Even once the sound was gone they stayed locked in place, and it seemed Lord Anthony had no intention of releasing her. When he finally stepped back, Isabel’s knees almost buckled as she leaned against the door.
“Lord Anthony, I beg you.”
One eyebrow went up. “Miss Townshend, I have no intention of revealing your indiscretion this morning. I will safeguard your honor and make sure no one ever learns of this situation.”
Isabel’s shoulders sagged in relief, and she grasped the door handle, needing something to anchor her.
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “On one condition.”
Her breath caught.
“You must allow me to court you for the remainder of our time at this house party.”
“Court me?” Isabel was completely astonished. Lord Anthony had never shown anything but a wish to trifle with her! “But surely you don’t wish to—”
He leaned back against the wall adjacent to the door, as if ready to take on her every protest. “I assure you, I do.” He ran a thumb over his bottom lip. “During the next week you must allow me to seek you out and stay by your side. You will at least pretend to welcome my attentions, well enough to convince your father and sister, and even the countess.”
“But why?”
“I have my reasons. But, if at the end of the house party, you wish to never see me again, I will let you go and never breathe a word of this encounter to anyone. That is my offer.”
Isabel could hardly believe it. Why on earth would he wish to court her? And why was he so adamant that she play along with the ruse? The idea was preposterous.
“You’re very highhanded,” she finally said, for it was the only thought that came to mind.
He leaned in, as if to tell her a secret. “And you’re in my bedroom,” he whispered. “Do we have an agreement?”
Saying yes felt like a betrayal of everything she knew. The man was a cad, a society rake. Since her arrival, she’d heard plenty of rumors regarding his numerous conquests. Was she just to be one more? “And if I don’t?” she challenged.
“I know what you think of me, Miss Townshend. I know what my reputation is. Do you really wish to find out if the rumors are as awful as they seem?”
He was right—what choice did she have? If it were known she had come into Lord Anthony’s bedroom, she’d be ruined. She met his eyes, and a trace of the gentleness she’d seen in them last night appeared. Could it be that, somewhere in this strange turn of events, Lord Anthony had actually come to care for her? Impossible.
He held out his hand. “Do we have a deal, Miss Townshend?”
Pulse pounding in her ears, Isabel reached out and took his hand. “Yes.”
9
Nine: Rain Drops
Anthony was surprised by the nerves that hummed through him as he entered the drawing room, intent on seeking out Miss Townshend. The last time he remembered being nervous to spend time with a woman was almost nine years ago. He swept aside the unpleasant thought, wishing he’d taken the second glass of port he’d been offered.
Miss Townshend sat on a small settee next to her father. The glow of candlelight made her dark hair shine. Anthony took a moment to appreciate her profile: her slender neck and the graceful slope of her shoulders.
Before he could cross the room, Miss Anne stood and approached him. “Lord Anthony, do come join us. We were just speaking of you.” She motioned toward her father and sister, an inviting smile on her face.
As he approached, however, Miss Townshend gave a little start, smoothing her dress in an obvious attempt to cover her surprise. “Lord Anthony,” she murmured.
He did not miss the color that rose to her cheeks, likely remembering their encounter in his bedroom this morning. “Sir George, Miss Townshend.” He greeted them with a slight bow. “Miss Anne assures me I am not intruding.”
“Of course not.“ Miss Anne inclined her head as they both took a seat. “Why, your presence makes our gathering acceptable. Otherwise we would appear very closed off to the rest of the party. But the truth is, we’ve missed our time together as a family.”
“Yes.” Miss Townshend arched a brow at Anthony. “We aren’t accustomed to such persistent attention.”
It appeared that her agreement to his little charade did not mean she would make this easy on him. His mouth quirked up a bit. “Surely the desire for your company cannot come as a surprise.”
Sir George piped in. “I’ve always felt Isabel is a little standoffish to those of the opposite gender.”
The insight intrigued Anthony, for he’d been certain he alone raised her hackles.
The indent above Miss Townshend’s upper lip became more pronounced. “If you mean I don’t flirt with every man who passes by, you would be correct, Father.”
Miss Anne shot her sister a look of exasperation then turned to Anthony with a smile. “Come now, Lord Anthony. We’ve heard rumors of your adventure from yesterday, but wish to hear the story from your own lips. Please oblige us.”
Sir George placed a weathered hand on his cane. “Oh, were you one of the fellows out riding yesterday? I’d love to hear a firsthand account.”
Anthony nodded. “I’m afraid the story is very anticlimactic.”
“That is quite at odds with the account I’ve heard.” Miss Townshend turned toward him, her eyes extending a challenge.
“Very well, then.” He sat back in his chair, stretching out his legs, grateful at least to be engaging in conversation. “Beauchamp, Tauney Easton, and I were enjoying a scenic ride through the countryside yesterday morning. We’d gone about ten miles when Beauchamp’s horse threw a shoe. Do you know what exists ten miles outside of Somerstone?” He paused for a moment, making sure he had their attention before continuing on. “A wretched lot of nothing, that’s what. We had to walk nearly two miles before we reached a small tenant farm where the owner could only offer us an old and cantankerous donkey.”
The corners of Sir George’s mouth tugged upward. “Heavens.”
“I have not even reached the worst part of the tale,” said Anthony, shaking his head. He was determined to make Miss Townshend laugh, even if it required embellishing the story some.
“Go on,” Miss Anne urged.
“When Beauchamp tried to mount the beast, it bucked him off most determinedly. And I’m afraid Easton shared the same fate.”
Sir George began to chuckle and Miss Anne covered her erupting giggle.
Even Miss Townshend’s mouth twitched. “Well,” she prompted, curiosity lighting her eyes. “What happened when you attempted to get on the donkey?”
“The worst thing you can imagine.” He held her gaze, though he knew he should look away. “The donkey was as docile as a lamb and allowed me to ride him the entire seven-mile journey into the village.”
Miss Townshend joined the laughter then, and Anthony reveled in the sight. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and her nose scrunched up in a manner Anthony found quite charming.
Sir George’s laughter faded to a smile. “What a sight to behold. If only I’d come across you while I was out riding yesterday!”
“You were out riding yesterday?” Anthony asked, trying to hide his surprise.
“Oh, yes.” He nodded firmly, gripping his cane as if it were a riding crop. “Why just yesterday Mr. Tillbury and I wagered a bet on whose mare was faster.” A faraway look entered his eyes, one that Anthony couldn’t quite place.
Miss Townshend gave a slight shake of her head, her mouth pinched.
Anthony looked carefully at Sir George once more, and understanding dawned. He had seen the same distant expression in his uncle the few years before he died. The confusion and forgetfulness. The blending of past and present. His heart went out to Miss Townshend and Miss Anne for the pain of having to watch their father fade away.
Anthony leaned forward. “And who was the winner, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Sir George huffed. “Why me, of course.”
�
�I can imagine you are quite the rider, sir.” He patted the man’s shoulder.
Miss Townshend’s lips parted, her studious gaze upon him.
“Why yes, I am,” replied Sir George. They continued in that vein for several minutes, Anthony asking questions while Sir George recounted old stories as if they’d only just happened.
A few minutes later, the countess cleared her throat. “Miss Greystock has organized some games, for those of you who wish to participate. I believe it will be quite diverting.”
Anthony watched Miss Townshend carefully, trying to decipher her reaction to the announcement, but she kept her gaze in her lap. Teirny approached the four of them. “Miss Anne, would you care to join me for some of the games?”
“I’d be delighted, Mr. Teirny.” She took his hand as he helped her to her feet.
A frown pulled down Anthony’s mouth as he watched the two of them join the others. Teirny was wealthy, but Miss Anne certainly deserved better.
“I must be off to bed,” said Sir George. “Will the two of you join in?”
Miss Townshend set a hand on her cheek. “I am not certain I am up for games tonight. In fact, I’m feeling a little warm.”
Anthony’s heart began to race, for this is when the real experiment would begin. “It’s cloudy outside, but it hasn’t yet begun to rain. I could escort you to the verandah for some fresh air, Miss Townshend.”
Her posture stiffened.
For a moment, he questioned the wisdom of forcing Miss Townshend into this agreement. Perhaps it would have been wiser this morning to act the gentlemen and let her escape, but Anthony feared losing his only chance to court her. And now that the decision had been made, he would not waste a moment of it. He rose from his chair. “But first, let me fetch you a drink.”
“How thoughtful of you, Lord Anthony,” said Sir George. All Anthony could do was hope that his choice had been for the best.
Isabel watched Lord Anthony cross the room, the thought of spending time with him sending a tumult of confusion through her. The man was far too handsome for his own good, and their waltz the other night was proof that his proximity dulled her good senses and made her feel more than was prudent. Especially for a man of his reputation.
She’d spent the afternoon isolated in her room, thinking about her predicament and Lord Anthony’s motives. What could he possibly hope to gain by pretending to court her? Was this all some ploy, some trick to get her to fall in love and leave her broken hearted at the end of the party? Was she just another—albeit more challenging—conquest? She pursed her lips together, the thought rankling.
Lord Anthony returned with a cavalier smile, drink in hand. She took a small sip and set the glass down on a side table, raising her guard.
“Miss Townshend?” He held out his arm.
She placed hers on his, this time not surprised by the flutter of warmth that radiated up her arm at his touch. Instead, she was annoyed by it.
The verandah doors were slightly ajar, but Lord Anthony pushed the door back, leaving it wide open so propriety might be maintained.
“Tell me truthfully.” He tugged at his cravat, loosening its hold. “Did you only agree to come out here so you would not be forced to pretend to tolerate my company any longer?”
His candor took her off guard, and she ducked her head. “It did cross my mind. I have never been one to excel at covering my feelings.”
He laughed aloud, and she found she enjoyed the way it erupted from his chest, the free sound of someone determined to enjoy life.
“I suppose I should have expected as much.” His eyes gleamed with amusement. “You’ve never left me with any doubt as to how you feel about me.”
Isabel flushed anew, grateful for the soft breeze that cooled the night air. “There is something about you that ruffles my feathers.”
“And it started when I came upon you in that rainstorm.” His voice grew gentle, and he turned to face her, focusing the whole of his attention upon her.
She laughed quietly. “Yes, I suppose it did.”
Smoky gray clouds filled the night sky, and she remembered the absolute indignation she’d felt at Lord Anthony’s insolent flirtation when she’d first met him. But, just now, he’d been so gracious and understanding with her father. How was she to reconcile these different versions of the man who stood at her side?
Confused as Isabel was, he deserved her appreciation. “I’m sorry about my father. He is not himself these days. Thank you for humoring him.”
Anthony put his arms on the railing, leaning over it. He looked out into the distance. “I’m sure his moments of confusion are difficult to watch, but I assure you, there are worse things in a father.” His features hardened, mouth pressing into an unforgiving line.
Much as she wished to ask what he meant, she wasn’t sure she dared. “Well, thank you all the same.”
“It was nothing.” He shrugged, but his face remained tense, the muscles in his neck taut.
What could so disturb a man like Lord Anthony, who never seemed to take anything too seriously. “Does your father suffer from something worse then?”
He gave a short laugh, full of bitterness. “You could say that.”
They stood in silence. But for once, Isabel’s mind wasn’t full of censure or disdain for the man that stood next to her, only mere curiosity. “Forgive me for prying.”
He blew out a breath. “You weren’t prying. It’s only that I don’t wish to speak of him. Not tonight.”
There was a raw quality to his voice that pricked Isabel, making her wish she knew what to say, how to smooth over the hurt that seemed to be eating at him.
Lord Anthony broke the silence with a sigh. He held out his palm, several droplets of rain hitting it as it began to sprinkle. “I am not sure what kind of omen this new bout of rain might be.” He gave her a brief glance. “I’d like to think it means we could start anew.” He said the last words softly, as if speaking to himself.
But they grabbed hold of Isabel, easing their way through her and settling into the tiniest fissure in the wall guarding her heart.
Lord Anthony shook his head. “Should we go back inside?”
For a reason Isabel couldn’t have explained, she demurred. “No, let’s not.” She joined him at the railing, her shoulder brushing his. “I like the rain.”
10
Ten: Risks and Rewards
Isabel studied her poor attempt of a sketch. She frowned and put down her vine charcoal, absentmindedly rubbing the spot just above her lip. She sighed. The trunk of the tree was far too wide, and now the whole picture looked out of balance.
“Oh, it isn’t as terrible as all that,” said Miss Greystock with a smile.
“The fact that you feel the need to say so indicates it is.”
Miss Greystock’s eyes remained on her own work, a fleck of green paint on her cheek. “I am just happy you could join us. How is your father feeling?”
“A little peaked I’m afraid. I took him to his room after lunch.” Isabel glanced back at Somerstone Manor, hoping her father was resting. The house party was taking a toll on him.
The sun shone overhead, its rays filtering through the overhanging trees. Isabel’s poor sketch seemed to mock her, interrupting the tranquil afternoon. Biting her lip, Isabel stared at the tree, wondering how to repair such a faux pas on the canvas.
Her eyes wandered, and she spotted Anne near the middle of the group. Worry lines ran down the center of Anne’s forehead, marring her usually mild expression. Isabel wondered what could be bothering her sister. Unfortunately, in such a setting, it was nearly impossible to have a private word. She tucked the thought away, determined to visit Anne’s room tonight and ask her about it.
She turned back to her canvas, but her mind couldn’t seem to focus. Last night’s conversation on the verandah persistently weaved toward the forefront of her thoughts.
He’d shown a side of himself last night she hadn’t known existed, and it intrigued her more than
it ought. What had he said to her about the omen of rain? I’d like to think it might mean we could start anew. Could they? Last night, out in the restful canopy of drizzling rain it had almost seemed possible. Now, in light of day and away from Lord Anthony’s charm, Isabel doubted once more.
Distant angry voices broke through her reverie, and she put down her charcoal, trying to make sense of the sound. No one else seemed to have heard, engrossed as they were in their artistic endeavors. Isabel arose, curious. She’d heard the gentlemen were engaged in fishing down by the lake and hoped there hadn’t been some mishap.
She’d only just reached the tree she’d been trying to draw when Mr. Teirny, wet from head to foot, stalked toward her. Isabel stepped back in order to avoid a collision with the man, whose face was contorted in anger. And was that blood dripping down his chin? What on earth?
Quickening her pace, she continued on. Several minutes later, Lord Anthony came into view, sitting on the bank, shaking his head. He removed his boot and held it upside down; a steady stream of water poured out.
“Lord Anthony?” She said his name with some hesitance.
He turned his head.
She gasped a little, for a dark welt was forming just under his eye. “Did you and Mr. Teirny—.”
“Yes,” he said gruffly. “But he got the worst of it.” Lord Anthony stood, pulling on his boot with more force than necessary. His breeches were soaked up to the knees and his hair fell across his forehead in disarray.
“I gathered that.” Isabel tried to gauge his mood. “Do you mind if I take a look?”
He stilled, the disgruntled look on his face turning to surprise.
She stepped forward. “I’m no doctor, but I do have some recent experience with bruising.”
Lord Anthony gave her a chagrined smile. “Yes, I suppose you do.” He winced.
Isabel reached out a tentative hand, touching the skin on his cheekbone as she tried to determine how severe the swelling was.
He winced and gave a sharp intake of breath as her fingers touched a tender spot.
An Unlikely Courtship (Regency House Party: Somerstone Book 2) Page 6