To Love a Wicked Scoundrel (22 page)

She plucked a book and scanned the first few pages before she replaced it, and then repeated the process under the valet’s intense scrutiny. Whatever did he want? Did he worry she would abscond with the silver? Unnerved, she removed a porcelain figurine to reach a volume of poems. With a glance at the soldier in her hand, she noticed a jagged crack ruined his appearance and his missing arm. Others items on nearby shelves appeared mismatched. It teased her curiosity. The entire estate was decorated to the finest detail. This room was littered with an eclectic collection of incongruous decor. She could never ask Brooks, but later she would question Mary about the discordant display.

She replaced the figure and turned to leave with book in hand. She stalled when she reached the door.

‘Please send Janie to me when she is feeling better. I wish to speak to my maid concerning our departure tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Your maid, of course.’

What was it that laced his words? Isabelle could not decipher the tone. ‘Is there a problem I need to address?’

‘No, again you misunderstand.’ Brooks offered her a quick nod of the head. ‘I will inform her of your message.’

He crossed the room and she intercepted his path. ‘Why do you dislike me?’

‘If you choose to ask, then I am obligated to answer. I’ve never been fond of London’s uppers, but I’ve understood them well enough.’

‘You work for an aristocrat. An earl. One who has the vigilant eye of the ton focused on his every action. I do not understand.’

‘Lord Highborough is different, an exception to the rule. Such personalities are not found easily.’ He paused. ‘I do not wish to see him disappointed when he discovers what I have suspected all along.’

‘What does that mean?’ She hated to ask, but she could not let the conversation end with the question unanswered. Several loud ticks of the long case clock in the corner measured the silence that stretched between them.

‘You are a paradox. So unlike the usual associations he favours. Regardless of the attention lent his acclaimed escapades in the social pages, Lord Highborough is very private in his personal affairs. That is the reason your presence here surprises me. Nothing more.’

Before she could question him further, he strode from the room. Isabelle cast a final glance to the library and then hurried out as well.

***

Intent on finding Gillie and returning to the house as quickly as possible, Constantine reined in the team and jumped from his gig. Vast fields of grapevines extended to the right as far as he could see, their ample clusters of purple shadowed by lush green leaves. He lost himself in the pleasurable sight. It would be an incredible harvest and superior wine. He turned a genuine smile towards Gillie as the man climbed up the short embankment. His gypsy friend wore an amiable expression, although his unconventional appearance would shock all of polite society, from his bare chest to the diamond earring that glinted in his left lobe. Most considered gypsies to be heathens. Gillie and his clan had proved their trust in much the same way Brooks had won his friendship.

‘You’ve been away too long.’

Constantine shook the gypsy’s hand with a firm grip. ‘Yes, it is a good thing I have someone as dependable as you to look after my better interests. I take it everything is in order.’

They entered the field and Con reached out and plucked a grape from the vine. He popped it into his mouth and nodded his head in appreciation, then reached for another.

‘Yes. Nature has offered us the best climate and heartiest crop in years.’

‘Very good then.’ Constantine glanced to Gillie. He could never manage all of his interests without the help of the people he trusted. Brooks pursued the problem of his missing paintings. Gillie, and others in his clan, watched over his vineyards. In London, Devlin and Phineas were the most loyal comrades. A strange assortment of allies comprised his makeshift family.

‘You brought a woman home.’

Gillie’s statement brought his attention to the present. He knew his gypsy friend would be observant to the smallest detail. ‘Yes. We arrived last night.’ They continued to walk several steps.

‘Is that all?’ Gillie’s brow wrinkled with frustration.

‘More questions. First Brooks, now you.’ Constantine changed direction and headed for the gig. He had good reason to hurry home. What kind of smile would Isabelle wear when she greeted him?

‘It is a natural question, my friend. I have known you a long time and you rarely allow people to get close. Why this woman? Why now? Have your thoughts turned to the future and the responsibility of an heir?’

Constantine shook his head and reached up to secure the reins of the gig. ‘You presume too much.’

‘By nature, gypsies are a curious people.’

His sharp laugh resounded in the field. ‘Isabelle interests me. The simple fact that I brought a woman to my home should not conjure thoughts of weddings and children. I have no time for your gypsy foolishness.’

‘I have no crystal ball, just my eyes and ears.’ Gillie laid his hand flat over the left side of his chest. ‘It makes no difference if you deny it. Many women have caught your eye, but I suspect this one has caught your heart. You have never brought a woman to Highborough House, regardless of how beautiful.’

‘Isabelle is more than beautiful.’ He climbed up to the seat. ‘With her, I can believe in possibilities.’ He paused and considered his last statement. ‘She makes me happy.’ It was a miracle the lack of love in his life had never turned him bitter or immune to tender emotion. Instead, in an unexpected awakening, he’d come to realise in the darkest recesses of his heart he cherished a great desire to give love and fill the chasm of his empty past no matter how he attempted to bury it. ‘Other women served as distractions. If you have discovered a bit of truth, then time will tell.’

Gillie raised both palms in surrender. ‘At least you are sincere about your insincerity. Tread carefully my friend. Giving pleasure is not the same as giving love.’

‘True enough.’ With a snap of the reins Constantine set the team into motion. It would take an hour to return and Gillie’s advice lingered the entire ride back.

***

‘Janie, are you all right? Good heavens, where have you been?’ Isabelle entered her bedchamber, elated to find her maid inside. She rushed forward, questions firing, and her fast advance caused the maid to drop the sage green gown she held.

‘Good evening, milady. I am much better, thank you.’ She collected the dress from the carpet and turned to the wardrobe. ‘These gowns are exquisite. Where did they all come from?’

‘Never mind the gowns. I am relieved you feel more yourself. Have you located my trunk?’

Isabelle turned her back as she spoke and lifted her hair while Janie began to unbutton her day gown in a familiar routine. Although nothing indicated they would dine formally at Highborough House, Isabelle wanted to look her best. She would leave tomorrow afternoon and doubted she would ever see Constantine again. The sudden thought motivated her strict instructions.

‘Do make sure you are here at dinner’s end so we can prepare for our departure tomorrow. Your actions have been anything but predictable of late. What has got into you?’

The maid giggled and Isabelle whipped her head up at the sudden burst of excitement.

‘I really cannot say, milady.’ She lifted the gown over Isabelle’s shoulders and rushed to the wardrobe to hang it. ‘Now let us prepare for dinner. You will be breathtaking in the dress I have chosen. I dare say Lord Highborough will hardly be interested in the food.’

Over an hour later, Isabelle entered the grand dining room. It proved as impeccably decorated as every other corner of the estate. Ruby coloured vases marked the doorway on either side, but their brilliant shine did not hold her attention long. Constantine stood near the fireplace. His eveningwear mirrored his charming air of insouciance. His shirt hung open at the collar, lacking a neckcloth, and bared an exquisite glimpse of tanned skin. Her breath hitched. He looked tempting and naughty, as if sin radiated from him. Why was it her brain fixated on such ridiculous words when it came to the man?
Naughty. Sinful.
She needed to reclaim her wits. He did not stand before her half-dressed. The purposeful comparison kicked her pulse higher rather than rationalise her wicked illusions.

In Wiltshire, most everyone adhered to convention.
In Wiltshire, she would think of him and remember this one precious evening.
She shook her head and drew nearer. Had he given her a single thought while they remained separated, she wondered. She raised her eyes to his waiting stare.

‘You look lovely. Every time I see you I am reminded how my memory pales when we are apart.’ His voice dropped a notch. ‘I hold the honour of dining with the most beautiful woman in England.’

The words thrilled her but she fought the uprising giddiness. He’d proven his rakish flattery ten times over since they’d met and she would not allow generous words to be her undoing. So much seemed unsaid between them. ‘You are a master of practised charm, milord.’

His eyes flicked upward from where he’d bowed to press a quick kiss to her hand. ‘Do you question my sincerity? That is a blow to a man’s heart.’ He laid his palm against his waistcoat lapel before he indicated that the servants should begin service.

Isabelle watched as a flurry of activity unfolded around her. Trays of food were delivered and uncovered. Fillet of veal glazed in sorrel sauce, artichoke hearts, and raised pie, crispy and oven browned, were revealed. Almond soup, the steam of which graced the air with enticing aroma, was ladled into bowls accompanied with plates of vegetables: sautéed mushrooms, creamed cauliflower, and asparagus in breadcrumbs. The wine was poured. As soon as she was seated, someone unfolded her linen napkin and draped it gracefully across her lap.

‘My goodness,’ she said with a deep sigh. ‘I did not expect such formality, but then this room is quite grand. I can imagine the brilliant celebrations it has seen through the years.’

Constantine’s ease faltered, but he recovered in the length of an exhale.

‘Very few actually.’ He raised his wine glass and took a sip. ‘The late earl practised two separate lives and kept all socialising to the London residence. Gatherings and celebrations did not occur here at Highborough House, no matter the accommodating nature of this dining room. I might not have known I had a birthday were it not for Cook sneaking me a bag of hard bake and a few tin soldiers each year.’

Isabelle schooled her dismay. Even her father, with his outright dislike of her, acknowledged her birthday. She struggled to formulate a suitable reply, but when the appropriate words escaped her, Constantine continued.

‘Over the years I learned to celebrate in my own way. The gift of a new suit or trip to the museum serves as a sufficient reminder I had endured another year.’

An immediate desire to celebrate his birthday prompted her question. ‘What is the date?’

He smiled a lopsided curve, as if he wondered at her motivation.

‘Friday actually, just two weeks past.’ Lovely mischief played in his voice.

‘But that was the day you escorted me to the National Gallery. The day we first – ’

‘I know. This year’s gift proved exceptional.’ His words overrode the tail of her realisation and he smiled a slow, saturnine grin. Their eyes held and the air grew thick, until he broke free and motioned the wine butler forward with a purposeful wave.

Isabelle concentrated on the food in front of her. Heat coloured her cheeks and the room seemed much more intimate, even though they shared a table designed to accommodate twenty guests or more.

Measuring her emotions carefully, she initiated conversation again. ‘Dining with you alone at your residence is an affront to everything I learned as a proper lady.’ She forced a note of conviviality in hope it would settle her rioting emotions.

‘Dining with you alone at my residence goes against everything I have accomplished as a rakehell.’

His deep murmur instigated a renewed sense of jitters.

‘I don’t believe it. You seem such a different man than the one described in the society pages.’ Curiosity took hold and she blurted out the completion of her thought. ‘There is much more to you.’

‘Really?’ Constantine put down his fork and pinned her with an intrigued stare. ‘You think so?’

‘Oh yes, I easily have a hundred questions.’ Entirely carried away, Isabelle caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth before she took a long sip of wine.

‘Then ask away. My life is an open book.’

He splayed his palms in front of him, as if he offered her everything and Isabelle remembered the touch of his hands on her skin, the heat of his caress. She forced her eyes to his and something flickered in his expression, a whisper to her heart. She did not know how to react and a bevy of butterflies fluttered inside her as if pandemonium was in full bloom. Practical thoughts, she chided. Sensible conversation.

‘Do you collect the artwork on the walls? It graces every room and is very well done.’

His eyes narrowed, the tiniest fraction.

‘Yes, I am a collector of sorts. I am especially fond of these paintings.’

His eyes skimmed the room.

‘Did your father also collect?’

He changed in an instant, the barest stiffening of posture. When he recovered, his eyes had lost all their earlier warmth.

‘No. My father did not recognise anything of worth.’

‘I am sorry. I should not have asked a personal question. My curiosity tends to provoke trouble. I need to learn to bite my own tongue.’

‘I can teach you.’

They stared at each other and the silver candelabra cast shadows across his face despite the distance between them. His eyes penetrated through her flimsy attempt at aloof sophistication and she lost herself in his attention. When he turned towards the sideboard, his curt order cut through the silence.

‘Out.’

An abundance of servants heeded his bidding. Isabelle’s eyes flared. Heat flushed her cheeks and warmed her all over.

‘Now I believe it is my turn.’

‘Your turn?’ She asked aloud, unable to follow the path of his thoughts.