Alec made a disgusted sound. “I’ll have no more of your nonsense, Countess. I’ll pay for what I wish, and you’ll accept what I choose to give you with good grace. And that’s my last word on the subject.”
“Is it indeed?” Her eyes rose along with her indignation. “I—”
“Christ, do you argue this much with everyone or am I just lucky?” He muttered the words even as he caught her hand and yanked. Caught off guard, Isabella was pulled down into his lap without a struggle. She sprawled across his thighs, her bare feet thrashing helplessly, even as her eyes were caught and held by his.
“You have beautiful hair. It gleams like silk in the firelight.”
“Let me up, Alec.” The words were a warning. Disregarding it, he lifted one hand to stroke the hair he praised, while the other held her effortlessly on his lap.
“I’ve grown disconcertingly accustomed to sharing my chamber with you at night. Surely you won’t leave me to sleep alone, unprotected?”
“If you’re fearful, get Paddy to sleep in here.”
Alec grinned wolfishly. “Paddy, I’m afraid, is not quite the kind of companion I have in mind. I like my roommates soft, and curvaceous, and smelling of lilacs.…”
“In short, any female will do,” Isabella responded tartly, refusing to be seduced by the velvet voice.
“No.” He shook his head. “No. There’s where you’re wrong, love. Any female definitely will not do. In the last few days I have discovered in myself a decided preference: the female I want must have skin that feels like silk and looks like cream, with an enchanting crop of freckles adding spice across her nose. She must have eyes as gentle as a dove’s, and a soft, rosy mouth that begs for kisses even when the words coming out of it deny any such thought. She must have masses of hair that look a prim brown in the daylight, but by firelight take on a hue as lovely and rare as fine wine. She must be slender and delicately built, with breasts no bigger than a teacup, and a derriere that—”
“Stop it, Alec!” Blushing furiously, more than halfway to being seduced in spite of herself, she pulled a hand free and clapped it over his mouth to silence him. “You’re wasting your silver tongue on me. I’ll not be seduced, so there.”
He said nothing, as her hand over his mouth stifled all utterance. But his eyes gleamed brightly gold at her, and to her dismay, his tongue came out to tickle her silencing palm.
“Alec!” Disconcerted, she jerked her hand away. “Let me up!”
His face was very close as he looked down at her, pretending to consider. Then, judiciously, he nodded.
“Very well,” he said, making no move to release her. “I will—but you must first pay a forfeit.”
“Oh, no.” She had had experience with his forfeits before.
“Oh, yes. Or I’ll be very happy to keep you just as you are all night.”
She looked up at him measuringly. He smiled down into her eyes with beguiling sweetness, but she had seen the jut of that chin before. He meant what he said.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked warily. That sweet smile touched his lips again.
“A kiss,” he said persuasively. “A single kiss, nothing more.”
“I’ve no wish to kiss you.”
“Now, there you lie. But I’ll not argue with you about it. If you wish to get up, you must pay the price, and the price is a kiss.”
“You’re a swine, Alec Tyron.”
“I’ll not argue with you there either.”
“And no gentleman.”
“Definitely not.”
It was hard to sound severe when, if truth were told, she was short of breath at the prospect of kissing him. That beautifully chiselled mouth hovered above her with tantalizing promise, while the golden eyes gleamed at her. Surely there was no harm in permitting herself a single kiss? A soft peck on his lips, and then she would be off his lap with temptation behind her.
“One kiss,” she said sternly. “And you’ll let me go.”
“That’s the bargain.”
“Very well.” She looked at him a moment longer, then hitched herself into a sitting position on his lap, slid a hand behind his head, and kissed him. The kiss was quick, a brief butterfly touch, but the feel of those soft, warm lips beneath hers had a galvanizing effect on her body. Quickly she pulled back.
“There.”
“You call that a kiss?”
“I do indeed. Now let me up.”
His face was scant inches from hers, their eyes almost on a level. One of her hands rested on his upper arm, the other on his shoulder. The silk of his dressing gown felt smooth and cool beneath her fingers. The flesh beneath was hard with muscle. The taste of his cigar was on her mouth. Her chin tingled where it had brushed the stubble on his. Her bottom was nestled in the cradle of his thighs. She could feel the effect that breath of a kiss had had on him. As for herself, her very nerve endings were atremble.
“You don’t want to leave me.” The words were soft, scarcely above a whisper. They brushed her cheek like a caress. Isabella caught her breath. Her eyes flew to his.
“We made a bargain, Alec.” It was all she could do to remain firm.
His mouth tightened. “We did indeed. But I don’t feel that you held up your end of the deal properly. This time I’ll claim my own forfeit.”
He bent his head, slowly, and captured her lips. Isabella didn’t even try to turn her head away. Every instinct she possessed shrieked that what she was doing was wrong, dangerous even, that if she let him, he would break her resolve and probably her heart. But she simply could not resist the urge to experience once again the heady delight of his kiss. After all, she reassured herself, what was the harm in a mere kiss?
When his lips touched hers, she knew. When she gasped at the impact, her head tilting back to lie against his shoulder while he kissed her with devastating thoroughness, she knew. When her arms rose of their own accord to lock around his neck, and her tongue stroked his with shameful ardency, she knew. When the waves of rapture started to swell within her, and her reason threatened to be swept away on the tide of it, she knew.
She knew what the harm was. It was not in the kiss, it was in the man.
He was kissing her breathless, stealing her reason, carrying her away with him on a tide of passion too strong to resist. She trembled in his arms, made soft, passionate sounds into his mouth, tangled her fingers in his hair.
When he slid his lips across her face to her ear to nuzzle her sensitive lobe, then moved lower to make a meal of her neck, she could only lie with quivering abandon against his shoulder.
When his hand slid up to cover her breast through the thin layers of her wrapper and nightdress, she trembled from head to toe.
“Let me love you, Isabella,” he whispered against her ear.
Her eyes fluttered open. His hand was dark and long-fingered as it splayed over the fragile white silk covering her breast. As she watched, his fingers tightened, squeezed her, sought and found the nub that was her nipple, rubbed it. Fire shot along her nerve endings. Her fingers curled convulsively into his shoulder.
Then from somewhere, she never afterward knew where, she summoned the strength to do what she must.
“No!” she cried, pushing his hand away from her breast and struggling to sit up. “No, no, no!”
Her rejection caught him by surprise. He permitted her to scramble off his lap, while he leaned back in the chair and looked up at her with a flushed face and narrowed eyes.
“I’ll not do this, Alec,” she said fiercely. “Do you hear? I’ll not do it!”
“I hear.”
“You promised that our relationship would be strictly business, and I hold you to your word. Do you not keep it, I’ll leave, I swear.”
He forbore to point out that she had nowhere to go. “I’ll not force you to share my bed, Isabella. You need have no fear of that.” His head still rested against the back of the chair as he watched her.
“No, I know you’ll not force me,” she said bitterly. “There’s no need for that, is there? No doubt you’re used to women melting like butter in your arms. But I cannot do it, do you understand? To let myself become your mistress would kill something inside me. I would be ashamed, Alec, bitterly ashamed. Every time I looked into a mirror I would think ‘whore.’ Do you have any smallest scrap of care for me, please don’t burden me with that. I’m asking you because I know now that I’m weak where you’re concerned. But you … you can have your pick of women. I’m just a novelty to you, and in a few weeks you’ll wonder what you ever saw in me. I … I couldn’t live with that. So I’m asking you, Alec, please leave me be. Please.”
His eyes narrowed, and his lips compressed. “If that’s the way you want it.”
“It is.”
He inclined his head, but his eyes were angry. She looked at him, bit her lip, and turned on her heel.
“Lock the door after me,” she said, and let herself out into the hall.
XLIII
B
y morning Isabella felt positively drained. She had slept very little the previous night, and the coming of dawn was almost a relief. At least she no longer had to lie in her bed and worry. She dressed herself—it was amazing how difficult some of her garments were to do up without the assistance of a maid, but as a mere employee of Alec’s, she did not like to presume to ring for assistance—and went downstairs in search of breakfast.
To her surprise, both Alec and Paddy were in the small breakfast room to which Shelby showed her. As she entered, they looked up at her with varying degrees of displeasure.
“Good morning,” she said with what she felt was creditable ease. The two men grunted something by way of a reply, but neither stood. Isabella supposed that it was her place to point out this omission to Alec—after all, it was he who had requested her help to turn him into a gentleman—but after the words that had been exchanged between them the night before, she did not feel quite up to launching what she was sure would be another sharp exchange.
Besides, she would not embarrass him by correcting his behavior in front of Paddy.
Isabella helped herself to a rasher of bacon, a spoonful of egg and a cup of tea from the sideboard. When she sat down, across the table from Paddy and at Alec’s left hand (she would have preferred to take her meal in solitary splendor at the opposite end of the long, rectangular table, but judged that doing so would have been too impolite), and began to eat, she saw immediately why most of the food still remained on Alec’s plate.
The victuals were atrocious.
She put down her fork and sipped her tea, which had the advantage of being hot and strong, at least.
“Pray continue your conversation, gentlemen,” she said as Paddy, who had been speaking when she entered, had fallen entirely silent.
Alec nodded. “You can talk in front of her.”
Paddy shrugged. “I’ll be seeing what I can do then. It shouldn’t take more than a week or so, and then I’ll be back. If it’s concluded sooner, I’ll send word.”
“Your pardon, Mr. Tyron.” Shelby stood at the door. Alec looked at him.
“The seamstress is here for, uh, the lady.”
“You may address me as Lady Isabella,” Isabella said, rising. In truth, she felt uncomfortable in Alec’s company, and was nothing loathe to escape it. As for Paddy, he seemed to regard her with a degree of wariness. Shelby, with his sneering, superior ways, was another source of irritation, but she knew she could deal with him.
“Pray excuse me,” she said to the room in general, and swept out. Shelby followed her, his face a study in confusion as he tried to reconcile her obvious quality and the name she gave herself with her presence with his ill-bred master.
“I put her in the little salon, if you will come this way, my … uh, my lady.”
Isabella followed him. When he would have left her, she smiled serenely at him. “I’m sure Mr. Tyron would appreciate hot, well-prepared meals in future, Shelby. I know the cook must look to you for his orders, so I am confident that you will be able to see to it.”
“Certainly, my lady.” Shelby sounded taken aback, but Isabella noted that there was no longer any hesitation in his voice as he addressed her properly. As she entered the little salon, Isabella smiled to herself. She had been managing a household for years. Handling servants was one service she could quite legitimately perform for Alec.
The seamstress was a small, timid woman named Miss Stark. She was obviously ill at ease as Isabella walked into the parlor. Miss Stark was the daughter of a minister left on her own to make her way in the world, and she was clearly used to mistreatment by those she served. But Isabella’s gentle smile soon put her more at ease, and as she produced her pattern books and fabric samples, she chatted quite volubly.
“There’s been such talk in the village about Amberwood lately. You know, you’ll laugh, I daresay, but some were saying that Lord Rothersham sold out to a Cit, or worse! Of course, I wouldn’t be telling you this if I couldn’t tell at a glance that you’re of the quality, Lady Isabella. They do say that gossip is a fearsome thing, and now I can go back and quiet their wagging tongues. Oh, do you look at this! This style would be quite ravishing on you, do you not think?”
“It’s lovely, but I require something more serviceable than decorative, I’m afraid. Perhaps—”
“Don’t be a goose, Isabella.” To Isabella’s horror, Alec strolled into the room and stood looking down at the pattern book thoughtfully. Miss Stark blushed, and tried to get to her feet, although the heavy pattern book foiled her.
“Pray stay seated, Miss Stark,” Isabella said hastily. “Alec, I am sure our business will be concluded much more expeditiously without your presence.”
“Are you, indeed?” The look he sent her was mocking. “I, on the other hand, am positive you’ll get nothing done without me at all. She has such conservative taste, you see, Miss …”
“Stark,” Isabella said through her teeth before the little seamstress could reply. “Do go away, Alec.”
“Your husband is most welcome on my account, my lady. After all, a gentleman’s view of ladies’ fashions is not to be despised. We do dress to please them, and I suppose they are the best judge of how we may do that.”
“There, you see?” Alec grinned at Isabella in triumph, then disregarded the sizzling look she sent him to turn his attention to the pattern book. Isabella was left without a word to say. Miss Stark’s easy assumption that Alec was her husband had thrown her off balance. Of course, if he was anything but her husband or a male relative—and his proprietary attitude had apparently precluded the possibility of that to Miss Stark’s mind—then the gossip Miss Stark had related about Amberwood would be reinforced by the lady herself. And Isabella’s own character would be irredeemably blackened, although under the circumstances, she didn’t suppose that mattered. Best to hold her tongue and let the woman assume as she would.