To Love a Wicked Scoundrel

by Anabelle Bryant

  ‘A practical way to view these two days.’

  She might seek adventure, but the ache in his groin and the unexpected possessiveness that goaded his ego equaled something all together different. Seduction. There was no other word for it. If Isabelle wanted adventure, he was more than ready to lead the expedition.

  At his silence she raised her eyes to his, a quiet intensity hidden in their depths. Then she broke contact and resumed her meal. He watched the tip of her pink tongue flick out to recover an errant crumb and he reached for his wine glass again, decision made.

  Soon after lunch Isabelle returned to her chambers to change her gown. Once again she found Janie absent.

  ‘Mary, how is my maid fairing? Is she over her fright from last evening?’ Isabelle tilted her head in consternation. Should she demand Mary take her to her maid? Now that Brooks had arrived at Highborough House she held no doubt the two conspired to spend time together. Isabelle did not wish her confidences shared concerning her hasty decision last night. Better to give Janie a little time to pursue her desires if it also bought the maid’s silence.

  ‘She continues to recover, milady.’ Mary opened the wardrobe and extended her hand to indicate the selection.

  ‘I will wear the teal.’ Minutes ticked by while clothing was removed and replaced. ‘But Janie isn’t ill, is she? I mean, I would be terribly remiss if I neglected her needs.’

  ‘She claimed fatigue when I opened her door this morning.’ Mary finished with the last of the buttons and picked up the ivory hairbrush, her expression revealing little.

  Isabelle sat at the vanity and a half smile twisted her lips. No doubt, Janie considered herself on holiday. Very well. She would enjoy an afternoon spent in the estate’s extensive library. Con mentioned he would not return from his errand until the dinner hour and that offered her a full afternoon. Afterward she would explore the grounds more thoroughly. The sun shone brightly despite the scattered clouds and she hadn’t missed how Con’s shoulders tightened when she’d asked about the patch of land to the west of the walking path.

  ‘Do not bother to arrange my hair.’ She chose a wide ribbon from the basket on the vanity and handed it to Mary. No sense losing another set of hairpins.

  The house sprawled in several directions, but she found the library with little trouble. The interior of Highborough House was decorated impeccably with fine furniture and exquisite artwork and the library did not disappoint. Shelves overflowed with books on every topic: literature, poetry, and reference volumes. With a surge of delight, she stood in the centre of the room on the lush Persian carpet with arms extended, twirling in a childlike circle of glee, reminiscent of Lily’s exuberance.

  ‘If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.’ She voiced the words as if chanting a spell and allowed the magic to spiral through her as she viewed the expansive collections that lined the walls.

  When a male voice disrupted her pleasure, she stilled.

  ‘You quote Cicero? Surprising, indeed.’

  Isabelle dropped her arms and her attention snapped to Brooks’ solemn gaze. Seated behind a walnut desk in the corner of the room, he’d witnessed her gleeful discovery of the library. Embarrassment matched the peak of her anger and the dueling emotions brought colour to cheeks.

  ‘It is I who should be more surprised you recognise the quote. Manners dictate you make yourself known once someone enters a room.’ She affected her frostiest tone in hope the servant would leave. Instead the odious little man forced a tolerant smile, as if to remind her he belonged here and she did not.

  ‘His lordship recites the masters by verse. Scored double firsts at Oxford for high intellect, he did. Although it is a rarity when he shares his bookish knowledge.’

  Isabelle remained quiet in hope Brooks would leave if she declined to further their conversation, but he made no move to do so, content to perpetuate her unease.

  The clock chimed the hour and it sounded unnatural in the silent room. ‘I am surprised he let you in.’

  Confused, Isabelle replied without thinking. ‘Into the library? Why would that alarm you? I am Lord Highborough’s guest.’

  ‘You misunderstand.’ Brooks glanced away and then back again. ‘I refer to his sudden interest in your company.’

  ‘Lord Highborough is the most popular gentleman of the ton. I doubt this invitation implies anything significant.’ A peculiar sensation settled in her stomach.

  ‘If you believe that then you know him not at all. It is possible I misjudged your perspicacity, although I am rarely wrong when it comes to shades of character.’

  Isabelle swallowed an immediate retort and moved to the closest bookcase. The man unnerved her, as if he read her insecurities with little effort. She scanned the shelf, heedless of the books housed there. She would make her selection and leave before the situation grew more uncomfortable.

  ‘His lordship does not possess gothic novels.’ Again the valet’s words were designed to insult.

  ‘By your own admittance I quote Cicero.’ Rude man. She’d just forgiven him the dahlia incident and now he soured her recovering opinion with his low belief women read romantic literature and little else.

  She plucked a book and scanned the first few pages before she replaced it, and then repeated the process under the valet’s intense scrutiny. Whatever did he want? Did he worry she would abscond with the silver? Unnerved, she removed a porcelain figurine to reach a volume of poems. With a glance at the soldier in her hand, she noticed a jagged crack ruined his appearance and his missing arm. Others items on nearby shelves appeared mismatched. It teased her curiosity. The entire estate was decorated to the finest detail. This room was littered with an eclectic collection of incongruous decor. She could never ask Brooks, but later she would question Mary about the discordant display.

  She replaced the figure and turned to leave with book in hand. She stalled when she reached the door.

  ‘Please send Janie to me when she is feeling better. I wish to speak to my maid concerning our departure tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Your maid, of course.’

  What was it that laced his words? Isabelle could not decipher the tone. ‘Is there a problem I need to address?’

  ‘No, again you misunderstand.’ Brooks offered her a quick nod of the head. ‘I will inform her of your message.’

  He crossed the room and she intercepted his path. ‘Why do you dislike me?’

  ‘If you choose to ask, then I am obligated to answer. I’ve never been fond of London’s uppers, but I’ve understood them well enough.’

  ‘You work for an aristocrat. An earl. One who has the vigilant eye of the ton focused on his every action. I do not understand.’

  ‘Lord Highborough is different, an exception to the rule. Such personalities are not found easily.’ He paused. ‘I do not wish to see him disappointed when he discovers what I have suspected all along.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ She hated to ask, but she could not let the conversation end with the question unanswered. Several loud ticks of the long case clock in the corner measured the silence that stretched between them.

  ‘You are a paradox. So unlike the usual associations he favours. Regardless of the attention lent his acclaimed escapades in the social pages, Lord Highborough is very private in his personal affairs. That is the reason your presence here surprises me. Nothing more.’

  Before she could question him further, he strode from the room. Isabelle cast a final glance to the library and then hurried out as well.

  ***

  Intent on finding Gillie and returning to the house as quickly as possible, Constantine reined in the team and jumped from his gig. Vast fields of grapevines extended to the right as far as he could see, their ample clusters of purple shadowed by lush green leaves. He lost himself in the pleasurable sight. It would be an incredible harvest and superior wine. He turned a genuine smile towards Gillie as the man climbed up the short embankment. His gypsy friend wore an amiable
expression, although his unconventional appearance would shock all of polite society, from his bare chest to the diamond earring that glinted in his left lobe. Most considered gypsies to be heathens. Gillie and his clan had proved their trust in much the same way Brooks had won his friendship.

  ‘You’ve been away too long.’

  Constantine shook the gypsy’s hand with a firm grip. ‘Yes, it is a good thing I have someone as dependable as you to look after my better interests. I take it everything is in order.’

  They entered the field and Con reached out and plucked a grape from the vine. He popped it into his mouth and nodded his head in appreciation, then reached for another.

  ‘Yes. Nature has offered us the best climate and heartiest crop in years.’

  ‘Very good then.’ Constantine glanced to Gillie. He could never manage all of his interests without the help of the people he trusted. Brooks pursued the problem of his missing paintings. Gillie, and others in his clan, watched over his vineyards. In London, Devlin and Phineas were the most loyal comrades. A strange assortment of allies comprised his makeshift family.

  ‘You brought a woman home.’

  Gillie’s statement brought his attention to the present. He knew his gypsy friend would be observant to the smallest detail. ‘Yes. We arrived last night.’ They continued to walk several steps.

  ‘Is that all?’ Gillie’s brow wrinkled with frustration.

  ‘More questions. First Brooks, now you.’ Constantine changed direction and headed for the gig. He had good reason to hurry home. What kind of smile would Isabelle wear when she greeted him?

  ‘It is a natural question, my friend. I have known you a long time and you rarely allow people to get close. Why this woman? Why now? Have your thoughts turned to the future and the responsibility of an heir?’

  Constantine shook his head and reached up to secure the reins of the gig. ‘You presume too much.’

  ‘By nature, gypsies are a curious people.’

  His sharp laugh resounded in the field. ‘Isabelle interests me. The simple fact that I brought a woman to my home should not conjure thoughts of weddings and children. I have no time for your gypsy foolishness.’

  ‘I have no crystal ball, just my eyes and ears.’ Gillie laid his hand flat over the left side of his chest. ‘It makes no difference if you deny it. Many women have caught your eye, but I suspect this one has caught your heart. You have never brought a woman to Highborough House, regardless of how beautiful.’

  ‘Isabelle is more than beautiful.’ He climbed up to the seat. ‘With her, I can believe in possibilities.’ He paused and considered his last statement. ‘She makes me happy.’ It was a miracle the lack of love in his life had never turned him bitter or immune to tender emotion. Instead, in an unexpected awakening, he’d come to realise in the darkest recesses of his heart he cherished a great desire to give love and fill the chasm of his empty past no matter how he attempted to bury it. ‘Other women served as distractions. If you have discovered a bit of truth, then time will tell.’

  Gillie raised both palms in surrender. ‘At least you are sincere about your insincerity. Tread carefully my friend. Giving pleasure is not the same as giving love.’

  ‘True enough.’ With a snap of the reins Constantine set the team into motion. It would take an hour to return and Gillie’s advice lingered the entire ride back.

  ***

  ‘Janie, are you all right? Good heavens, where have you been?’ Isabelle entered her bedchamber, elated to find her maid inside. She rushed forward, questions firing, and her fast advance caused the maid to drop the sage green gown she held.

  ‘Good evening, milady. I am much better, thank you.’ She collected the dress from the carpet and turned to the wardrobe. ‘These gowns are exquisite. Where did they all come from?’

  ‘Never mind the gowns. I am relieved you feel more yourself. Have you located my trunk?’

  Isabelle turned her back as she spoke and lifted her hair while Janie began to unbutton her day gown in a familiar routine. Although nothing indicated they would dine formally at Highborough House, Isabelle wanted to look her best. She would leave tomorrow afternoon and doubted she would ever see Constantine again. The sudden thought motivated her strict instructions.

  ‘Do make sure you are here at dinner’s end so we can prepare for our departure tomorrow. Your actions have been anything but predictable of late. What has got into you?’

  The maid giggled and Isabelle whipped her head up at the sudden burst of excitement.

  ‘I really cannot say, milady.’ She lifted the gown over Isabelle’s shoulders and rushed to the wardrobe to hang it. ‘Now let us prepare for dinner. You will be breathtaking in the dress I have chosen. I dare say Lord Highborough will hardly be interested in the food.’

  Over an hour later, Isabelle entered the grand dining room. It proved as impeccably decorated as every other corner of the estate. Ruby coloured vases marked the doorway on either side, but their brilliant shine did not hold her attention long. Constantine stood near the fireplace. His eveningwear mirrored his charming air of insouciance. His shirt hung open at the collar, lacking a neckcloth, and bared an exquisite glimpse of tanned skin. Her breath hitched. He looked tempting and naughty, as if sin radiated from him. Why was it her brain fixated on such ridiculous words when it came to the man? Naughty. Sinful.She needed to reclaim her wits. He did not stand before her half-dressed. The purposeful comparison kicked her pulse higher rather than rationalise her wicked illusions.

  In Wiltshire, most everyone adhered to convention. In Wiltshire, she would think of him and remember this one precious evening.She shook her head and drew nearer. Had he given her a single thought while they remained separated, she wondered. She raised her eyes to his waiting stare.

  ‘You look lovely. Every time I see you I am reminded how my memory pales when we are apart.’ His voice dropped a notch. ‘I hold the honour of dining with the most beautiful woman in England.’

  The words thrilled her but she fought the uprising giddiness. He’d proven his rakish flattery ten times over since they’d met and she would not allow generous words to be her undoing. So much seemed unsaid between them. ‘You are a master of practised charm, milord.’

  His eyes flicked upward from where he’d bowed to press a quick kiss to her hand. ‘Do you question my sincerity? That is a blow to a man’s heart.’ He laid his palm against his waistcoat lapel before he indicated that the servants should begin service.

  Isabelle watched as a flurry of activity unfolded around her. Trays of food were delivered and uncovered. Fillet of veal glazed in sorrel sauce, artichoke hearts, and raised pie, crispy and oven browned, were revealed. Almond soup, the steam of which graced the air with enticing aroma, was ladled into bowls accompanied with plates of vegetables: sautéed mushrooms, creamed cauliflower, and asparagus in breadcrumbs. The wine was poured. As soon as she was seated, someone unfolded her linen napkin and draped it gracefully across her lap.

  ‘My goodness,’ she said with a deep sigh. ‘I did not expect such formality, but then this room is quite grand. I can imagine the brilliant celebrations it has seen through the years.’

  Constantine’s ease faltered, but he recovered in the length of an exhale.

  ‘Very few actually.’ He raised his wine glass and took a sip. ‘The late earl practised two separate lives and kept all socialising to the London residence. Gatherings and celebrations did not occur here at Highborough House, no matter the accommodating nature of this dining room. I might not have known I had a birthday were it not for Cook sneaking me a bag of hard bake and a few tin soldiers each year.’

  Isabelle schooled her dismay. Even her father, with his outright dislike of her, acknowledged her birthday. She struggled to formulate a suitable reply, but when the appropriate words escaped her, Constantine continued.

  ‘Over the years I learned to celebrate in my own way. The gift of a new suit or trip to the museum serves as a sufficient reminder I had endured another
year.’

  An immediate desire to celebrate his birthday prompted her question. ‘What is the date?’

  He smiled a lopsided curve, as if he wondered at her motivation.

  ‘Friday actually, just two weeks past.’ Lovely mischief played in his voice.

  ‘But that was the day you escorted me to the National Gallery. The day we first – ’

  ‘I know. This year’s gift proved exceptional.’ His words overrode the tail of her realisation and he smiled a slow, saturnine grin. Their eyes held and the air grew thick, until he broke free and motioned the wine butler forward with a purposeful wave.

  Isabelle concentrated on the food in front of her. Heat coloured her cheeks and the room seemed much more intimate, even though they shared a table designed to accommodate twenty guests or more.

  Measuring her emotions carefully, she initiated conversation again. ‘Dining with you alone at your residence is an affront to everything I learned as a proper lady.’ She forced a note of conviviality in hope it would settle her rioting emotions.

  ‘Dining with you alone at my residence goes against everything I have accomplished as a rakehell.’

  His deep murmur instigated a renewed sense of jitters.

  ‘I don’t believe it. You seem such a different man than the one described in the society pages.’ Curiosity took hold and she blurted out the completion of her thought. ‘There is much more to you.’

  ‘Really?’ Constantine put down his fork and pinned her with an intrigued stare. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Oh yes, I easily have a hundred questions.’ Entirely carried away, Isabelle caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth before she took a long sip of wine.

  ‘Then ask away. My life is an open book.’

  He splayed his palms in front of him, as if he offered her everything and Isabelle remembered the touch of his hands on her skin, the heat of his caress. She forced her eyes to his and something flickered in his expression, a whisper to her heart. She did not know how to react and a bevy of butterflies fluttered inside her as if pandemonium was in full bloom. Practical thoughts, she chided. Sensible conversation.