“Yes, sir.”
They wound back and forth across the yard, Sullivan gradually letting Delvin begin to guide the mare as she became more accustomed to both someone on her back and having that person direct her movements. Even to his own critical gaze Zephyr was coming along beautifully.
Finally he unclipped the lead line and stood back. In one way he felt like a proud papa watching his offspring take their first steps. On the other hand, if the afternoon’s lesson went half as well, Isabel could ride Zephyr tomorrow. And then or the next day, he would be finished. They would be finished. And he would go home, go back to his work, and probably never see her again.
As much as just the thought of that bothered him, he knew that leaving her be was the best, wisest thing to do. If there was an alternative, he had no idea what it might be—though he’d be willing to pay a great deal of money to find one.
Chapter 20
“If you’re going to say something awful to me, I wish you would just get on with it.” Isabel clenched her teacup, gazing into the reddish brown liquid so she wouldn’t have to look at her mother’s serious, thoughtful expression.
“What makes you think I have something awful to say?”
“Because you said we needed to talk and now you haven’t spoken a word for nearly twenty minutes.”
“Very well. We’ll talk.” The marchioness drew an audible breath. “At least look at me,” she continued. “You’re huddled in the chair like a frightened kitten.”
“I am not.” She was only bracing herself. Isabel straightened, finally meeting her mother’s gaze. The somber look she received didn’t leave her feeling any more encouraged. With a breath of her own she decided that perhaps she could improve the situation before anything unpleasant could happen. “Did you see that Zephyr’s wearing a saddle now? Can you imagine that I might be riding her within a few days?”
“No, I can’t. That is truly remarkable.” Her mother smiled. “For you, more than for Zephyr. I can’t tell you how proud I am of your courage.”
There were other things of which she would be much less proud. “Thank you. Sullivan’s a grand teacher.”
“‘Sullivan,’” Lady Darshear repeated. “You’re on a first-name basis with Mr. Waring?”
“We’ve become friends,” Isabel hedged. If her mother had any idea how very close she and Sullivan were, she would end this conversation locked in her room.
“How does he address you?”
Now she needed to decide: Could she evade, or was she willing to outright lie? Telling the truth was absolutely out of the question. “What are you implying?” she settled for.
“I’ve heard the rumors, Isabel. Don’t dissemble.”
“So you believe Eloise? For heaven’s sake, Mama. She saw me thanking Sullivan for helping me ride a horse for the first time ever. I smiled at him. I may even have hugged him. I don’t recall.” At least that bit was fairly close to the truth.
“You need to be more cautious about your friendships, Tibby. You’re being courted by the man’s half-brother. How do you think Lord Tilden felt upon hearing those rumors? And yet he had the grace to ask you out driving this morning.”
“How is it grace to continue verbally attacking a man whose birth was no fault of his own and who’s only attempting to do a job for which I hired him?” she retorted. “Or to hire men to beat him?” Or to call her horrid names, but she left that part out.
Her mother’s frown deepened. “‘To beat him’?” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“I understand that you feel…compassion for Mr. Waring’s unfortunate position. But you made Lord Tilden’s acquaintance first. You must take him into account. And your own future. If you’d never met Mr. Waring or allowed his presence to disrupt your life, Oliver would likely have offered for you by now. Do you realize that?”
It had occurred to her, but not in the way her mother meant. And it angered rather than alarmed her. She most likely would have turned him down, just as she had the other four gentlemen who’d proposed previously. But while she’d worried over wounding his feelings, she obviously needn’t have concerned herself. If he’d truly cared for her, he wouldn’t have called her that name. “If my friendship with someone is enough to put Oliver off,” she said aloud, “then I don’t want him to offer for me.”
“When that ‘someone’ is his illegitimate half-brother, you can’t expect him to react otherwise.”
“And once again, the state of his birth is not Sullivan’s fault.”
“And once again, I am not discussing Mr. Waring. I am talking of your future, Tibby. Don’t be childish.”
Isabel didn’t think she was being childish, but arguing with her mother wouldn’t prove that point. “Sullivan will be finished here in just a few days,” she said. That fact troubled her much more than hearing she might have missed out on a proposal of marriage from his half-brother.
“I’m sorry that you can’t continue your friendship with Mr. Waring,” her mother said after a moment. “He does seem to have some very good qualities. But you need to pursue an acquaintance that won’t leave you ridiculed and alone, my dear. There is nothing good that can come of you knowing that man, no matter how much you might wish otherwise.”
Abruptly Isabel felt like crying. “I am very aware of that,” she said quietly, and set aside her tea. “If you’ll excuse me, I would like to attempt riding Molly again so I won’t be a complete nodcock when Zephyr is ready for me.”
“Come here.” Lady Darshear held out one hand.
Isabel walked over and clasped her mother’s fingers. Their hands were the same size now; she supposed it had been that way for some time, but it had never occurred to her before. She wasn’t a child any longer, and not simply because she had been intimate with Sullivan Waring. Recently she’d learned several lessons about friendship and rumor, and she didn’t think she could go back to being the girl she’d been before even if she’d wanted to.
“We are very proud of you for learning to ride, Tibby. And I’m proud that you haven’t cut someone based on the opinions of others. But your life is here, and so you must follow these rules. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
The marchioness squeezed her fingers and then released her. “Good. Come shopping with me. And wear a bonnet today; we don’t want your nose turning red with the Fontaine ball tonight.”
“Yes, Mama.”
She spent the entire morning and part of the afternoon on Bond Street looking at hats and brooches and gowns with her mother, so restless in her own skin she could barely stand still. The other shoppers they encountered were polite, though they seemed to spend much more time speaking with her mother than with her. So she wasn’t being cut as she’d expected to be, but what, taught a lesson? Don’t associate with inappropriate persons? At least Sullivan Waring made his own way in life, rather than relying on a name or a title handed down without merit or consideration just because of someone’s birth parents.
“You see, my sweet?” the marchioness said as they climbed back into the barouche amid the stacks of boxes and packages they’d accumulated. “You haven’t done any permanent damage. Just…be more cautious from now on. And if you wish, your father can ask Mr. Waring to terminate his services with us. Then you can avoid any further encounters with him.”
“I still want Mr. Waring to train Zephyr for me,” she returned, just barely keeping her voice steady. “I trust him above anyone else in this.”
Her mother didn’t like that; Isabel could see it in her eyes. But the marchioness didn’t say anything more, so she kept away from the subject, as well. Inside, though, her blood hummed through her veins. She couldn’t explain it, except that the more she saw how easily people she’d counted as friends could turn their backs on her because of a rumor, the less she wanted anything to do with them. And the more she wanted to see Sullivan again, so he would know that she wasn’t one of those hypocritical aristocrats he disliked so much.
Once they returned to Chalsey House, Isabel threw off her bonnet and hurried through the foyer to the back of the house. Prompt as Sullivan was, she would barely have another twenty minutes before he’d finished Zephyr’s afternoon lesson. Everything was a mess, and nothing could be the way she wanted it, and only if she was very lucky could she hope to avoid ruin. And at the moment she wanted to kiss Sullivan Waring so badly it physically hurt.
He stood in the middle of the yard, watching Zephyr walk a wide circle around him, the youngest stableboy on the mare’s back. And even with renowned pieces of horseflesh about, Sullivan was the most magnificent specimen in sight. Anywhere, she was beginning to believe.
“What do you think?” he asked as she approached, no sign of his earlier frustration in his voice. “She’s ready for you, if you’re ready for her.”
She couldn’t think at all. “May I have a word with you?” she demanded, her voice tight.
Sullivan’s brow lowered. “Certainly, my lady. Delvin, keep her at a walk. And don’t circle in one direction only.”
The stableboy tugged on his forelock. “No worries, Mr. Waring.”
He followed her into the stable. “Please leave us,” she said to the building in general, and immediately the remaining grooms shuffled past them out into the yard.
Sullivan’s frown deepened. “If you’re going to tell me to leave, you might as well do it in front of—”
She grabbed his hair, yanking his face down to hers. She kissed him ferociously, tasting him, wrapping herself into him, wishing she could crawl inside him. After a surprised second during which her heart stopped, he began kissing her back, drawing her up against his hard chest.
Time floated away. Kissing Sullivan, having him kiss her—this was what she wanted. His arms around her, his scent on her skin.
He moaned against her mouth. “Tibby.”
“Shh.” She kissed him again, his mouth, his throat, his chin, everywhere she could reach.
“Tibby, stop.” Taking her shoulders, he pushed her backward. Not far, but far enough to break her hold on him. “Stop. Someone will see.”
“What do you care?”
“You are a good person,” he said, ignoring her batting hands. “I do not want to see you ruined because of my sins.”
“Your sins? We’ve both sinned.”
“Every time I touch you, letting you go gets…” He drew a harsh breath in through his nose. “I am not…good,” he said slowly, obviously searching for words. “I steal. I’ve killed for my country. I…hate your kind. You’re an exception, but that doesn’t change anything. I’m no good for you, and I honestly can’t think of any way that making off with you would benefit me.”
“But you’ve thought about it. About making off with me.”
“I’ve thought about riding a colicky horse through Dunston’s townhouse, too, but I’ve never done that.” Brief humor touched his face before he sobered again. “No more of this, Isabel.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped. Giving up trying to embrace him, she pushed back and stalked a few feet away. “My mother said that if I hadn’t hired you, Oliver probably would have offered for me already.”
His expression grew even darker. “No doubt.”
“So he judges that my…error in calling you a friend is enough to prevent him from asking for my hand? That certainly isn’t love he’s fighting against. It’s his own pride. And yours.”
“Does he love you?” Sullivan asked quietly.
She shook her head. “He likes me. Liked me. At the beginning of the Season he danced with two dozen other ladies. Apparently he found me the least objectionable. Until now, at least.”
“Yes, he’s a sterling character.” He folded his arms across his chest. “He used to spit at me when we crossed one another’s path as children.”
“You steal from people,” she retorted. “Whose character is more sterling?”
“Do you really want to compare me with that—”
“Oh, stop it. This isn’t your fault, and it isn’t his. Or it wasn’t to begin with. Since then I don’t think either of you have acted appropriately, and neither have I—so don’t try to throw that back at me.”
Sullivan looked at her for a heartbeat. “Do you—did you—love him? Oliver bloody Sullivan?”
“I love you,” she shot back, then clapped both hands over her mouth.
His lean face went white. Ice-green eyes fixed on her face, he backed away until he came up against the stable wall.
“Sullivan?” she managed, her voice squeaking.
He turned and left the stable.
Isabel sat down hard on an upturned barrel. She’d done it now. Of course they could never have any kind of future together, but she’d managed to ruin today, as well. And any other todays they could talk themselves into. “Idiot,” she muttered, sinking her face into her hands.
Someone by the door cleared his throat. She started to her feet, Sullivan’s name on her lips. Thankfully she didn’t utter it aloud. Delvin the stableboy stood in the doorway. “What is it?” she snapped, her temple beginning to throb.
He bowed, tugging on his lanky brown forelock of hair at the same time. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but Mr. Waring says if you wish to ride your Zephyr today, you’d best come out of the stable.”
He had, had he? “Oh, yes. Thank you,” she said aloud.
Riding a horse no one had ridden until two days ago. Very well, now she was nervous again. And hopeful. Or at the least, less dejected. In fact, if one or two more emotions filled her skull and her chest, she was very likely going to suffer an apoplexy and drop dead.
Shaking herself, she left the stable. Sullivan had his back to her as he spoke to Phipps. “I’ll be a minute, Mr. Waring,” she called, hurrying for the house. “I need to change.”
He ignored her. She nearly let that go—until she considered that she’d done nothing wrong, and he’d been the rude one. Twice now.
“Mr. Waring,” she repeated crisply, coming to a stop. “Pray look at me when I’m speaking to you.”
He turned on his heel to face her, his movements as spare and precise as the soldier he’d once been. His expression was unreadable. “Yes, my lady.”
“I’ll be back in a moment. You are not to leave.”
Sullivan inclined his head. “As you wish.”
He watched her into the house, her skirt gathered in her hands as she ran. God, God, God. She loved him. What the devil was he supposed to do with that? Sweep her onto the back of his horse and carry her off to his castle? The worst of it was that he wanted to. He wanted to take her into his arms in front of everyone and have…nothing happen. No one to frown, no one to be ruined. But whatever she said to him, that could never happen.
“Mr. Waring?”
Sullivan started, looking back at Phipps. “Apologies,” he said shortly. “Yes. Please bring Paris out for me.”
Concentrate, damn it all. He’d ridden the bay gelding today on purpose; Zephyr was a mare, and as much confidence as he had in her, neither did he want to be riding a big stallion like Achilles when Isabel took her seat for the first time.
Phipps hurried off, and Sullivan busied himself with checking and rechecking the cinches on Zephyr’s saddle, making certain the reins were straight and that he had apple slices in his pockets. The mare shifted, obviously picking up on his nervousness, and he took a breath to steady himself.
It didn’t change anything. What she’d said didn’t change anything. She would still carry on with her life of parties and rides in the park, and he would raise horses and reclaim the remainder of his mother’s paintings and otherwise avoid having anything to do with Dunston. He closed his eyes for a moment. Until now he might have hated his relations, but he’d never hated his life before. Until now.
“I’m ready.”
Sullivan opened his eyes again and turned around. She’d donned her hunter-green riding dress, snug in all the right places, deliciously curved at her breasts and hips. For
a second he took her in, not certain whether or not he was imagining the scent of citrus in the air around her.
“Well?”
He cleared his throat. “Apologies. Do you want to attempt this today?”
She sent a nervous glance at Zephyr. “It seems like my best chance,” she said after a moment. “I’d hate to go to all this effort and then miss my moment.”
“That’s rather blunt, don’t you think?” he murmured, leading Zephyr to the mounting block.
“I have no idea what you mean, Mr. Waring. What should I expect?”
“Zephyr’s more energetic and less experienced than Molly, so she’ll probably be shifting her weight more. Just shift your weight with her, keep yourself centered above the saddle. I’ll be on Paris, with a lead line in case she gets away from you.”
The worried look on her face deepened. “Is she likely to get away from me?”
“No. She’s a good girl. Just remind her of that. Talk to her, as you did Molly. She knows your voice, and she likes you.”
Isabel lifted an eyebrow, though she kept her gaze on the mare. “Isn’t that interesting?” she said, walking carefully forward to pat Zephyr on the neck. “She likes me, and she lets me know it.”
Apparently Isabel had had enough time to realize that he was a complete and utter nodcock. It hadn’t taken very long. “You two should have a long and happy partnership,” he offered. “You’re well suited to one another.”
“And yet you had originally decided she should be a brood mare.”
And she was angry. His jaw clenched. “I make mistakes.”
“Yes, I’ve become aware of that. Now shall I ride, or have you changed your mind?”
Damnation. He took her arm to help her onto the mounting block, gripping her harder than he needed to. “Stop it,” he whispered.
“Stop what? She’s my animal; I may converse about her if I wish to. You certainly can’t prevent me from doing so.”
Taking a step closer, he yanked her back, pulling her against his chest. “What good would it do,” he hissed, “for me to tell you how I feel?”
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