Alec smiled wryly. “That you won’t repeat that delightful experience we so lately shared? Very well, Countess. Will you accept my offer if I give you my word that the arrangement between us is strictly business?”
Isabella looked at him a moment longer. Then she took a deep breath of the cold, crisp air.
“Yes,” she said. “I will.”
XXX
T
he day already being far advanced, the journey to Horsham was put off until the following morning. Upon their return to the Carousel, Pearl was conspicuous by her nonappearance, but since Alec’s presence in the brothel was an open secret after the events of the previous night, there were servants aplenty to see to their needs. Isabella was given a room on a lower floor, and a maid to wait on her. Where Alec slept, she preferred not to speculate. Surely not with Pearl … But whether he did or not was none of her concern. Their relationship henceforth would be strictly business.
Isabella spent most of the evening trying to put together some reasonable facsimile of a wardrobe. With the maid’s assistance, clothes were not hard to come by, but such clothes! Few were suitable for wearing by a female not intent on the seduction of the entire male gender.
When, not long after first light, Isabella descended the stairs into the Carousel’s deserted front parlor, she was clad in a fur-trimmed bottle green pelisse that she wore buttoned to the throat to conceal the décolletage of the gown beneath. Of the same green wool as the pelisse, the garment was obviously intended for day wear—but not by a lady. It was long-sleeved, high-necked—and graced with a braid-trimmed cutout that bared her chest from her collarbone to halfway down her small breasts. With the pelisse, the outfit was unexceptional and could have been designed specifically for travel. Without the pelisse, the gown was indecent, as were most of the half dozen others she had selected as the best of a hopeless array. Certainly she could wear none of them with ease in a public place—or for viewing by Alec.
Isabella clutched the carpetbag containing the rest of her borrowed finery as she made her way down the stairs. On the last landing, she paused uncertainly. Pearl was crossing the hall on the floor below, and Isabella was not sure of what her reception might be. Pearl looked up then, saw Isabella and stopped. Then she walked purposefully to the foot of the stairs, where she stood with her hand resting on the well-polished newel post. For a moment she merely stared at Isabella, unspeaking, her beautiful eyes slightly narrowed. Then she smiled, and shook her head regretfully.
“So you didn’t get away after all, angel.”
Isabella, relieved at this mild greeting, smiled too, and continued down the stairs. There was nothing in Pearl’s manner that was less than friendly, although for a minute there, anger seemed to have flashed in her eyes. Or maybe not. Although it was full daylight now, the hall had no windows, and the heavy curtains were pulled shut in the rooms on either side. In the resulting gloom, it was hard to be certain of anything, much less a fleeting look in someone’s eyes.
“No. Bernard was from home. The knocker was off the door.”
Pearl grimaced. “Alec was wild when ’e ’eard you’d gone. ’E gave me a tongue-lashing I won’t soon forget, let me tell you.”
“I … I’m sorry.”
“No need for you to be. Alec and I’ve quarreled before, and we’ll doubtless quarrel many more times afore we’re through. Both ’ot-’eaded, we are.”
Isabella could find nothing to say to that, so she smiled again, nervously fingering the soft brown fur framing her throat. The idea of Alec and Pearl quarreling repeatedly over many years to come bothered her in some odd way that she refused to even allow herself to consider. She could not be jealous of a street thug and his bawd. She would not even consider the possibility.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve borrowed a few things to wear. Alec said it would be all right.”
“Did ’e?” Again Isabella had the impression that something ugly flashed in Pearl’s midnight blue eyes. Then the other woman shrugged. “You’re welcome to anything you like, o’ course. I only ’ope you know what you’re gettin’ into, is all.”
“What do you mean?” Isabella’s hand tightened over the fur.
Pearl pursed her lips. Compressed, they formed a perfect carmine red rosebud in the white oval of her face. The only flaw in her loveliness was the wrinkle on either side of her mouth, created momentarily by her expression and accentuated horribly by the cracking of the exquisite maquillage. “A gent dearly loves a bit of novelty, you know, in food or females. Still, I wouldn’t ’ave thought a lady like you’d go along with ’aving Alec set you up as ’is mistress. But then, ladies ain’t no different from the rest of us females when it comes to a ’andsome gent, I guess.”
Isabella caught her breath. “Alec is not—I am not to be his mistress. You are quite mistaken, Pearl, believe me.” She blushed horribly, and hated herself for doing so.
Pearl noted the blush, and a mocking expression came over her face.
“Oh, ain’t you? Then why is ’e takin’ you to Amberwood? It’s grand—so grand Alec never even goes there ’imself. But I guess ’e thinks that since you’re a countess and all, only the best will do for you.”
“I—” Isabella began, and then stopped short. She suddenly discovered that she was at a loss for words to explain her new position in Alec’s life. It occurred to her that he might not like to have it widely known that he felt himself in need of tutoring. So what could she say that would appease Pearl, salvage her own self-respect, and at the same time shield Alec?
“You’re talkin’ out of turn, Pearl.” The chiding voice belonged to Paddy, who entered from the direction of the front parlor and stopped, arms folded over his chest, just behind Pearl, As Pearl threw a poisonous glare over her shoulder at him, he shifted his attention to Isabella with seeming indifference to Pearl’s ill humor. “Alec is waiting for you out front. You’d best ’urry along.”
Thankful for the interruption, Isabella murmured quick good-byes and moved toward the front door, which a chastened-looking Sharp, materializing out of seemingly nowhere, held open for her.
“My lady.” Paddy’s voice was gruff. Pausing with one foot on the threshold, Isabella looked at him questioningly. Unlike Pearl, Paddy seemed to bear her no trace of ill will. He came up behind her, moving lightly for such a huge man, his brown eyes sober as they met hers. “Whoever it is that wants Alec dead is still out there. ’Ave an eye to ’im, will you? ’E’s a bit on the reckless side where ’is own safety is concerned.” He paused, frowning. “You ’ave only to send word ’ere to the Carousel to reach me if there’s need. I’ll come at once.”
Paddy’s concern for Alec touched her. Smiling at him, Isabella nodded.
“I’ll do that,” she promised, then turned and walked out the door and down the steps to the street, where Alec waited impatiently with the tilbury.
XXXI
T
he distance to Horsham was not overlong, not more than a six-hour drive including time for a stop for a leisurely luncheon that the cook at the Carousel had prepared and packed in a basket for them to enjoy at their convenience. The day was warm and bright, the sky was blue, and the fields in the countryside were already starting to turn green. Small yellow crocuses butted their heads against the softened earth, here and there springing forth in solitary glory. Robins and bluebirds pecked busily on the ground between budding trees, searching for twigs and other necessities with which to build their nests. Despite the uncertainty of her position, Isabella felt strangely lighthearted. With a sidelong glance at the man beside her, comfortably silent as he handled the reins with practiced ease, she wondered suddenly if it was not he who was responsible for her unexpected happiness. If so, the implications were unsettling in the extreme. Isabella refused to be unsettled on such a beautiful day, and so she banished the thought.
As they left London farther and farther behind, the sun rose higher and brighter in the sky, and the roads roughened. Isabella’s euphoria evaporated somewhat. When after a couple of hours Alec suggested stopping at the next likely spot they passed, Isabella was all too ready to agree. The road, battered by the incessant downpours that had marked February and March, was pocked with holes and crisscrossed by ruts, making even the well-sprung tilbury lurch and pitch continuously, like a ship in a storm. That alone would not have bothered Isabella so much—she was not usually prone to carriage sickness—were it not for the unseasonable warmth of the day. It was only the second week in April, but if one judged by temperature alone, it might have been high summer.
“You’re looking a tad pale, Countess,” Alec observed as the tilbury bounced energetically around a bend. “No doubt you’ll be glad to get down for a bit and stretch your legs.”
“Yes,” Isabella agreed, trying not to sound too fervent. In truth, she was dreadfully hot and faintly nauseous, but she thought that if she could just sit for a minute under the shade of a tree on something that did not move, she would recover in no time at all.
“You’re in luck. Look there.” With the whip he pointed ahead to a grassy spot in a semicircle of trees.
“It looks wonderful.”
“Whoa, there, Blaze. Whoa, Boyd.”
Alec pulled up his horses, secured the reins, jumped down and helped Isabella to alight. She clung tightly to the hand he held up to her, knowing that her own was probably clammy.
But Alec appeared to notice nothing amiss with her. “If you should need to relieve yourself, you may go into those trees over there, but don’t wander too far. I should hate to have to rescue you from a crazed wild boar, or some such creature.”
This sally coaxed a faint smile from Isabella, but her voice was severe as she answered. “There are no boars in the vicinity, as you know very well. And a gentleman should never, ever, refer to a lady’s … er … bodily needs. Gentlemen are supposed to believe that ladies have none. Or at least they pretend to believe that.”
“Gentlemen are damned fools, then,” Alec retorted good-humoredly, retrieving a pair of oat-filled feed bags from beneath the seat. “And you may leave off your tutoring until we arrive at Amberwood. Your employment does not officially begin until then. For the nonce we are merely a man and a maid enjoying one another’s company.”
Isabella shrugged. “As you wish.”
She settled herself on a stump beneath the spreading branches of an oak tree while Alec saw to the horses. With the motion stopped, she felt a degree better, but the heat was stifling, and the fur closing around her throat was choking her. With one eye on Alec as he pulled a picnic basket from the carriage, she undid the first four hooks of the pelisse, parting the edges of the garment so that what small breeze there was might hit her sweat-dampened skin. The resulting opening bared a sliver-thin vee of flesh from her throat to the hollow between her breasts. Showing more would be indecent. But she was still sickeningly hot, trapped in close-fitting, fur-trimmed wool on a day that was, against all logical expectations, as uncomfortable as an August noon.
Alec came toward her, picnic basket in hand. He had shed his coat, and in shirt sleeves and breeches he looked both devastatingly handsome and maddeningly cool. Not a single bead of sweat dampened his brow as he set the basket at her feet.
“Would you care to join me for a light repast, Countess?” he asked with a sweeping bow and a wicked grin.
“I’m really not very hungry,” Isabella said, averting her face from the delicious aromas arising from the basket. “You go ahead.”
His eyes narrowed at her. “You look pale. Are you ill?” The joking note was gone, replaced by concern.
She smiled at him then, a little weakly but still a smile. Not many people in her life had shown much concern for her comfort or well-being, regardless of how closely connected they were to her. Coming from Alec, on whom she had no claim whatsoever aside from the odd friendship they had struck up, such attention was doubly sweet.
“I’m just a trifle queasy from the rough road. If I sit here for a minute, it will pass, I’m sure.”
Still he frowned at her. “You’re sweating. You should take off that fur thing.”
“It’s called a pelisse—and I prefer to keep it on.”
“That’s foolishness.”
“Perhaps so. Nevertheless, I prefer to wear it.”
“Well, I prefer that you don’t. ’Tis bloody hot out.”
Soft blue eyes met determined gold ones. “I shall take leave to tell you that it is not the thing for a gentleman to comment on a lady’s attire.”
He snorted. “Don’t try to fob me off with that twaddle. Why won’t you take off the fur thing? If there is a sensible reason, pray enlighten me.”
Isabella sighed. “Would you please just sit down and eat? I would remove the pelisse if I could, but I cannot.”
Fists resting on his hips, he cocked his golden head to the side and studied her as one might an odd type of bug. Even battling incipient nausea, she could not help but be aware of how dazzlingly handsome he was. In white shirt, buff breeches and tall, well-polished boots, he looked so fit and vigorous that just looking at him tired her. He also looked very young, younger than she had supposed he could possibly be, and carefree, like a high-spirited boy.
“How old are you? You’ve never said, and I’ve never thought to ask.”
He looked surprised at the question. “Older than you, my girl, believe me, so don’t try to change the subject. Why can you not take off that thrice-damned pelisse?”
“How much older? I am three-and-twenty, you know.” She persisted with sweet indifference to both his swearing in her presence and his preoccupation with her pelisse.
His eyebrows came together. He looked her up and down, his expression weighing. She met that look with serenity—and determination.
“If I satisfy your curiosity, will you satisfy mine?”
“About what?” She was cautious.
“About why you cannot take off that pelisse.”
Isabella hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
“Well, then, I am as close to thirty as makes no difference.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you telling me that you are no more than nine-and-twenty?”