To Love a Wicked Scoundrel (31 page)

‘Is that my present, Lord Highborough?’

‘Indeed it is.’ He handed Lily the package and she unwrapped the paper with lightning fast efficiency. ‘It is too big to be a button, isn’t it?’

Her excitement was infectious and soon all three adults huddled over Lily’s form on the settee as she opened the box with care.

Isabelle flicked her eyes upward. Constantine viewed Lily with genuine affection. Then he raised his blue gaze to hers and his easy smile dropped away. Unspoken emotion sparked his eyes and no matter how she chided herself, she could not tear her gaze from his. The room became decidedly warmer, and her clothes, significantly heavier.

‘It is a magic lantern, Mother. Isn’t it wonderful? Thank you so very much. I cannot wait for nightfall. Oh look, Theodora, we are to have a picture show on the wall,’ Lily spoke to her pocket where the mouse waited safe and secure. ‘Isabelle, did you see?’

Lily rose in a tumble of gratitude and exclamation, reverently holding the lantern higher so everyone could have a look.

All eyes fell to the child.

‘I chose slides with pictures of animals and landscapes, although you may add more to your collection the next time you visit London. I know the very best shop.’

‘Please say we will go soon, Mother.’ Lily’s sweet voice strained with a pleading tone.

‘I think we should bring your gift upstairs. I’m sure a maid can find a dark corner and practise with the lantern before we see your show after dinner. Come now.’ Meredith gathered what remained of the paper and tossed it behind the fireplace grate before she clasped Lily’s hand, the child reluctant to leave.

‘But you are staying, are you not, Lord Highborough? You just arrived.’

‘Actually I hoped your sister would give me the pleasure of a turn around the garden.’

Isabelle fidgeted under their scrutiny.

Then a knock sounded on the drawing room door and Butler entered on Meredith’s bid.

‘Lady Newby has arrived, milady. She is escorted by Lord Castling.’

Meredith brought a hand to her cheek with the announcement. ‘Oh dear, she is two days early. I invited her for the end of this week.’

Isabelle’s eyes volleyed from Meredith to the servant who waited at the door. Had she been so consumed by misery that she did not remember the invited guests? It was very likely.

‘Splendid.’ Lily broke free from her mother’s grasp. ‘Now we will have more guests for the show.’ Her smile broadened and she hugged the magic lantern tighter.

‘I did not anticipate Lord Castling’s company, but I can have the green guest room readied without delay. I wish I knew of Giddy’s plans sooner.’ Meredith turned to the waiting butler and issued directions, then sent Lily upstairs with a brisk wave of her hand before she turned to Isabelle. ‘And do not neglect your stroll in the garden. If you put it off much longer, the clouds dare to ruin your day. I will see to our houseguests.’ The words were hardly out before she rushed from the room.

Annoyance coloured Constantine’s face at the mention of Lord Castling.

‘It seems odd that Lady Newby would visit us here with someone we have never met.’

‘Odd, yes, although another word comes to mind.’ He spoke through gritted teeth.

‘Do you know the gentleman?’ Polite conversation worked wonders on her agitated pulse. Isabelle kept her distance. She knew better than to get to close, her resolve to resist him fast becoming threadbare.

‘Yes. Lord Castling is Lady Newby’s widowed nephew and father to the four charges you met while in London. They inherited their mother’s high spirit. Castling is at best, a reserved fellow.’

‘I see.’ She faltered before she continued. ‘It is not an easy way of life, to be raised without affection from one’s parents.’

The quiet statement spoke volumes, evoking echoes of their intimate conversations at Highborough House, and several ticks of the clock marked the time before another word was said.

‘Will you walk with me?’ he asked with solicitude and came forward to clasp her hand and place it in the crook of his elbow.

‘Of course.’

They exited through the back doors and began a leisurely pace on the flagstones.

‘Isabelle…’ His tone implied there was something on his mind, but when she glanced to his face, his lips were pressed together and a shadow of worry darkened his brow.

‘Yes?’

He looked out to the garden and his tone dropped low. ‘You are very much a part of this place, even though it does not hold pleasant memories.’

His statement was not what she expected. ‘Rossmore House is the only home I’ve ever known.’ Her eyes took in the surrounding landscape, the gentle sloping hill and narrow grassy meadows of the estate property. If she walked further south and followed the ribbon of stream, the profile of the Avon Canal would come into view.

Was it the house or her fears of the world that kept her neatly tucked in the countryside? Up until recently, the notion of surrendering her life and body to another’s control overwhelmed her on every level. Then she had met Constantine. He had opened her eyes and challenged every belief held tightly in her heart. She looked at him with an honest answer to his inquiry.

‘But I am ready for change.’

Constantine glanced at the lovely woman beside him. How she haboured any doubt of her appeal was beyond his comprehension. Hers was a face that encouraged men to slay dragons. Thank God she’d been hidden away in Wiltshire for years. It had taken him that long to find her and he had no intention of letting her go. Not to Lutts, Castling, or any other inconvenience that dared impede his path.

Conversation from an open window of the second-floor guestrooms intermingled with the low rumble of thunder and he clenched his jaw: Giddy and her sanctimonious tripe. How dare she arrive with Lord Castling in tow. Regardless of this wooing business, he would make Isabelle his, the sooner, the better; the betrothal ring in his pocket ready when needed.

He’d barely completed the thought when the clouds opened and the rain sent them scurrying towards the house. He held fast to Isabelle’s fingers wrapped around his elbow as they hurried up the slate path. When they neared the eaves in search of shelter, he turned to the left and his breath caught. Isabelle, delighted with the weather, laughed and smiled as raindrops danced on her cheeks and caught in her lashes. If he wasn’t already in love with her, he would have fallen hard, never to recover.

‘Hurry!’ she chided.

He needed no other encouragement and pulled her forward, under the back eaves, out of the rain, and flush against the sheltering warmth of his body. His hands cupped her face and wiped away the dampness as his mouth crushed hers with the same force as the powerful thunder of his heart. She responded with equal fervour and desire scorched through him. He wanted to strip her bare, to make love to her amidst the raindrops and flowers, and the erotic fantasy turned his kiss wild and hungry. His lips slid to her throat, damp and delicious. How he craved the taste of her, and needed the scent of her skin.

‘Isabelle, I am completely undone.’ His murmur vibrated against her ear.

She made a little noise, a rapturous whimper, and he pulled back the slightest space to pant, their hot breath intermingling before he laid claim to her mouth with stormy insistence. He slanted her head backward, the onslaught of his pent up desire matched by his tongue as it stoked the fire that burned between them. She threaded her fingers through his hair and melted against his length in sublime surrender, and he strained for control, no longer able to reason, the need too great.

After another long kiss, he forced himself away with a shudder, his breathing heavy and uneven, his mind clouded with images of Isabelle’s legs wrapped around him as he lifted her skirts and took her hard against the stone wall. Good God, what she did to him. He shook his head for clarity.

She seemed to find sanity the same way he did, with palpable reluctance.

‘We should go indoors. Meredith will look for us.’ Her voice sounded like his emotions, shaky and incomplete, but her statement spurred him into motion and they made their way to the backdoor with quick strides.

Once inside, Isabelle excused herself to change into dry clothes and Con found his way to the drawing room in search of the nearest brandy decanter. He removed his waistcoat and draped it over a chair before the fire, then scanned the room for the liquor service, soon located on the bookcase shelf below his painting. Did Isabelle know he was the artist? Too much remained unsaid.

The curator at The National Museum had finally listened to reason and relinquished his artwork and the dishonest hackney driver who thought to profit from the theft had been located and turned over to the authorities. Brooks had handled the messy affair. At last the concern could be put to rest.

Con opened the brandy decanter and poured a generous measure to level himself out.

‘Highborough, it has been some time.’ John Castling, Earl of Hereford, ambled into the room and nodded in welcome. ‘I’ll have one of those.’

‘As you wish.’ Con splashed two fingers of brandy into a glass and handed it to the man. ‘Your arrival here seems a bit unexpected.’

‘Not so. My aunt was invited by Lady Rossmore and no one would advise an aged woman to travel the countryside unescorted. The incentive she offered was worth my leaving the estate to make the trip.’

Con gripped his glass tighter. ‘What incentive?’

‘Oh, there you are.’ Giddy thumped her way into the room. Her cane marked her entrance with a drummer’s cadence. ‘Be a good man and fetch me a brandy, Castling.’ She lowered herself into the nearest seat aside a sturdy wooden end table, and leaned her cane against the edge.

‘Allow me.’ Con poured another glass and strode to where Giddy was seated. ‘How resourceful to summon Castling to accompany you.’

‘I thought I made my intentions clear when last we spoke.’ Giddy offered him a smile, but it held little warmth.

Meredith swept into the room before the conversation advanced. ‘I see everyone is becoming reacquainted. I don’t believe we’ve had such a full house in years. I’ve asked Cook to prepare lamb for dinner. It should be delicious.’

‘Milady?’ Butler tapped on the drawing room door and entered on Meredith’s bid. ‘These have just arrived for Lady Isabelle.’ Barely visible behind the ornate arrangement of orchids, Butler advanced with hesitant steps. ‘Where would you like them placed as to not cause you discomfort?’

The butler’s question prompted a brief explanation before Meredith instructed him to add the arrangement to the others displayed in the library.

‘Others? How often does Lady Isabelle receive elaborate floral displays?’ Giddy screwed her neck towards Meredith with the frowning question.

‘Lord Lutts has sent a steady stream of bouquets since last week. Isabelle is very fond of flowers.’

Giddy cast her nephew a severe scowl and the room went utterly silent, the ticking of the clock on the mantle the single disruptive sound.

‘Did I mention Cook is preparing lamb?’ Meredith persisted, her words unnaturally loud. ‘Ah, here comes Isabelle now.’

Isabelle entered in a fetching gown of sage green sarcenet. Meredith made introductions and Castling seated himself across from Isabelle on the long settee. The taciturn fellow, unimpressive in every aspect of his appearance from his ill-fitted waistcoat to the limp ascot that brushed his double chin, had the gall to linger over Isabelle’s bare hand when he pressed a kiss of introduction, and he eyed her now with prurient interest. Con forced himself to engage in the mundane conversation, although his mind worked on another level. A small sound near the doorway drew his attention and he caught a glimpse of Lily’s shadow. The precocious pixie likely poised to eavesdrop.

‘My nephew is in need of a wife. He has four daughters to raise and see married. I thought it advantageous he accompany me for this visit.’ Giddy smiled after her bold announcement and patted Isabelle’s knee with affection.

Con watched in amusement as Isabelle disguised her shocked reaction. By dint of determination she must have learned the skill. He often employed the same ruse. He was confident after their kiss in the garden that little resistance would be had the next time he proposed.

Then before another word could be uttered, Giddy lurched from her seat with a spry alacrity one would surmise impossible of the old gel.

‘A mouse! There is a mouse!’ Giddy grabbed her cane and speared the carpet as all eyes fell to the floor.

‘Theodora!’ Lily burst into the room and scrambled towards Giddy, who stepped upon the settee and then higher, to perch on the wooden end table.

‘I cannot abide a mouse. Kill it, Castling! Kill it at once!’

‘No!’ Lily’s tear filled objection overrode the vehement order and she scuttled around a wingback chair as she attempted to capture her pet.

‘Theodora is my daughter’s dormouse. It will cause you no harm.’ Meredith rose up on the settee to calm Giddy. She swayed to dodge the dowager’s cane as it swung left and right to indicate where Castling should hunt the mouse.

Con thought he saw a blur of brown fur near the brass fireplace tools and was about to head in that direction, until he became distracted by Isabelle, who bent to peer under the writing desk. He relished the memory of what lie under the lovely slope of her skirts, until Castling, the fool, blocked his view. When Isabelle rose with a squeak, her hand pressed to her bottom, Constantine clenched his jaw. Apparently Castling looked for something other than a mouse. An introduction to his fist was in order. With a sharp muttered oath Con extended his boot as the man hurried to follow Giddy’s next directive. Castling landed with a solid thud and a resounding oomph.

‘Theodora, come out at once.’ Lily’s command ricocheted across the room from where she kneeled by the doorway determined to keep the mouse confined to the drawing room.

‘Who allows their child to keep a rodent for a pet? Mice belong in barns and fields. Everyone knows the best mouse is a dead mouse.’ Giddy’s outraged proclamation jarred every occupant in the room. Several mutters of disagreement followed.

Con lifted a seat cushion in a casual portrayal of assistance, his eyes glued to the scene before him. Isabelle, her bun askew and adorably discombobulated, padded around the carpet in search of Theodora, while Lily, nearly in tears, trailed beside her. Castling, refocused since his unfortunate stumble, obeyed Giddy’s stern command as she continued to issue orders from her roost above the room. And Meredith, terribly befuddled, tried with desperate confusion to console her daughter, direct Isabelle, and mollify her houseguests.