Tiger's Eye

by Karen Robards

  “And may I suggest just the suspicion of color on your lips, my lady? If you will permit.…” He pulled out a leather-bound box that, to Isabella’s horror, contained cosmetics. Never before in her life had she worn such, and never had she expected to do so. Ladies didn’t—although females like Pearl certainly did.

  Pearl was certainly far more gifted with beauty than she was herself, but the paint helped enhance what nature had wrought. Perhaps it could do the same for her. Isabella was shaken by the sudden strength of her desire to be beautiful. Never before in her life had she minded being plain, but now there was Alec.

  “AH right, just a touch,” she consented, and closed her eyes while Mr. Alderson rubbed a cream into her lips and cheeks, and brushed her eyelashes with what, by the smell of it, was a burned stick. The final touch was the whisking of a hare’s foot over her face to, Mr. Alderson promised, eliminate shine.

  “You may look now,” he instructed.

  Isabella opened her eyes.

  The face that the mirror reflected back at her was hers. The features were the same, from the too wide mouth to the abominable freckles sprinkling her nose to the too-high forehead and pointy chin. But Mr. Alderson had wrought a miracle of alchemy in those unremarkable attributes. With her hair piled high on her head, her cheekbones suddenly seemed more prominent. The faint touch of pink, which even Isabella wouldn’t have known was paint had she not felt Mr. Alderson’s deft fingers at work, brought a sparkle to her eyes. Secretly Isabella had always considered her eyes to be her best feature—after all, what was there to find offensive in large eyes of soft blue-gray?—but like the rest of her, they had never been anything out of the ordinary. Now, framed in artfully darkened lashes, their color intensified by the wash of pink on her cheeks, they were positively luminous.

  Isabella blinked, then blinked again, entranced at the unexpected effect. Her eyelashes, no longer colorless, were suddenly as thick and sweeping as chimney brooms. Alec had vowed to make her a beauty. He had not succeeded, of course. A beauty, she would never be. But she was certainly … pretty. Very pretty. Amazingly pretty, considering that she had sat down on the dressing table stool as a little brown wren. Now, looking at herself in the mirror, she felt as if she’d been turned into a peacock.

  “Mr. Alderson,” she breathed, “you are a worker of miracles!”

  “I have done no more than bring out what was always there, hidden,” he said modestly, surveying her reflection in the mirror with a satisfied air. “My lady has by nature a certain something not quite in the common style. It only needed to be shown off.”

  “Thank you,” she said, turning on the stool to smile up at him. He nodded in reply.

  “It was my pleasure, truly. I will leave with you the cosmetics you need, and you have only to use them thus”—he demonstrated the application technique of rouge and burned stick on himself—“then follow with a hare’s foot just dipped in rice power. Do this each morning, and—bellisima!”

  With a bow he left her, Isabella touched the little pots of rouge and powder with a hesitant finger. Paint was for hussies and light-skirts.… She looked in the mirror again. But the effect was so lovely. Perhaps she would use them, just a little, every day. At least while she was with Alec.

  She knew, of course, that their time together was finite. Sooner or later, she would have to end this delightful interlude and return to being herself. Although quite how that was to be managed, she couldn’t fathom. Perhaps if she talked with Bernard, and told him that she knew that he was behind her kidnapping and had schemed to get her killed, and that others knew too (no need to mention who the “others” were, because Bernard would certainly scorn the intimidation factor of people of Alec’s class), perhaps then Bernard would be frightened into leaving her in peace. Perhaps Bernard now regretted what had happened. She could even, if necessary, petition for a bill of divorcement. Isabella shuddered at the thought of that. She would be the object of scorn and scandal, shunned by everyone, including (probably especially) her own family.

  Without money of her own, how would she live?

  Perhaps she need never go home. Perhaps she could stay with Alec forever.…

  “Shall I help you with your dress now, ma’am?” Annie said. Isabella smiled at her. This unschooled country girl she’d taken to maid on Alec’s orders was very far from her own dear Jessup, but she was biddable and eager and willing to learn. Isabella felt herself much the elder and wiser of the two, which was nice.

  “Thank you, Annie, yes,” Isabella said, standing up and removing her wrapper.

  Miss Stark had included the necessary undergarments and even shoes and stockings with the dress. Annie was a little clumsy as she fumbled with lacings and buttons, and Isabella had to roll the stockings up her own legs. But when the dress itself was removed from its box and lifted over her head, and she stood looking at herself in the mirror as Annie did up the hooks in the back, she thought—and said—that not even a fine lady’s dresser could have done a more creditable job.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Annie smiled shyly. “You look a real picture, ma’am.”

  The woman Isabella saw reflected in the mirror made her catch her breath. The dress was of rose pink muslin with short, puffed sleeves, a scooped-out neck and an elegantly slim skirt. Burgundy ribbons trimmed the sleeves, and tied in a bow under her breasts, leaving the ends to flutter down the front of her gown.

  The transformation begun by her new hairstyle was completed by the gown. Isabella’s reflection was that of a lovely, fashionable lady of the ton.

  When she went downstairs to join Alec in the library at the prearranged hour of four o-clock, she felt ridiculously ill at ease. He was sprawled on the blue upholstered settee, his long legs stretched out before him, his attention on the newspaper, which he held before him.

  He looked up when she entered. Whatever he’d read in the newspaper had caused him to frown. But as he saw her, his eyes widened. Slowly he folded the newspaper and put it aside.

  “By God,” he said.

  His reaction was everything she could have wished for. She smiled at him, shyly, and he slowly got to his feet. Still he stared.

  “Turn around.”

  Isabella felt a blush color her cheeks as she obeyed.

  “Well?” she said when she was facing him again.

  He shook his head. “You were lovely before, in your own quiet way, but now—you could be the queen of the Carousel, love. Or anyplace else.”

  There was no mistaking his sincerity. Isabella looked into those golden eyes, and felt a rush of warmth. He was certainly no gentleman, far from it, in fact, but it occurred to her that he had been kinder to her than had anyone else in her life. Neither her kith nor her kin had ever given her more than the most lukewarm of compliments. Always those most closely related to her had held her to be of little value.

  Unexpected tears rose in her eyes. She blinked to disperse them, glad that Alec hadn’t seemed to notice. Tears had never been something that she had shed easily, and she did not mean to start for so silly a reason as a compliment.

  “You’ve had your fun for the day. Now I’m to have mine. I’ve asked Mrs. Shelby to lay tea in the yellow salon.”

  “I’m agreeable.”

  “You must offer me your arm, and escort me to the table.”

  “Ah, I see. I’m to suffer lessons with my tea, am I? Well, at least the brew will help wash them down. And I will have you to feast my eyes on, of course. Countess?”

  He offered her his arm with a gallant air that would not have been out of place from her father the duke. Isabella beamed approval at him, and placed just the tips of her fingers on his arm.

  Then he grinned at her so wickedly that the illusion of gentlemanly grace was quite banished. But the reality of his charm—Isabella had to admit that the beguiling creature had that in spades.

  XLVI

  For the next fortnight, while Paddy scoured London for Alec’s would-be assassin, and a small army of men lurked
in Amberwood’s well-trimmed bushes trying to look inconspicuous as they guarded Alec, Isabella was happier than she had ever been in her life. She bedeviled Alec about his manners, provoked him into losing his temper and then reproved him for both his swearing and his lapse of diction, teased him about his disdain for proper attire (neckcloths and coats he preferred to do without much of the time), and generally performed exactly the duties that he had professed to hire her for. Why that should annoy him so much, she said, she simply could not understand. The saucy grin that accompanied her prim words earned her a retaliatory swat on her derrière. Promptly she reproved him for that, too.

  If truth were told, though, Alec, for all his occasional lapses in the sphere of formal manners, was very much a gentleman. He made no further attempt to lure, cajole or seduce Isabella into his bed, and was, instead, a delightful companion. Rather than being cooled by this forbearance on his part, Isabella’s attraction to him increased by the day. She discovered that she liked her handsome ruffian quite as much as she desired him.

  Alec kept his part of their bargain, too, sending Isabella back upstairs when, the day after their encounter in the library, she tried to revert to type. She was more comfortable with her customary hairstyle and with no paint on her face, although the gowns Miss Stark had made up were admittedly far superior to the ones she had requisitioned from the Carousel. But Alec was adamant. If he was to put up with the tomfoolery she insisted on foisting upon him in the name of her “duties,” then she must do her part and work at being the beauty. She’d soon get used to it, he promised, and then it would be second nature to her and she’d feel perfectly comfortable as a belle instead of a shy little hen.

  One afternoon about three weeks after they had arrived, Isabella had an idea for bedeviling Alec that topped any she had yet thought of. If he wanted to be a gentleman, she announced straight-faced, then he must learn to ride.

  “I drive very well, thank you,” he said in answer to her suggestion.

  “Gentlemen ride as well as drive. Surely it has been an inconvenience to you, as carriages can only go where there are roads. On horseback, you can go anywhere at all.”

  “London has a very fine road system, as does the countryside. Riding about on an animal’s back has never seemed to me to be a necessity. Or even particularly desirable.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid!”

  “Don’t be daft.”

  “Well, then, you must see that it would be an advantage to be able to ride astride if you wished. And here am I, ready and able to teach you. What could be more fortunate?”

  “Ready and able to have a good laugh at my expense when I fall on my arse,” Alec said dryly. Isabella’s gurgle of laughter brought a reluctant smile to his face, but still he demurred. “I’ll not do it, Isabella. Teach me something else.”

  “I do so love to ride.” Isabella looked wistful. “I had hoped you would learn to like it, too. We could have wonderful rides together. But if you refuse to make the attempt, then of course, there is nothing more to be said.”

  Alec eyed her “You’re a minx, Countess, Don’t think for a moment that you are fooling me with that pitiful expression. But I suppose I will agree. Provisionally. One fall on my arse is all I’m willing to tolerate.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of asking for a greater sacrifice. Let me go change, and I’ll be right back.”

  This conversation had taken place on the terrace at the rear of the house. Less than a quarter hour later Isabella had returned, clad in her new bottle green riding habit, and caught Alec’s hand to pull him in the direction of the stable.

  “I doubt that I even have any riding horses,” Alec said sourly as he let himself be led.

  “Certainly you do. I already checked.”

  “Been planning my comeuppance for a while, have you? How do I know that this is not some fiendish plot to murder me? It’s more likely to succeed than all the knives and bullets they’ve been throwing at me lately.”

  “You’ll love it, Alec, once you get used to it. Trust me.”

  “I wonder why I don’t.”

  They reached the stables then, and Alec, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm in his voice, ordered two horses saddled. The groom accepted that order with a pull of his forelock, and turned to do Alec’s bidding.

  After a swift look at Alec, Isabella called after him, “Gentle ones, mind. I’m something of a nervous rider.”

  “I bought the property intact, servants and livestock included. Had I known then what I was letting myself in for, I wouldn’t have done it.”

  “You’re nervous.”

  “Not at all. I’m perfectly resigned to breaking an arm, a leg, or even my neck.”

  “You won’t, I promise.”

  The groom led the horses out. A large bay had been saddled for Alec, while Isabella’s mount was a dainty sorrel mare.

  “What are their names?” Isabella asked.

  “The mare’s ’Epzebah, miss, and the bay’s ’Annibal. ’Is lordship were that fond o’ namin’ ’em strange.” He cast a quick glance at Alec as he spoke, and looked suddenly uncomfortable, as if he feared he might have spoken out of turn.

  Alec spoke up unexpectedly. “You’re Tinsley, aren’t you?”

  The groom’s discomfort changed to apprehension. “Aye, sor.”

  “And you’ve worked for me for—what?—two years now?”

  “Three, sor.” Tinsley looked even more alarmed. Clearly he feared that he was on the verge of being dismissed out of hand for his unfortunate reference to Lord Rothersham.

  “And I haven’t been to the stable in all that time, have I? Well, I’ve been lax, but then, I’ve been busy. ’Tis a good job you’ve done, keeping the stable and animals up the way you have with none to oversee. I appreciate it.”

  “Why, thank you, sor. Mr. Tyron.” The groom was near stuttering in surprise. A hesitant smile crossed his face, to be quickly wiped clean as he resumed the proper expressionless demeanor. But Isabella realized that in that brief exchange Alec had gone far toward winning the loyalty of this one servant, at least.

  “Shall I ’and you up, miss?” Tinsley offered as Alec made no move to. Isabella glanced over at Alec, to find him eyeing the big bay with carefully concealed misgiving. Casting a quick glance at Tinsley, who awaited her answer, she realized how damaging it would be for Alec to reveal his lack of experience with horses in front of the groom. All the servants, who as a class were notoriously greater snobs than their rightful masters, apparently took Alec for a jumped-up Cit, and despised him accordingly. But even Cits could ride. If it were to be bruited about that Alec could not, the servants’ contempt would both solidify and escalate enormously. Amongst the upper classes, children rode almost before they walked. There was no truer mark of a Cit than awkwardness around horses. Alec’s lack of any experience in the saddle marked him. Isabella discovered that she hated the notion of a servant or anyone else sneering at Alec, no matter how discreetly. With a sudden fierce surge of protectiveness, she resolved to make the riding lessons completely private, away from prying eyes. Furthermore, she would do her utmost to turn him into a creditable rider.

  “Would you mind if we walked the horses a little ways?” she asked Alec with a pretty air of apology, assumed for the groom’s benefit. Alec lifted his eyebrows at her, but the very alacrity with which he agreed showed her how ready he was to postpone their lesson. Smothering a smile, she tugged on her own mount’s reins.

  Hepzebah obediently followed, and Alec, leading Hannibal, fell into step beside her. Neither animal was a bit skittish, and Isabella could only assume that they had been regularly and thoroughly exercised. She suspected that Tinsley had been making use of Alec’s absence to ride his horses. On any other property, that would have been grounds for dismissal, but under the circumstances it had been for the best.

  As they headed down the lane that led away from the stable, two men fell into step a discreet distance behind them. Alec, seeing them, halted, and beckoned.
The two men approached. Both were scruffy fellows, and from their clothes it was obvious that they were not country-bred. Isabella immediately guessed that they were part of the army Paddy had set to guard Alec, and their words confirmed that.

  “Aye, Tiger?”

  “There’s no need for you to dog my every step. Keep watch of the house, and if I’ve a need for you, I’ll fire off my pistol.”

  “But Mr. McNally said we weren’t to let you out o’ our sight.” The younger of the two, clearly green and eager, protested, only to be silenced by his elder’s look of horror, and abrupt shushing motion.

  “Mr. McNally tends to be overprotective,” Alec replied with good humor. “Now, go on back to the house. Who knows? Someone may be sneaking in a window even now.”

  “Not bloody likely, with—” the younger man began, forgetting himself once more. The elder grabbed his arm and dragged him away.

  “I make you ’is apologies, Tiger,” he said over his shoulder, keeping his grip on the younger man. “ ’E’s green, and ’e don’t know nuttin’.”

  Alec waved them away. As the elder dragged the younger off, Isabella heard him say, “You bloomin’ idiot, that was the Tiger. I’ve seen ’im slit a man’s throat that dared to gainsay Mm.”

  “Did you really?” Isabella asked with a sidelong glance at Alec as they resumed their walk.