"There you are, Lord Francis," she exclaimed. "We have been searching all over for you. Dear Sophie and I were wondering if you would be in Brighton this summer; I am planning some entertainments, and they would not be complete without your presence."
Lord Francis bowed over her hand. "I regret, Lady Castlemere, that I shall not be in Brighton this year. I intend to visit Scotland."
Chapter 24
Isobel Paley stood, arms akimbo, dressed in her oldest gown, with a shawl knotted about her head and an unmistakable dust smudge on her cheek. The sun in a cloudless sky shone brightly on Ben Farclas, the mountain’s shoulders clad in a heather purple mist, and to the north, the firth sparkled indigo and white below the glen. A warm breeze lifted fields of ripening oats, and they shifted among varying shades of gold. It was a lovely sight, but Miss Paley was not attending to the scenery. Instead, she surveyed the excavation of a Roman hill fort, which she had unearthed the previous summer.
This year she was engaged in the more interesting task of investigating the settlement that the garrison had once supported. Nearby, workers were cleaning a glowing mosaic floor, which had been a part of the baths. Even here, reflected Isobel with pleasure, in what had been one of the most remote and barbarous parts of their empire, the Romans had built a luxurious, if modest sized, bath. The discovery of the baths and mosaic had been a wondrous find and she was looking forward to a productive summer sketching and documenting them, as well as cataloging the many objects she had found. A frisson of excitement ran through her as it always did when she contemplated the many mysteries she might solve.
Isobel took her pen and notebook and settled herself at a rough desk, which was shaded slightly by a crude tent constructed near the site. She unrolled an unfinished but detailed drawing, and leaned over it, resuming sketching the mosaics, as the workers continued to unearth the walls and other features of the bathhouse.
Immersed in her work, Isobel was oblivious to her surroundings, emerging from her concentration only if one of the laborers interrupted her with a question. The work was slow and tedious, and soon the sun mounted high in the sky. She decided reluctantly that, in view of the ruinous effects of the afternoon sun on a lady’s complexion, she had best conclude her work for the day.
She was flexing her fingers and looking around at the excavation activities so that she could issue instructions for the remainder of the afternoon, when the sound of hoof beats could be heard. Isobel made a moue of vexation. Although her neighbors were aware of her work, Isobel much preferred to draw as little attention as possible to her activities, and she did not relish being observed in such an unladylike situation.
Her annoyance, however, rapidly changed to horror when Major Lord Francis Wheaton appeared, cantering over the rise on which the excavation lay. His exquisitely cut riding coat and the shining white tops of his boots made her feel unaccountably dowdy, dusty, and uncomfortable, while his look of polite surprise made her mind race for a possible excuse why she, Miss Isobel Paley, ornament of Society, was to be found in the middle of a dirty excavation site with a smudge on her cheek.
Lord Francis' maneuvered his horse closer, and his eyebrows inched slowly up as he surveyed her.
"Can it be?" he said in a languid drawl. "Is this indeed Miss Paley? How very pleasant to see you again ma'am, particularly under such, er, unexpected circumstances." His eyes moved lazily over the scene, taking in the toiling workers and Isobel’s drawings, but in their depths their lurked a hint of amusement. He swung down from his horse, providing Isobel with a fine opportunity to observe his thigh muscles rippling under his close fitting riding breeches.
As he casually looped the reins around a sturdy post nearby that marked a partially exposed boundary wall in the dig, Isobel thought furiously about how to react. She decided that the best tack to take would be to behave as though nothing at all were unusual, and that their encounter was occurring in a London drawing room. She smiled on Lord Francis graciously.
"Lord Francis!" she said. "I had thought you were returning to Strancaster or visiting Brighton. What brings you to the wilds of Scotland?"
Lord Francis waved one hand airily. "Strancaster grew somewhat dull after the charms of town, and I was invited to visit my very dear friend Lord Glencairn. He has an estate some few miles from here, as I believe you are aware?" He paused for a moment so Isobel could assent.
"I had heard from the locals of these ruins, and having some small interest in Roman antiquities from my time at Oxford, I thought I might view them. Instead I find myself viewing you, which is quite a delightful variation upon the theme."
Isobel drew in a deep breath and forged ahead, precisely as though they had encountered one another in a friend’s drawing room while paying afternoon calls. "Are you enjoying your stay in Scotland?" she inquired.
"Oh, most assuredly. I find the air to be quite salubrious. I feel sure that this will do my health great good. And you, Miss Paley? Forgive me, but what are you doing here?"
"You will no doubt recall that I possess a small property near here, at which I usually spend the summer days, Lord Francis," said Isobel. "I also find the air to be most healthful."
Lord Francis inspected her again with the air of a connoisseur. "Miss Paley, surely you have no need to repair your constitution? You are the very image of vigor.”
"I thank you, Lord Francis," she said with some asperity, it not being fashionable for women to be robustly strong. "My health is excellent."
"I am reassured. I would not like to think of someone as energetic as I know you to be, Miss Paley, repairing to her bed and pining away."
"There is little chance of that, sir," replied Isobel tartly.
"And does Miss Harriet also rejoice in good health?" inquired Lord Francis.
"My cousin does very well, sir," said Isobel, her toe beginning to tap dangerously. Really, Lord Francis was growing annoying. He appeared to be as determined as she was to pretend their encounter was in no way extraordinary.
"I am relieved to hear so." Lord Francis gazed about as he removed a snuffbox from his pocket and took a pinch with an air. He gestured to the site around them, his face displaying polite amazement. "Forgive me, ma'am, but this is a deuced odd place in which to encounter you. How come you to be at this work site at this unaccountable hour? Surely a lady is not supervising these workers?"
Isobel laughed as lightly as she could in spite of a growing feeling of disbelief at Lord Francis' absurd conversation. "Why no, Lord Francis, what a foolish conceit. I am not capable of supervising these workers! Surely you would not think I have an interest in these grubby bits of stone? I scarcely know Roman from medieval! I am aiding my cousin, Alexander Paley. He has an interest in this site, and, as I am staying nearby, begged me to make some drawings of these mosaics for him. I am considered to have a reasonably good eye, and I could hardly refuse a request from one of my favorite relatives."
"Ah, yes, the ubiquitous Mr. Paley," murmured Lord Francis. "May I see the sketches? I have a passion for mosaics."
Isobel reluctantly offered him her sketchbook, and he leafed through it languidly.
"Charming, Miss Paley. As I noted once before, you have a touch with these antiquities," he said, returning it to her. "Your cousin will doubtless be most grateful. I encountered him recently, and we had an interesting conversation. I had no idea his interest in the Roman period in Britain was so well-developed."
"You saw Alexander?" asked Isobel, finding it best to dissemble.
"Indeed; he was in London and our paths fortunately crossed. We were acquainted at Oxford, you will remember, and shared some historical interests. And of course I could not refrain from asking him about his new interest in Roman antiquities in Scotland. I was fascinated to learn he was publishing his findings under a pseudonym." He gave Isobel a sidelong glance.
"Indeed? I am afraid I do not read Alexander's papers, Lord Francis," said Isobel.
"But surely you are aware of their content, Miss Paley? I feel
sure you told me you make fair copies for him?" Lord Francis appeared bewildered.
"Why yes, I do," said Isobel, cursing Lord Francis’ excellent memory. "But, when copying, one scarcely absorbs what one is reading, and Alexander's writings are far above my level of expertise."
"Ah, yes, that would doubtless explain it,” said Lord Francis “One cannot expect a woman to have the same interest in these matters as men."
"Certainly not," said Isobel. "Why, such a woman would be a positive oddity."
"No doubt," agreed Lord Francis. "If you are done with today's labors, Miss Paley, perhaps you will permit me to accompany you home? I would be delighted to escort you, and to see Miss Harriet again."
Isobel could see no graceful way to refuse him, although she was feeling a distinct desire to grind her teeth. "Of course, Lord Francis. That would be very kind of you. I am sure Cousin Harriet will be delighted to see you." At least, she reflected, the latter statement was true.
She gathered her pencils as he watched, and allowed him to escort her to her mount. He gracefully threw her into the saddle and then mounted his own animal, a well-made bay.
They turned towards Isobel's home. Conversation was desultory, as Lord Francis seemed to be thoughtful, and Isobel was attempting to hide her annoyance. Lord Francis's appearance in Scotland at this time was the greatest inconvenience. His vexatious predilection for her company would surely force her to spend less time than she wished at the excavation site, for he would doubtless spread word in the neighborhood of her arrival, which would result in countless invitations. Even now he was accompanying her home, where he would surely sit and gossip with Harriet at a time when she would much rather be reviewing the day's findings. At the same time, she was powerfully aware of his masculinity as he rode next to her, his thigh only inches from her own. She realized that she had missed his companionship more than she had known and, unbidden, the thought that it would be far easier to tryst with him in Scotland than in London formed in her head. She gave him a sidelong glance, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the way his hair shone in the sunlight. A tingle of excitement shot through her, only to be hastily suppressed.
When they arrived at Dargenwater Cottage, Miss Harriet, having no such complicated emotions in regard to Lord Francis, was delighted to find herself once again in his presence.
"Lord Francis!" she exclaimed when he accompanied Isobel into the sitting room. "What a wonderful surprise. I had no idea that we might be seeing you here in Scotland, not but what it is the unexpected visitor that is the most welcome. It is very odd that you should be here, of course; what brings you to this part of the kingdom?"
Isobel shot Lord Francis an inquisitive glance, but that gentleman appeared unembarrassed. "I had no intention of being here, ma'am, but I found that my friend Lord Glencairn was eager for my company."
"Well, for whatever reason you are here, I am grateful you have arrived and have come to visit us. I have been fearfully bored here, what with Isobel out all the time and so little to do! You are exactly what I need to revive my spirits."
"I am delighted that I can alleviate your doldrums, Miss Harriet," responded Lord Francis. "Pray, tell me why is Miss Paley is neglecting you so?"
Before Harriet could respond, Isobel leaped in. "Why, she merely speaks of my drawings for Alexander," she said. "But I shall very soon be done with those, and I will be able to spare more time for other activities."
"How wonderful," said Lord Francis. "I will be sure to let Lord Glencairn know that you are in residence. He is planning numerous entertainments, which I am sure you ladies would enjoy immensely."
"That would be excessively thoughtful of you, Lord Francis,” said Harriet, looking pleased. “I am sure that Isobel could do with some entertainments outside of her attention to those tedious ruins. Why, ever since we have come to Scotland, she has done nothing but talk of them. Of course, it is no different from any other year, and yet..."
Isobel leapt in once again, fearful of where Harriet's conversation might lead her. "I am sure that Lord Francis does not wish to hear tales of our previous summers in Scotland, Harriet. Pray, Lord Francis, do tell us how your parents are?"
With Isobel firmly at the helm, the conversation was steered to less treacherous waters. To that lady's considerable annoyance, Lord Francis stayed to tea, exerting himself to the utmost to be charming. Miss Paley remained unmoved, although Miss Harriet was delighted by his presence. When the gentleman took his leave, long after Isobel felt he should have been gone, she barely smiled as she extended her hand.
"But how cold you are, Miss Paley," said Lord Francis, his mirth barely disguised. He took her hand and held it gently between his own. "Have I done something to offend you?"
"Not at all," replied Isobel, summoning a smile and attempting to better conceal her displeasure. "I am merely surprised to find you here in Scotland."
"Perhaps I can make that a pleasant surprise," said his lordship, his eyes sliding from her face to the neckline of her gown. "I am sure, now that the neighborhood will know of your presence, that our paths will cross many times."
He pressed his lips to her hand and was gone with a bow and a smile, leaving Isobel to wrestle with her various emotions, which ranged from seething anger to a spark of anticipation and barely acknowledged pleasure that Lord Francis had apparently sought her out. She pressed her lips together. Whatever his motives, he was sure to be a nuisance that would interrupt her summer's work.
Chapter 25
Isobel's encounter with Lord Francis led to all the inconveniences she had imagined. Invitations to parties, picnics, and dances poured in, and she was forced to accept at least some of them or appear unduly churlish. Harriet was delighted, but Isobel was perturbed. Picnics interfered with her daytime hours at the excavation, and late evenings at the homes of neighbors made it difficult to rise early and be on site during the coolest part of the day.
Everywhere she went she encountered Lord Francis Wheaton, smiling politely, helping her to find a seat, asking her to dance, complimenting her on her appearance, always with a laughing look in his eyes. One morning, while Isobel was at the excavation, he appeared, impeccably clad as usual, his coat fitting across his shoulders as though it were molded to him, the white tops to his well-cut boots gleaming. Isobel thought for a moment how attractive he was, and then hastily squelched the thought. She put down her pencil and summoned a smile.
“Miss Paley,” said Lord Francis. “I’m surprised to see you up so early. Surely you should be abed, resting after the dancing last night.”
“I’m not so weak spirited as that,” protested Isobel. “And I have work to do here.”
“Ah yes, the drawings for Alexander.” Lord Francis drew closer, and looked over her shoulder. She could feel the warmth of his body through the light fabric of her dress, and she fought the urge to lean back until they touched. “Lovely,” he murmured.
“What is lovely?” demanded Isobel.
“The drawings, Miss Paley, of course. The drawings.” Lord Francis’ voice indicated surprise. “What else could I mean?”
Isobel put down her pencil and stood, turning. She instantly regretted it, for Lord Francis moved not an inch, and she found herself in very close proximity to his broad chest.
“Lord Francis, this must stop,” she said abruptly.
“What must stop?” he asked.
“This—this pursuit of me,” she said.
“Pursuit? I have no idea what you are speaking of, Miss Paley. Surely my attentions to you are most proper.”
Suppressing the thought that she wished his attentions were a bit more improper, Isobel pushed on. “Lord Francis, we really must discuss this—this situation.”
He raised his eyebrows for a moment, but then smiled charmingly. “Certainly, if you wish. But, I think, perhaps not here.” He nodded toward the workmen, and then took Isobel’s elbow gently in his hand. She quivered slightly at the feel of his fingers on her skin.
“Just
so,” he said, and led her away from the excavation some ways to a where a copse of trees stood. They walked for few minutes in silence, and when they reached a small clearing, Lord Francis stopped.
“Now, what is it you wished to say to me, Miss Paley?” he asked.
Isobel folded her arms and glared at him. “Lord Francis, I have no idea why you came to Scotland—“
“The salubrious air,” he supplied with a smile.
“But I wish you would understand that when I am in Scotland I prefer to keep to myself. I cannot get this work done for Alexander if I am constantly having to entertain guests.”
“Ah, I see,” said Lord Francis. “You find my presence distracting.”
“No, not distracting,” lied Isobel. “But I would prefer it if you do not continue to bother me. Your attentions are most unwelcome.”
“Most unwelcome?” echoed Lord Francis. “I seem to recall that you have very much enjoyed my attentions in the past.”
“That is in the past and will stay there,” said Isobel, flushing slightly as unbidden memories flooded her mind.
“Will they?” asked Lord Francis. “Perhaps I can remind you of them. For old times’ sake.” He closed the distance between them with one step, and took her face gently between his hands. She did not try to break away, but looked up into his grey eyes, her own green ones stormy.
“Do you want them to stay in the past or not, Isobel?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her very gently and persuasively.
Isobel gave a small sigh as a long suppressed wave of desire crashed over her, and she found that she was kissing him back, opening her lips for his questing tongue as her arms treacherously reached up to draw him close. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her to him, and she gave a tiny wriggle of delight when she felt that he was hard already. She pressed herself up against him and returned his kisses with fervor.
“So, perhaps this is not in the past after all,” said Francis, his voice deep with desire. He grabbed her full skirt in one hand and drew it up, and then stroked her exposed thigh gently as the muslin frothed about his arm.
A Lady of Passion: Isobel's After Dark Regency Romance Page 20