“Do you really see?” The other woman’s voice practically purred.
“Yes.” Isabelle stood. “Which is why I’m curious about your visit. Why are you here to see me?”
On cue, the other woman stood, also. “I thought it would be obvious. I need to meet my competition.”
“Competition? When I’m the one marrying him?”
Mrs. Westland slithered closer like a snake preparing for their next meal. Her evil fangs practically making a debut when she grinned, ready to bite into Isabelle, most certainly.
“But will you share his bed?”
Isabelle rolled her eyes then turned and marched to the open door of the drawing room. The butler stood waiting, and when she motioned, he hurried over. “Mrs. Westland will be leaving now. Will you kindly show her out?” Isabelle was afraid if she did it herself, she’d shove the woman out the door with too much force… and with her foot.
“It really was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stanhope.” She curtsied.
Isabelle bit her tongue from the rude reply ready on her lips. “Thank you for stopping by. I’ll inform the viscount of your visit.”
When the door closed behind the woman, Isabelle released a frustrated sigh. Her palms hurt, and when she looked down, noticed she’d bunched her hands into fists so hard her nails dug into the skin. Better that than going with her first instinct to claw the other woman’s eyes out.
She rubbed her forehead as a slight pound hummed in her skull. Why was she even troubled over this? She hadn’t planned on sharing her husband’s bed, so naturally he should have a mistress. Yet, Isabelle did care, and she wished she wouldn’t.
Without a word to the butler, she hurried up the stairs toward her bedroom. The lamps in the hallway were low, casting eerie shadows everywhere. As she placed her hand on the knob, the hairs on the back of her neck stood and coldness chilled her bones. Somebody walked up behind her. The floor squeaked just as an overpowering scent of whiskey assaulted her senses.
She whipped around and came face to face with Lockwood.
Gasping, she fell back against the door while he loomed over her. Because of the shadows, his eyes looked pitch black. Yet the gleam of lust was unmistakable. From his stench, she figured he’d consumed at least two bottles of spirits tonight.
“My lord?” She hated that her voice squeaked, but she couldn’t stop the way her body shook with fear. “Do you need something?”
“You’re very lovely tonight, Isabelle.” He moved his hand down the column of her throat. “Forgive me for not taking the meal with you. I was otherwise occupied.”
“Yes, I’m quite certain you were, my lord.” If the smell of alcohol was any indication.
He pulled back slightly and ran his gaze over her body, then to the door behind her. “Can’t you get in your room, my dear?” He reached the knob and clicked it open.
She stumbled backward into the room, hoping to put distance between them. He followed her inside, kicking the door closed. He wore only his shirt and breeches with stocking feet this evening. No collar graced his shirt, which left it open at his throat, showing a glimpse of his muscular neck. His wig was absent, letting her see the color of his short, dark tousled hair. He was more handsome than she was prepared for—than she wanted. Why couldn’t he be a horrid looking man who made her ill?
“Um, my lord, if you would like to talk, we can adjourn to the drawing room—”
“This place will do.”
She swallowed hard. “Wh—what would you like to discuss with me?”
“I heard you had a visitor this evening.”
Anger filled her once again. How dare he throw that in her face? Stubbornly, she lifted her chin. “In reality, Mrs. Westland came to see you, my lord.”
“Mrs. Westland?”
By the blank expression on his face, he gave the impression he didn’t know the lady, which upset Isabelle that much more. Did he think she was a dolt? “Yes. She mentioned she was your latest… um… acquaintance.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “Did she now?”
He took a step closer, so she withdrew at the same pace. “Yes, and I have to admit, I was a little disturbed by her visit.”
“Disturbed? Pray, how did she disturb you?”
“Her words were meant to upset me, my lord. She presented herself most improper, and very vicious indeed. Her conversation seemed more about making me believe she was the woman who holds your affections instead of your soon-to-be bride.”
Inwardly, she scolded herself. Her tone of voice probably made him think she cared, which she didn’t. Not really. If Mrs. Westland entertained her husband then Isabelle wouldn’t have to.
“I gather you don’t like to share, Miss Stanhope.” His grin widened, if that were possible.
She swallowed hard. “That’s not what I said at all.”
Slow and cautious, he came toward her. She backed up until the wall stopped her progress. When he pressed his body against hers, she released a small whimper. She didn’t want it to be like this. Isabelle pushed her hand against his chest. “My lord, please.”
He didn’t try to kiss her, simply content to stare into her face as if studying her. The beat of her heart ached as it slammed against her ribs. She wanted him out of her room, but she didn’t want to insult him for fear he’d call off the wedding.
Slowly, his face loomed closer until his forehead touched hers. She dare not shut her eyes because she had to be on guard.
“Why can’t I get you out of my mind?” he whispered.
Confusion filled her and she shook her head. Why would he say that after only knowing her one day? “My lord?”
His hands combed through her hair, tugging at the pins holding the bulk in a bun. Before she could stop him, locks fell around her shoulders. He nuzzled his face in her strands and breathed deeply.
“You smell like heaven,” he mumbled. “You should not be here, Isabelle.”
“Why?” She stood frozen, praying he would release her and leave.
“You tempt me too much. It’s not good, you know.”
Willing her limbs to work, she pressed her palms hard against his chest, trying to add space between them. “Please, why are you saying this? We—we just met.”
Finally, he lifted his face from her hair and met her gaze. “Do I make you nervous?”
“Yes, my lord. Your intoxicated state frightens me.”
Using his knuckles, he stroked her cheek. “Your beauty intoxicates me.” He brushed his lips against her ear. “Don’t be frightened. I promise not to harm you.”
She held her breath as tears stung her eyes. Why couldn’t she believe him? And pray, why did she wish the thief who’d stolen her heart stood in his place this very moment with his body against hers, whispering words of love?
Lockwood nibbled on her earlobe, and she bit her bottom lip as tingles cascaded over her. Hot breath on her neck made her shiver, and heaven help her, Captain Hawk’s face wouldn’t leave her mind. His lips were as soft as the viscount’s. A sigh escaped her mouth, and she cursed her weakened mind for thinking of that scoundrel.
The viscount jerked back and stood straight. All physical contact was broken, and Isabelle breathed with relief.
“Forgive me, my dear. I shouldn’t be doing this.” He grasped her shaky hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “However, be assured our wedding night will be memorable.”
Chapter Fourteen
His plan hadn’t worked.
Marcus entered his room and slammed the door behind him. Splashing whiskey on clothes to make Isabelle think he was intoxicated didn’t accomplish what he’d wanted. Well, it did for a moment, but then he had to feel her skin against his lips… and hear Hawk’s name on her pleasurable sigh.
Groaning, he scrubbed his hands over his face. Had he heard her correctly? Did she really sigh Hawk’s name when he nibbled on her ear? And had her body really relaxed against his at that very moment?
He didn’t want
her thinking about the highwayman! In fact, he’d tried to discourage her before he sent her away. Apparently, it didn’t work.
Growling, he stormed to his whiskey bottle and took a long swig. Perhaps he should have drunk the whole bottle like his scent proved he had. Maybe the confusion in his brain wouldn’t bother him so.
His heart wrenched in agony. Undoubtedly, he would have her as his wife in all sense of the word, but he must make certain she couldn’t see him without clothes. Especially not his chest. If she noticed his scar from the stab wound…
He found his knee boots and yanked them on, then grabbed his coat before leaving the room. Riding would relieve his stress. At least it had done so in the past.
After shrugging on his waistcoat and tying on his neck cloth, he grabbed his overcoat and hurried toward the stables. When he entered, the stable boy jumped up, his eyes wide.
“Saddle my horse immediately.”
“Aye, milord.”
Waiting, Marcus paced in front of the stables. He took in the beautiful land his brother’s house sat upon, still not believing this was all his. Never in his life did he think he’d obtain as much money as Matthew had acquired in a short amount of time. Now Marcus could live in luxury as he’d always dreamed, but he’d use his money for good instead of the selfish reasons his brother had.
A movement from the second story window caught his attention, making him halt. A woman’s figure passed in front of the window, wearing only a nightdress.
My Isabelle.
He scolded himself. No, she wasn’t his. Even after he married her, he didn’t want to think of her that way. She was only a means to an end—the only way to discover secrets the Royal Navy held.
She stopped at the window and gazed out. He stood still as the moon cast a glow over him. Her focus fell on him. He wanted to wave or do something besides stare like a love-struck fool, but he couldn’t. His heart picked up rhythm, and his palms moistened.
“My lord, here’s your horse.”
The stable boy’s voice brought him out of his daze, and he turned to take the reins. When he glanced back to the window, she was gone. Disappointment crept into his chest, making him wish she still stood silhouetted by the light, watching him with curious eyes. No matter. He couldn’t let her become infatuated with the viscount as she was with Hawk. That would certainly muck up things.
He mounted and gripped the reins in his hands, giving a nod to the stable boy.
“Will you be going to the Black Dragon again this evening, my lord?”
Marcus narrowed his gaze on the lad. Apparently, his brother had frequented this establishment enough for the stable boy to remember. “I was thinking about it. Why?”
He shrugged and shuffled his feet in the dirt. “No reason, milord, just making conversation.”
“Oh, well then, yes. I think I’ll go there tonight.”
“Then I’ll not expect you home until early morning?”
Silently, he groaned. He couldn’t follow that particular pattern his brother had. “No, actually I shall only be a few hours. After all, tomorrow is my wedding day. I want to be alert when I repeat my vows. True?”
The boy chuckled. “Aye, milord.”
Marcus nodded and kicked his heels in the horse’s flanks before taking off. There had been no time to look into his brother’s life to see what illegal things the twin had been doing since Marcus had taken over. Now was as good time as any.
Marcus had never visited the Black Dragon tavern. Mainly because only lowlife and miscreants called that tavern their home. All this time Marcus had thought his brother had been the better sibling, now Marcus knew it was exactly opposite.
Riding in the night cleared his head, and by the time he reached the Black Dragon, he was ready to fill his brother’s role once again. When he walked into the tavern, all eyes turned his way. Within seconds, they raised their cups, almost in unison.
“Lockwood,” they shouted.
By Jove, his brother had been worshipped. Marcus chuckled to himself as he walked to a table where three men motioned at him. Captain Hawk had been worshipped too, but differently, and usually by the wenches.
The three blokes at the table were not the gentlemen Marcus figured his brother would associate with. Ragged clothes hung on their unwashed bodies, and several teeth were missing. One bulky man had scraggly hair, while the other two were thin with almost too much hair. Each ranged in different ages, from mid thirties to late fifties.
“Lockwood, I heard a rumor today.” The fat man set his empty cup on the table and motioned to the serving wench.
“And what rumor might that be?”
“Are ye marryin’ Commodore Stanhope’s daughter?” the other one asked.
Marcus grinned. “That I am.”
“Well, I’ll be hog-washed.” One shook his head. “I thought I’d never see the day.”
The serving wench set a tin cup in front of him filled with ale, then replaced the drink for the bloke at the table with him. Marcus lifted his cup and sipped, not certain how potent the liquor would be. Thank goodness it was watered down.
“I never thought I’d marry, either, but I did sign a betrothal agreement with Stanhope.”
“Aye, that’ll lock ya in, to be sure,” one said.
The thin man next to him bumped elbows with Marcus. “But I thought the contract had been broken since Commodore Stanhope lied about the money he’d promised ya.”
Marcus arched an eyebrow. Interesting. Now he knew why Matthew accepted the contract in the first place. His brother was such a greedy bugger. “Quite right, my good man. But I’m the better person for upholding my side of the agreement.”
“Aye.” The men agreed. “That ye are, Lockwood,” one added.
“Besides,” Marcus paused as he took a sip, then grinned, “it helps to keep to the agreement now I have seen the comely lady.” Isabelle’s face came to mind.
“Aye, aye.” The three lifted their mugs as in a salute.
Marcus placed his drink on the table and rubbed his hands together. Time to get down to business, he’d hoped. “So, my good friends, what’s new in the world? Is there anything I should know about?”
The three men exchanged glances then each looked around them as if not wanting anyone else to hear their conversation. All three leaned forward on the table.
The bulky man tapped his fingers on Marcus’ arm. “Last night, I heard another shipment was coming from London. It will arrive at the end of the month.”
Very interesting. “Shipment, you say?”
“Aye. Only the best for our men.”
“Did you happen to hear what ship it’s sailing on?”
“One of the Royal Navy ships, of course.”
Marcus nodded. “But of course.” He sipped his drink. What could this group be planning? And how many other men were involved? Could Marcus handle this alone or should he enlist some of his own men?
“So for now, we’ll just let the men know when to expect the shipment,” said the one with the most missing teeth.
“We shall ready ourselves for the heathens,” Marcus grumbled, making the other men laugh. “Tell me, who is the man in charge? Who will know the precise day?”
The bulky man exchanged knowing grins with the other two before looking back at Marcus. “Tis no man, my lord, but a comely lass.”
Marcus hitched a breath. A woman? “You don’t say.”
The other chuckled. “Aye, my lord,” the burly man continued. “The lovely woman is very charming. Her only fault is that she’s been seen around town with an ornery old bitty who thinks she’s the only high and mighty woman to walk the streets.”
Marcus’ heart stilled as he clutched his drink. Isabelle… and Mrs. Winters. He knew Isabelle was the spy he accused her of being. Now the question was, what kind of spy was she, and which side did she help? The King or the patriots here in New York?
Slowly he nodded as he took another sip. “Then I suppose if she is such a comely lass, it will b
e up to me to obtain the information we need. Correct?”
The man with the missing teeth bumped his arm into Marcus. “Aye, and I’m sure ye’ll do it the way ye always have.”
Once again, a wave of laughter moved around the table. Marcus forced his laugh, the whole time wondering how he could get his soon-to-be wife to confess.
When the bulky man changed the conversation, Marcus knew he’d hear no more about the shipment. What kind of shipment? Guns? Weapons? Or was this the treasure he’d suspected some members of the navy were pilfering? Isabelle would know.
He grinned. Getting information out of her would be entertaining, especially if he did it right. And he really looked forward to the task.
* * * *
Isabelle stood stiff beside Mrs. Winters, waiting for her future husband to arrive at the church. As promised, her wedding gown had been ready on time, and she had to admit it was very lovely. The ivory brocade dress with blue ribbon trim fit almost snug around her. Blue bows over the stomacher made her waist appear much thinner, as did the straight sleeves held with another bow, cascading in three tiers at her elbows. Never had she worn anything so elegant. Rarely had she seen gowns like this unless worn by royalty.
Her maid had styled her hair a little different, winding the bulk up to perch on top of her head while three thick ringlets hung by her ears. Indeed, she looked like she could be attending court at the royal palace. Instead, she impatiently waited for Lord Lockwood to show up at his own wedding.
She and Mrs. Winters had arrived on time, so Isabelle didn’t know what could be making the viscount late. Didn’t he want to marry her? Was this his way of telling her he didn’t want her anymore?
Closing her eyes, Isabelle groaned silently. That would ruin her for certain.
If she had a choice, she wouldn’t be standing here, either. Unfortunately, her father and his solicitor stole that option from her. She must marry the viscount now. It didn’t matter that her dreams last night were filled with Hawk’s image. She’d awoken with her heart twisting in agony, and her arms empty. If only she could have made Hawk fall in love with her.
Falling In Love Again (Heroic Rogues Series) Page 16