A Little Mischief (5 page)

He pierced her with another cold gaze before looking at Gretchen. “Very well, Miss Winslowe. Stay where you are,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”

Isabella watched him walk out with his sister wrapped firmly in his arms. She heard him call for Gretchen’s maid as he climbed the stairs. Lord Colebrooke was the most exasperating person she had ever had the misfortune to meet. He couldn’t have been more unapproachable if he’d been a wild boar.

She realized again that her knees were shaking and her insides were trembling. Thank God she had managed to get over her initial fear of him and had not let him continue to intimidate her with his anger and condescension. If she hadn’t seen how gently he spoke to Gretchen, she would have thought him a monster incapable of kindness.

Feeling chilled, Isabella hugged her arms to her chest. She picked up the untouched brandy and downed it all at once in a most unladylike fashion. It burned her lips, her mouth, her throat, and she winced as it settled like fire in her quaking stomach. Heat rose up her chest and neck to flame in her cheeks.

“Sweet mercies.” She coughed and untied the ribbon under her bonnet as the warmth of the liquor settled low in her stomach.

Auntie Pith had told her there were times a lady needed a little fortifying with a strong drink. If that were true, this must be one of those times. Isabella wasn’t sure she would last through another stretch of Lord Colebrooke’s interrogation.

As she turned to place the empty glass on the table, she saw the earl standing in the doorway looking at her with unconcealed distrust.

Even with the apparent anger in his strong features, she found there was something unusually compelling in the way he looked over her face. She watched his gaze glide down the length of her and back up again to center on her eyes. It was as if he were assessing her physical attributes as well as her sanity.

And Isabella felt an unexpected shiver of awareness.

Lord Colebrooke’s wide shoulders tapered to a flat stomach, slim hips and long powerful-looking legs encased in black breeches that disappeared into shiny top boots. He walked toward her with that commanding presence that had intimidated her earlier. Now she realized she no longer feared him at all. She was intrigued by his intense dislike for her.

Amazed that she was no longer fearful of him, her self-confidence soared. Isabella relaxed and waited for the earl to speak.

“Gretchen is clearly talking out of her head, Miss Winslowe, and I can’t make any sense of her words or yours. Tell me, what is this preposterous tale you and my sister have concocted?”

“Concocted, indeed, sir. You sound as if you think I have nothing better to do with my time than go around and spit out stories.”

“I’ll reserve my judgment on that until after I hear what you have to say for yourself.”

Isabella ignored his accusation and simply said, “Very well, would you like the short version or the long one, my lord?”

“Short.”

Yes, she had a feeling he would pick that one.

She looked up into his troubled eyes and, after taking a deep breath, she said, “Your sister says she struck a man and killed him. As we stand here wasting time, his body is lying in my back garden.”

“Impossible,” he said coldly.

“I assure you, it’s true. He was lying on the ground and Gretchen was standing over him with a statue of a cherub in her hand when I happened upon them.”

Lord Colebrooke’s brow furrowed so deeply she didn’t know if it was caused by rage or disbelief.

He took a step closer to her. “If there is a man, as you say, in your garden, are you sure he is dead?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you know that, Miss Winslowe?”

“It was really quite chilling.” She folded her arms across her chest again as she remembered the way Mr. Throckmorten looked. “I shook him and tried to rouse some kind of response from him, but there was no life in him. I wanted to—”

“Perhaps you should give me the long story—but quickly.”

Under his bold gaze, she found the courage to say, “The time it takes me, sir, will depend on how many times you interrupt me.”

“Talk, Miss Winslowe.”

“Your arrogance knows no boundaries, my lord.”

“You seem to be the one without boundaries, Miss Winslowe.”

“Whatever have I said that made you come to that conclusion?”

“As if this bizarre tale of yours and Gretchen’s isn’t reason enough?”

Isabella would never get the story out if she continued to mince words with this unreasonable man. She skipped the angry retort she wanted to make and mentally braced herself for another bout with the earl.

As briefly as possible, she told him what had happened from when the ladies first arrived for their readings until she dismissed all the servants and sent her aunt to pick up a gown that could have waited until another day.

“We boarded Gretchen’s carriage and came straight here,” she finished.

His face hardened with suspicion. “I don’t know what kind of chicanery you are up to by trying to pin this outrageous tale on my sister, but hear me now—I won’t allow you to do it.”

He took another unfriendly step toward her.

Isabella’s muscles recoiled, her eyes flinched, but she stood her ground. “My lord, I swear to you, I would not do such a thing. You heard Gretchen admit she struck the man.”

“Yes, but I don’t know that you didn’t somehow persuade her to say that.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“What was she doing at your house?”

“I told you, I had ladies in for tea and readings, as I have done every Tuesday and Thursday afternoons for over a year.”

His voice remained low but cold. “Then what in damnation was she doing in your back garden alone with a man?”

His insinuation left no doubt that he found her responsible and contemptible. Isabella couldn’t allow that to bother her. She had to accept some of the responsibility because she wasn’t prepared to tell him that Gretchen had admitted to arranging a meeting with Mr. Throckmorten in the garden. That piece of the puzzle would have to come from Gretchen.

“I have no answer for that, sir. You must get that information from your sister.”

“Do you know who this supposed dead man is?”

“Yes, of course. I recognized him as Mr. Boswell Throckmorten.”

A thick gasp blew from his throat as he whispered, “Good Lord. Are you certain of this?”

For a fleeting moment Isabella thought she saw alarm for his sister flash across his eyes, but she couldn’t be sure. She wondered why knowing the name of the man made such a difference to him.

“Positive.”

“Did you alert anyone?” he asked.

“No,” Isabella said, thankful that his anger had been suddenly replaced by concern, and high time. Gretchen was in trouble.

“Good.”

She could see the news of the man’s name upset him, and he was trying desperately not to show it.

“How this is handled is up to you. I told you I immediately dismissed all the servants and sent my aunt on a fool’s errand for the rest of the day so that no one would stumble upon Mr. Throckmorten. I left straightaway and came to deliver your sister and seek your instruction about what to do.”

“I’ll get my coat. We’ll go to your house immediately.” He looked around the room. “Where’s your maid? In the kitchen? With your carriage?”

“No one traveled with me. I rode with Gretchen and her maid in your carriage.”

“Then I’ll get Gretchen’s maid to act as your chaperone. Wait for me by the front door, Miss Winslowe.”

He turned and left the room without further word. He did like to give orders. Isabella would be so glad when she passed the age of needing a chaperone and she was free to come and go as she pleased just like Auntie Pith.

A few minutes later Lord Colebrooke helped Isabella into a smart new phaeton pulled by a perfectly matched pair of horses. Even though both were wearing gloves, when she placed her hand in his, Isabella’s skin tingled with pleasing warmth. Their clasp was a firm holding of hands, and it was enough to cause an unexpected leap in her breath.

She sank into the plush seat by Gretchen’s pleasant-looking maid for the short ride. She hoped to feel relief once she turned this unfortunate incident over to Lord Colebrooke, but so far relief had eluded her.

They were silent on the ride to her house. Isabella found herself glancing at the intriguing earl and wondering what he was thinking. She really couldn’t blame him for looking at her with suspicion. The story was shocking, outrageous. She would react the same way had someone told her Auntie Pith had killed a man. Still—

The carriage stopped. Lord Colebrooke didn’t wait for the footman to open the door. The earl stepped down and immediately turned back to reach for Isabella. “Wait here,” he told the maid.

Isabella placed her hand in his. This time he clamped his fingers firmly around hers and Isabella’s pulse quickened. Most men hardly touched a woman’s hand when they helped them in or out of a carriage, but there was no such wariness in this man. He boldly took hold of her, leaving her no doubt she was—in his hands.

What was there about his touch that made her breath grow short and heat rise to her face? She didn’t know. She only knew she had never felt that way with any other man’s touch.

As they walked toward her front door, Isabella turned to him and said, “I wasn’t aware that your sister knew Mr. Throckmorten.”

“I don’t intend to discuss my sister’s private affairs with you.”

“Must you be so unfriendly to a lady who’s only trying to help your sister?”

“Gretchen was in your aunt’s home, Miss Winslowe. I’ll hold you and her responsible for any harm that comes to her. Besides that, I see no reason to be friendly to a lady I don’t plan to ever talk to again after today.”

He couldn’t have made his feelings for her any plainer than that, and for some odd reason she didn’t understand, his words bothered her. But he would never know that.

“I find that reassuring, sir.”

“So do I, Miss Winslowe. I don’t like receiving messages that my sister was alone in your garden with a man.”

“It is not the kind of news I like to deliver. And I can assure you it did not make me happy that Gretchen chose my garden in which to strike Mr. Throckmorten.”

“If you hadn’t persuaded her to come to your reading group, this never would have happened.”

“Persuade? I simply invited her. You, sir, cannot blame this on me. I had no idea your sister had such designing intentions or inclinations.”

“She doesn’t.”

“I’ll leave her to answer that.”

“And so you should. Anyone else would have taken greater care for her safety and well-being.”

His words stung, but Isabella would rather be stuck with sewing needles than let him know. “And I happily turn her over to your custody.”

Isabella stomped through her front door with Lord Colebrooke right behind her. They went straight through the vestibule, their destination the rear garden. Isabella opened the door and looked out, but immediately saw that the body was not where she had left it.

This was unbelievable. She slowly walked down the four steps to the area to where Mr. Throckmorten had been and turned back to Lord Colebrooke.

Her eyes widened with shock as she whispered, “He’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“The body—Mr. Throckmorten is gone,” Isabella said as relief washed across Lord Colebrooke’s face.

***

Chilton was right. Miss Winslowe was a troublemaker.

Daniel looked at the irritating lady standing before him stunningly dressed in her bold blue cloak with black braid trim and matching bonnet and gloves. Infuriating or not, she was incredibly beautiful. Not only was she not the old, unattractive spinster he imagined her to be when Chilton had mentioned her, she had almost convinced him that Gretchen had committed a horrible crime.

She was downright audacious.

He took in a deep breath of cold air and exhaled it quickly. He undoubtedly had a beautiful madwoman in front of him. But that, he admitted to himself, was preferable to a dead man.

What kind of game was Miss Winslowe playing and what had made her think she could play this devious game with him? She should be on stage, and perhaps she had been, for surely she was acting now with her beautiful, flashing green eyes so wide with shock.

She was taller than most women and, by far, more beautiful. Her clothing, her speech, the way she carried herself, and the fact of where her house was located told him she was not a young lady without considerable means. But who the hell was she and what was her purpose in this madcap tale?

“How about Mr. Throckmorten was never here?” Daniel said with a bit of a scoff in his tone.

She held cold eyes on his face and said, “Do not insult me or your sister, Lord Colebrooke.”

“Then perhaps you were serving something stronger than tea at your meeting this afternoon,” he said, remembering how she had downed the brandy in his parlor.

Her eyes rounded in heated denial before she said, “That’s a vile accusation. I would never serve spirits to the young ladies who visit me.”