To Love a Wicked Scoundrel (29 page)

His father’s death over a decade ago was a blessing more than a loss, and while Con suffered the abuse of his irrational temper for years, somehow through the course of his adulthood that anger resolved. Painting proved his salvation and brought peace to his soul. Painting, and now, Isabelle. They would build a joy-filled future together.

With a scoff, he yanked himself out of the past and into the present. He would surprise Adelaide in much the same way she arrived at his home. With a few well-placed inquiries, he’d discover her doctor and the scheduled appointment at her apartments. That way he could find out the truth before he made further decisions.

It would be a miracle if Isabelle believed in him, but he would move heaven and earth to have her. He patted his waistcoat pocket where the special license and betrothal ring waited against his heart.

***

Lord Lutts must have sensed her presence. Isabelle forced a smile as he turned and she rushed forward in greeting. They fell into step to encircle the flowerbeds in a comfortable pace set by habit. When he stopped abruptly, his hold on her fingers tucked into the crook of his elbow went firm, and a prickling of unease shadowed the action.

‘Wiltshire was a different place while you were in London. It seemed you were gone a very long time.’

She viewed his grave expression and her brow furrowed. ‘It has been two months since we’ve had tea. Between the visit to London and the span of Lily’s illness when we could receive no visitors, I understand how it may seem longer. My sister gave us all a thorough scare.’

‘In truth, I have experienced the same.’ He motioned to a bench and Isabelle sat down, although she knew stopping to sit seemed the wrong decision.

‘May I speak plainly, Lady Rossmore?’

‘Why of course.’ She searched his face for an inkling of emotion to dissuade the uncomfortable idea he meant to change the level of their friendship. Hadn’t she once told herself he would be a companionable husband? At one time, wasn’t that all she desired?

‘I missed you while you were gone and even more so when you returned, but could not open the house to me.’

‘I am sorry, milord, I – ’

‘I do mean to imply an apology is due.’ He cleared his throat and his expression tightened. ‘I realise I am long overdue in expressing my feelings. Perhaps so late I no longer have the opportunity to gain your favour, but I wish you to know I care for you, and believe we can build a future together. You are practical and kindhearted. We would get on well together.’

Stunned, no ready words surfaced. Isabelle’s heart pounded a panicked beat.

Lord Lutts continued, unaware of her unease. ‘If you will allow me to court you and remedy this problem, I know we could grow to care for one another and in solid friendship form a strong marriage.’

‘Milord, this is all too suddenly spoken.’ Isabelle rose from the bench and rung her hands in a useless attempt to assuage her distress. Tears threatened and she could not let him see her embarrassment. ‘I should return to the house. Excuse me. I will see you again next week. Please see yourself out.’

She scurried up the slate path and into the house, her usual levelheaded logic overridden in an avalanche of conflicted emotions. She withdrew to the drawing room and dropped into a wingback chair with unceremonious relief.

‘Good heavens, you startled me.’ Meredith looked up from where she sat at the escritoire. ‘I thought you were taking tea with Lord Lutts.’

She let out a mortified groan. ‘He is leaving.’

Lord Lutts thought her practical and congenial. Isabelle’s eyes fell closed. Without effort, she heard Constantine’s throaty whisper beside her ear as he labeled her passionate and fiery, delicious beyond words. She released a long uneven breath and opened her lids. Meredith stood over her, a few envelopes clutched in her left hand.

‘Are you all right?’

She did not answer at first. She would never be all right again.

‘Yes, I will be fine. I did not mean to startle you.’

‘What happened in the garden with Lord Lutts? Was it not his ordinary visit?’

Ordinary. The word described Lord Lutts perfectly. Isabelle shook her head as if to chase away the situation. Ordinary was exactly what she needed to restore her pragmatic nature. Stability. Lord Lutts represented an agreeable, predictable life. She twisted her fingers together in her lap. Was that what she truly wanted? Predictability and practicality? At one time she revered the two qualities, but now they seemed altogether unlike her. Unlike who she’d become.

Constantine. Why couldn’t she stop her foolish hoping that an explanation existed to forgive why he never came to Wiltshire? She must force herself to believe he proved as shallow as Meredith predicted. Were she to read those detestable scandal sheets, she suspected his name would be equally as popular as before her trip to London. Still the itchy little question as to why Constantine hadn’t inquired of Lily’s health would not remain quiet. She exhaled, exasperated, her heart at war with her sensibility.

‘I do not wish to worsen your discomfort.’ Meredith stepped closer, her expression serious. ‘But as I sorted the mail, I discovered these envelopes addressed to you. They bear the Highborough crest.’

She rushed to her feet, a deep exhale escaping as if she’d held her breath for ever. Her hand trembled as she took the letters, and then she fell back into the same chair, the envelopes atop the skirt of her gown as if fragile and otherworldly. She ran her fingertip over the garnet wax seal in a tentative caress and traced the embossed horse head with care. What would these letters contain, an explanation for his absence or a message of regret and farewell?

She knew not how long she contemplated the matter. It wasn’t until Meredith’s sharp gasp dragged her attention across the room that she broke free from the hold of the envelopes on her lap. Meredith stood near the fireplace, her fingers pressed against her lips as she held
The Morning Post
.

‘What is it?’ Isabelle shot up, the letters clutched to her heart. ‘What does it say?’

Meredith paled, her eyes filled with sadness. ‘You should read it yourself. It concerns Constantine and another woman. It is not good.’

Isabelle snatched the newspaper and scanned the column as a mortified gasp escaped. She ordered herself not to weep, but the tears came anyway. Having no free hand to wipe them away, she rushed to the fire grate and tossed the newspaper into the flames, before she raised the letters and moved to do the same.

‘Stop!’ Meredith’s command rang across the otherwise silent room. ‘You will regret that choice.’ Her voice was softer now, but Isabelle returned her eyes to the flames, her own despair overshadowing her stepmother’s words.

‘Some day you will wish to know what he said and there will be no undoing once you have burned his words.’

Isabelle glanced over her shoulder. Tears wet her cheeks and a newfound strength unfurled in her belly. What a fool she had been to believe his honeyed promises. How pathetic had she appeared to bask in his attention when so fickly it was given.

‘It is for the best.’ She moved the letters nearer the fire as she spoke. ‘I cannot suffer his apology. And what else could he possibly have to say?’ Then she dropped the letters into the flames and rushed from the room on a broken sob.

***

Adelaide’s Stamford Street apartment was situated on the corner of a bustling city square. Constantine accomplished excellent time and aligned his gig beside two others. With a wry twist of the lips he considered who else besides the physician, waited inside. His well-practised glare at the servant who answered the door gained him admittance, and Con was shown to the sitting room with haste. Lord Norton stood near the bookcase, a full glass of brandy in hand, although the hour had not reached ten in the morning. The gentleman appeared considerably agitated.

‘Norton.’ Constantine greeted him with a short nod.

‘Highborough.’

Lord Norton came forward and they shook hands, although a palpable unease hung in the air. Con watched as the young man placed his drink on the table with care and turned towards the window in an effort to obliterate any chance at conversation. He wondered at the tale Adelaide spun to fill Norton’s waiting ear.

‘Found yourself in a bit of a spot at The National Gallery, eh?’

It appeared another topic, one Norton was more comfortable with, would serve as congenial conversation. Con would much prefer to discuss Adelaide and her suspected scheme to snare him into marriage. He leveled Norton an indulgent stare.

‘Yes, it is always the choicest news that travels the fastest, is it not?’

Norton appeared strained, though the rejoinder was intended in jest.

‘Good of you to joke of it, but then as peers, we are fortunate not to pay too heavily for our transgressions.’

‘Interesting choice of words.’ Norton had to be aware of Adelaide’s claim he’d got her with child. The man’s guarded apprehension presented his condition even if his words feigned indifference. Brooks and his information network were rarely proven incorrect.

If Norton thought to make light of Adelaide’s suggestion she carried his child or worse, to challenge him over the issue, Con would have difficulty keeping a reign on his temper. He sought to speak to the physician occupied upstairs. Nothing more, nothing less.

Then, as if he had located his backbone, Norton’s demeanour transformed. ‘Adelaide holds an unhealthy fascination for you and the stir you create among the ton. I believe she is enamoured with your lifestyle.’ He lifted his glass from the table and finished the liquid. ‘I cannot compete with such a high degree of popularity. While I am established and well liked among society, I rarely capture the ton’s attention, and worse, I enjoy it that way.’ Norton’s jaw was tight set, as if it pained him to make the admittance.

Con turned to him with a stern expression and the man paled.

‘I have a few questions for the physician.’ Con motioned towards Norton’s glass. ‘Where did you find that?’ His eyes scanned the room taking in the purely feminine decor of floral pillows and fashion magazines; not a liquor bottle in sight.

‘Poor manners of me.’ Norton started across the room, dipped to a lower cabinet and produced another glass and the brandy decanter. His actions demonstrated an innate familiarity within the apartment. He poured the amber liquid and offered it forward.

‘Not to worry, Highborough.’ Norton paused for a breath. ‘The child Adelaide carries is mine.’

Constantine almost missed Norton’s cautious confession as he thanked him for the brandy.

‘Adelaide and I have been together for some time now. She became angered when I refused to introduce her to my family. She accused me of being ashamed of her.’ He paused again, visibly agitated with whatever was forthcoming and measuring Con’s reaction. ‘If she intimated a different version of the truth to you, it is her way of retaliating and pressing me into action. I behaved in the worst way when handling our relationship. I care for Adelaide deeply, no matter her mercurial moods. She is my responsibility, not yours.’

A wave of relief swept over Con with the realisation Norton, unlike Adelaide, functioned with a clear mind. He had no time to respond as the physician entered the room.

‘Gentlemen.’ The doctor wore a grim expression. ‘Someone will need to console the lady upstairs.’

Norton stepped forward, but did not leave the drawing room.

‘Console her? Whatever for?’ Constantine asked, his heartbeat hard in his chest.

‘She is not with child and is not taking the news well. It is expected, when one embraces the possibility of motherhood, to feel disappointment when told the outcome is not to be. I explained to her that there can be many causes for her body’s irregularities each month and that she should not jump to conclusions in the future.’ The physician removed his hat and topcoat from the hook near the door. ‘In the meantime, I believe she would benefit from companionship until she recovers her emotions.’

Constantine thanked the physician and the man took his leave. He thumped Norton on the shoulder to bid him goodbye. He held no doubt Norton would console Adelaide. By the man’s admission, he cared for her. He leapt from the porch, unable to erase the smile from his face, determined to return home and order Merlot saddled. Finally, he would hold Isabelle again.

***

Isabelle kneeled by the garden and examined her immaculate flowerbeds. How lovely it would be if life proved as easy to maintain. She sighed and collected a few vibrant bluebells to add to her overflowing basket of roses and daffodils. It neared late afternoon and she meant to finish before Lord Lutt’s arrival at four-thirty. She’d spent the entire week, most daylight hours and night, deliberating his suggestion they begin a formal courtship. Meanwhile her heart ached whenever she considered Constantine and the various reports in the scandal sheets. She could not stop thinking about him, no matter how harshly she chastised herself for lamenting the loss of his affection. No matter how often Lily insisted he would arrive.

A fleeting smile attempted to lift her spirits at the thought of her sister, but the burn of fresh tears chased it away. If she did not stop her foolish crying she would look a sight when Lord Lutts arrived. She wiped at her cheeks and did not pause to remove her gloves.

The wind shifted. A few loose curls tangled with her trembling fingers and she pushed them away. Someone approached on the slate path behind her. Their boots marked a rhythm, too heavy a footfall for Lily, and too quickly made for Lord Lutts. A little voice warned her not to look over her shoulder, but her errant heart skipped as she pulled at her gloves, struggling in haste to remove the left one before she thrust them both to the ground. She gathered her skirts and froze within the action.

Black Hessian boots entered her line of vision near the slate at her knees. Lord Lutts wore brown boots, well used and comfortable. These boots were covered with dust, as if from a hard ride, but the dirt did not detract from the quality, and the shine prevailed despite the coating of earth.

She eased her eyes upward and willed herself to breathe as her mind raced with questions and contradictions. Tight-fitted camel breeches led to a navy blue waistcoat over a fawn cambric shirt. The visitor wore no neck cloth. Isabelle took in Constantine’s face and her eyes watered again.