Swept away on wings of yearning, Isabelle fell back on the couch. John rained feathery-light kisses on her temples, her eyelids, her throat.
When his lips returned to hers, Isabelle realized in some distant, still-rational part of her mind that he’d unfastened her cloak and pulled her blouse down to reveal her breasts to his gaze. She didn’t care. And then his scorching lips followed his gaze.
Isabelle burned with desire. Beyond reason, she molded her young body to his . . .
Chapter 9
“John Saint-Germain, unhand that girl!”
Dazed with desire, John turned his head and gazed toward the angry voice. At the same moment, he heard the woman beneath him gasp.
God’s knob, John cursed inwardly, now fully alert to what was happening. His own mother stood in his bedchamber while he lay on top of his half-naked ward.
“Cover yourself when I move,” he whispered against Isabelle’s ear.
John rose from the Grecian couch and blocked his mother’s view of Isabelle who yanked her blouse up. Facing his mother, John realized the situation was much worse than he’d thought. His bedchamber seemed more crowded than a Drury Lane performance.
Trying to outface them, John looked in turn at each person. His mother appeared livid with outrage, as did his aunt. Standing in the corridor outside his chamber, Delphinia Montgomery wore a shocked expression. Most infuriating, Ross stood there grinning like an idiot. He felt like a youth caught in the act with his first woman.
John flicked a glance at Isabelle when she stood beside him. The poor girl clutched her cloak around herself, and her rosy blush of newly-awakened desire had faded into a ghostly white.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” Dobbs spoke up from where he stood just behind the intruders. “I tried to divert them to the drawing room.”
“I appreciate your efforts,” John said. “Continue with your regular duties.”
The majordomo turned on his heels and left the bedchamber.
John returned his attention to the others, intending to order them down to the drawing room, but saw Delphinia Montgomery crossing the chamber toward him. Understanding that the woman was upset at finding her stepdaughter in this predicament, he stood in silence as she advanced on him. Instead of confronting him, she stopped in front of Isabelle.
Delphinia Montgomery raised her hand to slap Isabelle. Only John’s quick reflexes prevented the impact.
“If you ever raise your hand to my affianced wife,” John threatened, grabbing the woman’s wrist in a firm grip, “I will make you the sorriest woman in England.”
“Your affianced wife?” Isabelle echoed.
“Oh, what excellent news,” the dowager said.
Aunt Hester nodded in agreement. “I always knew you raised your sons correctly, Tessa.”
John ignored all three of them. Instead, his dark gaze remained fixed on Delphinia. “Do you understand my warning, Lady Montgomery?”
Delphinia inclined her head. “There’s no need to ruin your life. Nicky will marry her.”
“Her marrying your nephew is out of the question,” John said. “Belle has promised to marry me. Haven’t you, my love?”
Isabelle would have agreed to anything in order to escape marriage with Nicholas deJewell. “I’ve accepted His Grace’s proposal,” she said without hesitation. “I’m positive that Miles will approve when he returns.”
“Ross, escort everyone to the drawing room so I can finish dressing,” John instructed his brother. “I’ll join you there shortly.”
“Mistress Montgomery, I insist you allow me to escort you,” Ross said as she crossed the chamber to the door. “You won’t swoon on me now, will you?”
Isabelle shook her head. John could just imagine the wan smile that probably appeared on her adorable face.
“Of course she won’t swoon,” Aunt Hester was rambling as the others filed out of the chamber. “Dear Isabelle is built of sturdier stuff than that. Don’t you think so, Tessa?”
“Most definitely,” his mother agreed, walking out of the room. “She’s a perfect match for my son.”
John walked into the drawing room ten minutes later and paused. Both Montgomery women looked as if someone had died. Still pale, Isabelle perched on the edge of the red velvet Grecian chaise and leaned against its carved, gilded arm. Her stepmother sat in a chair facing her and shot furious looks at her.
Why would a woman so obviously bent on social climbing protest her stepdaughter’s marriage to him? He was England’s premier duke and considered the decade’s finest marriage catch.
“Before we discuss specifics,” John said, drawing their attention, “I want to know the reason all of you chose this precise moment to descend upon Saint-Germain Court.”
Ross spoke first. “I was returning home after a rather late night when the thought struck me that I should come here without delay.”
“I suffered from the same thought,” his mother said. “I felt that either you or Isabelle was in some sort of trouble.”
“I knew Isabelle was here,” Delphinia said. “It was as if a voice whispered in my ear.”
“That’s it precisely,” Ross agreed.
“I felt the same sensation,” the dowager added.
“Do you know anything about this?” John asked, turning to Isabelle. “Can you explain this?”
“I heard no voice,” she answered, seemingly surprised by his question.
“Did anyone know you were on your way to Saint-Germain Court?” John asked.
Isabelle opened her mouth to reply, but then closed it again. She shifted her gaze to the opposite side of the drawing room. “Only God knew my destination.”
She was lying. John knew that as surely as he knew Isabelle did not have a deceitful bone in her body.
“Do you think anyone could have seen you leave?” John asked her.
“Even if someone had seen me leave,” Isabelle said, “that anonymous person could not have followed me here and been whispering in everyone’s ears at the same time.”
“A mystery, to be sure,” John said, “but your expression is easy to read, and you are hiding something.”
“Oh, very well,” Isabelle relented. “My guardian angel knew I was coming here, and angels are capable of anything, even whispering in several people’s ears at the same time. At least, that is what Giselle tells me.”
“Your guardian angel has a name?” Hester said, and looked at her sister. “Do you think our guardian angels have names?”
John turned to his mother. “You and Aunt Hester will need to plan the wedding with Lady Montgomery’s help. Of course, I shall assume all of the expenses.”
“Oh, what fun we shall have,” the dowager exclaimed.
“Tessa, I’ve never actually planned a wedding before,” Aunt Hester said.
“There’s nothing to it, I’m certain,” the dowager said. “It’s like planning a ball.”
“The ceremony will take place in Stratford at Holy Trinity Church, with a reception to follow at Avon Park for two hundred,” John said. “The twenty-fourth of June seems like a good day to me.”
“That only gives us eleven weeks to prepare,” his mother protested.
“We’ll need eleven months at least,” Aunt Hester added.
“Take the eleven weeks,” John said in a voice that brooked no argument, “or we’ll elope to Gretna Green.”
Both older women gasped at the potential scandal.
“I will arrive at Montgomery House this afternoon at five o’clock,” John told Delphinia. “Be ready for the signing of the betrothal contract.”
Looking unhappy, Delphinia managed to nod her head once.
“I want no gossip spread about Isabelle,” John said. “As a reward for keeping silent, I will help your daughters win offers of marriage from Spewing and Hancock. I assume those two gentlemen are their intended victims?”
“I wouldn’t describe their intentions in those terms.”
“Let’s not quibble about semant
ics, dear stepmother-in-law,” John said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Do we have a bargain?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Since everything is settled for the moment,” John said in dismissal, “I must ask everyone to excuse me. Ross, linger a moment. I want to speak privately.”
Dowager Tessa, Aunt Hester, and Delphinia Montgomery rose from their seats. Only Isabelle remained where she was.
“No one asked me what I want,” she said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.
John reached out and, taking her hand in his, helped her rise from the chaise. He gazed into the most disarming violet eyes he’d ever seen.
“You will soon become a duchess,” he said. “What more could you desire?”
Those violet eyes of hers glittered, shooting daggers at him. “I desire a man who loves me, not a man who loves a redhead one day and a brunette the next.”
“I’ll see you later today,” John said, ignoring her outburst. “You’ll be feeling better by then. In the meantime, prepare a list of whom you wish to invite to the wedding.”
Dowager Tessa slipped her arm through Isabelle’s and led her out of the drawing room. Aunt Hester and Delphinia Montgomery followed behind.
“I thought you despised blondes,” Ross said, as soon as the ladies had gone.
John gave his brother an unamused look. “I know Isabelle did not trap me, it’s not in her nature. Besides which, she couldn’t have known I was home.
“Have you considered the possibility that Isabelle does have a guardian angel?” Ross said. “That is the only reasonable explanation for everyone descending on Saint-Germain Court at the same time.”
“You call that reasonable?”
“Admit it,” Ross said. “You wanted Isabelle Montgomery since the first moment you saw her. You’ll never regret marrying Isabelle. My regret is she doesn’t have a sister like her.”
“Isabelle has two stepsisters,” John said with a smile. “I’m certain I could arrange something.”
“Do me no favors.”
“Something puzzles me,” John told his brother. “Why do you think Delphinia objected to Belle’s marrying me?”
Ross shrugged. “Perhaps she entertained hopes that one of her daughters could catch your affections.”
“I don’t believe Lady Montgomery had hopes in that direction,” John said. “What her motives are remain to be seen.” He smiled at his brother. “Will you be my best man?”
“I’d be honored,” Ross answered. “I wonder what Miles Montgomery will say when he returns.”
“The Earl of Stratford did instruct me to marry his sister if I wished.”
“I doubt he thought you’d take him up on his offer. Is there anything I can do?”
“Inform The Times that the Duke of Avon has decided to remarry and tell them who the young lady is,” John answered. “While you do that, I’ll need to speak with my solicitor to give him instructions concerning the betrothal agreement, and then I’ll need to search London’s finest jewelry shops for a betrothal ring.”
Ross nodded and started to leave.
“Be at Montgomery House by five o’clock,” John called after him. “I’ll need a witness for the signing.”
After his brother had gone, John sauntered across the drawing room to gaze out the window. He did not believe in divine intervention. On the other hand, he had heard two flutes playing when Isabelle sat alone.
“Thank you,” John said to Whomever. Whoever had sent her to his house had done him a favor.
* * *
“You played me for an April fool.” Isabelle stared at the old woman who sat, as usual, in the chair in front of the hearth.
“Child, I don’t understand what you mean.” Giselle maintained an innocent expression.
“Do you do anything except sit in that chair and create problems for me?” Isabelle asked. “How could one of God’s celestial beings lie?”
“Be careful,” Giselle warned, “or I’ll go away. What problem have I created for you?”
“Your meddling has placed me in an untenable position.”
Giselle gave her a mischievous smile. “Consider it divine intervention. Want to play our flutes?”
“No, I do not want to play my flute.” Isabelle walked across the chamber and studied her image in the framed, full-length mirror. “I am dressed for my betrothal to His Grace, who will be arriving at any moment.”
“Remember, there are worse things in life than marrying John Saint-Germain.”
Ignoring her guardian angel, Isabelle looked at her image in the mirror and, though pleased by what she saw, wondered why the Duke of Avon would want to marry her. Her evening dress had been fashioned in black velvet trimmed with gold cord. Its bodice was squared and had long sleeves. Wishing to keep her appearance simple, she’d woven her golden hair into a knot at the nape of her neck. Her only ornament was her locket of gold with her mother’s miniature inside.
“You should consider changing into a more festive gown,” Giselle said. “What will society say when they hear that you wore black to your betrothal?”
“If I cared what society thought,” Isabelle informed her, “I wouldn’t be speaking with you.”
“A point well taken.” The hint of a smile appeared on the old woman’s face. “Have you been taking nasty lessons from those stepsisters of yours?”
Isabelle smiled and crossed the chamber to sit in the chair beside her old friend. “I apologize for my rudeness. Where is the dark prince you promised me?”
Giselle shook her head as if disheartened by her charge’s question. “John Saint-Germain is the dark prince.”
“I cannot believe that.”
“I’ve said many times that princes don’t always wear crowns.”
“John doesn’t resemble the man whose image I saw in the river,” Isabelle said, unwilling to believe what she was hearing.
“You saw him through a ten-year-old’s eyes,” Giselle said. “Now you are a woman and were certainly attracted to him this morning.”
Isabelle blushed, embarrassed that her guardian angel might have been in attendance while John and she . . . She forced that disturbing thought out of her mind. A knock on the door drew their attention.
“Yes?”
“Everyone has gathered in the drawing room,” the majordomo informed her.
“Thank you, Pebbles.”
Isabelle left her chamber and walked down the main staircase to the second floor, where the drawing room was located. The door had been left open. Before stepping into view, she heard one of her stepsisters complaining.
“I cannot believe Isabelle managed to wring an offer from the duke,” Rue was whining.
The telltale sound of a slap followed this statement, and then her stepmother’s voice. “Keep those lips shut.”
Isabelle touched her locket, squared her shoulders, and marched into the drawing room. She stopped short, feeling conspicuous when everyone turned in her direction. She reached up to touch her locket when the duke’s brother chuckled.
“She’s wearing black to her own betrothal,” Lobelia said.
Delphinia raised her voice to scold her. “Isabelle Montgomery, I demand that you return upstairs and—”
John held his hand up in a gesture for silence and crossed the drawing room. His gaze held hers captive, but Isabelle wasn’t in the least afraid. She noted the corners of his lips twitching with a barely suppressed smile.
Surprising her with his lack of anger, John gazed into her eyes. Then he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss on it.
“Belle, you look beautiful,” he said in a quiet voice. “I consider myself the most fortunate of men.”
Isabelle wondered if he was making fun of her. Whatever his intent, she needed to speak with him privately and offer him the opportunity to back out of this arrangement.
“Your Grace, may I—”
“There’s no need for formality after the intimacy we shared this morning,” he interrupted, lo
wering his voice so that only she could hear him.
Isabelle blushed a vivid scarlet.
John placed the palm of his hand against her burning cheek and then held it up. “Is it scorched?”
Isabelle flicked a glance toward their audience. “I must speak with you before we sign the contract.”
John inclined his head in agreement. “We’ll return shortly,” he told the others. “Let’s go to your brother’s office.”
Isabelle led John to the end of the corridor. Every fiber of her being was aware of his masculine presence.
When they entered the study, John closed the door and dragged the chair in front of the hearth over to the desk. He sat in her brother’s chair, leaving her to sit in the other like a supplicant. His gesture of authority was not lost on her.
Isabelle folded her hands in her lap and stared at them lest she lose her courage. “You needn’t marry me.”
“Are you rejecting your hands or me?”
Isabelle snapped her gaze to his and amended herself. “I am offering you the opportunity to forget this absurd notion of marriage.”
“Why do you call it absurd?”
“We scarcely know each other.”
John smiled. “Ask me anything.”
“Where will we live?” Isabelle asked, pouncing on her dislike of London.
“Wherever you wish.”
No help there.
“I prefer Stratford to London,” she told him.
“Then we will pass most of the year in Stratford,” he said, deferring to her wishes. “Is there anything else that is bothering you?”
“I want a home filled with children,” she answered.
“And so do I, my love.”
“You needn’t call me my love when we are alone.” His cavalier use of a term of endearment irritated her. “As you know, I am deeply religious. I plan to name my daughters after the seven virtues.”
“And what would those be?” John asked, dropping the words my love.
Isabelle stared at him. “Faith, hope, charity, prudence, temperance, justice, and fortitude are the virtues.”
John raised his eyebrows at her, “Fortitude Saint-Germain?”
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