After the Kiss (20 page)

“I wasn’t referring to…us,” she said, gesturing between them and then self-consciously glancing about the yard. For heaven’s sake, if Oliver didn’t ruin them, she would take care of it herself. “I meant the robberies. You robbed my house. I hired you the very next day. And everyone knows I got at least a glimpse of the burglar.”

He sent her a slow smile that made her mouth dry. “You’ve done more than get a glimpse.”

“Pay attention to what I’m saying. For heaven’s sake.” If Oliver went against Dunston’s wishes, it wouldn’t be her reputation that would hang by the neck on Tyburn Hill. “This might all be a game to you, but I am worried.”

“About your ability to find a proper and worthy husband. I know that.” His grip on the reins tightened, then loosened again. Broad shoulders lifted and fell with his deep breath. “Then I suppose our fun is over.”

Isabel blinked. “What?”

“You’re worried about your future. We both know I’m not going to be a part of it. So stand back and let me work Zephyr. Let Oliver have his tantrum and then tell him you were just…infatuated with me because you’d never conversed with a horse breeder before. Oliver is the one you want, isn’t he?”

For a brief second he sounded like a boy whose best toy was being taken away and given to someone else. Then he
lowered his head, brushed the lock of brown and gold hair from his eyes, and led Zephyr across the yard.

Isabel’s hands were clenched so hard the nails were near to drawing blood. She relaxed her fingers, flexing them. The pain, though, wasn’t in her hands. It was in her heart. No, Oliver Sullivan wasn’t the man she wanted in her life. And Sullivan Waring
couldn’t
be.

That wasn’t quite true, though. She could have Sullivan, if she didn’t ever wish to go to a party in a fine house again, if she never wanted to dance with the sons of dukes and viscounts, if she wanted all of her friends—and probably her own family—to turn their backs on her literally and figuratively.

Strangers, she could bear. But her parents? Phillip? Douglas? And how long would Barbara continue to defend her against the truth?

Oh, it was ridiculous. Even if she understood the hypocrisy of it all, how could she even be thinking about destroying her life for him? What had he done for her, anyway? Yes, he kissed very well, and the…other things were exceptional. But her own friends were carrying tales about her now, and the man who’d been pursuing her for weeks had just called her a whore and stalked off.

Yes, Sullivan did seem to understand her, and he was kind and patient, and she could say whatever she wished to him without fear of her words coming back to haunt her. She felt…important when she stood in his company, not just some pretty chit of good fortune to complement a matching set of silver candlesticks and a butler.

“Tibby?”

She turned around at the sound of her mother’s voice. The marchioness stood a few feet behind her, her generally amused expression surprisingly serious. “What is it, Mama?”

“Come inside, why don’t you?”

Isabel looked back at Sullivan. “But Zephyr—”

“We need to chat, my dear. And you need to stop staring at Mr. Waring like that.”

Oh, dear.
Clearing her throat, Isabel put a surprised look on her face. “I wasn’t staring at anyone,” she lied, smoothing at her dress before she retreated from the yard. “But yes, we haven’t had a good coze in a long while, and I would welcome a nice cup of tea.”
But only because it was too early in the day for whiskey.

Sullivan pretended not to watch as Lady Darshear came outside to claim Isabel. He pretended not to notice the mutterings going on among the stable staff. And he pretended that he was content with having told Tibby they needed to stop seeking one another out.

Of course it was the right thing for her; the only better thing would be if he’d never touched her in the first place. But he had touched her, and he wanted to do so again. And he wanted to break in half Oliver or any other man who presumed to touch or speak ill of his Isabel.

Clenching his jaw, he leaned in against Zephyr to tighten the cinch of the sidesaddle.
Concentrate
, he ordered himself. If he wouldn’t allow himself to touch Tibby again, then he needed to leave her employment as soon as possible. Because whatever difficulties and dangers he’d faced during war, he wasn’t certain he could manage to continue gazing at her while knowing he could never touch her again.

He straightened. “You, Delvin,” he called, looking over at the stableboy, “what do you weigh, nine stone?”

“After a meal, yes, Mr. Waring.”

A bit heavy, but it was much closer to Isabel’s weight than he was. “Come here. Have you ever ridden sidesaddle?”

The boy blushed as the rest of the yard staff laughed. “No, sir.”

“Well, you’re going to do it today. Are you nervous?”

Frowning, the boy met him at the mounting block. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. So will Lady Isabel be.”

He’d lain across Zephyr’s back, attached sacks of sand and flour with flapping ribbons on the ends, everything he could think of to accustom her to being ridden. Now they needed to make an attempt with an actual rider, and there was absolutely nothing that would make him risk Tibby and her fragile new confidence by having her be the first.

Phipps approached to help, and while Sullivan talked soothingly to Zephyr, Delvin managed to arrange himself somewhat gracefully in the sidesaddle. The mare backed a few steps, but Sullivan kept pace with her, letting her walk out her nervousness and reassuring her. Finally her ears flicked forward again, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good girl,” he said, stroking her neck. “Delvin, take the reins, but don’t try to guide her with them. I’ll do that to begin with.”

“Yes, sir.”

They wound back and forth across the yard, Sullivan gradually letting Delvin begin to guide the mare as she became more accustomed to both someone on her back and having that person direct her movements. Even to his own critical gaze Zephyr was coming along beautifully.

Finally he unclipped the lead line and stood back. In one way he felt like a proud papa watching his offspring take their first steps. On the other hand, if the afternoon’s lesson went half as well, Isabel could ride Zephyr tomorrow. And then or the next day, he would be finished. They would be
finished. And he would go home, go back to his work, and probably never see her again.

As much as just the thought of that bothered him, he knew that leaving her be was the best, wisest thing to do. If there was an alternative, he had no idea what it might be—though he’d be willing to pay a great deal of money to find one.

“If you’re going to say something awful to me, I wish you would just get on with it.” Isabel clenched her teacup, gazing into the reddish brown liquid so she wouldn’t have to look at her mother’s serious, thoughtful expression.

“What makes you think I have something awful to say?”

“Because you said we needed to talk and now you haven’t spoken a word for nearly twenty minutes.”

“Very well. We’ll talk.” The marchioness drew an audible breath. “At least look at me,” she continued. “You’re huddled in the chair like a frightened kitten.”

“I am not.” She was only bracing herself. Isabel straightened, finally meeting her mother’s gaze. The somber look she received didn’t leave her feeling any more encouraged. With a breath of her own she decided that perhaps she could improve the situation before anything unpleasant could happen. “Did you see that Zephyr’s wearing a saddle now? Can
you imagine that I might be riding her within a few days?”

“No, I can’t. That is truly remarkable.” Her mother smiled. “For you, more than for Zephyr. I can’t tell you how proud I am of your courage.”

There were other things of which she would be much less proud. “Thank you. Sullivan’s a grand teacher.”

“‘Sullivan,’” Lady Darshear repeated. “You’re on a first-name basis with Mr. Waring?”

“We’ve become friends,” Isabel hedged. If her mother had any idea how very close she and Sullivan were, she would end this conversation locked in her room.

“How does he address you?”

Now she needed to decide: Could she evade, or was she willing to outright lie? Telling the truth was absolutely out of the question. “What are you implying?” she settled for.

“I’ve heard the rumors, Isabel. Don’t dissemble.”

“So you believe Eloise? For heaven’s sake, Mama. She saw me thanking Sullivan for helping me ride a horse for the first time ever. I smiled at him. I may even have hugged him. I don’t recall.” At least that bit was fairly close to the truth.

“You need to be more cautious about your friendships, Tibby. You’re being courted by the man’s half-brother. How do you think Lord Tilden felt upon hearing those rumors? And yet he had the grace to ask you out driving this morning.”

“How is it grace to continue verbally attacking a man whose birth was no fault of his own and who’s only attempting to do a job for which I hired him?” she retorted. “Or to hire men to beat him?” Or to call her horrid names, but she left that part out.

Her mother’s frown deepened. “‘To beat him’?” she repeated.

“Yes.”

“I understand that you feel…compassion for Mr. Waring’s
unfortunate position. But you made Lord Tilden’s acquaintance first. You must take him into account. And your own future. If you’d never met Mr. Waring or allowed his presence to disrupt your life, Oliver would likely have offered for you by now. Do you realize that?”

It had occurred to her, but not in the way her mother meant. And it angered rather than alarmed her. She most likely would have turned him down, just as she had the other four gentlemen who’d proposed previously. But while she’d worried over wounding his feelings, she obviously needn’t have concerned herself. If he’d truly cared for her, he wouldn’t have called her that name. “If my friendship with someone is enough to put Oliver off,” she said aloud, “then I don’t want him to offer for me.”

“When that ‘someone’ is his
illegitimate
half-brother, you can’t expect him to react otherwise.”

“And once again, the state of his birth is
not
Sullivan’s fault.”

“And once again, I am not discussing Mr. Waring. I am talking of your future, Tibby. Don’t be childish.”

Isabel didn’t think she
was
being childish, but arguing with her mother wouldn’t prove that point. “Sullivan will be finished here in just a few days,” she said. That fact troubled her much more than hearing she might have missed out on a proposal of marriage from his half-brother.

“I’m sorry that you can’t continue your friendship with Mr. Waring,” her mother said after a moment. “He does seem to have some very good qualities. But you need to pursue an acquaintance that won’t leave you ridiculed and alone, my dear. There is nothing good that can come of you knowing that man, no matter how much you might wish otherwise.”

Abruptly Isabel felt like crying. “I am very aware of that,”
she said quietly, and set aside her tea. “If you’ll excuse me, I would like to attempt riding Molly again so I won’t be a complete nodcock when Zephyr is ready for me.”

“Come here.” Lady Darshear held out one hand.

Isabel walked over and clasped her mother’s fingers. Their hands were the same size now; she supposed it had been that way for some time, but it had never occurred to her before. She wasn’t a child any longer, and not simply because she had been intimate with Sullivan Waring. Recently she’d learned several lessons about friendship and rumor, and she didn’t think she could go back to being the girl she’d been before even if she’d wanted to.

“We are very proud of you for learning to ride, Tibby. And I’m proud that you haven’t cut someone based on the opinions of others. But your life is here, and so you must follow these rules. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

The marchioness squeezed her fingers and then released her. “Good. Come shopping with me. And wear a bonnet today; we don’t want your nose turning red with the Fontaine ball tonight.”

“Yes, Mama.”

She spent the entire morning and part of the afternoon on Bond Street looking at hats and brooches and gowns with her mother, so restless in her own skin she could barely stand still. The other shoppers they encountered were polite, though they seemed to spend much more time speaking with her mother than with her. So she wasn’t being cut as she’d expected to be, but what, taught a lesson? Don’t associate with inappropriate persons? At least Sullivan Waring made his own way in life, rather than relying on a name or a title handed down without merit or consideration just because of someone’s birth parents.

“You see, my sweet?” the marchioness said as they climbed back into the barouche amid the stacks of boxes and packages they’d accumulated. “You haven’t done any permanent damage. Just…be more cautious from now on. And if you wish, your father can ask Mr. Waring to terminate his services with us. Then you can avoid any further encounters with him.”

“I still want Mr. Waring to train Zephyr for me,” she returned, just barely keeping her voice steady. “I trust him above anyone else in this.”

Her mother didn’t like that; Isabel could see it in her eyes. But the marchioness didn’t say anything more, so she kept away from the subject, as well. Inside, though, her blood hummed through her veins. She couldn’t explain it, except that the more she saw how easily people she’d counted as friends could turn their backs on her because of a rumor, the less she wanted anything to do with them. And the more she wanted to see Sullivan again, so he would know that she wasn’t one of those hypocritical aristocrats he disliked so much.

Once they returned to Chalsey House, Isabel threw off her bonnet and hurried through the foyer to the back of the house. Prompt as Sullivan was, she would barely have another twenty minutes before he’d finished Zephyr’s afternoon lesson. Everything was a mess, and nothing could be the way she wanted it, and only if she was very lucky could she hope to avoid ruin. And at the moment she wanted to kiss Sullivan Waring so badly it physically hurt.

He stood in the middle of the yard, watching Zephyr walk a wide circle around him, the youngest stableboy on the mare’s back. And even with renowned pieces of horseflesh about, Sullivan was the most magnificent specimen in sight. Anywhere, she was beginning to believe.

“What do you think?” he asked as she approached, no sign of his earlier frustration in his voice. “She’s ready for you, if you’re ready for her.”

She couldn’t think at all. “May I have a word with you?” she demanded, her voice tight.

Sullivan’s brow lowered. “Certainly, my lady. Delvin, keep her at a walk. And don’t circle in one direction only.”

The stableboy tugged on his forelock. “No worries, Mr. Waring.”

He followed her into the stable. “Please leave us,” she said to the building in general, and immediately the remaining grooms shuffled past them out into the yard.

Sullivan’s frown deepened. “If you’re going to tell me to leave, you might as well do it in front of—”

She grabbed his hair, yanking his face down to hers. She kissed him ferociously, tasting him, wrapping herself into him, wishing she could crawl inside him. After a surprised second during which her heart stopped, he began kissing her back, drawing her up against his hard chest.

Time floated away. Kissing Sullivan, having him kiss her—this was what she wanted. His arms around her, his scent on her skin.

He moaned against her mouth. “Tibby.”

“Shh.” She kissed him again, his mouth, his throat, his chin, everywhere she could reach.

“Tibby, stop.” Taking her shoulders, he pushed her backward. Not far, but far enough to break her hold on him. “Stop. Someone will see.”

“What do you care?”

“You are a good person,” he said, ignoring her batting hands. “I do not want to see you ruined because of my sins.”

“
Your
sins? We’ve both sinned.”

“Every time I touch you, letting you go gets…” He drew a harsh breath in through his nose. “I am not…good,” he said slowly, obviously searching for words. “I steal. I’ve killed for my country. I…hate your kind. You’re an exception, but that doesn’t change anything. I’m no good for you, and I honestly can’t think of any way that making off with you would benefit me.”

“But you’ve thought about it. About making off with me.”

“I’ve thought about riding a colicky horse through Dunston’s townhouse, too, but I’ve never done that.” Brief humor touched his face before he sobered again. “No more of this, Isabel.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped. Giving up trying to embrace him, she pushed back and stalked a few feet away. “My mother said that if I hadn’t hired you, Oliver probably would have offered for me already.”

His expression grew even darker. “No doubt.”

“So he judges that my…error in calling you a friend is enough to prevent him from asking for my hand? That certainly isn’t love he’s fighting against. It’s his own pride. And yours.”

“Does he love you?” Sullivan asked quietly.

She shook her head. “He likes me. Liked me. At the beginning of the Season he danced with two dozen other ladies. Apparently he found me the least objectionable. Until now, at least.”

“Yes, he’s a sterling character.” He folded his arms across his chest. “He used to spit at me when we crossed one another’s path as children.”

“You steal from people,” she retorted. “Whose character is more sterling?”

“Do you really want to compare me with that—”

“Oh, stop it. This isn’t your fault, and it isn’t his. Or it wasn’t
to begin with. Since then I don’t think either of you have acted appropriately, and neither have I—so don’t try to throw that back at me.”

Sullivan looked at her for a heartbeat. “Do you—did you—love him? Oliver bloody Sullivan?”

“I love you,” she shot back, then clapped both hands over her mouth.

His lean face went white. Ice-green eyes fixed on her face, he backed away until he came up against the stable wall.

“Sullivan?” she managed, her voice squeaking.

He turned and left the stable.

Isabel sat down hard on an upturned barrel. She’d done it now. Of course they could never have any kind of future together, but she’d managed to ruin today, as well. And any other todays they could talk themselves into. “Idiot,” she muttered, sinking her face into her hands.

Someone by the door cleared his throat. She started to her feet, Sullivan’s name on her lips. Thankfully she didn’t utter it aloud. Delvin the stableboy stood in the doorway. “What is it?” she snapped, her temple beginning to throb.

He bowed, tugging on his lanky brown forelock of hair at the same time. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but Mr. Waring says if you wish to ride your Zephyr today, you’d best come out of the stable.”

He had, had he?
“Oh, yes. Thank you,” she said aloud.

Riding a horse no one had ridden until two days ago. Very well, now she was nervous again. And hopeful. Or at the least, less dejected. In fact, if one or two more emotions filled her skull and her chest, she was very likely going to suffer an apoplexy and drop dead.

Shaking herself, she left the stable. Sullivan had his back to her as he spoke to Phipps. “I’ll be a minute, Mr. Waring,” she called, hurrying for the house. “I need to change.”

He ignored her. She nearly let that go—until she considered that she’d done nothing wrong, and he’d been the rude one. Twice now.

“Mr. Waring,” she repeated crisply, coming to a stop. “Pray look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

He turned on his heel to face her, his movements as spare and precise as the soldier he’d once been. His expression was unreadable. “Yes, my lady.”

“I’ll be back in a moment. You are not to leave.”

Sullivan inclined his head. “As you wish.”

He watched her into the house, her skirt gathered in her hands as she ran.
God, God, God
. She
loved
him. What the devil was he supposed to do with that? Sweep her onto the back of his horse and carry her off to his castle? The worst of it was that he wanted to. He wanted to take her into his arms in front of everyone and have…nothing happen. No one to frown, no one to be ruined. But whatever she said to him, that could never happen.

“Mr. Waring?”

Sullivan started, looking back at Phipps. “Apologies,” he said shortly. “Yes. Please bring Paris out for me.”

Concentrate, damn it all
. He’d ridden the bay gelding today on purpose; Zephyr was a mare, and as much confidence as he had in her, neither did he want to be riding a big stallion like Achilles when Isabel took her seat for the first time.

Phipps hurried off, and Sullivan busied himself with checking and rechecking the cinches on Zephyr’s saddle, making certain the reins were straight and that he had apple slices in his pockets. The mare shifted, obviously picking up on his nervousness, and he took a breath to steady himself.