"Your Serene Highness." Belton bowed and moved away.
Isabella tiptoed over to the window and twitched the curtain so that she could peep outside. The whole street was crowded with people jostling and pointing. The one person missing was the one man who had said he would call. Marcus Stockhaven. She might have known. No doubt he was leaving her to fret over his absence, which was exactly what she was doing, damn him. . . .
Isabella let the curtain fall back into place. "If we are to go out, then it will need to be through a rear window," she commented.
"And once we are in Bond Street we shall be plagued with gentlemen once again," Pen observed. "Drat! I have been saving for a new bonnet these three months past and was looking forward to a shopping expedition, but I do not wish to have an audience for it."
"We shall go shopping," Isabella said. "Or rather, we shall ask the shopping to come to us. Belton—" she turned to summon the hovering butler "—pray send a footman to Beaux Chapeaux in Bond Street and ask them to send a selection of their finest bonnets around for our inspection."
Pen looked enraptured. "Will they do that, Bella?"
"Oh yes," Isabella said. "I may have no money nor credit for any, but any shopkeeper worth their salt knows that when it comes to spending money on clothes, a princess will always find a way."
She threw another glance in the direction of the heaving street. She had no intention of lurking indoors for the foreseeable future. There was an opera she wished to attend that evening and she had just thought of a way in which her barrage of admirers could be used to set a false trail and lead Marcus astray. It was a most satisfying thought. And in order to be a further step ahead in the game, she would write to Churchward and instruct him to instigate an annulment forthwith. Her spirits lifted. She always felt better when she was in control of the situation.
She was about to hasten to the library and pen that very letter when Belton marched in with a final floral tribute. Penelope smiled
"Oh! Now that
is
pretty."
The bouquet was indeed beautiful; twelve tightly furled creamy pink roses in a little basket. Isabella reached for the note. Suddenly she felt nervous.
The card was written in a strong hand and Isabella needed no signature to identify it, although there was one, as strong and bold as the man himself.
Meet me at
Churchward's
office within the hour. Marcus Stockhaven.
Isabella felt cold. This was nothing more than a stark order.
"Who is it from, Bella?" Pen's voice broke into her thoughts and she instinctively crushed the card between her fingers.
"It is from Lord Stockhaven," she said.
"Has he written a pretty poem, too?" Pen inquired.
"Not precisely," Isabella said. "Lord Stockhaven is not the man to be subtle when bluntness will achieve his aim. I beg your pardon, Pen," she continued. "I find I have an urgent appointment. I am afraid you will have to purchase your bonnet alone." She turned to Belton, holding out the pretty little basket.
"Have that one put on the table outside my bedchamber door please, Belton," she said. "It is the closest to my bedroom that Lord Stockhaven will get."
And she tore the note into shreds.
CHAPTER NINE
M
arcus
S
tockhaven had arrived
in Brunswick Gardens a half hour before. It had been his intention to call upon Isabella early that morning, but when he had returned from East London it was to find an urgent note from Lord
Sidmouth
, summoning him to the Home Office on business related to his sojourn in the Fleet. It was
Sidmouth
who had given him permission to run his unorthodox masquerade in the first place, and the price was that in return Marcus passed on as much information about Edward Warwick as he could, since the authorities had their eye on Warwick as a dangerous malefactor. Now there were rumors of Warwick's involvement in several political disturbances and rioting, as well as a robbery on a gunsmith's shop.
Sidmouth
wanted the man caught and wanted to know whether. Marcus thought it likely that Warwick would take himself to Salterton again to finish whatever business he had started there.
It had been several hours before Marcus could extract himself from the meeting and he'd chafed against the delay throughout. When he finally arrived in Brunswick Gardens it was to find the place overrun with journalists and frustrated swains. The butler was informing the multitude that Princess Isabella was from home. Marcus did not believe it for an instant but he was not prepared to make a scene in front of a crowd in order to get into the house. One of Isabella's servants was mingling with the masses, selling the information that the princess intended to attend the performance of Congreve's
The Way of the World
at the Haymarket that evening. Marcus applauded Isabella's ingenuity. It was entirely possible that her servants sought to profit from her in this way, but he doubted it. He was sure that she had arranged for that rumor herself.
Marcus clenched his fists in his pockets, spoiling the elegant line of his jacket. To see so many eager bucks seeking out his wife turned his barely simmering frustrations to near madness. He was losing his head and his self-control over a woman he disliked but had to possess. He could feel the hunger and thwarted desire sharpening to a white-hot edge inside him. The longer he had to wait, the more determined he was.
He made his plans quickly. There was a flower girl on the street corner, and from her he purchased an innocent-looking bouquet of pink roses. He did not have a pen handy so he borrowed one from one of the reporters milting about the front steps. Then he went around to the tradesman's entrance, knocked at the door and delivered the bouquet into the hands of the housekeeper.
And then he waited.
It was forty-three minutes precisely before the door of the servants' quarters opened and the butler came out to procure a hack. Marcus thought that he looked distinctly unimpressed to be doing so. The carriage waited at the back door and presently Princess Isabella descended the steps and got in. She was wearing scarlet, with an outrageously fashionable hat.
As the carriage turned the corner of the street, Marcus let out a long sigh. He had not been certain that his wife would respond to the rather peremptory order enclosed in the card. In fact he had not been able to predict how she would react at all. The fact that she was on her way out did not, of course, confirm that she was heading for
Churchward's
chambers. She might be traveling to the other end of Town. But it was promising.
He went out onto Brunswick Avenue and hailed a hack for himself. He was quietly confident that he was one step ahead in the game now. Even so, it would not do to be complacent To underestimate Isabella would be the biggest mistake of all.
Mr. Churchward the Elder
was a very unhappy man.
He had reluctantly acceded to the request made by the Earl of Stockhaven to conduct a meeting between the earl and his wife at his chambers. It was the very last matter on earth in which he wished to be embroiled, and now that the two protagonists were present, he was wishing himself in Hades. The atmosphere was very tense indeed.
The Countess of Stockhaven had arrived first. She was gowned magnificently in scarlet and wore a cunning little bonnet that partially hid her expression. She greeted Mr. Churchward with cool composure and sat down to await the arrival of her husband. When Marcus Stockhaven was ushered in, she pointedly made no move whatsoever to stand up and greet him.
The earl's expression was stony and his demeanor most autocratic. Mr. Churchward reflected that it would have cowed many lesser men into silence. Isabella, however, did not appear in the least impressed.
"Perhaps we could proceed to business," she said coolly. "I am a little short of time."
Marcus looked down his nose at her in his most intimidating manner.
Isabella carelessly flicked a thread from her skirt and gave him a smile that could have frozen water.
Mr. Churchward cleared his throat.
"Madam, the earl has requested this meeting so that certain matters pertaining to your marriage may be discussed and a mutually agreeable conclusion reached."
"Cut the niceties, Churchward," Marcus said brutally. "We are here to explain to my wife the terms of this marriage." He turned to Isabella.
"I
have asked Mr. Churchward to be present at our meeting so that there may be no misunderstandings about the nature of our agreement, madam."
Isabella raised her blue gaze and pinned Marcus with a glare. Mr. Churchward shifted as though he was sitting on red-hot coals. Marcus appeared unmoved.
"Proceed," Isabella said. Her voice held chips of ice.
Churchward prayed for the floor of his office to open up and swallow him whole, but when that did not happen he cleared his throat again and picked up the piece of paper from the desk in front of him. His hand was shaking slightly. Marcus walked across to the window so that he was standing behind his wife. His brooding presence dominated the room.
"The Earl of Stockhaven lays down the following terms for his marriage to Princess Isabella Di Cassilis," Mr. Churchward read rapidly. "Firstly, that the marriage should be formally announced immediately. Secondly, that there will be no annulment. Thirdly, that by right of the matrimonial law, the earl claims ownership of the house known as number five, Brunswick Gardens, and instructs that it be sold."
Churchward's
voice picked up speed until he was almost gabbling. "Fourthly, that by the same principle the earl claims the property known as Salterton Hall, in the county of Dorset."
At last Isabella stirred. She had been sitting, head bent, utterly unmoving. Now she looked up and, although he could not read her expression clearly, Churchward knew that this hurt her. She had looked on Salterton as her own. It had been special to her. But there was nothing Churchward could do. Under the law, the countess's property belonged to her husband.
"Madam—" Churchward said unhappily.
Isabella smiled at him. Despite the situation, there was warmth in her eyes. "Please do not worry, Mr. Churchward. I know that this is none of your doing." She turned her clear, cool gaze back to her husband.
"I assume that there is more?"
"Of course," Marcus said. His expression was granite hard. "You will remove to Stockhaven House for the time that we remain in Town. You will apply to me to have any remaining debts settled and you will request my permission before you make any future purchases. You will furnish me with a note of all your social engagements—"
"And I will consult you before I speak with any of my acquaintance," Isabella snapped. "Your demands are ridiculous, sir."
Marcus thrust has hands into his pockets. "Not so, madam. My
conditions
are perfectly acceptable for a man with an errant wife."
Mr. Churchward shrank in his seat. If he made himself as inconspicuous as possible there was just a chance that he might be able to slip from the room without the earl and countess noticing. Indeed, they were so locked in their mutual antipathy that he could probably have done a dance on the desk and neither of them would have paid any heed. Mr. Churchward had negotiated on plenty of occasions between the parties in a marriage of convenience. He had seen husbands and wives whose loathing of each other was so great that they could barely tolerate being in the same room. In those cases the primary benefit of the marriage usually involved the exchange of money for a title, or the combination of two great dynasties, nothing more.
The Earl and Countess of Stockhaven did not fit such a pattern, however. Looking at them now, the earl towering over his wife, his face set and stormy, it would be easy to imagine that he hated her with a passion. Yet it was not so, Mr. Churchward could tell. Behind that chilling facade, he could sense that Marcus
Stockhaven's
feelings for his beautiful wife were far more complex than mere hatred. The earl had not taken his gaze once from the princess's face from the
moment he had entered the room. He watched her like a hawk. And on one occasion, Churchward had caught him looking at her with such naked, angry desire that he had felt profoundly uncomfortable. Mr. Churchward the Elder was a man—although Mrs. Churchward had probably forgotten that in recent years—and so he could understand the earl lusting after his wife. But Marcus
Stockhaven's
expression of fury, hunger and grief was painful to witness.
"So," Isabella said, and once again her voice was cool and expressionless, "you are to take Salterton Hall from me, sir. Now that is a neat revenge."
"I do not require the property," Marcus said abruptly. "It will be sold."
Isabella tilted her head away so that the bonnet shadowed all but the curve of her cheek. Mr. Churchward was not normally an imaginative man but at the moment he felt every ounce of her grief.
"What do I get in return?" Isabella inquired, after a moment. "As this is a settlement you are proposing, my lord, what do you intend to settle upon me?"
Marcus rested both hands on the desk and leaned toward her. "Your debts have been paid, madam.
That
is the settlement you get. Was that not what you wanted?"
Isabella smoothed her gloves with small, deliberate gestures. "But what if you were to die, my lord? What arrangements are to be made for me for the
fiiture
? Accidents will happen."
Mr. Churchward drew in a very sharp breath. My lady was playing a very dangerous game. He saw Marcus's hands clench against the wood of the desk.
"In the case of my death, madam," he said through his teeth, "I imagine that you would merely repeat your actions in finding another rich husband. That is your usual mode of behavior, is it not?"
"And your property and fortune?"
"Will go to my cousin. I regret that there is no benefit to you in having me murdered."
Mr. Churchward was almost whimpering now. "My lord, this is most unseemly—"
Marcus ignored him. "Unless, of course," he finished harshly, "you give me an heir, madam, in which case he will inherit"
The tortoiseshell clasp of Isabella's reticule snapped beneath her fingers, making them all jump.
"I would as
lief
give you the plague," she said sweetly. "You will not take me to your bed as part of this
settlement."
Mr.
Churchward's
ears were radiating the heat of embarrassment now.
"You will fulfill all the duties of a wife." Churchward saw Marcus whiten as he bit out each word with emphasis. "We will discuss that alone, madam."
Isabella inclined her head with perfect elegance. She stood up. "Then if there is no more to be said, you will excuse me, gentlemen."
Marcus took the paper from
Churchward's
nerveless fingers. "Not before you sign, my lady."
Isabella paused. It seemed to Churchward that an inordinate amount of time passed while she looked from the paper to her husband's set face. She looked young and defiant and very pretty indeed. Churchward could sense the tightly wound intensity of Marcus Stockhaven as he waited.
"No," she said clearly. "I shall not sign. You cannot force it upon me. Mr. Churchward, despite what has been discussed this morning, I would appreciate it if you would send me the necessary information on annulment."
Marcus straightened. "The announcement of our marriage will be in the
Times
tomorrow, with or without your consent" he said.