To Love a Wicked Scoundrel (12 page)

‘Actually dear, I mean to offer you a bit of advice. I am aware your stepmother wishes to become better acquainted with Lord Highborough, but do not seek to emulate her lead. While the earl exemplifies the look of an angel, one should not be deceived by the tempting paradox he presents. His piercing blue eyes will entrance any young debutante, but be assured he is well acquainted with sin and debauchery. Surely the devil knows how he can remain the ton’s favourite scoundrel while living the life of a well rehearsed reprobate.’

Confused, Isabelle shook her head. ‘But you encouraged Meredith to pursue him?’

Giddy tutted, as if the question was a nuisance. ‘You are an innocent. Your stepmother looks for amusement, not a meaningful relationship. You deserve better than to lose what is most precious to a renowned rakehell. Never doubt that while he may be dashing for her, he is dangerous for you.’

Giddy’s words resonated with ill ease as they awaited the Highborough carriage. By the time the butler announced its arrival, Isabelle regretted the situation in its entirety. Should she tell Meredith of her previous meetings with Constantine? It wasn’t as though they were planned instances, but in the light of day it seemed wrong not to share their occurrence. An inner voice warned that admitting such would cause great disharmony. Now combined with Lady Newby’s vehement warning to avoid the earl at all costs, Isabelle’s head spun with confusion.

She was never one to play at secrecy and deceit, nor risk hurting someone for whom she cared. They came to London so Meredith could pursue the Earl of Colehill. She had no right whatsoever developing affection for him. Her father’s critical assessment of her appearance resounded like an echo in her heart:
Why would such a breathtaking man find her garish colouring and unfortunate appearance desirous?

She tried in earnest to rationalise the reasons the earl might find her interesting, still whenever she thought of Constantine, desire, heady and delicious, pulsated with renewed awareness on the heels of her vow to dismiss his attention. A mere glance in his direction brought back the exhilarating sensation of their clasped hands the night before. His words, whispered hotly against her temple, intimated barely restrained control and the very idea that he might entertain wicked thoughts involving the two of them prevented her sleep and haunted her dreams with ineffable fantasies. Whenever she considered the logical solution, to never be in his company again, her heart constricted with such sharpness she discarded the idea as unhealthy. If this was the stuff of adventure, she would never last the season. Still she wanted it – a true adventure – even though guilt overwhelmed her for desiring the same.

‘Isabelle,’ Meredith hissed from the entryway. ‘The earl is waiting.’

Snapped from her discordant thoughts, Isabelle picked up her gloves and hurried out the door. The finest carriage she’d ever set eyes upon stood in the roadway before their townhouse. The landau glinted black in the bright sunlight, its handsome design complete with red painted wheels. Gleaming brass fixtures complemented the fine glass windows draped in soft velvet. The steps extended below the smart door where the Highborough crest was displayed in ornate detail. At the head, three glorious stallions stood to attention. The lead horse had its mane tied with ribbon, a deep crimson colour that contrasted against the glossy chestnut coat brushed to a high sheen.

As expected, a few gawking pedestrians stationed themselves on the pavement across the roadway. Meredith seemed to take special delight in the attention. Isabelle was simply relieved to see the tiger and outrider did not include Brooks. Constantine escorted Meredith inside the landau first and just as he turned to gather Isabelle’s hand, Lily burst forth from the townhouse having spied them from the upstairs window.

‘This is the most wonderful horse I have ever seen, Lord Highborough. What is his name?’ The child caught the belated flare of Isabelle’s eyes and paused before she continued. ‘Yes, I know, kindly and politely.’ She took a short breath and turned in Constantine’s direction. ‘Would you be so good as to tell me your horse’s name, kind sir?’

Con chuckled at the interplay. His laughter, rich and disarming, caused warmth to collect in Isabelle’s middle, and settle lower, effectively banishing her earlier thoughts of anger and frustration.

‘This is Merlot. He is an Arabian stallion. Would you like to rub his nose?’

‘Indeed.’ Lily reached up to where Constantine held the horse’s harness, and patted the fine animal’s snout with affectionate. ‘I would like to ride him actually.’

Meredith’s head appeared at the carriage door. ‘If Lord Highborough gives you permission, darling.’

Isabelle objected without pause. ‘Absolutely not, Meredith. Lily is six years old. She could never remain seated on such a huge animal.’

‘I must agree with your sister.’ He cast the child a consoling glance. ‘You should wait until you are grown.’

‘Again?’ The child’s palpable disappointment dared everyone to smile. ‘I must wait until I am older to go to the gallery, to waltz, to fall in love and kiss.’

‘Lily!’ Meredith and Isabelle responded in unison.

‘I do not know where she hears such things.’ Meredith cast a flirtatious smile in Constantine’s direction.

‘I do.’ Isabelle bit out the low mutter.

A maid emerged and ushered Lily indoors and with everyone settled. Lord Highborough mounted the box and with a sharp snap of the reins, he set the carriage into motion.

The afternoon did not proceed as he had hoped. Meredith’s loquacious nature proved she knew little of the arts. She sought to fill the afternoon with social conversation akin to a card party. Isabelle, on the other hand, remained thoughtful and quiet. He could not decipher if the gallery or Meredith’s unending chatter drove her to the condition.

‘If you will excuse me.’ Isabelle’s eyes darted from his to Meredith’s as she turned.

They had almost reached the gallery’s collection of marbles. He stalled as soon as Isabelle spoke, and the abrupt gesture caused Meredith to cling tighter to his arm. She had locked onto his escort as soon as they entered the museum and he was sure little could cause her to release him. Isabelle remained a few steps ahead as if she wished to separate from their outing with urgency.

‘I am sure the both of you would enjoy a little privacy.’

Her words sounded tentative and he offered no reply as she pivoted to the right and disappeared through a nearby doorway. She moved with such quick steps he concluded she fled due to an illogical conclusion he sought to spend time alone with Meredith.

Much to his dismay, he did not find Isabelle until much later in the afternoon. Having excused himself to conduct business, he left Meredith in the gallery’s tearoom with a plate of biscuits and ladies of her acquaintance. Meredith seemed pleased to be offered the reprieve and found conversation with ease.

With purpose, he’d spoken to the curator about his missing paintings. Brooks had ferreted out a shred of information indicating the curator had a hand in underground art dealing, proposed legitimate sales, and a variety of underhand associations. Art world gossip often proved unreliable, yet somehow the curator had managed to keep his nose above water and maintain a position at The National Gallery. Constantine was familiar with the type and expected the response he received with their conversation. The man claimed he knew nothing of importance. Still it was advantageous to meet eye to eye and Constantine left his calling card then set out to hunt his true quarry.

He spied Isabelle standing alone in front of one of his favourite works of art in a small room at the rear of the gallery. He stalled; content to watch her from afar. Her delicate profile, the lush promise of her full breasts and softly turned hips, the fiery insistence of each tendril of her hair, spoke to him with delectable temptation. She appeared an otherworldly goddess and far more beautiful than any sculpture housed in the famous museum or painted by any artist’s brush. And her smiles, every shade of colour was evident in each breathtaking curve of her lips.

But she did not smile now. As he approached, he noticed a tear in her eye and the slight quaver of her chin.

‘It is a rare coincidence I find you before this particular painting. It often holds me captivated. The strong strokes of colour and the subtle emotions hidden in the shaded hues of paint; I believe the artist possessed a deep romantic soul.’ Con paused and stepped closer as he viewed her face in the shadowy light. ‘There is a definite softness about it. At first, it appears an impressive portrayal layered with striking undertones, but those who fail to look closely will miss the true meaning, the undercurrent of sensual passion hidden behind the sweet sensibility.’ He reached forward and brushed a wayward curl from her temple and the unexpected caress evoked a slight shiver. ‘What do you see?’

Chapter Ten

‘It makes my heart ache.’ Her voice sounded constricted and Isabelle sought to change the subject at the odd onslaught of pleasure and pride that Constantine sought her opinion. She took a small breath and reordered her emotions. ‘Should you not be showing Meredith the masterpieces, milord?’

He scoffed mildly. ‘She has decided the tearoom is more to her liking. I believe, if pressed for an honest opinion, your stepmother’s earlier summation of the gallery would remain unchanged.’ A now familiar hint of smile threatened his mouth and her eyes lingered there.

Before her stood the finest work of art in the gallery. His mouth sculpted with meticulous care, not just to form pretty words but to offer kisses and give pleasure. A rush of goose bumps prevented her from finishing the thought and she turned from him with an exhale. Good Lord, she could not think straight when he stood near.

Constantine aligned himself at her back, as if they continued to view the painting even though they both knew an undeniable attraction reached for them, enthralling and forbidden. He was too close. His breath brushed the nape of her neck as he spoke and every nerve in her body tingled, as if impatient for the touch of his hands.

‘I am a complicated man, Isabelle.’ He spoke matter-of-factly, as if he offered the barest truth.

‘I live a very simple life, milord. We do not suit.’ It made little sense to avoid the tension between them, although her argument sounded unconvincing.

‘We complement each other. You are colour in my bleak life.’

‘Your life is full of colour, right down to your wagon wheels.’ A reluctant smile pulled at her lips.

He did not speak for a long minute until he murmured near her ear. ‘It is all one colour to me.’
And yet she understood, for all her flowers and gardens, her life remained colourless too.
Empty
.

‘Come with me.’

His voice dropped low, a sultry, sinful command, and Isabelle knew she should never have allowed their little talk to become personal. However, she did not object when he reached for her and clasped her hand, pulling her past the marble sculptures in the centre of the chamber and further, to a concealed door at the back of the room.

He drew her inside and latched the lock. She swallowed with nervousness and her eyes darted across the dimly lit storage room. Works of art littered the walls and floor, and a desk filled one corner, but she had no time to consider it further. His strong fingers turned her shoulder, and Constantine brought her against his length in one fluid motion.

‘I have wanted to do this since the first time I spied you in Lord Rochester’s study.’

He held her, their bodies pressed together at the most intimate places and Isabelle’s breath came hard and fast.

‘You confuse me.’ Her words shook with emotion, or fear, or the unfamiliar rush of desire that pooled within her, but she did not look away from his crystal gaze, shimmering with heat and promise in the broken candlelight.

‘Am I a riddle to solve, my sweet?’

She could never confess her pathetic secret: she believed him the answer to every question of her heart.

His voice, low pitched, rich and silky, proved a lethal combination of wickedness and handsomeness and his uttered endearment caused all logical thought to dissipate, turning her into a quivering mass of foolishness. A silent warning reminded her of his skill to charm and disarm, but Isabelle believed she engaged the real man who existed behind the dashing tailoring and fabulous good looks.

‘Tell me what you want, my lovely. I know you feel as I do.’ He tangled his fingers in her hair to knock loose the pins and unravel its length. ‘Your hair is magnificent.’ He touched a silken strand to his lips. ‘It is a crime you keep it hidden from view.’

Isabelle’s heart beat heavily as her thoughts scattered like the hairpins that littered the floor. When had he removed his gloves? How had they become embraced in a dark room behind a locked door?

‘Tell me, what it is you desire?’

His eyes seared into her, while his clever tongue and honeyed words decimated her sensibility. All intellect fled on a wave of longing, the intense yearning enthralling. She trembled, her body pressed to his, her skirts pushed to the side as he held her in a tight embrace against his hard length. Her gown whispered impatiently against his trousers and every point of contact, no matter the layers of superfine or silk, burned with heat and ignited her blood.

‘Constantine.’ His name came out a broken plea, but for what she begged she had no idea.

‘Tell me, Isabelle. Do you want what I do?’

He whispered kisses across her temple with stunning delicacy, to belie the intensity of his words or fervour of his embrace. She trembled at the contact of his mouth on her skin as his soft lips caressed her with extreme care and left a trail of dizzying pleasure in their wake.

‘I want to kiss you. To taste your mouth, those delicious rosebud lips, long and thoroughly, and discover the flavour of your kiss, the secrets of your beautiful body, every curve, every softness…’ He broke off, although his hold on her did not lessen in the least.

Isabelle’s mind whirled. She had no way to make sense of the carnal images he suggested, and her body reacted and flooded with desire as he continued to whisper and paint vivid pictures of sensuality that persisted and demanded attention. She knew of the pleasures men and women enjoyed, but to hear them in explicit detail, while Constantine held her captive against his heated body was achingly exquisite.
And definitely wrong.
She needed to stop him, but a wicked part of her, a part she never knew existed, taunted that her entire life she’d been told she was wrong in every way. Why not surrender to an opportunity for adventure?