Sunrise with a Notorious Lord (22 page)

He gave her an impatient shake. “That kiss meant nothing. I told you that before and have already apologized. I swear on my honor, it will never happen again. Do you believe me?”

Isabel nodded.

“Good. Then it is settled.”

He tried to kiss her again, but she was prepared for it this time. She placed her palms on his chest to prevent him and lightly pushed him away.

“I might have lied to half of London about my betrothal, but I have grown weary of the ruse. I will never marry you, Malcolm.”

Mr. Ruddel flinched as if she had slapped him. “Your casual dismissal of our friendship makes me wonder if I misunderstood what I witnessed last evening. Did you welcome Vanewright’s advances, Isabel?”

Isabel bowed her head, fearing her face would give her away. “Either way, it does not really matter. Lord Vanewright was never meant to be mine.”

Astounded, Mr. Ruddel stared at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. “Is your family aware of your mischief?”

Isabel’s gaze narrowed on Mr. Ruddel’s pinched features. “The answer to that question has not been your concern since the day I caught you kissing and fondling my sister. Good day to you, sir!”

*   *   *

Vane’s sour disposition had not improved since he had come face-to-face with the gentleman who claimed to be Isabel’s betrothed. It had taken all of his restraint to resist punching the gent and flattening his nose. He waited for Isabel to deny the man’s claim. After all, she had seemed as befuddled by Ruddel’s appearance as Vane was.

Even so, Isabel never denounced the irritating man and Vane had left her in the capable hands of her lover. No, wait.
He
was her damn lover. Isabel had surrendered her innocence to him, not Ruddel.

By the next day, Vane was seething. During the long sleepless night, he had decided the lady owed him a few answers and he intended to collect them. When Mrs. Allen opened the door, she told him that Isabel and her sister were not at home.

Before he could accuse the housekeeper of lying, the servant assured him that forcing his way into the house would not gain him the answers he craved: It was Lady Netherley who had invited the sisters for some shopping. Mrs. Allen bade him to glower elsewhere and rudely shut the door in his face.

By God, the women in his life gave him no quarter.

Nor his father, Vane grimly reminded himself.

He avoided his parents’ town house. When he thought his temper had been pushed behind repair, it was his sister Ellen who innocently told him that their mother was planning to attend Lord and Lady Mainstone’s ball. Since his mother seemed determined to toss Delia in his path, the Thorne sisters would likely be in attendance as well.

Vane did not care if he had to confront her in the middle of the Mainstones’ ballroom with her simpering fiancé at her side—Isabel would answer his questions, and then he was getting the hell out of her life.

Admittance to Lord and Lady Mainstone’s ball was simple enough. It was rare for anyone to refuse the man who would one day inherit the Marquess of Netherley title.

Vane quickly paid his respects to his host and hostess and went directly to the ballroom. Along the way, he acknowledged friends and acquaintances with a nod as he searched the ballroom for Isabel. He had made it halfway around the large room when he spotted her. She was standing close to his mother, which came as no surprise. His mother was not about to let two unmarried ladies slip away when she had a son who required a bride. Isabel might not be Lady Netherley’s choice for her son, but even from a distance it was apparent that his mother doted on the young woman.

“Mother,” Vane said, kissing his mother’s cheek. “What providence to encounter you this evening.”

Lady Netherley patted both of his cheeks. Isabel had not moved an inch since his arrival. “Christopher,” his mother said, her pleasure in stark contrast with her companion’s silence. “No one told me that you were attending this evening.”

“It is an unplanned stop, I must confess,” he admitted cheerfully. “However, I could not resist dropping by and showing my appreciation for all your efforts. If I must be beggared, let it not be said that I was cut off because I refused to inspect every toothsome miss and wallflower you have cajoled on my behalf.”

The joy in his mother’s wrinkled face dimmed. “You are still cross with your father.”

“Your intuition never ceases to amaze me, my dear mother.”

His sarcasm made both women wince.

“My lord, have you been drinking?” Isabel said, frowning at him.

“Nothing worth bragging about. Although I do plan to make up for my shortfall once I attend to a few unpleasant matters.” Before Isabel could respond, he turned his back on her and smiled appreciatively at Delia, who was approaching them. “Miss Delia, you look enchanting this evening. Would you honor me with a dance?”

Delia’s eyes widened with surprise. “I would be delighted, Lord Vanewright!”

He glanced at Isabel. The hurt in her liquid brown gaze only spurred him to say, “My lovely girl, I told you when we first met that all of my
good
friends call me Vane.”

Oblivious to the undercurrents of tension around her, Delia gave him a smile that lacked the coyness he found so beguiling in Isabel.

Delia placed her hand on his arm. “Then I have no choice but to yield to your wishes, Vane.”

He covered her hand with his. “Ah, there is nothing as tempting as a biddable young lady,” he said, causing Delia to giggle. “I will have to compile a list of requests while we dance, and we’ll see if I can coax you to agree to them all.”

Without a backward glance, he and Delia strolled off.

Isabel heard a soft cracking sound and lowered her gaze to her hand. She had been clutching her closed fan so tightly, she had snapped one of the wooden blades.

“Lady Netherley, you must be pleased that your son has finally turned his attentions to my sister.”

Isabel glanced up at the marchioness when she did not reply.

“Not particularly,” Lady Netherley replied, her answer startling Isabel. “It might be prudent to keep an eye on your sister. Christopher is in a rather odd mood this evening, and there is no telling what mischief he is prepared to indulge in.”

Mrs. Allen had told Isabel that Vane had come to the house, demanding to see her. Isabel had braced herself for a confrontation, but she had not expected him to take his revenge by flirting with her sister. She should be thrilled that she had driven him into Delia’s arms. It had been the plan all along, and she had almost ruined everything by allowing him to slip through the barriers she had erected around her heart.

But Isabel had not prepared herself for the pain. She was losing him, the man who was never meant to be hers. “Lady Netherley, you do not believe—” She gasped. “No, it cannot be possible.” She started for the door.

The marchioness grasped her arm before Isabel could leave. “Isabel, what troubles you? Is something amiss?”

Her lips moved as she tried to warn Lady Netherley of the disaster that loomed before them. Vane was the least of her concerns now. “It is my mother. Somehow she has escaped her keeper and found us.”

*   *   *

Isabel barely recalled her hasty apology to Lady Netherley as she crossed the ballroom to confront her mother. Sybil’s face brightened with recognition and relief at her daughter’s approach, but any joyful reunion was quelled by Isabel’s angry words.

“Is it your intention to ruin everything?”

Taking her mother by the arm, Isabel was prepared to drag Sybil out of the ballroom if she proved to be stubborn.

“Isabel,” the older woman said, sounding exasperated. “A measured pace would be prudent if you do not wish to draw everyone’s attention.”

Isabel gritted her teeth at the notion that her mother dared to censure
her
actions. Even so, she deliberately slowed their retreat from the ballroom. The last thing she wanted was for Vane or anyone else to become curious about her new companion.

A minute later, any hope of leaving the ballroom unnoticed proved to be futile when the gentleman the
ton
called Frost approached them.

“Miss Thorne, this is an unexpected pleasure!” Lord Chillingsworth said, his speculative gaze shifting from her to her mother. “These days, it is rare for me to encounter you without Vane at your side, baring his teeth at any gent who deigns to speak with you. I hope his absence does not suggest that you will be leaving?”

“Who is Vane? Why does he feel he has the right to make such a claim on you?” Sybil glared at her daughter. “What scandalous mischief have you been engaging in?”

“Knowing Vane, her sins are likely too numerous to recount,” the viscount said, earning a basilisk stare from Isabel.

The man pointedly ignored her. If anyone deserved a sound thrashing for his meddling, it was Lord Chillingsworth. Isabel attempted to walk by him, but the man was not quite through assuaging his curiosity.

“And you are?” he asked her mother.

Sybil was very flattered by the handsome viscount’s interest. “Mrs. Thorne. And you are—”

“Delighted to meet you. I’m Frost.” Lord Chillingsworth bowed, and her mother reciprocated with a curtsy. To Isabel, he said, “So why have you been hiding this treasure from us, Miss Thorne? Has Vane had the pleasure of an introduction?”

“No, I…” Isabel trailed off as she noted with mounting dread that Lord Botly was staring in their direction. From his cold expression, it was apparent that he was not longing for a tender reunion with Sybil.

It was time for them to leave.

She tightened her grip on her mother’s arm and gave Lord Chillingsworth an enthralling smile. He seemed startled by her rushed attempt to charm him, which should have come as no surprise to her. Until now, she had little incentive to flirt with the man.

“We were just on our way to meet Vane.” She cast a wary glance at Lord Botly. Good grief, could this evening get any worse? Lord Botly was moving toward them. “I wish you a good evening, my lord.”

Her mother’s lips parted as she noticed her father’s approach. One look at her expression, and Isabel deduced that Sybil was as dismayed by his unanticipated appearance as Isabel.

“Come, Mother,” she said, her eyes frantically searching for the nearest door.

Lord Chillingsworth called out to them. “If you are looking for Vane, you are heading in the wrong direction.”

Good
, Isabel thought with grim determination. If she had her way, Sybil and Vane would never meet.

Chapter Twenty-seven

From the window of her bedchamber, Isabel watched with almost detached interest the arrival of a familiar coach. She’d known when she accepted Lady Netherley’s invitation to London that she was gambling with her reputation and her family’s future. She just hadn’t anticipated how quickly the delicate tapestry woven by her half-truths and brazen lies would collapse.

If one knew which thread to pluck, the rest unraveled with appalling swiftness and ease.

Mr. Ruddel had been the first sign of trouble. No—that was not quite true, she silently amended. Lord Botly approaching her at Lord Fiddick’s masquerade had been the first indication the chimera that was her and Delia’s life in London was about to come to an end.

Her mother’s arrival in town just proved to be the death knell.

Isabel stepped away from the window at the sound of a pounding first against the door. Her eyelids closed as she attempted to decipher the angry conversation below. She could identify Mrs. Allen’s brisk tone as she told Vane that the Thorne women were not receiving visitors this afternoon. The housekeeper had been forced to turn a dozen callers away. Some names on the cards she recognized; others she did not. Of course, none of it mattered anymore.

Her chin lifted at the soft knock at her door.

“Miss Thorne.” Mrs. Allen waited patiently on the other side of the door.

It was tempting to ignore the summons. The housekeeper would have respected Isabel’s need for solace, and her desire to lick her wounded pride. The gentleman waiting downstairs, however, was impatient and angry.

“Yes.” To her dismay, her voice wavered as she struggled not to cry.

“You have a visitor in the study. Lord Vanewright,” she added gratuitously. “I told him that you were not receiving visitors today, but he insists on seeing you anyway.”

Yes, Isabel was certain that nothing would prevent him from confronting her this afternoon.

Mrs. Allen listened for Isabel’s reply. When none came, she continued, “Mrs. Thorne has expressed a desire to speak with the earl. So far, I have managed to talk her out of it, and she remains in her room.”

Good grief, the notion of Sybil explaining anything to Vane froze the blood in Isabel’s veins. Coming to a decision, she strode toward the door.

Unaware of her mistress’s actions, Mrs. Allen spoke with a sense of urgency, “Nevertheless, that angry young man pacing the threadbare rug in the study will not leave the house until he sees you. If you refuse, he is likely—”

When Isabel opened the door, the housekeeper sagged with relief. “This house has turned into bedlam since your mother’s arrival. You need to put things in order, Miss Thorne.”

Mrs. Allen’s scolding was exactly what Isabel needed to coax her out of the bedchamber and down the stairs. “Make certain my mother remains in her room. Ply her with one of your special teas if you must.”

“Very good, Miss Thorne.”

Isabel halted at the entrance of the study, allowing her greedy gaze to commit every detail and line to memory. Vane still wore his evening clothes, and it appeared sleep had eluded him, too. He looked dreadful, but also wonderful. When he realized he was being observed, he froze and slowly turned around to confront her.

“I wondered if you’d have the courage to see me.”

His cutting remark struck with impressive accuracy. Since she deserved it, Isabel ignored his baiting and sat down on the settee. She did not invite him to join her, doubting he planned to remain in the same room any longer than it took him to rid himself of the vitriol burning in his stomach.