“Nothing.”
“Well, I must go.” Peter surged to his feet, his eyes glowing with anticipation. “I merely wished to share such wondrous news.”
Hardly an emotional farewell, she wryly acknowledged. Not that she expected anything more. Still, she hoped he would find happiness.
“Peter,” she called softly.
“Yes.”
“Good luck.”
“Thank you.” With a distracted bow, he turned to hurry out the door.
Drawing in a deep breath, Isa slowly rose to her feet. While she might wish Peter well, she did not wish Barth such luck.
Indeed, she very much wished to have his handsome head upon a platter.
“This time, Lord Wickton, you have gone beyond the pale . . . ,” she muttered.
* * *
Having spoken with Andrew and been assured that Peter Effinton would soon be safely on his way to London, Barth settled Sir Wilhelm with his grandmother and made his way back to the main wing.
He was feeling decidedly pleased with himself.
It was just as he had predicted from the outset. A well-laid plan, the proper weapons, and success was assured.
Soon Peter would be away from Kent, and Isa would have to admit that her absurd attachment to the young gentleman had been a mere figment of her imagination. From there it was only a matter of convincing her that he himself was a far more dependable prospect as a husband.
Strolling into the library, Barth was sifting through the morning mail when the door was thrust open and the butler stepped into the room.
“My lord,” the servant murmured with a faint bow.
“Yes?”
“Miss Lawford is here,” Gatson announced in disapproving tones. “She says that she wishes to speak with you . . . alone.”
Barth raised his brows in surprise. Isa had not deliberately sought his company since his return to Kent. And to do so in such an unconventional manner was decidedly unlike her.
He tossed aside the large stack of letters. “Send her in.”
The butler gave a stiff bow. “Very good, my lord.”
Smoothing the jade coat he had matched with a pale yellow waistcoat and buff breeches, Barth waited with a flare of anticipation for his unexpected guest. He had resigned himself to not seeing her until later in the day. He was glad she had taken matters into her own hands.
When the door opened, Barth felt his blood quicken at the sight of her slender frame, clothed in a simple gown of mist blue. Without thought, he was moving forward to lift her hand for a lingering kiss.
“Ah, Isa, what a delightful surprise.”
“Is it?” she demanded, determinedly pulling her hand from his grasp.
Lifting his head, he studied her set features and smoldering amber eyes. It did not appear as if she had come this morning to confess a change of heart.
“Is something amiss, Isa?”
“Surely you knew that I would come when I discovered the truth,” she demanded with a familiar tilt of her chin. “Or did you think me too stupid to see through your obvious interference?”
His gaze narrowed at her accusing tone. “I fear that I am not following your meaning. What interference have I supposedly performed?”
“You know quite well you invited Mr. Brockfield here for the sole purpose of having him offer Peter a post as his secretary.”
Barth stiffened. Good lord, Peter must have rushed to her doorstep at the crack of dawn. Still, they might as well settle the matter of Effinton sooner rather than later.
He crossed his arms over the width of his chest. “As a matter of fact, I only invited Sir Wilhelm and Mr. Brockfield to prove to you that Peter’s true love would always be his studies. The notion of having Andrew offer him a position only came when I realized they were so obviously suited to one another.”
Her eyes widened at his smooth explanation. “So you admit it.”
“Why should I not?”
“You are . . . despicable.”
“Why?” A gathering frown marred his wide brow. “Because I am determined to marry you?”
She was clearly unimpressed by his motives.
“Because you haven’t the least concern for anyone besides yourself. Did it ever occur to you that you had no right to interfere in Peter’s life?”
“Interfere?” Barth felt a rising sense of irritation. Really, she was being thoroughly unreasonable. “I provided an opportunity that he would never have achieved on his own. Do you believe Peter would prefer to remain living with his father in Kent when he could be traveling throughout Europe with Mr. Brockfield?”
“That is not the point,” she gritted.
“Is it not?”
“No.”
“Then what is?”
Her hands slapped onto her hips. “The point is that you decided Peter was an obstacle to what you wanted, and like any obstacle, you simply swept him aside. You did not even consider that he is a fellow human being.”
Dash it all. She made him sound as if he were some ogre.
“If I did not care, he would have simply disappeared in the local river,” he pointed out.
Her lips thinned. “That is not amusing.”
“Well, it is certainly not the heavy-handed tragedy you are making it. Andrew is satisfied, and your Mr. Effinton is delighted. What is the harm?”
Her eyes rolled heavenward as ifhis stupidity surpassed all bearing.
“And what of me?”
His frown deepened. By gads, how was he to know what he was being accused of if she did not explain?
“What of you?”
“Obviously you have no concern for Peter, but you claimed to be my friend.”
“I am.”
“And so you lie, deceive, and manipulate to take away a gentleman you know that I care about?”
Barth ground his teeth. Did she purposely view him in the worst possible light? Anyone would think he had kidnapped Peter Effinton and shipped him to the colonies, if not tortured and buried him in the dungeon.
“I wanted to avert you from making a terrible mistake. Effinton could never make you happy.”
Far from appeased, Isa gave a humorless laugh.
“You must think me a witless fool. You did not care if I would be happy with Peter or even if it would break my heart if he was taken away. You had decided that I was to be your countess, and nothing was going to stand in your path. Certainly nothing so insignificant as my feelings.”
Barth stilled as a flare of pain twisted through his gut.
“Is your heart broken?”
An unreadable mask settled onto her tiny countenance. “Does it matter?”
He stepped forward, battling the urge to pull her into his arms and effectively prove that Effinton meant nothing to her. He would wager his last quid she never responded to that milksop as she did to him.
“You have not answered my question.”
“And I do not intend to,” she informed him stiffly.
Barth’s hands clenched at his sides. “He does not deserve you.”
Her gaze narrowed. “And you do?”
“I shall do my best.”
“Oh, no.” She gave a slow shake of her head. “You will not be given the opportunity.” Something that might have been pain flared through her magnificent eyes. “Good-bye, my lord. Please do not attempt to see me again.”
Momentarily shocked by the bleak demand, Barth watched in silence as Isa turned and fled the room.
What the devil had just happened?
Isa was supposed to be furious with Peter. After all, he was the one abandoning her without regard to her feelings, while he was remaining to offer her marriage.
But instead . . .
Abruptly realizing that Isa was slipping away, Barth hurried into the hall. But it was too late. There was no sign of the woman who had so disrupted his morning.
Blast . ..
Fourteen
Feeling decidedly abused, Barth stormed through the hall to his grandmo
ther’s wing. He paid scant heed to the servants who dodged out of his furious path.
Women.
They should all be...
Well, he was not quite certain what should be done with them beyond keeping them far away from him.
He had done everything in his power to win lsa’s hand in marriage. More than he would have done for any other woman, he seethed with a sense of injustice. And yet she had been determined to condemn him as an unfeeling monster from the moment he had returned to Kent.
For God’s sake, he might as well have remained in London.
Reaching his grandmother’s private salon, Barth entered without bothering to announce himself. With an unconsciously dramatic motion, he closed the door and marched to the center of the room.
“That is it.”
Seated in her favorite chair, Lady Sarah laid aside her cup of tea and regarded him with a faint smile.
“Goodness. Now what has occurred?”
“I am finished with all females.”
Predictably, the older woman merely laughed at his ominous threat.
“I presume you are referring to Isa?”
“Why must she be so bloody stubborn?” he growled.
“Is your grand battle plan not a success, then?”
Success? More like a ghastly failure.
“I have done everything to woo her as a proper suitor.” He paced across the carpet with a restless motion. “I flattered her, I seduced her, and I even cared for her when she was ill. Still she prefers that namby-pamby who barely notices she is about.”
“I thought that you intended to rid her of Mr. Effinton’s company?”
He smiled wryly as he recalled his naive boast. Until this morning, he had never considered the possibility that his determination to win the battle might lose him the war.
“I did.”
Lady Sarah raised her silver brows. “And?”
He abruptly turned to face his grandmother with a grim expression.
“And now Isa never wishes to clap eyes upon me again.”
Lady Sarah appeared far from surprised by his pronouncement. Indeed, she regarded him with a faint hint of sympathy.
“Really, Barth, what did you expect?”
He frowned at her absurd question. “Certainly not this.”
She gave a click of her tongue as she leaned forward and stabbed him with a piercing regard.
“For a gentleman who is a reputed rake, you know very little about women.”
His nose flared at the insult. Although he was certainly no rake, he could boast a measure of success with the fairer sex. Wasn’t that what had supposedly landed him in this beastly brew in the first place?
Of course, he readily admitted that he hadn’t the faintest clue to comprehending Isa Lawford. She was without a doubt the most troublesome maiden it had ever been his misfortune to encounter.
“I presume you intend to explain that remark?” he demanded of his grandmother.
“Isa is not a bounty of war to be won by the better general,” Lady Sarah readily retorted. “She is a woman with feelings.”
That strange, decidedly unpleasant pang once again twisted his heart.
“Yes, feelings for Peter Effinton.”
“Fah.” His grandmother snorted.
“What?”
“She does not love Peter Effinton.”
He threw up his hands in exasperation. His grandmother was right. He knew nothing of the devious workings of the female mind.
“Then why is she so furious?”
“Because she is afraid.”
Barth abruptly halted his pacing. “Of me?”
“Of her feelings for you,” Lady Sarah clarified. “She loved you once and was hurt. She can have no desire to risk such betrayal again.”
Could it be true? he inwardly wondered. Could Isa’s continued resistance to his charm simply be a feminine fear of being hurt?
It was certainly a thought more preferable to the belief that she desired another.
Still, that did not solve his current difficulties.
“I have promised I will care for her,” he informed his grandmother. “What more can I do?”
Lady Sarah appeared thoroughly unimpressed by his confession.
“You claim to care for her, and yet you plotted to have her only friend removed from Kent.”
Bloody hell, she sounded just like Isa, Barth seethed.
“Would you prefer that I had hired him so that he .and Isa could wed and live in their pretty little cottage?”
“Yes.”
Barth was stunned at the simple answer. Had his grandmother grown a bit daft? Or was she just being difficult?
“What?”
Lady Sarah smiled, clearly reading his less than flattering thoughts.
“That is what someone who cared for her would do.”
Allow Isa to wed another? Never.
“She belongs to me.”
His grandmother studied his harsh expression for a long moment; then, with a small sigh, she settled back into her cushions.
“Did you know, Barth, that your grandfather was engaged to another when we first met?”
Barth bit back his instinctive response. For once he was in no humor for his grandmother’s rambling tales of the past. He wanted Isa. And he had somehow thought Lady Sarah would possess the necessary insight to reveal how he could convince her that she was making a ghastly mistake.
Still, he respected his grandmother far too much to reveal his annoyance. Instead, he gave a vague shrug.
“No.”
Lady Sarah chose to ignore his obvious lack of enthusiasm as a reminiscent smile touched her aged countenance.
“Miss Fellwan,” she continued. “A lovely girl with the most charming stutter.”
“Grandmother . . .”
“Of course, the moment I met the dashing Lord Wickton, I tumbled madly in love,” she said, overriding his attempts to steer the conversation back to Isa. “And despite his best efforts, I could tell he returned my feelings.”
Barth was barely paying heed to the low words. “How fortunate.”
“Actually, it was most unfortunate,” the older woman argued. “Whatever our attachment, he was promised to another.”
“Obviously he ended the promise.”
Lady Sarah gave a slow shake of her head. “No, he did not. Despite our feelings, he refused to betray Miss Fellwan.”
Barth gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Good God, Grandmother, please do not confess that the two of you never wed.”
She wagged a heavily jeweled finger in his direction. “Of course we did. But not until Miss Fellwan had decided that she preferred to wed Lord Lanfield.”
It was a very nice story, but Barth gave an impatient sigh. Really, he did not have time for such nonsense.
“What does this have to do with Isa?” he demanded.
“Can you not see, Barth?” Lady Sarah regarded him as if he were being deliberately stupid—not a sensation that he particularly enjoyed. “It was the very fact that your grandfather refused to hurt Miss Fellwan that convinced me that I could always trust him with my heart. If he had simply tossed his fiancée aside, how could I not fear that he would someday treat me in a similar manner?”
Barth grappled to follow his grandmother’s meaning. Not an easy task for a gentleman who believed in fighting for what he desired. To simply stand aside seemed tantamount to conceding defeat.
“And you would have preferred to lose him forever?”
Lady Sarah’s gaze never wavered. “Yes.”
Barth gave an impatient growl. It was easy to make such noble claims now. He could not imagine that the two were so resigned to their fate at the time.
“I am not my grandfather,” he charged with a relentless expression.
A sudden tenderness softened his grandmother’s features. “No, but you do possess a good heart. If you truly care for Isa, then you will place her happiness before your own.”
* * *
He had not changed.
Pacing through the salon, Isa pressed a hand to her aching heart. After all the assurances that he cared for her and even the long days he had comforted her during her illness, he was still the same arrogant beast that she had branded him.
What else but arrogance would allow a gentleman to behave in such a manner?
He had not cared if Peter would be happy with his new position or even if he wished to leave Kent. He had simply desired to send the potential suitor far away from her.
He had not even considered her own feelings. After all, he did not realize she had accepted the fact that her attachment for Peter was not love. As far as he was concerned, she still desired to be Peter’s wife. And yet he had used every means at his considerable disposal to keep them apart.
He was still the same Lord Wickton.
So why, then, did she feel like weeping?
Because despite all of her sensible determination to keep him at arms’ length, and all her proud claims that she had thrust him out of her heart, she still loved him.
She choked back a sob of despair. Heaven above, how could she be so weak?
She had always known that Barth would never return her love. To him she was simply the woman that he was expected to wed.
And that was why she had been so furious with his cavalier treatment of poor Peter. Barth might not love her, but in his mind she was Wickton property. And no one poached upon Wickton property. He did not allow his possessions to be stolen by another.
She should never have agreed to see him after his return to Kent, she told herself sternly. In her prideful manner she had convinced herself that she was impervious to his charm. After all, she had already suffered and recovered from the pangs of first love. In truth, however, she had never stopped loving him.
Or at least she loved the man who had taught her to swim and brought her flowers when she was ill and kissed her in the garden.
As for the rest . . .
Well, he would never change. He would always be arrogant. He would always place his own needs first. And he would never love her.
She was a fool to hope for a moment it could be otherwise.
“Please, my lord, Miss Lawford does not wish to be disturbed.”
Here Comes the Bride Page 30