To Love a Wicked Scoundrel (15 page)

‘Guilty, as charged.’ Constantine retrieved the darts and his eyes strayed to the study door.

‘Anything new with the vineyard at Highborough House? Have you tasted the latest production?’ Devlin’s dart struck the board with accuracy. ‘I would not mind making the trip if you desired company. Any excuse to escape London is satisfactory.’

Con flicked his eyes to the door again and took a long swallow of brandy. He moved before the board poised to make his play. ‘I should visit soon. Gillie probably wonders at my long absence.’ He tossed the darts with ease. ‘I’ve learned one should never keep a gypsy waiting, although there are a few things I need to finish here in London.’ An unwitting grin curled his lips. ‘And continue.’

His friends did not miss the remark.

‘Are we speaking of the wine or the lady?’ Phineas spoke over his shoulder as he pulled the darts from the board.

‘The lady, although I don’t expect it to proceed smoothly. Things in my life rarely do.’

‘Don’t let the past deter you from your future. You’ve always survived by your quick wit and resilient attitude.’ Devlin offered him an earnest look. ‘You mustn’t live by my example. The events of my past keep me closeted away with a few reluctant jaunts into society, mostly on your invitation. You, on the other hand, embrace life rather than retreat into the shadows. When it comes to the lady in question, would you rather be safe or sorry?’

‘Good question. I honestly don’t know, but indecision rarely hampers me.’ What would his friends think were they to know he was all but obsessed with Isabelle? The man who had vowed never to allow emotion to cloud his mind was being tormented by it. He tossed the last dart. It embedded in the centre with precise accuracy, much to Phin’s frustration. With a confident smile that matched his friend’s dismay, he left the study and headed towards the mad crush.

‘Bloody hell, there are too many people filling this hall.’ He searched the perimeter of the ballroom until his gaze settled on the dance floor where the orchestra led a quadrille. His eyes found Isabelle with ease and the cascade of her auburn tresses caused his fingers to twitch with restlessness. Tonight she was an exotic rose, all heat and silken passion, femininely exquisite. He watched as a nondescript gentleman led her through a half turn in the dance. Her eyes sparkled with such enjoyment he yearned to break the man’s hold upon her pretty gloved hand. He tamped down the irrational urge.

‘You watch her like you want her.’

Entranced, Giddy’s comment caught him unaware. Dammit, he hadn’t even noticed she’d sidled beside him. When he nodded his head in greeting, the dowager continued undeterred.

‘I am aware your father left you a legacy of indulgence, excess and privilege.’ She paused as if to emphasise the words. ‘And I am sure you believe yourself invincible. Men enjoy nothing more than a challenge. I expect you to heed my warning in regard to Lady Isabelle. I am not surprised you find her lovely.’

Lovely barely scratched the surface. ‘A quintessential example of femininity and grace.’

‘So you do want her then.’ Giddy clucked her tongue in disapproval, her tone heavy with righteous indignation. ‘I never believed you so callous as to ruin an innocent. The ton will never forgive you.’

He shifted his attention to the older woman. ‘I don’t give a damn about the ton’s opinion. Although I would never do anything a woman did not invite me to do. You ask me to blindly accept your advice but offer me no reason except protection of virtue. It will take more than that to deter my interest. I am not seeking to debauch the lady, I seek to know her better.’

‘I question if you know the difference between the two. And what of your reputation? You care little how you would mar her entrance into society with the fanfare that accompanies your every action? It would be downright scandalous for her to be attached to your history of discarded conquests. Your powers of persuasion are legendary. Be truthful, what use could you possibly have for the girl?’

Constantine rankled at the dowager’s assumption he would misuse Isabelle, as if he was incapable of lasting affection were he to choose to engage his interests. His relationships were none of her concern, past or present. ‘I consider you a dear friend, Giddy, regardless of your opinions. I have listened to your comments and ask you not to interfere in something that does not involve you.’

‘But it does.’ Giddy gave a delicate snort, all earlier conviviality gone. ‘I have grander plans for Lady Rossmore. I have four grand nieces to see matched and settled. As much as I’d like to believe I can accomplish the task, the truth remains I will not live for ever. Their father, my nephew-in-law, Lord Castling, is in need of a wife. My sister left this earth too early and he remains closeted up in the country, weakened by despair. He needs someone to pull him from his melancholy. Isabelle is joy and light. She has a practical sense that would serve Castling well, unlike the frivolous birds that surround us.’ She swung her cane in a slight movement indicating the ladies closest to where they stood.

Con did not trust himself to speak. Every muscle in his body tensed with Giddy’s outrageous suggestion. Castling was double Isabelle’s age, possibly older. He pitied a man brought to his knees by emotion. Emotion was not to be displayed. He learned that lesson at a very young age.

At his silence, Giddy continued. ‘With little complaint I have assumed the responsibility for my nieces. But the youngest is twelve and she needs a mother, not a grand aunt. It is many years before she is of a marriageable age. I have no concerns for the two eldest as they are ready to make their debut, but the younger two … I do not know if I will last that long.’

Giddy thumped her cane, but he did not turn, his eyes were glued to Isabelle as she coasted across the ballroom floor with another nondescript gentleman. Beneath, he worked to simmer his temper.

‘I find your interest more than a bit self-serving. A breath ago, you accused me of the same. Lord Castling is an old man and has never been right since your dear niece’s death. You suggest the lady deserves such a future? What if Lady Rossmore desires a family of her own? You accuse me of being ill-matched. I perceive Lord Castling as the same. At least I am wrong in all the right ways.’ He attempted a tolerant smile but his lips rebelled.

Giddy released a disgruntled sound. ‘I present a realistic perspective. Castling’s age does not signify and some might consider Isabelle a spinster. With her father deceased, she might welcome the guidance and protection of a mature man.’ Her voice dropped to a low tone. ‘And if she does wish for a child of her own, I have no doubt my nephew can accomplish the task. He is not unbecoming.’

Constantine gritted his teeth to halt a sharp retort. His eyes swept the room and assessed the guests standing near. ‘There are plenty of suitable prospects if you feel compelled to find your nephew a new wife.’
Not one man in this room is deserving of Isabelle. Myself included.

He’d viewed the lecherous leers shot in Isabelle’s direction as she danced with one gentleman after another. It was as if they detected her naïveté and it sharpened their interest. Perhaps she did need a protector, but it was from the very same men seeking her attention. The latter thought solidified his resolve. He might not be the ideal, but he wanted her. That much he knew for certain. The fact that she was as innocent as a debutante was an unwelcomed inconvenience but damn it if he didn’t want her anyway.

‘Come now, be reasonable, I have my mind set. You, on the other hand, are behaving like a child determined to have the one thing he was told he cannot.’ The dowager did nothing to conceal her sharp tone. ‘I am sure Lady Meredith would agree to the advantageous match. I will introduce them. It can come to no harm. Then we will allow the young lady to make her own decision.’

Constantine dismissed the irritating discussion and excused himself with nothing more than a quick nod. The orchestra strained a few final notes and he made long strides in Isabelle’s direction, but he’d hardly crossed the room before another guest claimed her for a dance. He watched her take the floor, his impatience rumbling within him.

For a woman who asserted she spent a simple life rusticating in the countryside, she graced the ballroom with lovely elegance. Every part of her seemed an invitation to his senses: to taste, to feel, to learn the fragrance of her skin. She wore the slightest of smiles, her rosebud lips curled at the corners, as she delighted in the dance.

When she shifted her gaze, her glittering eyes met his and held and an unfamiliar feeling filled his chest.
Good Lord, he starved for a taste of her
. Just one kiss, one caress of her soft creamy skin, and he would stop. It wasn’t as thought he intended to bed her. She was exactly as Giddy claimed – an innocent. However there were many pleasures two people could share without altering the state of one’s virginity. He smiled as the possibilities flooded his brain. Society’s standards may label her an innocent, but he knew with certainty that Isabelle was nothing less than pure passion underneath that façade. The dichotomy of the combination left him enthralled and more determined than ever.

He watched as she took another turn around the floor, his eyes locked to her every movement. He pictured her unclothed, all ivory skin and pink perfection, a siren in his bed, her hair, ribbons of ruby and garnet, spread recklessly against his white silk sheets, her delicious body arched in passion. Every part of him jolted to awareness and he abruptly shook the image away. Lust. Unbridled lust. That was the cause. Although his heart, as much as his groin, ached at the vision he’d conjured.

Unfortunately the dimwitted buffoon leading her through the dance trod upon her toes and her grimace of discomfort broke through the magic of his fantasies. He should remove the oaf for no other reason than to save Isabelle’s satin slippers. He reached the pair just as the gentleman released her hand and deposited her near the refreshment table.

‘Such a delight to share your pleasant company, Lady Rossmore. Thank you for the dance.’

Lord Something-or-Other bowed over her glove and placed a kiss. Con remained behind the lady, his mask of tolerance solely visible to the well-meaning buffoon. As soon as the gentleman dissolved into the crowd, he leaned forward and whispered into Isabelle’s ear. It was a struggle not to catch her dainty lobe between his teeth.

‘I should call him out for his affront.’ He inflected just the right mixture of indignation and charm into his words and she gave a little start at his murmur. The lightest scent of rosewater assailed his senses.

‘I am sure he did not mean to step upon my toes so often.’ She turned and offered him the sweetest smile.

‘Not that affront.’

‘Then whatsoever do you mean?’ She looked beguiled … and utterly adorable.

‘He called you pleasant; an insult to your beauty and wit.’ He trailed his eyes after the man before returning his gaze to Isabelle’s face. ‘It does provide an insight into the man’s bland personality though. Pleasant is such an ordinary word, and you, my sweet, are anything but ordinary.’

He could not read her expression, although she appeared nonplussed.

‘Let me have your card.’ He extended his hand towards her wrist, expecting her immediate compliance.

‘My card is full. You arrived too late.’ Amusement played around her lips. ‘Again.’

A mischievous twinkle lit her eyes, ignited by their flirtatious banter. ‘The fault lies with Brooks and I will discipline him appropriately.’ Somehow he knew the comment would please her. ‘You might have saved me a dance. Now cross out someone else’s name or cry off when he comes to partner you.’

‘Absolutely not. I could never do that.’ Unabashed indignity laced her whisper. ‘Cry off and claim I am unwell, and then accompany you onto the dance floor?’

Her eyes flared incredulously and Constantine found another genuine smile. Her little rules amused him.

‘Indeed, quite scandalous. I see your point.’ He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. ‘Cry off and then meet me in the garden.’

This time the lady’s smile was hesitant at best, but she forced a look of congeniality as Meredith approached.

‘Lord Highborough, good evening. You look exceptionally dashing tonight.’

‘As do you, Lady Rossmore.’ He pressed a quick kiss to her extended glove. ‘Even lovelier than yesterday or when I experienced the thrill of meeting you both at Lord Rochester’s ball.’

He did not realise his blunder, too entranced was he in examining myriad colours reflected in Isabelle’s hair, but when he dragged his eyes to her face, he understood he’d said something terribly wrong. She paled and the spark of laughter that lit her eyes seconds before had evaporated.

‘Oh, but only you and I met that evening.’ Meredith made the smooth rejoinder, although her expression looked strained. He watched as she turned towards her stepdaughter, who appeared paler still. ‘Is that not correct? You told me you were not introduced to Lord Highborough that evening.’

‘We met accidentally, actually. It did not bear mentioning.’

Isabelle’s lips quivered when she answered and Con regretted the careless slip. With a vow of his heart, he would make it up to her somehow.

***

Isabelle escaped an awkward confrontation with Meredith when Lord Bertram approached for the next set. Now as she followed the steps of the quadrille, she kept her eyes glued to her partner’s and concentrated on every syllable he uttered. It was of no use. While she attempted to squelch the panic of what Meredith surmised from their earlier conversation, her mind spun faster than the dance.

She knew Constantine meant no harm, nonetheless his casual blunder created a difficult situation, and she had trusted him not to betray her confidence. Surely if he didn’t play so often at the world, he would realise the seriousness of the situation. No, that was not fair. She believed with inherit honesty that Constantine possessed great emotion. To place blame where it did not belong served no true purpose.

The set ended, as did any attempt to reclaim her repose, and when Lord Bertram escorted her to the edge of the dance floor near the French doors, like a coward she made her escape onto the garden path. An occasional torch lent an ethereal glow and candlelit lanterns hung scattered in the upper branches of the distant trees.