by Amelia Grey
“Yes, but I don’t know that you didn’t somehow persuade her to say that.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“What was she doing at your house?”
“I told you, I had ladies in for tea and readings, as I have done every Tuesday and Thursday afternoons for over a year.”
His voice remained low but cold. “Then what in damnation was she doing in your back garden alone with a man?”
His insinuation left no doubt that he found her responsible and contemptible. Isabella couldn’t allow that to bother her. She had to accept some of the responsibility because she wasn’t prepared to tell him that Gretchen had admitted to arranging a meeting with Mr. Throckmorten in the garden. That piece of the puzzle would have to come from Gretchen.
“I have no answer for that, sir. You must get that information from your sister.”
“Do you know who this supposed dead man is?”
“Yes, of course. I recognized him as Mr. Boswell Throckmorten.”
A thick gasp blew from his throat as he whispered, “Good Lord. Are you certain of this?”
For a fleeting moment Isabella thought she saw alarm for his sister flash across his eyes, but she couldn’t be sure. She wondered why knowing the name of the man made such a difference to him.
“Positive.”
“Did you alert anyone?” he asked.
“No,” Isabella said, thankful that his anger had been suddenly replaced by concern, and high time. Gretchen was in trouble.
“Good.”
She could see the news of the man’s name upset him, and he was trying desperately not to show it.
“How this is handled is up to you. I told you I immediately dismissed all the servants and sent my aunt on a fool’s errand for the rest of the day so that no one would stumble upon Mr. Throckmorten. I left straightaway and came to deliver your sister and seek your instruction about what to do.”
“I’ll get my coat. We’ll go to your house immediately.” He looked around the room. “Where’s your maid? In the kitchen? With your carriage?”
“No one traveled with me. I rode with Gretchen and her maid in your carriage.”
“Then I’ll get Gretchen’s maid to act as your chaperone. Wait for me by the front door, Miss Winslowe.”
He turned and left the room without further word. He did like to give orders. Isabella would be so glad when she passed the age of needing a chaperone and she was free to come and go as she pleased just like Auntie Pith.
A few minutes later Lord Colebrooke helped Isabella into a smart new phaeton pulled by a perfectly matched pair of horses. Even though both were wearing gloves, when she placed her hand in his, Isabella’s skin tingled with pleasing warmth. Their clasp was a firm holding of hands, and it was enough to cause an unexpected leap in her breath.
She sank into the plush seat by Gretchen’s pleasant-looking maid for the short ride. She hoped to feel relief once she turned this unfortunate incident over to Lord Colebrooke, but so far relief had eluded her.
They were silent on the ride to her house. Isabella found herself glancing at the intriguing earl and wondering what he was thinking. She really couldn’t blame him for looking at her with suspicion. The story was shocking, outrageous. She would react the same way had someone told her Auntie Pith had killed a man. Still—
The carriage stopped. Lord Colebrooke didn’t wait for the footman to open the door. The earl stepped down and immediately turned back to reach for Isabella. “Wait here,” he told the maid.
Isabella placed her hand in his. This time he clamped his fingers firmly around hers and Isabella’s pulse quickened. Most men hardly touched a woman’s hand when they helped them in or out of a carriage, but there was no such wariness in this man. He boldly took hold of her, leaving her no doubt she was—in his hands.
What was there about his touch that made her breath grow short and heat rise to her face? She didn’t know. She only knew she had never felt that way with any other man’s touch.
As they walked toward her front door, Isabella turned to him and said, “I wasn’t aware that your sister knew Mr. Throckmorten.”
“I don’t intend to discuss my sister’s private affairs with you.”
“Must you be so unfriendly to a lady who’s only trying to help your sister?”
“Gretchen was in your aunt’s home, Miss Winslowe. I’ll hold you and her responsible for any harm that comes to her. Besides that, I see no reason to be friendly to a lady I don’t plan to ever talk to again after today.”
He couldn’t have made his feelings for her any plainer than that, and for some odd reason she didn’t understand, his words bothered her. But he would never know that.
“I find that reassuring, sir.”
“So do I, Miss Winslowe. I don’t like receiving messages that my sister was alone in your garden with a man.”
“It is not the kind of news I like to deliver. And I can assure you it did not make me happy that Gretchen chose my garden in which to strike Mr. Throckmorten.”
“If you hadn’t persuaded her to come to your reading group, this never would have happened.”
“Persuade? I simply invited her. You, sir, cannot blame this on me. I had no idea your sister had such designing intentions or inclinations.”
“She doesn’t.”
“I’ll leave her to answer that.”
“And so you should. Anyone else would have taken greater care for her safety and well-being.”
His words stung, but Isabella would rather be stuck with sewing needles than let him know. “And I happily turn her over to your custody.”
Isabella stomped through her front door with Lord Colebrooke right behind her. They went straight through the vestibule, their destination the rear garden. Isabella opened the door and looked out, but immediately saw that the body was not where she had left it.
This was unbelievable. She slowly walked down the four steps to the area to where Mr. Throckmorten had been and turned back to Lord Colebrooke.
Her eyes widened with shock as she whispered, “He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“The body—Mr. Throckmorten is gone,” Isabella said as relief washed across Lord Colebrooke’s face.
***
Chilton was right. Miss Winslowe was a troublemaker.
Daniel looked at the irritating lady standing before him stunningly dressed in her bold blue cloak with black braid trim and matching bonnet and gloves. Infuriating or not, she was incredibly beautiful. Not only was she not the old, unattractive spinster he imagined her to be when Chilton had mentioned her, she had almost convinced him that Gretchen had committed a horrible crime.
She was downright audacious.
He took in a deep breath of cold air and exhaled it quickly. He undoubtedly had a beautiful madwoman in front of him. But that, he admitted to himself, was preferable to a dead man.
What kind of game was Miss Winslowe playing and what had made her think she could play this devious game with him? She should be on stage, and perhaps she had been, for surely she was acting now with her beautiful, flashing green eyes so wide with shock.
She was taller than most women and, by far, more beautiful. Her clothing, her speech, the way she carried herself, and the fact of where her house was located told him she was not a young lady without considerable means. But who the hell was she and what was her purpose in this madcap tale?
“How about Mr. Throckmorten was never here?” Daniel said with a bit of a scoff in his tone.
She held cold eyes on his face and said, “Do not insult me or your sister, Lord Colebrooke.”
“Then perhaps you were serving something stronger than tea at your meeting this afternoon,” he said, remembering how she had downed the brandy in his parlor.
Her eyes rounded in heated denial before she said, “That’s a vile accusation. I would never serve spirits to the young ladies who visit me.”
“Then what is your explanation? I’m ready to hear something reasonable.
”
“He was lying right there on the ground.” She pointed to the spot. “See the cherub. That’s where Gretchen dropped it when I found her.”
“The cherub, indeed, lies on the ground, Miss Winslowe, but not Mr. Throckmorten.” He walked over to where she pointed and bent down for a closer inspection of the ground. Twilight was descending fast, but even in the waning light of day he saw no stains.
“I don’t see any blood.”
“He wasn’t bleeding.”
Daniel gave her a questioning look. “Yet she hit him on the head with a marble statuette?”
“Yes. I know it sounds preposterous.”
Her eyes sparkled with indignation, and she showed no sign of wavering from her story.
“I’m glad we agree on something.”
She took a ragged breath. “I can’t explain his disappearance.”
“Obviously.”
“Nor do I understand his disappearance, but he was indeed here and dead. I saw him. I shook him and called his name many times.”
Daniel was beginning to think his first inclination must be right. She had to be an actress to appear so shocked that the man was no longer in her garden dead or alive.
“Then where is he?”
Her gaze held fast to his and he was impressed with her audacity. “I just admitted that I don’t know. I have no idea.”
Daniel was in no mood to relent. “Dead men do not get up and walk off, Miss Winslowe.”
She stiffened. “I know that. Someone must have stolen the body.”
Despite his efforts to control it, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he had to bite back a chuckle. She was not to be believed. A dead body stolen from her garden in the space of not more than half an hour? His shoulders shook with humor. What kind of fool did she take him for? If she wasn’t up to mischief, he’d consider her downright charming.
Sparks of fire shot from her gleaming eyes, making her all the more attractive. For a brief moment his thoughts strayed to what she would look like with her golden hair spilling down her shoulders.
“This is not funny, Lord Colebrooke.”
He cleared his throat and did his best to wipe the smile from his lips, difficult as it was. “I quite agree—in some respects.”
“Then why are you smiling like Saint Peter on Judgment Day?”
“Perhaps because I don’t know what kind of madcap game you’re playing, Miss Winslowe. If it weren’t so cruel a joke, it might be fascinating.”
“This is no game, sir.”
“I believe it is, and this one involving my sister is over here and now.”
Her gloved hands made fists at her sides, and her eyes blazed with indignation.
“You are the most thickheaded man I have ever met. You heard your sister admit she struck Mr. Throckmorten and killed him. I don’t know what happened to him after we left him. I only know he was here. I know a dead man when I see one, and he was dead.”
Daniel hid a smile behind the pretext of clearing of his throat. “How many dead bodies have you seen, Miss Winslowe?”
She blinked rapidly and seemed to study his question a moment. “I’m not sure. I had an uncle who passed on, and then there was a neighbor a few years ago. Sweet mercies, I don’t know how many. But Mr. Throckmorten was lifeless. There wasn’t even the flutter of an eyelash.”
“Well, it appears that if Mr. Throckmorten was here, he’s gone now and that is all that matters.”
“If?” she said imperiously. “There is no if.”
“But there is. If he was here, I suggest he wasn’t dead but had merely passed out. I’ve seen Throckmorten so smashed he had to crawl out of White’s or be carried out by his friends.”
“That doesn’t mean he was overindulging in drink today.”
“It just so happens only a short while ago a good friend of mine said he saw Throckmorten today at White’s and he was already well into his cups. No doubt he was wandering around foxed and found your back gate unlocked as it is now. He stumbled in and passed out from too much wine. When he woke, he left the garden.”
“Very well. How would you explain your sister standing over his body holding a statue, saying she had struck him?”
“It’s simple really. She walked into your garden where she had every right to believe she would be safe and saw Mr. Throckmorten. She assumed he would accost her so she picked up the statue ready to defend herself when he approached her. Since there were no marks on him, I assume she missed when she struck out at him. He passed out and fell to the ground.”
“Even if the situation happened as you stated, do you think one of our servants would leave our back gate unlocked where anyone could wander in? That wouldn’t happen.”
“I don’t know what you would allow, Miss Winslowe, because I don’t know you.”
“Quite true, sir, and with your attitude, you are not someone I want to get to know.”
“That statement pleases me. You could have lured me into your garden with this false story in hopes of someone finding us together in a compromising position so that you could catch me in parson’s mousetrap.”
The fire of righteous anger burned brightly in her eyes, and she advanced on him in anger. “Dupe you into marriage? That is a contemptible suggestion, sir. You flatter yourself. I would rather spend my life in chains at Newgate than with you!”
Her fury was undeniable but not daunting, and for some reason Daniel found that strangely appealing. He met her challenge by taking a step toward her. They stood so close he could have easily touched her simply by lifting his hand. And for one startling moment he thought he wanted to caress her creamy-soft cheek with the backs of his fingers.
He had a bewildering desire to pull her to his chest and kiss her. He wanted to feel her rosy lips soft and pliant beneath his.
Daniel shook off his straying, astonishing thoughts. “Fancy you should mention Newgate, Miss Winslowe, because that is exactly where you will find yourself if I hear of you concocting any more tales such as this. I’ll personally see to it that your chicanery is stopped.”
“You, sir, are the most disagreeable man I have ever met.”
A slow confident smile spread across Daniel’s lips. He expected her to move away from him, but she remained so close he heard her labored breathing, saw the rise and fall of her chest, and caught a wisp of the clean scent of a lady’s perfumed soap. She was provoking, and in so many ways that wasn’t bad.
“I wouldn’t have you think of me any other way, Miss Winslowe.”
She continued to stare boldly into his eyes, refusing to back down on her story or back away from his nearness. Her courage was impressive, her beauty undeniable, and her mischief troublesome.
She kept her hot gaze on his. “I believe it’s time you took your leave,” she said.
He nodded once. “Something else we agree on. I trust I can rely on you not to breathe a word of this outlandish story to your group or to anyone.”
“If I had the forethought to send my aunt and servants away so they wouldn’t see the body, do you really think I would tell this to a roomful of impressionable young ladies?”
“As I said, I don’t know you. But hear me on this, Miss Winslowe, and hear me well.” He moved in closer to her and caught the appealing scent of freshly washed hair and new cloth. “Stay away from my sister.”
“You cannot intimidate me, Lord Colebrooke. I do not fear you. And I will not tell your sister she cannot come to our Reading Society.”
“Then I will. Good day, Miss Winslowe, and good riddance.”
Four
It took all of Isabella’s willpower not to slam the door behind the insufferable earl.
“Good riddance, indeed!” she muttered aloud. “I heartily agree, Lord Colebrooke.”
Isabella was far too sensible a woman to stomp her foot in frustration, but, oh, how she could see the value in it right now.
She untied her bonnet with cold fingers and removed it as she continued talking to hers
elf. “I shall be happy to never look upon your handsome face again.
“Handsome?” Isabella stopped and breathed in a heavy sigh of surprise. “Sweet mercies, where did that word come from? And how could such a man as he be favored with such captivating appeal?”
She took off her gloves, one finger at a time, as she mumbled to herself with each pull on the tip, “He is positively arrogant, scornful, impatient, judgmental, and formidable.” She threw her gloves on a small table and took off her cloak, tossing it on top of the gloves and bonnet.
“I forgot infuriating,” she continued her conversation with herself. “Yes, he’s most infuriating. How could that man possibly be the most eligible bachelor in London? Piffle!”
Having reached the ground floor parlor, she took a deep calming breath as she walked over to the window. She brushed aside the dark green drapery panel and watched as Lord Colebrooke climbed effortlessly into his phaeton and took the reins.
It was widely known that the earl was only looking for a wife to give him a child, not love and devotion from an intelligent young lady who would be his partner for life. What woman would want a man who thought like that?
There were other words to describe him that she’d forgotten. He was impressive with his tall, powerful-looking frame and she’d been oddly attracted to him when he’d stood so close to her she heard his breathing and smelled the clean scent of shaving soap. She’d felt a strange quaking in her lower stomach and her knees had suddenly felt watery.
That he was loyal to his sister and protective of her was thoroughly commendable. Maybe that was the part of him that appealed to Isabella. For surely something about him had. It certainly wasn’t his overbearing self-confidence or his uncompromising and ill-mannered behavior toward her.
Yes, he was much too commanding for her taste. If she were to ever be interested in a man, it wouldn’t be someone as disagreeable as Lord Colebrooke. He certainly wasn’t the kind of beau she should get starry-eyed over.
She didn’t plan to marry, but if she were ever to reconsider, she wanted a husband who would love her and allow her to love him. She certainly couldn’t be interested in a man who had openly admitted that he was only looking for a wife to bear his children.