What Isabella Desires (13 page)

“Marcus. Why are you running? I wasn’t upset with you. Go talk to Donnington.”

He let out a strangled laugh, slightly hysterical in nature and foreign in his mouth.

“I don’t need to talk to Donnington. Let’s get you home. Your carriage is ten down.”

He had to work to keep his hand from shaking.

“Yes, it was very strange. A coachman I’ve never seen before was trying to put me into the wrong carriage. Insisted on it actually. That happened to the Pinchings two weeks past, you know. Some tipsy driver hastened them inside and they ended up riding clear to Windsor. Driver just kept on going, ignoring the trap taps.”

They wove through the crowd, Marcus keeping a firm grip on Isabella while she kept talking.

“Well, you can imagine his surprise after the alcohol wore off a bit and he opened the door to two incredibly irritated passengers. Not the first or last time it will happen either, what with the way some of them drink. Lady Marvo had much the same happen to her. Luckily, the driver was one of her neighbors’ grooms and so she ended up pretty much home. I can’t imagine it being a very pleasing experience, all the same.”

His fists clenched. It wouldn’t have been a pleasing experience at all, of that he was sure. “Let’s get you into the correct carriage, then.”

He surveyed the scene. No use pretending he wasn’t looking for the men who had been there. He’d already tipped his hat in that direction. The whistle had done its trick. Not only had the man with Isabella disappeared, but none of the other men were present either. The eyes of the ton, however, were glued on them.

Not a single excuse for his running back to her crossed his mind, so he assumed his frosty facade, and the eyes of the less bold immediately averted.

“By the by, why were you running?”

“I just realized that where I really needed to be was right here.”

Her eyes softened. “Oh, that’s sweet of you.”

Something like guilt squirmed uncomfortably in his gut. “Yes, well, let’s get you to your carriage.”

The groom opened the door as they approached. Isabella entered and Marcus got in after her.

She stared at him.

He stared back.

“What are you doing?” she whispered urgently.

“I’m riding with you.”

She looked sharply outside, where people were milling, trying to peer inside.

“Why?” she hissed.

He couldn’t very well tell her that her life could be in danger. He wasn’t sure he was quite ready to contemplate that himself.

“Your carriage is farther down the drive than mine,” he said.

“Marcus…” She shot another furtive glance out the carriage door. The groom’s eyes were wide as he shifted from foot to foot trying to decide whether to shut the door. “This isn’t exactly subtle. We are at a proper party.”

“No one much cared that Nelson lived with Lady Hamilton and Sir William. And Mrs. Flitchley is accepted in polite society, and everyone knows she is Lord Tinken’s mistress.”

Isabella looked gobsmacked. “First of all, yes they did, yes they do. Secondly, are you saying you want me to be your mistress and let everyone know it?” She was as ruffled as any cat he’d seen.

Her words caught up to his brain.

His best choice of action was to exit the carriage. Swiftly. But then he’d be leaving her in here, alone, ripe for the pickings by men who wanted to use her to no doubt get back at him somehow.

He had always known he would lose her. Would lose all of his friends. But he didn’t want to lose her, lose her. He wanted her to be happy and go on with life, with some nice man who valued her. Well, maybe he could live without picturing another man. But he didn’t want her to be a corpse on the side of the road because of him. He didn’t think he could bear it.

“Well?” she asked, brows knit together and a brook-no-arguments look in her eye.

And then all of a sudden, the prayers he hadn’t made were answered. He caught a glimpse of St. John and Faye Kendrick, Audrey’s sister, bickering as they walked down the drive.

“We’ll discuss it in a few hours, I promise. Stay here.”

He jumped from the carriage and told the groom, somewhat tersely, to keep the door open.

Faye smiled when she saw him. St. John nodded, while still glaring at Faye.

“Faye, I need you to accompany Isabella home. Invite yourself in for tea and check inside. I’ll send my carriage to pick you up in an hour.”

He kept an eye on Isabella’s carriage to make sure she remained inside, the groom stayed frozen in place, and no one else entered.

Faye shrugged. “Shall do. Just send the Marston carriage after me. It’s down by yours.”

The thing he liked best about Faye was her willingness to go along with any scheme and wait until later to ask questions. That and her coolness under pressure. He had brought her into their covert group after Audrey and Stephen had married. Having been raised on the streets since she was eight, Faye more than pulled her weight, and had connections to the underground that the rest of them never would.

St. John had not been pleased at having a female member join the group. Marcus thought it probably had more to do with the fact that Faye was the only beautiful woman St. John couldn’t get in bed.

Faye walked away without a by-your-leave, and St. John’s eyes narrowed as he watched her wave to Isabella and enter the carriage.

Marcus nodded at the nervous looking groom, who then closed the door and vaulted onto his seat.

“What was that about?” St. John asked irritably. Things were never dull around Faye and St. John. They loathed each other with equal intensity.

“There were men here who went after Isabella instead of me.”

St. John’s eyes turned sharply to the carriage as it rolled down the drive. “And you just let her drive off? And with Kendrick?”

Marcus was arrogant. His arrogance defined him in some ways. But he prided himself on never being arrogant enough not to trust the people he had chosen.

“Faye can handle anything that comes their way. Besides, Isabella is no dull blade.”

“Does she know she’s in danger?”

Marcus ignored the steady stream of guilt pouring down his spine. “No. I’m sure it hasn’t crossed her mind. Why would it? You know we keep that part of life separated and secret. She thinks we deal with dignitaries.”

“Still—”

“Still, that is why I’m going to follow them,” he said, walking to his carriage. St. John followed.

Marcus noticed his driver looking around oddly.

“What is it Stubbins?”

He handed him a note. “This was given to me by a carriage hand a minute ago. He said another driver gave it to him. Said it was important. I haven’t had a chance to talk to the other man, though.”

Marcus opened the note and felt the blood drain from his face.

Two carriage mishaps in one day? One for show, one for play?

She won’t be so lucky again.

Cold rage settled over him. His heart beat a wild rhythm, as if playing the allegro con brio of Beethoven’s Symphony Five.

“Sinjun, round up the others. Have them meet at Isabella’s house. I will go after Isabella and Faye.”

“Are they in danger?”

“Perhaps. Just get the others, I’ll explain there. Stubbins, I’ll need you to talk to the other driver later. You know who it is?”

Stubbins gave a nod; Marcus nodded back and hopped inside.

He was trying to decide how to explain to Isabella that she had become a target. And what did the message mean about a second carriage incident?

How was he going to protect her?

It was too late to push her away. He couldn’t pretend not to care. The ploy would be completely transparent. They would go after her anyway.

They would go after her anyway.

He tapped the note, thinking hard.

He’d take her to one of his estates. He had already mentioned the seaside to her. He knew every inch of his lands. If they came after her, they would be the foxes in the hunt. If they gave up on doing her harm, even better.

And in that case, did he need to tell Isabella anything? It would be awkward, no doubt, and would ruin the few remaining illusions she had of him. If they could just catch the villains without her being any the wiser…

But then, what if she was unprepared? What if he missed something?

No. He would tell her in a few days. There would be no way for the note writer to rally before then. By that time Isabella would be safely ensconced in the country with security measures in place. Otherwise, she might accidentally give something away.

A crack of distant thunder echoed through the night. The plan sounded bad even to his desperate ears.

He watched through the window as the houses passed, the clippity-clop of the horse hooves on the street drawing them closer.

When they were a block away, he could see the lights in the front window of Isabella’s house. Shadows shifted as figures moved through the room. He kept from panicking. It was just Faye, Isabella, and her staff. Nothing more than that.

He saw a man across the street, an illuminated tip lifted to his mouth. Smoking and watching.

Marcus rapped the trap and Stubbins’s head appeared. “Turn left here and stop a few houses in.”

Stubbins did as directed and Marcus exited.

“There’s a man watching Lady Willoughby’s house. We need to capture him.”

Stubbins nodded and pulled out a club.

“I’ll give you five minutes to get around the block and into a good position before I flush him toward you.”

Stubbins nodded again, familiar with the drill, and disappeared down the back street.

A man of few words, Stubbins, but priceless.

Marcus gripped his walking stick and tapped his pocket watch. He stood behind the fragrant bushes of the corner house and watched through the branches as the man continued his vigil.

The street was very open, and there wasn’t much cover for covert spying, but even so, the man was obviously a beginner. Faye had assuredly noticed him. The nosier neighbors probably had too.

Unluckily for the man, the watch hadn’t been called yet. The members of the watch were much nicer fellows than Marcus.

He glanced at his pocket watch before tucking it away and rounding the corner. He stepped along the walk toward the man. Step, stick, step. Step, stick, step.

The man noticed him at once, but hesitated before moving in the opposite direction, shuffling away.

Marcus kept his pace, nice and even, and the man didn’t panic—not even when Stubbins clubbed him on the head.

When Marcus reached them, Stubbins was dragging the man into the low bushes. Since there wasn’t much in the way of hiding places, Stubbins would have to hurry back to get the carriage.

“Can’t be helped,” Marcus said, shaking his head at Stubbins’s nonverbal inquiry. “Get the carriage, grab him and go. We can worry about the neighbors seeing us later. Come back here after you drop him—if he awakens, see what you can learn. On your return, park wherever Angelford and Marston do.”

Stubbins nodded and left to get the carriage.

Marcus bent down and rifled through the man’s pockets. Two pounds. A hefty sum for a run of the mill man on the grayer side of the law.

Assured that the man wouldn’t be going anywhere until Stubbins could take care of him, Marcus crossed the street and walked to Isabella’s. Sure enough, he caught a glimpse of Faye peering from a side window. She had most likely observed the entire incident.

Isabella’s housekeeper opened the door before he reached the steps and he ducked inside.

“Marcus! What are you doing here?” Isabella peered outside before shooing him into the small room in the back.

“I decided to drop by for a game and tea.”

“A game and tea?” She shot a furtive glance in Faye’s direction. “I don’t understand.”

“How would you like to travel to Deal tomorrow?”

“Deal? Tomorrow? But that’s Thursday.”

She looked adorably clueless.

“Is Thursday not good?”

“There’s afternoon tea with Mrs. Creel. A planning session with Ladies Norman and Filstitch. A rout, which I know you are invited to, at Lady Giles’s—”

He leaned down and brushed two fingers along her cheek. “Do you really want to attend those instead of coming to the seaside with me?”

Her eyes met his. “Well, it isn’t that I wouldn’t love to go with you, Marcus.” She glanced again at Faye, who had busied herself in the corner looking at fashion plates. “But—”

“But you’d rather keep your social engagements?”

She nibbled her delectable lower lip. “I’ve accepted dozens of invitations.”

“Cancel them.”

She looked aghast. “Marcus, you know I cannot. Nothing short of death would be accepted without comment.”

“Then let them comment.”

She nibbled her lip some more.

“It’s nothing that can’t be solved later.”

She looked up at him. Did he mean marriage? Or just a good hard rumor cleansing?

She could hear the rolling wheels and clopping hooves of a carriage stopping out front. She had thirteen to a dozen that it was either the Angelfords or the Marstons. She cast a look at Faye again, who was pretending interest elsewhere. Something was happening.

A minute later her suspicions were confirmed as James and Calliope walked through the door.

“The twins are asleep, so we thought we’d drop in for a visit.” Calliope smiled. She looked impeccable as usual, but for her hair loosely knotted at her neck. Not a style that would have taken more than five minutes to create.

It was well after midnight and they had obviously been roused from home. This was no casual visit.

Stephen popped into the house a second later, golden hair mussed, followed by Viscount St. John, who was still attired in his evening clothes. By rights, St. John’s and Faye’s presence could be explained—though she knew the two of them less well than the others. At least they had been out tonight. The other three had the look of being roused from their beds.

“What did we miss?” Stephen said cheerfully.

Isabella surveyed the room. Everyone met her gaze, but their expressions were widely varied. Marcus’s face gave away nothing. Stephen had his normal friendly face on—the one meant to disarm even the harshest hag. Angelford was expressionless, but his eyes were a degree warmer than usual. St. John looked two steps away from a severe case of ennui, though his eyes flicked between the window and the occupants with regular frequency. Faye was smiling mysteriously. Nothing too unusual there. The girl was always two steps ahead when it came to some things, and one step behind when it came to others. Since Faye had been helping to hold her captive for the past half hour, this was definitely one of the times she was two steps ahead.

Her gaze finally came to rest on Calliope, usually her ally. Calliope looked confused but hopeful.

Hopeful?

“What is this about? Not to be too rude, but what are all of you doing in my house at this hour?”

Calliope gave her a look that suggested she hadn’t a clue. Isabella was about to ask another question, followed by maybe two to two dozen others, when Marcus took her arm and gently pulled her into the corner.

She could hear the others forcing conversation in the background. It just made it all the worse.

“What are they doing here?” she hissed, waving a hand at her “guests.” “For that matter, what are you doing here? What happened to the sneak through the window plan? That was a horrible plan, but it’s a good sight better than this one!”

“I thought it would be nice to visit the seaside, to visit my estate, as I said before. Get away from curious eyes and probing questions.” His eyes were penetrating and there was a look in them—a look he often got in the midst of a particularly cutthroat game.

“What does that have to do with these five?” She pointed sharply to the others.

“They are here to help you pack and take care of rearranging schedules and alibis.”

“Pack? Schedules and alibis? Are we off to rob stagecoaches?”

“I promised delights, did I not? You made your case, and I accepted. We both agree that getting away from London would be the easiest thing to do.”

She had a feeling he had just moved a piece on an imaginary chessboard.

“While I agree that it would be marvelous to go to the seaside with you, we can’t just—I can’t just—drop everything and leave without so much as a warning! In the middle of the night, if your packing and alibi nonsense is to be believed!”

“No one will remember a thing about your departure in a few weeks.”

“No one will remember—” She broke off, speechless. “Better just to announce myself your mistress and be done with it. It would make for less talk!”

“I thought you wanted to do this?”

“What game do you play? You know I do. But why not wait for two weeks? Most everyone will be gone. All parties scattered to the corners of Britain. No notes of regret or other talk necessary. You can have the entire summer to have me do your bidding.”

His eyes examined her face, searching for something. She tried to hide her hope and desire. There was a flare of something in his gaze—something like triumph. “Unforeseen events have taken place. I’m leaving London tonight. I want you to come with me. It is your decision. After this I may get called away for months.”

And just like that he called checkmate. She knew it. He knew it. If she wanted to have this affair, he was explicitly stating that this was the only way. The chance wouldn’t come again.

“I’ll send the notes,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice from breaking.

He brushed her cheek. “It will be right, Isabella. Go upstairs. Calliope and Faye will help you pack.”

Isabella went almost unwillingly upstairs, and Marcus felt more than a twinge of conscience. Were he to explain what was happening, he would have to explain everything. And what if…what if she thought he deserved the consequences?

No, better to follow through on his current path and worry later about her reaction.

“Lady Willoughby doesn’t look too pleased. Courting gone afoul, Roth?”

Marcus just shoved the note Stubbins had given him to Stephen, who read it, whistled, and passed it on.

“Reminds me of that business a couple years back,” Stephen said.

“Just another madman seeking revenge.”

“That’s what happens when you play power games,” Stephen quipped.

James elbowed him.

Stephen sighed and his face took on a serious expression. “Have you thought this through?” He held up a hand to stave off comments as Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Have you thought this through in regards to Isabella?” he clarified.

“Of course.”

“Are you going to tell her why you are leaving so precipitously?”

“No.”

“And if they don’t take the bait and follow you?”

“Then I trust you will catch them here. Leaving is as much for her safety as for setting the bait. There’s a good chance they won’t take the bait, after all. It all depends on the level of desperation behind the revenge. There seems to be quite a good bit of it.”

“But in the meantime, are you going to play with her, string her along?”

His eyes narrowed at Stephen. “I won’t be stringing her along.”

“We don’t want to see her hurt.”

“And you think I do?” he said sharply.

James gave a dissecting glance. “I don’t think you know what you want.”

Marcus’s teeth ground against each other. “I don’t want to see her hurt.”