Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance)

by Carolyn Jewel

  They rode slowly back to the house, both lost in silence until Alexander asked abruptly, “How is it you’re so different? Are all American women like you?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m myself. It’s the only way I know how to be.”

  “Surely you did not ride without a saddle in America?” He was touched at the sudden look of sadness that crossed her face. “Or did you spend your time doing the accounts for your cousin?” It was infuriatingly difficult to continue the indifference he had promised to feel towards her.

  “I am doing my best to forget I ever lived in New York,” she said. “I hated it there. I did not know how miserable I was until I came to England.” The searching look he gave her made her stomach do flips again, and in self-defense she changed the subject. “Tell me how you got to be such a stern old man.”

  “A stern old man? On the contrary, I am a mature adult who knows better than to cross the bounds of propriety—even when I am alone.”

  “Is that the trouble? Have I offended your sense of propriety?”

  “What if it hadn’t been I who found you?” he chided her. “Another man might have had his way with you and there would have been nothing you could do about it. You should not have gone riding alone.”

  “But I like being alone.”

  “Miss St. James,” he fixed her with an icy look, “that is hardly the point. The point is men have certain physical desires and there are such of us who will take any opportunity to satisfy them.”

  “Oh, yes, and then blame the woman for their inability to act civilized,” Isobel retorted heatedly.

  “You are being unfair,” he said.

  “No, I am being accurate. Life is more fair for some than for others, do you not agree, my lord?”

  “Miss St. James, you are an impossible young woman.”

  “It has occurred to me, sir, that every time we start to get along, one of us always says something unpleasant to spoil it.” She thought to herself it was generally his lordship, but she charitably refrained from telling him so.

  “What ever made you think we were getting along?” he asked mildly.

  “I should have thought that you, of all people, would not resent a woman’s having a mind of her own.”

  “What a charming child you are,” he murmured.

  She saw he was baiting her and for once she refused to rise to it, choosing instead to look away. While they rode in strained silence she thought about what he had said, and, grudgingly, she had to admit he was right. No matter how unfair it was, she would have been defenseless had someone come along and wanted to do her harm. She put her hand on his arm and, though he raised his eyebrows at her in that maddening way of his, she managed a smile. “I’m sorry, Lord Hartforde. You were perfectly right,” she said contritely as they came up to the stable. “About the danger of being out alone, I mean. I apologize for being a brat and I take back what I said about your being a stern old man. Do you forgive me?” She gave him what she hoped was a charming smile as they rode up to the stable.

  “Such an insult is not easily forgiven.” He grinned at her and they both laughed when she stuck out her tongue at him. He lifted her off the horse and immediately turned his back on her to talk with the head groom. The two conversed quietly while Isobel sat down by the door to play with the puppies. They recognized her and scrambled playfully into her lap when she sat down. As usual, the black-and-white one demanded, and got, most of her attention.

  Alexander nearly tripped over her as he walked briskly toward the door. She was sitting on the dusty floor of the stable, her legs folded under her. “What in bloody hell—Miss St. James, what are you doing on the ground? I damned near tripped over you!” he added when she looked at him as though she had no idea what he was getting so upset about.

  “Look what I’ve got!” She held up the black-and-white puppy for him to see. “Isn’t he darling?” She spoke more to the puppy than to Alexander, who looked down at the five others playing around her knees. She put down the dog and watched him run to his siblings, looking sadly after them for a moment. “I’m sorry if I was in your way.” She held up a hand for him to take as she stood up. She brushed off her skirts and straightened up.

  “You seem to have a talent for getting in my way.” He was annoyed for thinking about how smooth her leg had felt, for the shock that had gone through him when she had put a hand on his arm, and, immediately after that, for the erotic picture she had just made, when playing with puppies, was not in the least erotic.

  “Oh! Forgive me, my lord!” Isobel feigned horror, clutching her face between her hands. “Shall I cut off my right arm? Will it make up for scuffing your boots? Do send them to me when you’ve changed and I shall have them polished for you.”

  To her utter amazement, he burst into laughter. “Miss St. James, you are going to make me admire you in spite of myself.” He held out his arm. “Shall we go back to the house? I have a Rubens I should like to show you.”

  VII

  The day before Isobel and Julia were to return to London, Alexander found her in the library. He cleared his throat. “Ah, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

  Isobel looked up from her seat on the sofa. “Why? Did I do something to annoy you and now you want to berate me?” She smiled at him, glad that his resolution to be pleasant to her had already survived three days.

  “No.” He made her a small bow. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

  “Well, it isn’t big enough to be your Rubens, so just take it away.” She made a shooing motion with one of her hands.

  “How ungrateful you are!” he protested, as he walked over to where she was sitting and held out the basket he had been hiding behind his back. “Here.”

  She took the basket and, holding it on her lap, opened the lid. Her face lit up as she reached in and took out the black-and-white puppy. “Lord Hartforde, I’m speechless!” Her eyes were shining as she held the puppy to her cheek.

  “For once,” he said, turning a grateful eye upward.

  She put the puppy down on the floor and pulled out the ribbon holding back her hair to trail on the floor for it to chase.

  She glanced up when he sat down next to her. When he found himself looking into glowing blue eyes, he felt a distressing pull of desire as he took in the soft curve of her smile, and the golden hair falling loose about her shoulders, framing her face. Her lips parted and he found his gaze focused on them.

  “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” she said, lifting her arms to hug him.

  “Don’t do that!” He pushed her away. He had not expected the sudden light pressure of her torso against him to affect him quite as it did.

  “Don’t do what?” To his great relief, she sat back to look at him with an exasperated expression. “You mean hug you? Why ever not? If you insist on doing nice things, you must expect to get hugged.” She put a hand on his arm and smiled at him.

  “Such behavior is most unladylike,” he said sternly, hoping his harsh words would discourage another attempt. She looked so hurt he was instantly sorry. “You are in sore need of some refinement,” he said.

  “I knew you’d say something unpleasant.” She sighed. “Well, I simply won’t let you spoil this. You may go to the devil, you old man!” She turned her attention back to the puppy, which had let out an impatient yelp at being ignored. She bent over to shake the ribbon, and the puppy took it in his sharp little teeth and ran between Alexander’s legs. She twisted toward him and put a hand next to his leg to prop herself up. Hardly aware that he did so, he reached out to stroke her shoulder. Her skin was warm under his fingers.

  She quickly lifted her head. “Now, what?” She frowned when his hand lingered on her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  He felt a shock when their eyes met. She sat perfectly still as he ran his hands through her golden hair, pulling it away from her face. One long finger gently traced the outline of her lips, caressing her cheek. “Kissing you,” he
murmured, leaning forward until his lips were just inches above her own. “Surely you’ve been kissed before?” One hand held her chin, while the other gently reached around her waist.

  “Once, and it was horrible,” she said in a low voice.

  He looked into questioning eyes and wondered if it could be true that she had been kissed only once before. She leaned toward him as he lowered his head to hers. He found it hard to believe. “You must tell me afterward if it was horrible this time as well.” He closed the space between them. He was unprepared for the strength of his reaction when he felt his mouth on hers. He held her and thought her lips seemed unconscionably soft and warm. When he caressed her shoulders, her skin felt as smooth as the satin of her gown, and as he closed his eyes, the image of her slender legs as they had looked that day she had been out riding came to him. He remembered how soft her skin had felt just from that brief contact, and he wondered if it was possible for her to be as soft everywhere else. He deepened his kiss, his demanding tongue parting her lips, and he felt the heat of his desire beginning to overcome them both. He twined his fingers in her silky hair and his other hand pressed against her back to pull her as close as possible. Tentative arms wound around his neck, her slender body fit just so into the tightening circle of his arm, and the press of her against his chest as she began to relax against him was beginning to stir him beyond control. There was a familiar tightening in his belly and he bent her head back under the increasing pressure of his desire. He pulled away from her lips and looked into dark blue eyes to see the passion he had felt when he kissed her. His fingers were still tangled in her hair, so she was unable to move. “My God, Sarah,” he said softly.

  When Isobel felt Alexander’s hands tighten their hold on her head, she leaned closer and wondered if it was possible to die from bliss. She didn’t know what she should do with her hands, so she shyly put them around his neck; her fingers brushed his hair as they met at the nape of his neck. His tongue was slipping over her lips and, under the demand of his mouth, they parted. She didn’t care if she had done the right thing, for his tongue darted gently into her, and she was lost in the slippery sensation. Timidly, she increased the pressure of her lips against his. In answer, his hand slid around to hold her face, while his other arm tightened around her waist. She was giddy with her response to his touch, she was drunk with the feel of him, the taste of him, the warm, musky, masculine smell of him. She couldn’t believe what was happening—this was Lord Hartforde, one of the most powerful men in all of England, and the handsomest man she had ever seen in her life! Then she stopped thinking and gave herself over to the whirling, dizzying pleasure of his arms. He was pulling her close, his hands were touching her so gently, so intimately…. She was disappointed when he stopped, but, then, the look he gave her made her afraid that, for a moment, she had forgotten how to breathe. He was still holding her, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath on her skin. It was impossible that he should be looking at her this way with those extraordinary green eyes burning into hers, yet he was. She waited for him to speak.

  Isobel shook her head free and had to take a shaking breath before she could say, “I don’t know who Sarah is, my lord, but clearly you would prefer her company to mine.”

  The vehemence of his reply shocked her. “Sarah is a woman I liked just as little as I like you.”

  She bent to pick up the puppy before standing. “I should hate to think what would have happened if you actually liked me!” She whirled around and left him sitting alone.

  Alexander winced as the door slammed shut. He leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes. It had never occurred to him before that she did bear a slight resemblance to his dead wife. If he wasn’t careful, Isobel St. James would wind herself around his heart the same way Sarah had, and he had sworn that would never happen to him again.

  “What a swine that man is!” Isobel raged as she lay on her bed, staring up at the ceding and wishing it would just crash down and put her out of her misery. The puppy snuggled against her side and pressed its wet nose to her fist. She could hardly wait to get back to London and be away from that hateful beast. She had gotten her wish; Lord Hartforde had kissed her at last. And she had never experienced anything like it; every inch of her body had felt on fire at his touch— still felt on fire! She was ashamed to think she might never have stopped him if he hadn’t called her by another woman’s name. But, why, if he wanted another, why had he kissed her? Because he was beastly, positively beastly! She groaned in misery. Just the recollection of his lips against hers sent a thrill through her. How could she ever face him again?

  Chapter 13

  Preston Hawes looked around his little room with disdain. These dreary surroundings, so distressingly far from the West End, were nothing compared with what he intended to have. He lit his last cheroot and sat down in one of the faded velvet chairs, his feet up on the table in front of him. An ember from the cigar fell to the carpet, where it burned yet another small hole in the wool.

  Hawes maintained his rooms by exploiting the only two talents he had—his original profession of the law, much to his father’s despair, not being either one of them. His first and most useful talent was artistic in nature. He could render practically flawless copies of any document he had in front of him. His facility was impressive, and that, coupled with his second talent for putting off his creditors, had gained him a reputation among a certain class as a man with prospects. In truth, the only thing standing between Preston Hawes and his prospects was his love for cards.

  Hawes was able to make enough money copying documents—he never asked what was to be done with them when he finished—to keep his two rooms and make occasional payments to his tailor. His father sent him money if he pleaded with just the right words, but still he sometimes wondered if real success would always elude him. Patience he had in abundance, but luck was something that seemed to have deserted him lately. He finished his cigar and, carefully brushing off his one and only frock coat, went out to see if he could coax luck into smiling on him.

  William Fordham leaned back in his chair, a glow of satisfaction on his face.

  “One hundred pounds.” Hawes frowned. He’d lost more money before, but he had never had such a consistent run of bad luck. This would put him in exceedingly strained circumstances. He shook his head ruefully and looked at the man sitting across from him. “Well, here you are.” He handed over his note for the hundred pounds, smiling as he did so. His tailor would have to wait.

  “You don’t mean you haven’t the money?” Fordham queried, his tone tinged with outrage.

  “Not just this moment, I’m afraid. But I’m good for it. Ask anyone here and they’ll tell you Preston Hawes always pays his debts.”

  “Eventually, I’m told.”

  “Quite. I do eventually pay my debts.” He smiled nervously. He did not like Fordham’s tone in the least.

  “Tell me, Mr. Hawes, have you ever done any writing? Or copying, perhaps?”

  “Oh, now and again,” he said, relaxing into his chair.

  “Could you copy this?” Fordham took a sheet of paper from his coat pocket and tossed it on the table.

  Hawes unfolded the sheet of paper. “Of course.”

  “It will be in your interest to do your best work. If it is good enough, I might just have a position for you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. You seem like a gentleman to me.” The word “gentleman” sounded to Hawes like the name of a long-lost friend.

  Chapter 14

  With Bridget close behind her, Isobel walked purposefully into the jewelry store. The maid stood near the door waiting, while her mistress looked at the finery. Another woman came in and was waited on by a second clerk.

  “How much is that?” Isobel pointed to a brooch.

  “Fifty pounds,” the clerk sniffed. Imagine having to ask!

  “I need to spend exactly one hundred pounds, not a shilling more nor less!” Isobel said, giving the scrawny
man a stony glance.

  “Well, this bracelet is just about that.” He picked up a delicate gold band set with several small amethysts and sapphires. He held it up for her to admire. “The finest workmanship, as you can well see, madam. The stones are of the finest quality and cut—”

  Isobel interrupted him just as he was taking a breath to continue. “I’ll take it,” she said.

  “An excellent choice, madam.”

  “You may send the bill to Lord Hartforde, at Hartforde House.”

  “Ah! A gift for the Lady Julia?”

  “No,” she said shortly. “You may send the bracelet to number five Albemarle.”

  “Very good, madam.” The clerk kept his face expressionless, for he had no intention of offending Lord Hartforde’s newest mistress. Neither did he miss the way Lady Shorington’s ears pricked up at the young woman’s instructions. No doubt all of London would know about this before the week was out.

  “Thank you.” Isobel nodded to Lady Shorington as she left.

  In the days that followed, the bracelet would gain in value until it was whispered it had cost hundreds of pounds and that the purchase included earrings worth hundreds, a brooch worth thousands, and (only occasionally) a necklace of diamonds and emeralds that was nearly priceless.

  Chapter 15

  I

  Isobel was often at Hartforde House because she was frequently out late with Faircourt, and Julia insisted on those occasions that she stay to supper. In addition, the two spent a great deal of time planning the ball to celebrate Julia’s engagement to Lord Burke. Isobel was not unaffected by seeing Lord Hartforde so often, but she found it impossible to tell Julia what a fool she had been. To make matters worse, she never knew how she ought to act around him. She had meant to take her cue from his behavior, but he did not seem to be able to make up his mind from one day to the next how he would behave toward her. At first he was cold and distant, and when she got over her hurt at his unconcern, she affected a similar attitude, only to have him engage her in conversations that showed him capable of great solicitousness. When she got over her suspicion at his being so agreeable, he took to teasing her unmercifully. She discovered it was when she was most determined to be pleasant that he could be counted on to send her into a rage. She was often beside herself at his penchant for making her angry, but when he left her alone, she found herself near tears at his neglect. But it was the times he was pleasant that she found unbearable, because they only made her realize how fond she could become of him.