‘Then go, lovely Isabelle.’ His sigh indicated he reached some sort of decision, although he offered her a scandalous smile that contradicted his words. ‘It is not my wish to cause you discomfort.’ He loosened his hold with the sincere admission before he added a devilish murmur. ‘Even if I find my condition terribly discomfited.’
Isabelle had no ready reply and stepped away, although her fingers trembled and tears pricked at the back of her lids. She turned and hurried down the walkway, pausing after a few steps to glance over her shoulder. Constantine stood motionless in the moonlight, watching her, as she left behind a dream she could not embrace.
***
‘Brooks, my eveningwear.’ Constantine ran his palm across his chin and assessed his completed shave.
‘Yes, milord.’ The valet’s prompt reply preceded him as he returned to the bedchamber from the dressing room with waistcoat and trousers in hand. ‘I have pressed the navy blue for this evening.’
‘No.’ Con motioned to the valet, while he chose cufflinks and cravat pin with care. ‘I prefer the long-tailed black coat with the white linen shirt. And press my cravat twice. Make sure it is perfect.’ When he garnered no response, he raised his eyes. ‘Are my Hessians polished?’
Brooks grinned. ‘Is there someone you wish to impress this evening? You rarely question my choice in your wardrobe. I might have suggested the topaz suit or even better, the aubergine.’
Constantine aligned with the full-length cheval glass that leaned against his bedchamber wall. ‘Try not to feel offended. I simply prefer the black for Lady Stanton’s affair. But thank you, very few people take the time to appreciate colour as I do.’ The image of a particular grey-eyed redhead rose unbidden, and half a smile formed on his lips.
‘I see.’ Although the valet’s tone implied he surely did not. ‘Could it be the same someone you met in the square last evening?’
Con’s gaze narrowed in irritation. ‘You spend too much time looking out of the window.’ Then as an afterthought he added, ‘Why were you even awake at that hour?’
The valet busied himself gathering the needed coat and trousers. ‘Such a question seems ridiculous coming from you. Your total lack of regard for the manner in which civilised society conducts their day is beyond repair.’
‘Should I dismiss you then?’ He fired back and Brooks grunted in reply to the shrewd question. ‘London reveres civilised living with its left hand, while it condones a fashionable vicissitude for vice with its right. I should know.’ He scrutinized his reflection. ‘Did you contact The National Gallery about the paintings I saw in the storeroom?’
‘I did. I am waiting for a response.’ Brooks re-entered from the dressing room with a pair of polished black boots. ‘So she is different then, unlike any other woman. Curiosity is your motivation?’
‘Among other things.’ Constantine recalled Isabelle’s ethereal beauty in the square the night before. Her skin, most especially her delectable décolletage, begged him with an urgency far stronger than curiosity. Her clothes stated a simplicity and practical intelligence about her, while her lush bosom, fiery hair colour, and quick retorts, suggested something else entirely. Who was the real Isabelle? Cautious rule follower or seductive siren? He could not wait to find out. The mere fact that she rebuffed him served as the greatest aphrodisiac of all.
He had kissed more women than he could count and never had it evoked such a stirring reaction. He needed to rein in his desire or he would not be able to control the raw hunger he experienced when next she returned his kiss. And he would kiss her again. Tonight. In Lady Stanton’s gardens.
***
Isabelle admired the elegant sweep of her ball gown. How smart of Meredith to insist they purchase the latest fashions. The exquisite dress, made of the most delicate sarcenet, flowed with elegant grace over a white satin slip that hugged her body. Delicate cap sleeves and intricate embroidery at the waist and hem added to the allure of the design, while a daring neckline lent a sophisticated air. The gown’s modern cut prevented her from wearing her usual underclothes and against Janie’s disapproving mutter, Isabelle eschewed her usual unmentionables to wear the shortest corset she owned. It was a daring move and her stomach fluttered with anticipation, her usual cloak of self-consciousness lighter. Tonight she might meld into the crush of finely dressed ladies that decorated the ballroom.
She did not realise she spoke the question aloud until Lily answered from the vanity where she watched with avid interest. ‘I do not know why you strive so much to fit in, when it is easy to see you were destined to stand out.’
Isabelle paused and offered her sister an appreciative smile for the innocent observation. ‘Thank you, Lily. You are always a dear.’ She returned her eyes to the looking glass. Would Constantine find the dress alluring? Her vow to avoid him at all costs was a trial to remember. The scandalous erotic images he suggested when he’d whispered in her ear, dared her body to yearn for the same and discover the pleasures of intimacy. Whenever she dared to do so, her emotions began a battle. Sensibility reared its intrusive head. Curiosity and desire beat it down effectively. What was the cost of such a daring adventure? Once returned to Wiltshire, would the memory console or haunt her? She did not know.
Isabelle tied the ribbons of her heeled slippers and clasped a simple strand of pearls around her neck. Then she dabbed rosewater at the sides of her neck, remembering to touch the scent to her sister’s wrists. Lily smiled in delight.
‘When you are grown, you will have every man in London at your beck and call.’ She reached forward and tucked a dark curl behind Lily’s ear.
‘Handsome men, yes.’ The child’s voice was a secretive whisper. ‘As handsome as Lord Highborough.’
Isabelle smiled in agreement and her sister’s infectious laughter followed her as she scampered from the room. Constantine was handsome, but that would not deter her from making the right choice. She might yearn for an adventure, but there was no stipulation that it must be with him. Besides, there were other more suitable men equally as attractive, or nearly so, and she would make it her goal to become acquainted with one of them. It could not prove that hard of a task.
The image of Constantine’s sensuous mouth rose unbidden, his smile, the golden glint of his silky hair, and she bit her lip in doubt. No, not hard at all. Merely impossible.
Earlier in the day, she had enjoyed her afternoon spent shopping with Meredith. The outing reaffirmed Isabelle’s promise to disentangle her emotions as soon as possible. It was the very least she owed her stepmother, and although the devilish earl was often on the tip of Meredith’s tongue, Isabelle fought against her indecision throughout the shopping trip. The challenge proved quite an endeavour. She found herself drawn to the colognes in the perfumery in an attempt to detect the unfamiliar scent she had noticed on his skin. Or admiring a pair of men’s riding boots and fancifully imaging she could gift them to him. The never-ending contrary emotions played havoc with her peace of mind.
All of a sudden, everything was overwhelming and complicated. In Wiltshire, she never desired a come-out, failing to see the sense in it. Social edification seemed hardly worth of her time, while her prized violets brought her sufficient gratification. Flowers never criticised. She shuddered at the thought of all the unbearable attention a come out would force in her path. But now, things had changed. She no longer knew what she wanted…or her own mind.
A light knock at the door signaled Meredith’s entry, her dress as grand and elegant as Isabelle’s. Lily followed at her heels.
‘Doesn’t Mother look beautiful? Let me see your fan, please.’
‘Let me look at you, Isabelle. Lily is correct. You look spectacular.’ She absently handed her fan to her daughter before she advanced into the room.
‘I am so happy you convinced me to purchase this gown. It is a little bit daring, but otherwise – ’
‘You need a dose of daring, so bite your tongue. You look lovely. You shall break a great many hearts in Lady S
tanton’s ballroom.’
‘Well, you cannot hurt Lord Highborough.’ Lily spoke from the vanity seat where she opened and closed her mother’s fan with a flourish. ‘His heart is already broken.’
Both women whirled round with a loud swish of satin.
‘What are you talking about? What do you know?’ Meredith’s questions cut with a stern tone and Isabelle touched her stepmother’s arm, but the child seemed unaffected.
She flicked the fan open and waved it in short strokes before her face. ‘Lord Highborough told me his heart is broken.’ She didn’t offer anything more.
Meredith stepped closer to the bed and Isabelle remained, unsure if her stepmother would read her anxious undercurrent of curiosity.
‘Who broke it? Did he mention a lady’s name?’ Meredith advanced with determined focus.
Isabelle slid her eyes to Lily, the child unaware the critical news she had yet to impart was what they both yearned to hear.
‘It is not a person, Mother.’ Lily handed the fan to Meredith, seemingly bored with the accessory. ‘He told me his heart does not work like other people’s. His is broken and cannot love.’
A sharp stab of sympathy caught Isabelle unaware. How could it be true? The man was worshipped by society. The ton hung on his every word and trailed in his wake.
Meredith released an inelegant snort. ‘I never heard of anything so ridiculous. You must have misunderstood his words. Go find your governess and get ready for bed.’ She shooed her daughter towards the door. ‘Isabelle and I will be home very late.’
Meredith followed Lily from the room and Isabelle welcomed the time alone. She had no doubt Lily relayed the conversation with precision. But why would Constantine say such a thing? The troubling admission he’d confided in a child caused a deep ache in her heart.
Once enclosed in the carriage, Isabelle strove to emulate Meredith’s light mood and dismiss Lily’s troubling statement.
‘I am very excited about this evening.’ Meredith’s words rang with anticipation. ‘Lady Newby is indeed a very good friend. Her influence amidst the ton is proving invaluable. I have received invitations for a number of gatherings and evening affairs, and cards continue to arrive daily to fill the hallway salver.’ Her voice held a genuine note of happiness. ‘It is exactly how I envisioned our stay in London. At least for the most part.’
Guilt twisted Isabelle’s stomach. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, while there is no denying Lord Highborough holds the attention of the cream of society, I wonder why he has shown me so little interest. I was led to understand his virility was renowned, and I have discreetly impressed my wishes to further our relationship.’
Isabelle swallowed the gasp rising in her throat. She could well imagine the conversations Meredith initiated when she held the earl’s ear. Her stepmother spoke directly. Was it any wonder Constantine deflected Meredith’s advances? Isabelle intuited he disliked all the attention he garnered no matter how the society pages relished his actions or begged his attendance at every event.
In a well-learned habit, she changed the subject. ‘May I ask you a question of a personal nature?’
‘Of course.’
‘Have you ever been so confused you could not reason a solution?’
Meredith laughed lightly. ‘Your question surprises me. You are the most sensible person I know.’ She set her fan on the velvet bench before she continued. ‘In the past I’ve made decisions that I knew were not the right choice. I suppose that could be considered illogical. You know your father and I did not share a love match, but it was the way of things. He wanted a male heir and my father wanted the sum he would pay for my hand. It was a business dealing before anything else. I had little say in the matter, if any at all. I suppose it plays a strong role in my determination to pursue what I want now.’ Her face softened, as if she replayed a faraway memory, but when she continued, her tone had turned cheerful. ‘And I dare say, Isabelle, you should do the same. Take control of the future. Your father often mentioned that you did not belong and would not fit in, but here is your opportunity to prove it all false for no other reason than your own satisfaction.’
Tears stung Isabelle’s eyes. ‘Perhaps we both need a plan.’ Resolve overrode bitter memories.
Meredith shook her head and a smile spread across her face. ‘Now you are not making sense. True adventure is unexpected. I admit, a little forethought can go a long way, but the last thing I need is some half-baked plan to capture Lord Highborough’s attention. If he does not realise we are meant to share a dalliance soon, I will need to speak more plainly. I have never known a man to misunderstand bluntness and it may be the last option left to achieve my goal.’
Meredith’s words did little to assuage Isabelle’s guilt, but she shoved the uncomfortable feelings to the farthest recesses of her mind.
They arrived at the grand hall of Lady Stanton’s estate and every word of enchantment proved true. Not only did the ballroom shine, glittering with hundreds of burning candles, but the open French doors led to a winding cobblestone path, adorned by waxed lanterns and sprays of exotic flowers that invited one to step from the polished parquet flooring, venture through the high paned-glass doors, and enter a fantastic new world.
Isabelle stifled her better sense and scanned the room. She located several clusters of twittering debutantes and raucous groups of gentlemen, but no matter the effort she did not catch a glimpse of brown hair generously streaked through with gold. Beside her Meredith made quick work of introducing her to every acquaintance she’d made through her energetic socialising, and Isabelle’s dance card filled at a rapid pace.
***
‘It is your turn.’ Devlin prodded his friend towards the game board, his arm extended with a handful of feathered darts. ‘What has you so distracted this evening?’
‘Nothing.’ Con took them with a scant glance. ‘I merely wonder why we bother to attend these events if we escape the ballroom and closet ourselves in the study as soon as we arrive.’
‘I thought you preferred any room to the ballroom.’ Phineas poured a brandy before he continued. ‘Has something changed?’
‘Possibly.’ He allowed a derisive laugh and threw his first dart. Damn Brooks, and damn his own desire to dress impeccably this evening. He’d arrived so late he might never find Isabelle in the crush. He launched another dart at the wooden board. This one landed in the centre.
Phineas let an expletive escape as he eyed the dart planted in the bull cork. ‘If you win again, most especially when you haven’t paid attention to the game all evening, I swear I am never playing darts with you from this point forward. It is like the devil sits on your shoulder.’
‘I have no doubt Con returns the favour.’ Devlin finished his brandy and dropped the glass to a nearby table.
‘Guilty, as charged.’ Constantine retrieved the darts and his eyes strayed to the study door.
‘Anything new with the vineyard at Highborough House? Have you tasted the latest production?’ Devlin’s dart struck the board with accuracy. ‘I would not mind making the trip if you desired company. Any excuse to escape London is satisfactory.’
Con flicked his eyes to the door again and took a long swallow of brandy. He moved before the board poised to make his play. ‘I should visit soon. Gillie probably wonders at my long absence.’ He tossed the darts with ease. ‘I’ve learned one should never keep a gypsy waiting, although there are a few things I need to finish here in London.’ An unwitting grin curled his lips. ‘And continue.’
His friends did not miss the remark.
‘Are we speaking of the wine or the lady?’ Phineas spoke over his shoulder as he pulled the darts from the board.
‘The lady, although I don’t expect it to proceed smoothly. Things in my life rarely do.’
‘Don’t let the past deter you from your future. You’ve always survived by your quick wit and resilient attitude.’ Devlin offered him an earnest look. ‘You mustn’t live by my example.
The events of my past keep me closeted away with a few reluctant jaunts into society, mostly on your invitation. You, on the other hand, embrace life rather than retreat into the shadows. When it comes to the lady in question, would you rather be safe or sorry?’
‘Good question. I honestly don’t know, but indecision rarely hampers me.’ What would his friends think were they to know he was all but obsessed with Isabelle? The man who had vowed never to allow emotion to cloud his mind was being tormented by it. He tossed the last dart. It embedded in the centre with precise accuracy, much to Phin’s frustration. With a confident smile that matched his friend’s dismay, he left the study and headed towards the mad crush.
‘Bloody hell, there are too many people filling this hall.’ He searched the perimeter of the ballroom until his gaze settled on the dance floor where the orchestra led a quadrille. His eyes found Isabelle with ease and the cascade of her auburn tresses caused his fingers to twitch with restlessness. Tonight she was an exotic rose, all heat and silken passion, femininely exquisite. He watched as a nondescript gentleman led her through a half turn in the dance. Her eyes sparkled with such enjoyment he yearned to break the man’s hold upon her pretty gloved hand. He tamped down the irrational urge.
‘You watch her like you want her.’
Entranced, Giddy’s comment caught him unaware. Dammit, he hadn’t even noticed she’d sidled beside him. When he nodded his head in greeting, the dowager continued undeterred.
‘I am aware your father left you a legacy of indulgence, excess and privilege.’ She paused as if to emphasise the words. ‘And I am sure you believe yourself invincible. Men enjoy nothing more than a challenge. I expect you to heed my warning in regard to Lady Isabelle. I am not surprised you find her lovely.’
Lovely barely scratched the surface. ‘A quintessential example of femininity and grace.’
‘So you do want her then.’ Giddy clucked her tongue in disapproval, her tone heavy with righteous indignation. ‘I never believed you so callous as to ruin an innocent. The ton will never forgive you.’
To Love a Wicked Scoundrel Page 11