felt more for her than for any he’d been with. He couldn’t explain why, but he couldn’t deny the urge to help her.

  It occurred to him that, while she hadn’t asked for money, he should have offered to increase the amount his mother had left her. Surely then she could move forward with her life and in so doing no longer be a danger to his peace of mind. He wasn’t going to keep his mother’s money, after all. He’d take the money he’d earned over the years and that he’d sent to her, but he wanted nothing to do with the rest of it. Not the house—the house his father had purchased for his mother when he’d established her as his mistress—and certainly not the money his father had given her.

  He’d thought about donating it all, including the proceeds from the sale of the house, to the various charities that had sprung up after Waterloo. Many soldiers had returned home with injuries so serious they could no longer support their families. And then there were the widows who’d lost their husbands and couldn’t care for their children. He knew what it was to grow up without a father, but at least he’d always had a roof over his head and no fear of going hungry. The same wasn’t true for countless others.

  Yes, that’s what he would do. He’d ensure Isabel could care for herself… maybe he’d give her the house. Or perhaps lease it to her. He’d be able to visit her then whenever he was in Town.

  He froze as soon as the thought entered his mind, realizing the direction in which his thoughts were headed. Someone bumped into him—he hadn’t even been aware that there were others out on the street—and he mumbled an apology as the harried man brushed past him. He changed direction and hailed the hackney he’d spotted going the other way.

  Durin
g the short ride to the Beckworth town house, he tried to erase his previous thought from his mind. He was not his father. He wouldn’t set up a woman just so he could visit her whenever he was in London. Good lord, what if he got her with child? He’d be dooming another innocent to live the same life he’d had, always wondering why he wasn’t good enough for his father to acknowledge.

  No, he’d increase the bequest his mother had left Miss Durham—no doubt his mother would have done the same if presented with all the facts related to Isabel’s attempts to gain her independence—and then be done with her. At that point, it was up to her to make her own way in the world.

  He paid the driver after reaching the town house and made his way to the servants’ entrance. Absently, his thoughts still in turmoil, he smiled and greeted the maids and footmen he passed on the way to his room. It was smaller than the one he used at Beckworth Park, but not as small as Isabel’s room.

  Damn that woman, would she never get out of his thoughts?

  After lighting a lantern and shedding his outer garments and topcoat, he didn’t try to curb the urge that drove him to the wardrobe. He shifted the clothing aside, moving unerringly to the small sketchbook he’d buried in the back, beneath a blanket he kept there. He didn’t know why he’d purchased the thing. He hadn’t drawn in years. Not since entering service. But it had soothed the frustrated artist within to know that the pad was there and that he could take up drawing again at any time.

  It took him a little longer to find the pencil he’d tossed into one of his drawers. Finally unearthing it, relieved to see it was still sharp, he rolled up his shirtsleeves and settled against his headboard with the tools of his long-unused-but-never-forgotten passion. No one would be calling for his services—he didn’t really have a place in this household anymore.

  He opened the pad to the first page, and as he gripped his pencil, he experienced a moment of uncertainty, wondering if it had been so long that he’d lost what little talent he’d once possessed. But the need within him was too great to ignore. With a deep breath, he loosened his grip and drew the first stroke. The rest came easily after that, almost as though he’d never given this up. He wondered why he ever had as the drawing came to life under the confident strokes of his pencil on the paper.