by Diana Ballew
She sighed. What a muddle it all was. She didn’t like things to be so uncertain. She wished she knew just how Eaton felt about her, but of course they couldn’t speak of it. What a fool she was to even allow her heart to become so attached to the man. She could never have him, and all the wishing wouldn’t change that.
Just before dinner, Easton gave her the responses to the notes she had sent. Both Lisbeth and Mr. Dalton would be happy to come to dine on Thursday evening. She told a passing maid to inform Cook that they would have guests, then allowed her handsome butler to seat her for the meal. She was hard pressed not to laugh when every so often a footman would stick his head through the connecting door to the kitchen. She was sure they were dying to see if Easton would be sitting beside her, even though she had not requested even a spare spoon. Although she dared only to surreptitiously glance his way, she had a feeling Easton was amused as well.
After the quiet meal was over, Isabella stood and finally gazed directly at the butler, who had been silently watching her all evening with his smoldering eyes, leaning against the wall with his ankles crossed casually.
“I think I shall go to the library and read. Goodnight, Easton.” She saw the surprised lift of one brow and grinned at him impishly. “Yes, I do enjoy reading, Easton.”
“Of course you do, my lady. I hear there are quite delightful novels for young ladies and their delicate sensibilities,” he said, his voice dry, teasing her back. “Yes, sweet little stories of purity and true love, no doubt. I shall escort you to the library, my lady fair.”
Isabella hoped he would keep being silly with her. She did so enjoy his subtle humor. Her father had been an excellent conversationalist, but he was almost painfully direct and grounded to earth. He had not been one to joke about.
Easton ushered her out of the room and toward the large library. “And what is the title of this maidenly little story you plan to read, my lady?”
“Would you be disappointed if it weren’t ‘Love on the Moors’?”
“I would be appalled.”
“Well, then I certainly shan’t tell you I’m reading Plato. No, I would hate to crush your genteel opinion of me.” Isabella was disappointed to see they had already reached her destination. She had seen him looking at her like he would very much like to kiss her again. However, she doubted he would dare set one foot inside the dim room and be alone with her. “Would you care to come in and select a tome to put you to sleep, Easton?”
Oh, she was wicked.
“Thank you, but no, my lady. I think it best we not offer up any more gossip for the servants.” He must have seen her disappointment. "Go on and read, my dear. I shall see you in the morning, I’m sure.” He opened the door for her, gently pushed her inside, then firmly shut it.
Chapter 8
It was late when Isabella came to dinner the next evening. Easton had been purposely avoiding her all day and she was angry enough to spit.
To get even, she had spent longer than usual at her bath, knowing he would be standing at the foot of the stairs the whole time. When she did finally come down, she was sorely annoyed to not see him there. Instead, there was a red-faced footman, by the name of Thomas, waiting all this time. Curse him!
“Thomas, where is Easton? Why isn’t he performing his duties?”
“My lady,” the young man bowed with a jerk. “He claimed he weren’t feeling up to snuff and went to town to find a cure, my lady.” Another jerky bow. If Isabella weren’t so mad, she would have been hard pressed not to laugh at the nervous fellow.
“I would see him when he returns, Thomas. I shall have to explain the necessity of requesting my permission before abdicating his duties.” She turned and stomped to the dining room. Poor Thomas had to run to reach the door before her.
Dinner was miserable. The food even seemed to suffer the loss of Easton’s presence. Didn’t he realize their time together was drawing to a close? Weren’t these last few days as precious to him as they were to her? Even if it was only to spend a few snatched moments here and there together, it meant much to her. She waited in the adjacent parlor for an hour before finally retiring, her fury held close to her.
By morning, her mood had not improved, especially when she remembered her dinner guests would be coming that night. And tomorrow, Alex and his friend would arrive and take her wonderful, if exasperating, butler away. She would be left alone again. Goodness, it was depressing. She decided to go for a ride before breakfast. Perhaps that would lighten her spirits.
She arrived at the stables dressed in a smart brown riding habit. Her long hair was in one thick braid down her back, topped with a small matching hat sporting a white feather that curled down and nearly touched her cheek.
“Harry!” She called out and the fellow was instantly before her, grinning as usual.
“Good mornin’, m’ lady! You’d like a ride this lovely mornin’ ‘afore eatin’, I’m guessin’.”
Isabella couldn’t help but return his smile, then laughed as he dashed away, his boyish legs and arms pumping as he ran.
Just over an hour later, she returned from her ride. She had given Dilly her head, allowing the horse to race them across the fields full of wildflowers and her mood was much improved. She headed directly to the table and ate a substantial amount of Cook’s delicious fare.
There still was no sign of Easton by the time she had finished.
Rafe watched Isabella return from her ride while sitting on his horse, hidden just off the main path. She looked gorgeous and vibrant astride her magnificent beast. He always admired a woman who could sit a horse well. She moved with natural grace, her bearing confident and bold.
He was just coming back from the quaint town where he had spent the night in the only inns largest bed, which still seemed considerably small to him. A maid there had been tempting, but somehow, it didn’t seem right to dally with her. She didn’t have glorious auburn hair, for one thing, damn it to hell.
He had managed to stay away from Isabella all of yesterday but knew that it would be extremely difficult to keep the same resolve of the previous night and leave her alone. And so, he thought showing very good sense, he had removed himself from temptation. He knew she would be angry with him, but decided that might also help to keep anything further from happening between them. With luck, which he sorely needed by now, Alex and Whit would come and rescue him tomorrow. With her cousin in the house, she wouldn’t dare attempt, in her extremely innocent way, to seduce him further. He had resolve, but he was only a man, after all. How long was he expected to be able to resist her, damn her beautiful eyes?
No, by Sunday, or Monday at the latest, he would safely be ensconced back in his own house, in the heart of bustling London, free once more to go about his daily business. There would be no more threat of being run through by a friend and, no more enticing little country innocents to reduce him to such a randy state. He would immediately find a new mistress and spend several glorious hours making love to her. Rafe frowned as Isabella’s image, her face passion dazed, popped into his mind’s eye.
Bloody hell.
She was furious, again. Easton had come back to the house, a stammering Thomas had informed her, late that morning, and still he had not come to see her, despite her orders. Thomas swore he had given the butler the message, but apparently the man had decided to ignore her direct request.
It was too much. And now, she was expecting guests and had no idea if she had a butler who would do his duty. Never mind that she was absolutely certain he wasn’t a butler. He was shirking his responsibility, and it was not to be borne. It was the principle of the matter that irked her, nothing more. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that this would probably be their last evening together before Alex spirited him away again. She would figure out how to make him pay for this insolence. There had to be a way to get under his skin. She smiled, deviously, as an idea came to mind. My, it was wonderfully wicked. Could she possibly pull it off?
Rafe took his pla
ce at the entry, heard the sound of hooves clatter on the cobblestone drive and opened the door just as Miss Lisbeth and Mr. Dalton arrived at the same time. He bowed and took their wraps, then directed them to the parlor. He assured them Lady Isabella would be with them in a moment, handed the wraps to a footman after he left them, and waited at the base of the stairs. He didn’t have to wait long before he heard the rustle of silk and looked up. His jaw must have hit the floor, it felt it hung so far open at the sight of Isabella descending the staircase. She looked like a goddess tonight, her hair a mass of loose curls, tumbling down from the crown of her head. Her creamy shoulders were exposed, along with a fair amount of cleavage, in a gown of dusky lavender shot through with silver threads. Diamond earrings hung from her dainty lobes, her only enhancement. She was absolutely ravishing and he was going to kill her.
“Ah, Easton,” she said smoothly. “So, you are still employed here?”
That made his mouth snap shut.
“Have my guests arrived yet?”
Through clenched teeth he muttered, “Yes, my lady.”
“Wonderful.” She breezed past him, her chin in the air, her haughty mantle firmly in place.
“Isabella!” Rafe hissed at her. “You can not -.”
She whirled on him, her emerald eyes blazing with anger. “Do not dare to tell me what I can and cannot do! This is my home and I am the mistress here! Remember your place, sir! You would do well to recall you are still in my employment.” She turned and marched toward the parlor.
Rafe’s long strides brought him beside her easily. “Do forgive me, my lady.” Stiffly, he opened the door for her. What he wanted to do was grab her and shake her. She was going to play the haughty little miss, was she?
“Miss Tetherly, Mr. Dalton,” he bit out, fuming that he couldn’t assert control over the woman and see that she behave properly. She had actually had the nerve to dress him down like any common servant! “The Baroness of Kirkwood.”
His eyes narrowed as he observed Dalton practically salivate at the sight of her. He sorely wished the rotter would give him cause to beat him senseless at the moment.
“Goodness, Bella! You do look lovely tonight.” Lisbeth looked from him to the haughty mask of her friend. “Although,” she muttered, “your color is a bit up, dear.”
“I’ve just been so anticipating this evening, Lisbeth,” was Isabella’s stiff response.
“Well, lovely, nonetheless. Don’t you agree, Mr. Dalton? Mr. Dalton?” Lisbeth stuck her elbow into his ribs.
“My God, yes!”
“Thank you for your enthusiasm, sir.” Isabella replied, fairly smirking. The other man moved forward and began kissing each of her knuckles.
“Why don’t we go in to dinner? Cook has truly outdone himself this evening, I understand.” Mr. Dalton immediately gasped her arm and then, almost as an afterthought, took Lisbeth’s also.
“I am truly the luckiest man alive, to have the company of two such charming creatures.”
When the three were seated, Isabella at the head of the table, Mr. Dalton on her right and Lisbeth on her left, Rafe gave a nod for the meal to be served. Since there was company, there would be at least three courses and Rafe knew this would be a trying ordeal. He watched Isabella laugh at some remark from Dalton, and felt like slamming his fist in the wall – or the other man’s face.
Isabella was flirting outrageously by the time dessert was served, and Rafe was fit to kill. Lisbeth kept rolling her eyes, and stifling an occasional giggle.
Rafe couldn’t decide whom to kill first, her or that lecherous bastard receiving all of her charms. He would give her a good piece of his mind, when the bloody sod and Miss Lisbeth left. See if he didn’t.
“Let’s go into the other room, Mr. Dalton, and allow Lisbeth to play for us.” Isabella leaned forward and placed her hand on his sleeve. “She has the most beautiful voice, truly.”
Richard, the lecherous sod, could only nod mutely as he peered down her cleavage.
Miss Lisbeth rose and Rafe pulled her chair away for her, all the while watching Dalton do the same for Isabella.
“Easton?” Lisbeth whispered, “the door.”
Rafe blinked, then gave her an appreciative grin. He stepped away and opened the portal for the trio. His eyes narrowed on Isabella as he caught her giving him a sidelong glance as she walked past. The little vixen was indeed playing with fire. Apparently, she was enjoying this new discovery that her beauty held power over men. She was testing her wiles on the odious Dalton. He would have pitied the other fellow, if he didn’t want to strangle him so badly.
“You will sing for us, won’t you dear Miss Lisbeth?” Dalton could barely take his greedy eyes off of his charming hostess.
Isabella seated herself on the sofa, and he vividly recalled her passionate responses to his caresses when they occupied that same spot.
Mr. Dalton seated himself beside her.
Rafe was seething by the time Lisbeth had sung three songs. Isabella was sitting much too close to the man, and the bastard keep touching her. He was sorely tempted to call a close to the evening himself, his masquerade be damned. Dalton had consumed a copious amount of wine at dinner and was even now finishing his second brandy. Thank goodness the evening finally appeared to be drawing to an end.
“That was wonderful!” Isabella stood and applauded her friend with exaggerated enthusiasm. Her tense stance told him she was feeling the strain of the evening.
“Yes, wonderful indeed, Miss Lisbeth.” Richard clapped, following Isabella’s lead in rising.
Lisbeth stood and shook the wrinkles out of her skirts, giving Mr. Dalton a pointed look, which he obviously missed, before she left the room, Rafe close behind her.
Isabella felt a trill of alarm, which only increased when she looked around and saw that her butler was nowhere to be found. Goodness, she was momentarily quite alone with an obviously enamored and slightly drunk young man. Before she could think of a single thing to distract him, he grabbed her, pressing his body hard against hers.
“Goodness!”
“Oh, my darling Isabella.”
To her revulsion, he smashed his thin lips to hers. His arms locked around her and she could scarcely breathe, let alone push him away. Oh, heavens, what was she to do? She’d brought this on herself, really.
The painful kiss continued, now with him trying to jab his tongue into her mouth. She managed to pull her head back, but that didn’t stop him. His lips sought the tops of her breasts.
“Mr. Dalton, stop that!” She would not shriek. Her servants had already been witnesses to enough gossip fodder from her of late. She didn’t care to add to it. “You are too forward, sir!” What was taking Lisbeth so long?
Isabella was in an utter panic. If Richard didn’t stop his pawing, she would surely be ill. She attempted to kick his shin, but her delicate silk slippers were useless and she only succeeded in hurting her toes. She doubted he even noticed her assault.
“Stop this, right now. Stop it,” she hissed through clenched teeth. God, who would have thought a foppish man would be this strong? She feared he was bruising her ribs and it was getting more and more difficult to draw a breath. She squirmed in an attempt to break free.
Richard chuckled. With his teeth, he tried to pull her bodice lower.
“What do you think you are doing? I say stop this this instant, sir!” She squeezed her eyes shut as he continued, despite her pleas, terrified of what he might do next. She heard the rending of fabric. Heavens, she was just going to have to scream. There was no hope for it. She tried to draw in a breath and opened her mouth.
Suddenly, she was released from his painful grip and toppled backward, luckily landing on the sofa, what little breath she’d managed to draw whooshing out of her. Goodness! She looked up and saw Richard dangling before Easton, the butler holding him off the floor with one hand by a fistful of lacy white cravat. She couldn’t see the other man’s face, but Easton looked fit to kill.
“Y
ou scum! You bloody bastard!” Her butler who was no butler, shook the other man as if he were only a dirty rag.
Richard made a squeaking noise as Easton shook him yet again.
“You filthy little rotter! How dare you molest Lady Isabella!” He was shouting in the man’s face, oblivious that he now had quite an audience attending him. ”I should kill you, here and now, you puling son of a bitch!” Another head wobbling shake and a hard fist in the nose was what the scoundrel got.
Isabella wished she could conveniently faint. There, behind Easton, crowded in the doorway, was not only Lisbeth, but her huge cousin and another gentleman, too.
“Oh, good lord.” Could this evening get any worse? “Easton, please put him down. Hello, Alex. I assume this is your friend, Lord Langley? How do you do, sir?”
Easton hit Dalton again, then dropped him onto the hard floor, and looked at her. “Alex? Whit? They’re both here? Now?”
Isabella nodded. “Right behind you.” She pointed over his shoulder, then looked down at Richard, who lay unconscious in a crumpled heap. “Does anyone have a sturdy shoe I may borrow? I wish to kick him.” She looked up at Easton. “I did try before but my slippers are simply no good.”
Her hero didn’t even spare his friends a glance, but went straight to her side, sat and pulled off his shoe, presenting it to her with a flourish. “Will this do, my lady fair?”
She started to laugh, then her voice hitched and tears threatened to spill.
Easton embraced her, easing her head down onto his broad shoulder. She knew she should protest, especially with such an audience but she hadn’t the strength.
He heard the snort from her cousin and looked over, appearing surprised to see he other two men still hovering in the doorway. He waved them in impatiently, his concern focused on her as she still lay cradled in his strong arms.