by Darcy Burke
Closing her eyes, she put her hand on the door as if it were him and allowed all the feelings and memories she worked so hard to suppress. His hand with hers. His lips on hers. His body in hers.
A wild craving she hadn’t felt in some time washed over her. It was going to be a very long fortnight.
Chapter 3
The following evening, Val walked into the Wicked Duke, the tavern he owned with his good friend, the Duke of Colehaven, in the Haymarket. Heads turned and mugs clanked together with a rousing chorus of “Eastleigh!” Val performed a courtly bow, presenting his most elegant leg with a flourish.
Straightening, he made his way to the bar, which ran along the back wall of the primary salon. It was half ten, and the place was packed, so Val was stopped several times as he wove through the tables. When he arrived at the bar, Doyle already had his tankard—stamped with Eastleigh—filled with ale.
Val picked up the mug. “Is this Cole’s latest?”
“It is. He said you were keen to try it.” Doyle, the tavern’s manager, waited expectantly while Val sampled the ale.
Rich and slightly bitter, the brew was delicious. “He’s crafted another fine beer, not that I had any doubt.”
“Where’s Barkley tonight?” Doyle asked, likely because they’d arrived together the night before, and Val had told him Barkley was staying with him.
“He had other engagements this evening, but he’ll be in, I’m sure.”
“Once you come to the Wicked Duke, you don’t want to go anywhere else.” Doyle looked toward the nearest table. “Am I right, lads?”
They all lifted their mugs, and Doyle chuckled, the flesh around his light blue eyes crinkling with humor.
“How is it having Barkley and his family stay with you?” Doyle asked. “He’s got children, hasn’t he?”
Val nodded. “I only saw them for dinner last night.” Which meant he hadn’t seen their governess today either. He’d been tempted to duck into the library under the pretense of finding a book, but had decided not to bother them. Isabelle had seemed genuinely concerned that she could lose her position if their past connection was known.
And what connection was that? They hadn’t seen each other in a decade. They were nothing more than acquaintances anymore. The realization stung, and yet what else should he have expected?
“Saw who?” The Duke of Colehaven arrived at the bar, and Doyle handed him his own mug emblazoned with “Colehaven.”
“My houseguests,” Val said.
“Has Barkley’s family turned your household upside down?” Cole asked.
“No.” But their governess was turning him inside out. “As I was just telling Doyle, I rarely see them. Anyway, it’s only for a fortnight. Maybe less.”
“You’re a good friend.” Cole drank the ale and looked appreciatively at the tankard. “This is fantastic beer, if I do say so myself.”
“You’re Barkley’s friend too,” Val pointed out. “Weren’t you the one who introduced us? Barkley might have asked to stay with you if you weren’t preparing to wed.”
“He wouldn’t want to come to my house. Diana has already launched her reorganization plan, and nothing is sacred.” Cole shuddered for comedic effect, but Val saw the underlying tenderness in his friend’s eyes. He was well and truly smitten. Had Val looked like that before he’d wed Louisa? Had he looked like that ten years ago when he’d known Isabelle?
He could ask Cole, who’d been present during both periods. But what did it matter? Louisa had been a licentious liar, and whatever he and Isabelle had shared had been fleeting—they’d known it then, and he knew it now. Even so, he couldn’t resist telling Cole she was back.
Val picked up his tankard and looked to Cole. “Sit with me in the private salon for a bit.”
Cole grabbed his ale and followed Val into the private salon, which was a smaller, quieter space with tables surrounded by plush, high-backed chairs perfectly situated for discreet conversations. They went to their favorite table set into the corner near the fireplace. No one sat there unless invited by one of them.
The private salon was fairly unpopulated this evening, with just a few tables sporting occupants. Which was good since Val was feeling particularly secretive.
Once they were seated with their backs to the walls, Cole sipped his ale before setting his mug on the polished table. “Is there anything amiss?”
“Amiss? No. Why would you think that?”
Cole shrugged. “You sounded serious when you asked to come in here.”
“It isn’t serious. It’s—” Val ran his hand through his hair and felt a lock tumble over his forehead as it was wont to do. Someday, he’d learn to stop raking his fingers through the style his valet prided himself on perfecting, but today was not that day. “Hell, I don’t know what it is.” He locked eyes with Cole, who’d been his closest friend for nigh on fifteen years when they’d been green lads in their first year at Oxford. “Barkley brought his governess. It’s Isabelle.”
Cole stared at him, mirroring the disbelief Val had felt when he’d first seen her yesterday. Then he leaned forward and whispered, as if they weren’t in a secluded location in a nearly empty room, “Isabelle Highmore?”
Val nodded as he settled back against the chair. He could’ve almost believed he’d dreamed her presence, but telling Cole somehow made it real. “Isabelle Cortland now. She’s widowed, and her father died.”
“I remember hearing he’d passed. She’s Barkley’s governess now?”
“For the past five years. It’s bloody bizarre, Cole.”
Cole blew out a breath. “I can imagine. Well, maybe I can’t. It’s been ten years since you’ve seen her. Did she remember you?”
Val stared at Cole as if he’d just spouted utter nonsense, which he had. “Of course she remembered me. She also wants nothing to do with me.”
“How do you know—” Cole narrowed his hazel eyes. “Did you proposition her?”
“No! Christ, she thought I did too.”
“If she thought so, you probably did.”
“I only said I would help her if she needed it.” Val exhaled with frustration. “I couldn’t believe she’d become a governess. I never envisioned her in that role.”
Cole snorted. “And because you never envisioned it, how could it be true?”
Val sat back with a scowl. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought this up.”
“My apologies. Why did you bring it up?”
“Because it’s notable?” While Val had mostly put Isabelle from his mind after he’d wed Louisa, he still thought of her from time to time. Their one night together had been a singular occasion, a night he never thought to duplicate. “We shared something special.”
“It was,” Cole said slowly. “Is it still? Even after Louisa?”
Cole, of course, knew the damage Louisa had done. One could endure only so much from a profligate wife before one’s general opinion of women and, more precisely, of marriage, plummeted.
“It will always be.” Val realized he’d thought of Isabelle more after Louisa had died, perhaps not consciously, but he’d dreamed of her many times, of a life that maybe could have been.
“And now she’s sleeping under your roof,” Cole said. “How long will temptation be at your door?”
“A fortnight.” No, less than that now. “Thirteen days. Or thereabouts.”
“Are you hoping to repeat what you did at Oxford?” Cole leaned back against his chair with his tankard in his hand.
“We can’t.” But if Val were being honest with himself, yes, he hoped to.
“You don’t sound terribly convinced.”
No, he didn’t, and suddenly Val knew why he’d wanted to talk to his friend. “I need you to convince me, dammit.”
“You said she wanted nothing to do with you. That tells you everything you need to know. Keep your distance as you suffer through the next thirteen days and then carry on with your life.” Cole drank from his mug and set it on the table.
Cole gaped at him in surprise. “Do you love Isabelle?”
“No.” Val would never risk that again, not after Louisa. “I only meant that it’s easy for you to dish out advice because you’re so bloody happy.”
“I’m not sure that makes any sense whatsoever, but if there’s one thing I do recall, it’s that when it comes to Isabelle Highmore—Cortland, whatever—you never made much sense.”
That was probably true. He’d been consumed by her wit and intellect and enthralled with her beauty and charm.
“So I must stay away from her.” It wasn’t a question but a warning to himself. Cole was right.
Cole gave a single nod and an apologetic stare. “It sounds as if that’s best. If she were interested in you, however, that might be a different story.”
“You mean if she wanted to return to where we left off ten years ago?” Hell, what would he do then? Seduce her in the tiny bedroom nestled under the eaves of his town house? Invite her to share his bedchamber?
“It’s a moot question.” Cole looked down at his tankard. “Forget I said that.”
Val was certain he wouldn’t. Even if it was just a hazy notion in the back of his mind, he might forever dream about what he would do if Isabelle showed him the slightest inclination that she wanted him again. What would he do—take her as his mistress, or surrender to just one night as they’d done ten years ago?
“Unless you wanted to marry her,” Cole said, snapping Val from his reverie.
“What?” Val narrowed his eyes briefly.
“You could marry her, if you wanted.”
Val shook his head at Cole. “You seem to forget to whom you’re speaking.”
“You just told me that Isabelle was special.”
“No, I said we shared something special.”
Cole dropped his chin and regarded Val as if he were mad or an idiot or both. “You really want to debate semantics? I know better than anyone how Louisa tortured you, how deservedly bitter you are, but this is Isabelle. Surely she is different.”
Surely. The only thing Val was sure of was that he wasn’t going to open himself up to heartache again. Not to recapture a spectacular night. Not for anything.
“Once again spoken like a man whose happy future is secure.” Val lifted his mug. “Let us drink to that.”
“What are we toasting?” The voice belonged to Jack Barrett, who’d just arrived at their table.
“Cole’s happiness,” Val said. “Sit. We’re drinking Cole’s latest recipe.”
Cole waved the barmaid over as Jack sat down at the table.
“I hope it’s bitter as hell,” Jack said wearily. “I need something to wash away the day I’ve had. It’s a bloody tempest in the Commons since the attack on the Prince Regent.” As the conversation turned to matters concerning the country, Cole slid Val a look that clearly communicated he’d be standing by should Val need him.
But Val wouldn’t need him. He didn’t need anyone.
Chapter 4
On the third day of their stay at Val’s town house, Isabelle allowed herself to feel a modicum of relief. She’d steadfastly avoided their host and, because of her efforts, hadn’t seen him since he’d barged into her room that first night.
Every morning, she dined in the breakfast room with the girls, where they also had luncheon, and in between, they conducted schoolwork in the library, which was every bit as spectacular as Isabelle had imagined. She’d stayed up far too late the past two nights reading Waverley and, as they finished breakfast, was eager to see what other delights she might find today.
“Shall we repair to the library?” Isabelle asked the girls.
Before they could respond, their father came into the breakfast room with a broad smile. “I hope you don’t have anything planned for lessons this afternoon, Mrs. Cortland. The dowager duchess is coming to take the girls—and you—shopping.”
Beatrice squealed with delight, while Caroline’s reaction was far more reserved. “What about Gunter’s?” Caroline asked.
“The trip will include a stop at Gunter’s after you’ve finished on Bond Street. I will meet you there, and I may even have a surprise.” He winked at them, and the girls erupted into excited chatter.
Isabelle exhaled with resignation. Getting them to attend to their studies this morning was going to require a great deal of effort. “Come, girls, we’ve Latin and mathematics to conquer before our excursion.”
It was as if she’d thrown a bucket of frigid water on both of them as they wilted and trudged from the breakfast room. Lord Barkley smiled as they walked past, oblivious to the difficulty he’d just caused. He was a kind father, but rather obtuse when it came to managing his children.
He handed Isabelle a purse. “Make sure you purchase something small for the girls—as well as for yourself.” He looked at the cap atop her head. “Perhaps a new frippery.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She took the small pouch and tucked it into her apron pocket where she kept a pencil and scraps of paper.
After a frustrating morning during which the girls could barely contain their excitement and a luncheon at which they ate next to nothing, Isabelle was more than ready to set the girls free. In fact, if she could have sent them along with the dowager and remained behind, she might have done so.
Was that because she was weary after the long morning, or because she was nervous to meet Val’s grandmother? Isabelle chose not to answer that and decided to stop asking herself such foolish questions.
Isabelle and the girls waited in the entrance hall for the dowager’s arrival. However, when the door opened, it wasn’t an older woman who came inside, but a young woman, probably five years Isabelle’s junior.
“Good afternoon!” she said brightly from beneath a wide-brimmed hat topped with a cluster of scarlet flowers and an orange feather. Her gown was a pale yellow and flowed from beneath her red pelisse. With vibrant golden hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a bow-shaped mouth, she had to be Val’s sister.
“I’m Lady Viola,” she said, confirming Isabelle’s suspicion. “Grandmama is in the coach—she didn’t want to get out only to have to get back in again—but I wanted to come and greet you. I’m so pleased to take you on an excursion today, even if the weather is going to be difficult.” By that, Isabelle presumed she meant the rain, which had been falling off and on all day.
Isabelle was secretly delighted to finally meet Val’s sister. “We’re pleased to meet you. Allow me to present Miss Spelman and Miss Caroline.”
Lady Viola looked down at Beatrice, who was only a couple of inches shorter than her, and at Caroline. “It’s lovely to make your acquaintance.” Then she transferred her warm gaze to Isabelle. “And you must be their governess. Mrs. Cortland, is it?”
Heat rushed to Isabelle’s cheeks as she realized she’d forgotten to introduce herself. “Yes.” She hastened to curtsey and gave the girls a sharp glance to remind them to do the same.
Beatrice comported herself beautifully, while Caroline lost her balance and had to steady herself lest she fall over.
“Well done!” Lady Viola said. “Shall we be on our way?”
“Yes, please,” Beatrice said politely but with an undercurrent of desperate excitement.
The interior of the coach was large, with plush, dark blue velvet seats, but it was still a bit tight for Isabelle and the girls to squeeze together onto the rear-facing seat. The dowager sat on the forward-facing seat, her gaze as keen and assessing as a bird of prey as she surveyed them across the coach.
Once they were situated, Lady Viola, who was next to the dowager, conducted the introductions. “It’s too bad the girls are seated, Grandmama, for they demonstrated excellent curtsies.”
Caroline shook her head. “I didn’t at all. I nearly fell.”
Isabelle touched the girl’s hand, but before she could whisper in her ear to keep such thing
s to herself, the dowager spoke up. “My girl, you shouldn’t say things to denigrate yourself. I didn’t ever need to know that your curtsey was lacking—don’t ever verbalize your failings. Always hold your head high and comport yourself as if you are the most magnificent person in the world. Still, it’s important to master a curtsey.” The dowager gave Isabelle a stern look. “You will ensure she practices two dozen times when you return home. Promise me, now.”
“I, er, promise.”
The dowager narrowed her eyes. “Er? Wherever did you learn to speak?”
“Oxford, Your Grace.”
The dowager looked horrified and then disgusted. “You didn’t attend Oxford. Do you take me for a fool?”
“My father was warden of Merton College. He educated me personally, Your Grace. Please forgive my…failing a moment ago.”
The dowager was quiet a moment, during which Isabelle held her breath. She didn’t particularly want to be on Val’s grandmother’s bad side. Not because she was his grandmother—because really, what did that matter—but because she was one of the most powerful people in Society. On second thought, what did something like that matter to Isabelle?
“You’re bold. I like that. Do not disappoint me.”
“Ignore Grandmama,” Lady Viola said, casting the dowager a look of mock exasperation. “She likes to frighten people.” Leaning forward, she smiled at Beatrice and Caroline. “You mustn’t let her scare you, because she will like you ever so much more.”
The dowager harrumphed.
A few minutes later, they arrived on Bond Street, and their first stop was a linen draper where the dowager planned to select fabric for gowns for herself and Lady Viola. As they departed the coach, the dowager looked down at Beatrice and Caroline. “Do not touch anything.”
The dowager took her granddaughter’s arm and preceded them inside. Caroline leaned toward Beatrice and whispered, “Are you sorry we came yet? If it wasn’t for Gunter’s, I’d ask to return to His Grace’s house.”