Isabel was precisely the type of female he painstakingly avoided. Oh, her looks were pleasing to a gentleman’s eye. Her light brown eyes bespoke intelligence and compassion and her mouth was generous, even if her breasts and hips were less so. Instead of discouraging him, her willowy stature haunted him. More than once he had contemplated the soft, scented flesh that was hidden underneath muslin and whalebone. Had she shared her body with another man? Instinct and her nervous reaction to him told him that she was untouched. Vane avoided virgins at all costs. The thought of breaching Isabel Thorne’s maidenhead should have cooled his ardor.
Regrettably, his cock refused to listen to him. It twitched at the mere thought of undressing Isabel and relieving her of her virginity.
Then there was his mother’s interest in the Thorne sisters. It was an ominous sign. His mother longed for him to marry, and she had ceased to be subtle about it.
Not that Vane could fault the poor woman. After all, her surviving son was a notorious rake. Her ambitions would remain fruitless as his mistresses’ wombs. Ah, there she is! Vane smiled to himself as he finally caught sight of the lady he had been searching for over the past hour while wandering about the museum.
Unfortunately for Isabel Thorne, he had inherited a few of his mother’s shortcomings. Lack of subtlety and patience being forefront in his mind as he strode toward her and her sister. He knew the moment she had sensed him. He noted a stiffness in her shoulders as her sister whispered of his unavoidable approach. Adorned in a pale pink gros de Tours wool-and-silk spencer and an embroidered white skirt, she did not turn to acknowledge him until he was before them.
“Good afternoon, Miss Thorne … Miss Delia,” he said genially, tipping his hat and bowing to the sisters. They curtsied. “What an unexpected pleasure to encounter you both. If the past hour has been any indication, you have spared me from an exceedingly dull afternoon.”
The delicate arch of Isabel’s brows lifted in feigned astonishment. “Intellectual pursuits bore you, Lord Vanewright?”
“On the contrary, Miss Thorne,” he said, earning him a puzzled frown. “I enjoy all challenges, be they of an intellectual or a sporting nature. Nonetheless, what is the point of knowledge if it cannot be shared?”
Delia, looking like spring in a rose-pattern print dress and a straw hat and veil, tittered nervously as she glanced at her sister. “Then you have something in common with my sister, my lord. Isabel believes our minds will atrophy without constant stimulation of history and the arts.”
“This is only our second tour of the museum, Delia. Our lives cannot revolve around rides in the park and shopping,” Isabel said in a lecturing tone. “Papa would expect more from his daughters.”
At the mention of their father, Delia’s cheeks turned a rosy pink hue. Vane was curious, but he held his tongue. While teasing Isabel was highly amusing, he did not wish for his encounter with the sister to end too soon.
Vane nodded at the gallery ahead of them. “I assume you were about to tour the Greek antiquities before my approach.”
“Yes,” said Delia.
“No,” replied Isabel. She gave him an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, yes, we were about to tour the gallery, but our friend is indisposed.”
More than mildly curious about their absent friend, Vane tilted his head. “Friend?”
Isabel’s face was clouded with her concern. “Yes, Lady Howland.”
“Lady Howland,” he parroted as he glanced about, half expecting to see his mother or, God help him, Lady Kempe jumping out in front of him. “Is she alone?”
Isabel and Delia had identical looks of bewilderment on their faces.
“Of course not! Perhaps I should explain. All the walking left Lady Howland feeling breathless,” Isabel explained. “We escorted her to one of the small retiring rooms, but there were few places to sit so my sister and I decided to explore the gallery until Her Ladyship can rejoin us.”
“Then you leave me no choice,” he said, relishing Isabel’s guarded expression. “I shall be your escort until your chaperone returns.”
“Lady Howland is not our chaperone!” Delia protested, chafing at the restrictions placed on her freedom. “Isabel is six-and twenty, and a more-than-adequate companion. I told Her Ladyship several times, but she seems to be partially deaf when it suits her.”
Isabel winced at Delia’s unintentional cruelty, and a pang of sympathy rose in Vane’s chest for the lady who seemed to be both mother and sister for her sibling. To Vane, she said, “I had expressed a desire to see the collection Mr. Townley had assembled, and Her Ladyship offered to share her opinion on the artifacts. It is regrettable that her health was not up to the task. Perhaps we should visit the museum another day.”
“Nonsense!” he said, startling both women. “Lady Howland is resting”—he did not bother adding that the lady would have gathered the two young ladies to her ample bosom and fled were she aware the Thornes were in his company—“and you have a charming escort who is willing to discuss sculpture, ancient coins, and weaponry … anything you and your sister desire.”
Delia moved closer to him, confirming that she was on his side. “Say yes, Isabel!”
The lady knew she had been outmaneuvered, but she was too polite to comment on it. Instead, she said, “Wheedling is unbecoming in a lady.”
“So is pouting,” Vane observed, grinning when Isabel hastily bit down on her lower lip. “Though you might be the exception, Miss Thorne.”
* * *
The outrageous gentleman had the audacity to wink at her. Wink. As Lord Vanewright anticipated, Isabel surrendered gracefully. There was no point in arguing with Delia and the earl. Two peas in a pod, they were. Lady Netherley had chosen her son’s bride wisely.
Isabel scowled at the thought.
“This vase not to your liking?” Lord Vanewright murmured in her ear. She started, unaware that he stood so close to her.
“I … uh.” She blushed, appalled at how unsophisticated she must have appeared to the earl. It was humiliating to admit it, even to herself, but she had not been paying attention to the marbles she had expressed a desire to see. She cleared her throat discreetly and tried to speak once more. “I was worrying about Lady Howland.”
It seemed plausible, even if it was a lie. This unexpected meeting with Lord Vanewright seemed like a boon, and she did not want to squander it. Although she was certain Lady Howland would disapprove of them being escorted in public by one of the notorious Lords of Vice, this was a chance for the earl to spend time with Delia.
“Ah, I see,” he said, trying not to laugh. For reasons unbeknownst to Isabel, she managed to provide him with an endless source of amusement. “And this particular high relief on the vase made you think of Her Ladyship?”
“Well, yes,” she said, sounding uncertain even to her ears. She peered at the marble vase and gasped. Good grief, she had been absently gaping at unclothed Bacchus as he merrily celebrated with his equally naked companions. “No! Definitely not!”
Lord Vanewright’s laughter filled the room, drawing everyone’s attention. “Lying is not your forte, Miss Thorne.”
With her head held high, she walked past him, determined not to dignify his erroneous comment with a rebuttal. Excelling at lying was nothing she wanted to gloat about.
Delia glanced away from a bas-relief of two griffins fighting two female warriors and asked the retreating Isabel, “What did I miss?”
“Nothing important,” she muttered as she walked up to a statue of a female holding a cluster of grapes in one hand and a thyrsus above her right shoulder. A panther rising up on its hind legs was at her feet.
“That is Libera,” Lord Vanewright said, coming up from behind until he stood next to her. “She is called the female Bacchus.”
“At least she has the good sense to keep her clothes on,” Isabel said, coolly looking over her shoulder at Delia. “My sister loves stories. Perhaps you could explain why those female warriors are battling griffins.”
>
“Attempting to get rid of me, Miss Thorne?” the earl said, circling her as she strolled to another statue.
“No.”
A gentleman would have respectfully yielded to her not-so-subtle hint and excused himself. Isabel had to remind herself that Lord Vanewright was no gentleman.
She concentrated on the statue. It was safer than staring at the handsome earl who might one day be her brother-in-law. The statue was almost five feet in height. It was another female, and blessedly, she was clothed.
“This is Ceres, is it not?” she asked, frowning as she stared at the conical basket in the figure’s left hand. It held leaves and flowers. When her question was met with silence, she added, “My sister is easily bored, and you said that knowledge should be shared.”
“No, you are definitely attempting to rid yourself of my presence.” He did not appear to be surprised by that revelation. “What do you fear, Miss Thorne?” He took a step toward her.
“N-nothing,” she stammered as she watched his eyes narrow. “I just thought you might enjoy my sister’s company.”
His eyes flashed with the heat of unexpected anger. “You do not know me well enough to tell me what I should or should not enjoy.”
He inclined his head, his gaze never leaving hers. “But you will, Isabel Thorne.”
With a final nod, he joined her sister.
Isabel watched as Delia brazenly flirted. She should have been relieved that she had won this skirmish with the earl, but she was troubled.
Why did the gentleman’s parting words sound like a threat?
Chapter Fourteen
“Well, well…”
Isabel turned her head at the low masculine drawl and discovered that the man was as captivating as his voice. Striding toward her like a marauder in evening clothes, the dark-haired gentleman with unusual turquoise-blue eyes looked like he was capable of practically anything. Rules, she suspected, did not apply to this man.
“You must be one of the seven Lords of Vice people keep warning me about,” she said, risking a side glance to the young lady she had been speaking to before the gentleman’s interruption. She discovered that her companion had fled.
This did not bode well.
Taller than Vane by three inches, he had black hair that fell loosely around his narrow face. She would rarely apply this word to a man, but he was beautiful. Whether he was an angel or the devil had yet to be determined.
“Saint was not exaggerating. A man might give up many things with the proper enticement. Are you Vane’s?” he asked, those enthralling blue eyes studying every aspect of her.
Isabel could feel her pulse beating at her throat at his close scrutiny. “Vane’s what?” she replied, fighting the urge to open her fan and hide behind it.
“Temptation, Miss Thorne,” he said silkily. “A foolish man’s downfall.”
She did not like what this gentleman was implying. “Lord Vanewright isn’t a fool.”
The dark-haired stranger inclined his head. “It is best that you remember your own words.”
“Which Lord of Vice are you?”
“Frost.” His white teeth flashed as he smiled. “Ah, I see my depraved reputation precedes me. I hope you aren’t too disappointed with the man.”
“Begging for compliments, Frost?” Vane said coldly, stepping in front of Isabel.
“Or attempting to frighten off the Thorne digging into Vane’s ars—side,” quipped another dark-haired stranger as he joined the two men.
Belatedly, Isabel realized she was wrinkling Vane’s coat. She mumbled an apology and stepped away from the three gentlemen.
“I thought only to introduce myself to the lady,” Frost protested. “Saint’s high praise of the Thorne sisters had me curious.”
The gentleman who had followed Vane snorted indelicately at their friend’s explanation.
Isabel let out a soft squeak as a tall blond gentleman brushed by her. Another Lord of Vice, she presumed, wondering if one had to be a veritable giant to be considered for membership at their club.
“Regan sent me over because she feared there was a fight brewing,” the newcomer growled. “Please do not disappoint me. Especially you, Frost.”
“Now that we aren’t hindered by Juliana’s fondness for her furniture, I’m willing if you are, Dare,” Frost said. The deadly menace in his voice had Isabel inching away.
“If you will—” Her voice faltered when all four gentlemen recalled that she was witnessing their quarrel. “Pray excuse me.”
“She is terrified,” one of the men murmured.
“And this surprises you?” was Vane’s thunderous reply as he glared at Frost.
“Do not blame me,” Frost grumbled. “Miss Thorne and I were getting along famously until we were rudely interrupted.”
Vane pushed by his friends until he was standing in front of her. “We will save the introductions for another time. Let’s get you some air. You are looking a little pale.”
* * *
Vane and Isabel did not speak until they had reached the stone terrace. “What did Frost say to upset you?” When he’d noticed that his friend had managed to corner Isabel, a fierce need to protect her had risen within him. He had been prepared to challenge Frost, and the realization shook him to the core.
“I was not upset,” she hastily replied, moving away from him. “I was just startled that he knew who I was. Honestly, he seemed concerned about you.”
Vane smirked. “Frost? Worried about someone other than himself? You are mistaken.”
When another couple emerged from the open doors, he took Isabel by the arm and escorted her away from the house. With torches lighting their way, they followed the garden wall.
“The others … they are members of your club?”
He nodded, admiring the lavender dress she had donned this evening. He longed to trace the graceful curve of her neck, allowing his lips to taste the dip at her collarbone.
“And good friends. We’ve all known one another since we were lads, and like most brothers we have misunderstandings, jealousy, and arguments. Even so, I would trust them all with my life. There was no reason to fear them, including Frost.”
Isabel circled the nearest torch so she could study his face. “I was not afraid of your friends. I am, however, curious. What did Lord Sainthill tell Frost about me and my sister?”
“I was not privy to their private conversation,” he admitted, even though it was simple enough to deduce that Saint must have told Frost how Vane had initially encountered the Thorne sisters and of their encounter in the park. It must have amused Frost immensely considering Vane’s ridiculous vow of celibacy. “I imagine Saint praised your intelligence and beauty.”
Uncomfortable with flattery, she backed away from the torchlight. Her heel caught on an unseen stone, and she stumbled. Before he could catch her, she managed to keep her balance by reaching for the stone wall.
“And graceful,” she said mockingly.
“Lovely, too,” he added. Seizing the opportunity, he backed her against the wall.
“Pretty lies, Lord Vanewright,” she said, almost desperately, as she became aware of his proximity. “I suspect all ladies are lovely to you.”
He frowned slightly and shook his head. “Not particularly. Then again, I pursue only the ones who I want to kiss.”
“You do not want to kiss me,” she blurted, her gaze searching for the open terrace doors that were no longer in view. “And we should not even be here. We should—”
“End this ridiculous argument,” he said, silencing her by bringing his finger to her lips. “Especially when there are more pleasing exercises we can do with our lips.”
To avoid his finger, Isabel turned her face away and moistened her lips. “Lord Vanewright … Vane,” she said, remembering that he had asked her to call him by his nickname. “I believe we should return to the ballroom before we are missed.”
Ignoring her request, Vane tilted his head and studied her profile. She was
breathless, and he’d wager her heart was pounding. Was it fear or anticipation that was making her tremble? Several seconds later, a low chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Sweet Isabel, has no man ever stolen a kiss from your lips?”
Her eyes blazed at his amusement. So did her pride. “Of course! Dozens of times,” she brazenly lied.
Vane braced his palms against the wall, effectively caging her with his body. “Then one more gent will hardly make a difference,” he teased, before his mouth slanted over hers and swallowed her gasp.
Isabel froze as his lips moved tenderly over hers. This might not have been her first kiss, Vane silently mused, but it would be the one she would remember. Although he teased her lower lip with a tantalizing flick of his tongue, he made no attempt to deepen the kiss. He did not wish to frighten her. His friends had seen to that. He just wanted to demonstrate to Isabel, and maybe himself, that the attraction he felt when he looked at her was not one-sided. And when all was said and done, his mother’s machinations and Isabel’s absent suitor from Cotersage proved little hindrance when he finally put his hands on her.
Vane ended the kiss before someone caught them and reported back to his mother that her son was ravishing Isabel Thorne in the gardens. Her dazed expression and slightly swollen lips mollified his masculine pride. Yes, whether she would admit it or not, the lady was not immune to his kisses.
“Are you planning to gloat?” she asked once she found her voice.
Since it was exactly the sort of behavior that she expected from a Lord of Vice, Vane decided he liked her best when she was unbalanced. With great deliberation, he removed a leaf from her bound tresses and tossed it away. “Let’s return to the ballroom. After we dance, I will introduce you to my friends and their wives. I am certain that tempers have cooled during our absence.”
Unfortunately, Vane could not make the same claim for his unruly body.
Chapter Fifteen
Sunrise with a Notorious Lord Page 9