Releasing her death grip on Julian's arm, Izzy planted herself before Eric.
"Squeak."
Eric actually jumped. Wide and amazed, his eyes slowly traveled from her face to her hem and back again. Julian stepped between them with a growl.
"Izzy, may I introduce my closest friend, Eric Calwell, Viscount Stretton. Eric, Miss Isadora Temple, my affianced bride—and put your bloody eyes back in your head, Stretton. You're making a scene."
"Don't be silly, Julian." Izzy laughed. "
You
are making a scene. Lord Stretton is merely making my acquaintance. I am very glad to meet a friend of Julian's, my lord. I feel as though I already know you."
After a curtsey, Izzy smiled up at his friend, but her smile faltered when Eric did not respond. He only contemplated her without expression.
Julian was puzzled. Why was Eric being difficult? Exasperated with his friend, he was about to roundly tell him so when another thought struck him.
Izzy was a most unusual woman. Perhaps it would be best for Eric to discover that on his own. Acting breezily indifferent to the tension between them, he made a slight bow to Izzy.
"You two will not mind if I step away, will you? I see someone I must speak to for a moment." He turned on his heel and left them. Then he grinned.
Eric didn't stand a chance.
When Lord Stretton stiffly offered Izzy his arm, she took it with misgiving. It seemed Lady Bottomly was not the only one who had assumed Izzy was digging for gold.
Once on the ballroom floor, Lord Stretton moved easily enough, but his eyes still glared. Izzy smiled at him anyway.
"My lord, perhaps you could direct your gaze elsewhere. I fear my hair shall catch fire."
He scowled at her words, and the burning increased.
"I hope you are enjoying the wealth you lied for, Miss Temple." He smirked. "Oh yes, I know the real facts of the matter. I know you stand to gain a great deal by trapping a good man with your tales."
Izzy contemplated explaining the entire matter of the betrothal, but decided that Julian must have had his reasons for keeping the plan from his friend.
"Circumstances trapped us all, Lord Stretton. I only set out to minimize the damage." He was terribly sweet, bristling in Julian's defense that way. She smiled at him fondly. "You are trying to protect him, I know. I am trying to protect him, as well.
"I wonder what it is about Julian which makes us all want to protect him?" she mused, thinking of herself and Celia, as well. "You are trying to protect him from me, and I am trying to protect him from his father."
She laughed merrily at his stunned expression. He definitely looked a little befuddled. How to explain without explaining?
"Lord Stretton, does Lord Blackworth seem unhappy with the solution that has been struck?"
He mulled that over for a moment. "No, not truly unhappy. In fact, he seems rather satisfied with himself lately. As if he had an ace in his hand, so to speak." Suddenly, his gaze shot to hers. "He's up to something, isn't he? What have you two cooked up between you?"
"Nothing so terrible. An agreement, nothing more. Simply trust that it is a beneficial arrangement for all."
Julian's friend laughed then, shaking his head. "I should have known Blackworth would finagle his way out of this one somehow. Even as a boy he was as slippery as an eel."
The music ended and they turned to leave the floor. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Temple. Thank you for a lovely waltz." His words were formal, but his eyes held something new. "You should know that my sisters hunger for your head, believing you a fortune hunter. They consider Julian one of the family. If you can convert them, you'll have half the
ton
on your side."
"Sisters? Oh dear. How many?"
"Only six." He grinned at her, then had a sudden burst of inspiration. "Come, you must meet them, and my mother, as well."
It looked as though Izzy had charmed Eric out of his ill-humor. They seemed to be getting along famously, now. Julian watched them laughing together, Izzy's hand held fondly in Eric's. They were much alike. They shared a humorous bent, and a basic goodness of nature that he himself lacked. He was glad they were going to be friends. Truly, he was.
The couple approached a circle of beautiful women. Julian relaxed. Eric's mother and sisters would adore Izzy, being quick-witted and generous themselves.
He often had thought it a pity he had never engendered a passion for one of the Ladies Calwell. But having spent innumerable holidays with them since boyhood, he could only see them with brotherly affection, despite their great and varied beauty.
Ranging in age from seventeen to twenty-three, each was certainly lovely in her own right. All six tall, golden goddesses now surrounded Izzy, hiding her from his view.
He scarcely had time to draw breath before being surrounded himself by lords and ladies alike, clamoring about his mysterious fiancée, now finally unveiled. Pasting on a charming smile, Julian set about firmly establishing Izzy's reputation as a heart-stopping
femme fatale
.
Julian was never far from Izzy's thoughts. Even as she promptly fell in love with the entire Calwell clan, she was watching Julian wend his way through hordes of admiring women. Each received a word, a gallant kiss on the hand, a warm seductive smile. He was so beautiful, so charismatic, so obviously the object of considerable feminine admiration.
One lady of exceptional beauty stopped him with a gloved hand on his arm. In Izzy's opinion, she stood far too close for strict propriety, before floating away in the arms of someone else.
After saying something in Julian's ear, another woman watched with a predatory smile as he threw back his head and laughed.
One hand seductively stroking her throat down to her rather plentiful bosom, a third lady whispered in his ear briefly and moved on, trailing a possessive hand over his shoulder as she left.
"Oh, do not worry about them, my dear." The Countess of Greenleigh shot a shrewd look at the departing beauty. "They've been trying to land Julian for years. He just smiles and slips away. You are the only one who has caught his interest for more than a moment."
Izzy could hardly tell Lord Stretton's mother that her engagement to Julian was a fraud, so she bit her lip and turned her eyes away from Julian, who was now occupied with a shining Celia. She would not be envious of his attention to Celia.
Yet the poisonous memory of their ill-fated liaison crept through her resolve. They had almost been lovers. Might still be, a tiny, treacherous voice said in her mind. Izzy herself was nothing to Julian but a friend. A prop in a time of need, with no claim on his future whatsoever.
Why shouldn't Julian press a fervent kiss on Celia's wrist, as he was doing now? His life apart from their friendship was of no concern to her, and she wished them happiness.
Truly, she did.
"Eppingham."
Julian stiffened. Although nothing had been uttered save his name, he could hear disapproval emanating from every syllable. He turned.
"Father."
"I suppose you have some flimsy excuse for defying my wishes."
"I'm sorry, which particular wishes were those? You have so many." Sarcasm was never the best way to deal with the marquess, but Julian had not had time to armor his humor against an encounter with his father.
The man's eyes narrowed. Julian was well accustomed to the look. He had earned it time and again throughout his life. He wondered irreverently if his father had ever considered spectacles for his narrow vision.
Julian imagined saying that to Izzy, and the rich laughter it would effect. He almost fought the smile caused by this musing, then decided that if Izzy were here, she'd have no trouble laughing in this man's face.
"Stop grinning like a bedlamite, boy," the marquess blustered, reddening. "I wish to know why you refused to accompany the Marchwell chit tonight."
Millie? He was baffled for a moment, then Julian realized his father meant Izzy.
"Temple, actually. The Honorable Miss Isadora Temple, daughter of Sir Ian Temple and Lady Maria Blakely, and grand-daughter of the late earl of Sessingham." His man-of-affairs had uncovered more of Izzy's history, and he delighted in throwing it in his father's face. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it appears I will not be shackled to a commoner after all."
"Do not disrespect me, you insolent whelp. I'm only disappointed that you would dishonor such a well-bred young girl in the first place. Then, to leave your betrothed at home while you accompany that hussy with the shameless hair—"
"Julian, your father disapproves of my coiffure. I think I shall expire on the spot in perfect mortification." Uttering this dry comment from the spot between them where she had suddenly materialized, Izzy held out an elegantly gloved hand to the marquess.
"My future father-in-law, I presume. Forgive me, I could not wait to be introduced. I have been simply perishing to properly greet you. Have you been quite well? I daresay I feared for your heart on the occasion of our last meeting. One must have a care for one's health, mustn't one?" She smiled indifferently at the marquess, her comments expressed with such a lack of inflection that only Julian was aware of the anger and dislike seedling within her.
"Ah, Izzy, my dear. You're just in time to waltz with me." Without a word to the gaping marquess, he swept her away to the dance floor. Smiling down at her flushed face, he shook his head admiringly.
"Izzy, I cannot say I have ever seen anyone deflate my father so thoroughly. Would you consider giving instruction in the skill? Were my mother living, she would surely be first in line."
Izzy still trembled with the rush of anger she had felt when she had neared the two men and seen the dark flash of pain in Julian's eyes. How could a man treat his own child with such harsh detachment? How could Julian have survived all those years under that man's thumb? She would have gone quite mad.
Hildegard's treatment of her was less despicable, for Hildegard was not her mother, but a distant cousin. For a parent to feel nothing for his child seemed the lowest rung of the human spirit.
Izzy thought of her own mother's laughter and her father's teasing voice. Julian resembled him in that way, she thought. They had much the same humor.
While she herself resembled no one. She had often wished she had her mother's vivacious beauty.
Lady Maria had once been a court favorite, and had many a beau, despite her father's penniless earldom. Then, Izzy's handsome father had come along and stolen her mother's heart from the first.
Her parents had not been wealthy, but Izzy had never noticed anything past the great shining love they had for each other and for her. Her surroundings had been happy, if not terribly costly. She had not even been aware of her own lack of beauty, until Hildegard had made it obvious that she considered Izzy plain beyond belief.
That thought brought her back to the present, and the look on Hildegard's face when Izzy had descended the stair earlier this evening.
"Julian, do I truly look so different? Even people who have seen me quite recently do not recognize me."
"It is not so much that you have changed, my dear, it is simply that your presence has become undeniable. Should you crawl back behind that blank shield I have seen you wield, they would no doubt forget to remember you again. Although, I must say, all that hair does wonders for your presence." He grinned teasingly.
"Oh, stop, you idiot. I do not have presence, with or without hair. Celia has presence, not I."
"On the contrary. What Celia possesses is beauty, shiploads of it. However, as I recall, she hasn't a speck of presence—other than exquisite carriage. And wealth. And taste. But no, not a jot, not a particle of presence."
Laughing outright by now, Izzy allowed herself to enjoy the waltz, smiling up at Julian as they whirled through the rainbow of dancers.
"Miss Temple. May I have the honor?"
Julian's father stood before her, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes upon her were icy and appraising. Shielding her surprise with heavy lashes, she wondered what the marquess could be about. Placing her gloved hand in his, she was surprised to find his was warm.
As it should be, of course, in the stifling room, yet she had somehow imagined it as cold as his heart.
She could not fault his ease on the dance floor, either. He was by far the best dancer she had partnered all evening, aside from Julian and Eric. However, his hold on her was impersonal and his expression aloof.
"I suppose you think you have outsmarted us all, Miss Temple."
She glared at him. So, it was to be here, on the dance floor. Very well, then. She could think of no better time than the present.
Raising her chin, she eyed him as coldly as he had her. Any tremor of intimidation vanished when she remembered his treatment of Julian. It also helped to keep in mind the Fish Thing. She laughed merrily at him, then. He flushed.
"You find something amusing, Miss Temple?"
"Yes, indeed, my lord." She smiled sweetly, humming contentedly along with the musicians.
His face reddened further.
"Do you wish to share this jest, Miss Temple?"
"No, indeed, my lord."
Harrumphing in irritation, he steered her silently about the floor for a moment. Izzy decided to take the offensive.
"Tell me, my lord. Why are you such a cold father?"
Shocked, he almost lost track of the waltz steps. Recovering, he swung her about with perhaps more force than necessary. Izzy merely watched him through narrowed eyes.
"I see no reason for you to be ashamed of Julian. He seems a fine man to me."
"He is a useless, amoral wastrel. You are an impudent child. You know nothing of the world. He would have used you and discarded you had I not forced him to wed you."
"I would have much preferred it, my lord. You did me no service. All that will be accomplished by our marriage is the union of two people who have no wish to be united."
"Shameless chit! You have no more sense of propriety than a cat! I chose you for him because I believed you were plain and modest, because he needed someone to hold him back, restrain his excesses—"