Sunrise with a Notorious Lord (26 page)

“Are you certain?”

“There is no reason for her to be hiding,” the housekeeper said, worry adding lines to her face. “You haven’t had time to write up your instructions for the day.”

Mrs. Dalman was correct. Something was amiss. Isabel stood, but Vane caught her hand before she could leave his side. “Have you checked the parlor?” he asked the older woman. “She might have fallen asleep in one of the chairs.”

Vane winked at Isabel.

As far as Mrs. Dalman was concerned, Lord Vanewright had arrived at the Thornes’ cottage before dawn. Isabel saw no reason to correct the housekeeper. As it was, she could barely look her in the eye when she dwelled on how she and Vane had passed the long hours of the night. Jubilant and possessing unflagging vigor, the earl had made love to her with enthusiastic abandonment that left her aching and breathless. Then he stripped off the rest of his clothes. Isabel’s face warmed at the memory. Vane had left no inch of her flesh unexplored. The man was turning her into a wanton slave to his lust.

Her telling blush revealed the direction of her thoughts. Vane gave her a smug smile and brought her hand to his lips. “Do not fret, love. We will find your sister.”

Isabel nodded absently as her thoughts switched to her absent sibling. Delia tended to slip away when it suited her, but usually it was to avoid some unpleasant task. “Mrs. Dalman, could you check the back gardens and orchard? Vane—ah, Lord Vanewright and I will search the house again.”

The housekeeper pretended not to notice the intimacy between her lady and the earl. “Yes, Miss Thorne.”

When Mrs. Dalman left them, Isabel glanced at Vane. “Are you certain Delia returned to the parlor after she let you into the house?”

Vane pushed away from the table and stood. “As I told you last night, she had been drinking when I pounded on your door. Delia invited me in and asked me to join her for a drink. I was anxious to see you so I politely declined. She directed me to the stairs and told me where to find you. Once she set me on my course, she returned to the parlor.”

With Vane trailing after her, Isabel went up the stairs and checked the parlor. Nothing seemed out of place until she saw the bottle of port and two half-filled glasses. “I thought you declined the drink.”

He peered over her shoulder and scowled. “I did.”

“Vane, you were not the only visitor last evening,” Isabel said, rushing to the door. “Delia!” she yelled into the stairwell.

“It’s too early to be shouting, Isabel,” her mother said sleepily from the landing above. “I have a terrible megrim and did not get a wink of sleep.”

Isabel had trouble believing this: Sybil usually had a bottle of laudanum or brandy hidden away in her bedchamber for restless nights. “Perhaps you should go back to bed,” Isabel said, motioning with her hand for Vane to remain out of sight.

“It was that bothersome cat. All that caterwauling. How could you even sleep in the same room with that beast?”

Utterly mortified that her mother could have overheard her and Vane, Isabel was speechless. Vane, the scoundrel, threw his head back and started laughing.

“Isabel, who is down there with you?” her mother asked, her voice sharpening.

Ignoring Isabel’s silent plea, Vane stepped forward so Sybil could see him. “Good morning, Mrs. Thorne.”

“Lord Vanewright! Good heavens, no one told me that you were here.” Realizing she was not dressed for visitors, her hand unconsciously checked to make certain her hair looked tidy under her lace cap. “Isabel, did you have Mrs. Dalman fix our guest a hearty breakfast?”

“Yes, Mother. I have not been shirking my responsibilities,” she said, a slight edge to her tone.

Only belatedly did Isabel notice that Vane’s appearance gave the impression he was the master of the house instead of a visitor. At her urging, he had donned his waistcoat and retied his cravat—though upon closer scrutiny, his shirt was wrinkled and the basic knot he had employed did not match the crisp folds his valet had pressed into the starched fabric. His hat, gloves, and frock coat were missing. Delia must have taken his hat and gloves when he had arrived, and Isabel suspected Vane’s coat was currently being used as a soft bed by her cat.

“Forgive my early arrival, Mrs. Thorne,” Vane entreated, managing to appear humble and apologetic. “Nevertheless, your daughter has been an amiable and capable hostess.”

The outrageous man then had the audacity to stroke Isabel’s backside.

Fortunately, Sybil did not notice the shameless caress. “I shall come down and join you,” her mother announced, stepping out of view.

“No!” When her mother returned and peered over the railing, Isabel explained, “What I meant to say is that there is no need to hurry. Lord Vanewright has finished his breakfast.” Feigning a calmness that seemed to be eluding her this morning, she continued, “Actually, we are looking for Delia. Have you seen her?”

Her mother stifled a yawn with her hand. “No. Perhaps the cat’s cries kept her awake all night, too.”

“Not a single word from you,” Isabel muttered under her breath as she stepped in front of Vane. To her mother, she said, “I am certain we will find her. Do you want to help us search the upstairs?” She knew her mother would decline.

Sybil’s next words confirmed it. “You two can carry on without me. I think I will take your suggestion to heart, my dear, and return to my bed.”

Isabel inclined her head. “Very well.”

“By the by,” her mother called, halting Isabel and Vane before they could continue down the stairs. “Lord Vanewright, you never explained why you have come to Cotersage.”

With his hand braced on the banister, Vane grinned at Sybil. “I thought that was obvious. I’ve come for Isabel. We’ll be marrying as swiftly as my mother can arrange it.” To Isabel, he said, “Do not be surprised if she has everything planned before our return.” He stared up at his future mother-in-law, who was beginning to look a little too pale for his liking. “If you behave yourself, we’ll even let you attend the wedding in London.”

Her mother’s eyes rolled back into her head and she dropped like a stone.

“Mother!” Isabel dashed up the stairs. “Good grief, Vane, did you have to be so blunt? If the news hasn’t killed her, the bump on her head might finish her off.”

Downstairs, the housekeeper was calling her name. Isabel stuck her head over the side of the banister and shouted, “Mrs. Dalman, bring your vinaigrette. Mother has fainted.”

She continued up the stairs, acutely aware that Vane had not abandoned her.

As Isabel reached her unconscious mother and knelt at her side, she glanced up at Vane and was strangely comforted by his concerned expression. After years of looking after her family, she no longer had to shoulder the burden alone.

*   *   *

The smelling salts revived Isabel’s mother. Or perhaps it was the news that her eldest daughter was marrying well and she no longer needed Botly’s blessing and wealth to return to London. Calling for some tea, Mrs. Thorne returned to her bedchamber, most likely to repack her trunks. Vane did not mind as long as he did not have to ride in the same coach as his future in-laws.

After Mrs. Dalman had assured Isabel that her mother was unhurt, Isabel resumed her frantic search for Delia. Vane knew what his lady was thinking. Isabel feared that her sister had lied about her feelings toward him and had run off when she realized that she could never have the man she loved. He snorted at the absurdity, but he suspected Isabel believed it. Mrs. Thorne and her daughter were used to having Isabel at their beck and call. Although it had not occurred to Isabel, Vane was certain Delia knew that her days of badgering and bullying her sister were numbered. If her bride did not have the heart to stand up to her family, then Vane was prepared to be the villain. No one was going to prevent him from marrying the woman he loved, and that included Isabel.

To expedite the hunt, he had agreed to check the rooms upstairs while Isabel searched the downstairs. When Vane was finished, he found Isabel in her father’s study. She was sitting in one of the chairs with a paper in her hand. At her feet was his furry namesake. The kitten was stretched out on his back, batting at dust motes.

“Delia isn’t here.”

Since they had searched the house from top to bottom, and Mrs. Dalman had done the same outdoors, the news hardly came as a surprise to him.

Vane strode into the study, and gestured at the paper. “She left you a note?”

She blinked and glanced down at the paper, startled to see it in her hand. Isabel was beginning to worry him. Her customary exuberance had evaporated in his absence. Whatever Delia had written had shaken Isabel.

Vane crouched down beside her, and caressed her arm. “Tell me.”

Wordlessly she offered him the letter. It only took him seconds to read the short note Delia had hastily written to her sister. Vane stood and crumbled it with a curse. “Foolish little girl! How could she run off with that bounder Ruddel?”

“I daresay she loves him,” Isabel said simply, the corners of her mouth twisting upward into a sad smile. “And perhaps, he loves her as well. I caught them together more than once. His affection for Delia appeared to be genuine.”

Unlike the pretty lies he had whispered in Isabel’s ear to win her trust and friendship.

For his deception and casual cruelty, Vane wanted to beat the man senseless for bruising Isabel’s heart. “Listen to me, Isabel.” He grasped her by the upper arms and pulled her onto her feet. “It will take them time to travel to Scotland. I’ll get some men and we will ride after them. We can stop the marriage from—”

“No.”

His brows furrowed at his disbelief. “Are you telling me you want Delia bound to that cheating speculator? What do you think your mother will have to say about all this?”

“She might surprise you and approve of the match. Mother was rather fond of Mr. Ruddel. You see, there was something about him that reminded her of my father.”

Isabel looked away. She did not have to explain that she had felt the same about the man, and the ruthless bastard exploited a young woman’s loneliness so he could steal her father’s work.

Her father’s work.

Vane tightened his grip on her arms, but she did not seem to notice. “Your father’s journals,” he said, already knowing the answer. “Where are they?”

Isabel closed her eyes and shook her head.

He dragged her into his arms, and she buried her face into his chest. Ruddel had not only run off with Delia but also stolen Thorne’s legacy to his children. When he could not charm the journals from Isabel, he’d decided to claim them as her sister’s dowry.

“I’ll get them back,” Vane vowed with deadly purpose in his blue-green eyes. “He will rot in prison for his crimes.”

Isabel hugged him as a soft sob caught in her throat. She turned her face upward, and once again Vane was spellbound by her beauty. “A lovely thought,” she said, leaning forward to press a kiss to his chin. “However, if my sister truly loves Mr. Ruddel, she would suffer, too.”

She pulled away, moving out of his embrace. “My father’s words. It was all I had left of him, and I died a little each time I had to sell his wonderful work.” Isabel held out her hand, and Vane closed the space between them. “Those journals belong to me, but they also belong to my mother and Delia. My sister has a right to them.” She blinked rapidly to stop from crying. “I may not agree with Mr. Ruddel’s methods, but if he treats Delia kindly, then he is welcome to them.”

Vane vehemently disagreed, but he remained silent. This was not the time to argue. Whether she admitted it or not, Isabel was hurting. It did not escape Vane’s notice that Delia had used him as well.

Last night, she had shared a glass of port with someone in the parlor. Had Isabel’s sister been waiting for Ruddel when Vane surprised her by arriving first? The clever girl had recovered quickly. Instead of waking Isabel, Delia had sent Vane upstairs because she knew his unexpected arrival would provide the distraction she needed to slip out of the house unnoticed.

If he did not already have reason to despise Ruddel, Vane could have pitied the man. Marriage to Delia might be punishment enough.

“How quickly can you pack for London?”

Isabel glanced at her father’s study as if the room held the answer to his question. “A few days. Why?”

Vane needed to talk to the Runner he had hired to look into Ruddel’s affairs. If there was a chance to recover her father’s journals without hurting her sister, he intended to give them to Isabel as a wedding present.

“I told my mother that I was returning to London with my future bride at my side, and she would be sorely disappointed if that lady wasn’t you.”

“Oh.” The shy smile he loved surfaced, warming him from the inside out. “A touching tale. Truly. However, I thought she was so desperate to see you wed that any lady would have sufficed.”

“How fortunate then that my beloved mother found you.”

Isabel gasped in surprise as he tugged her back against his chest and slanted his mouth over hers for a smoldering kiss. “How very fortunate,” she concurred after the kiss ended.

He rubbed his cheek against hers. “You know this isn’t the end.”

“About Delia and Ruddel? No, I suppose you are correct. If possible, we should rescue my sister before she marries him.”

The kitten dashed by them and disappeared under the desk.

“That, too.” Vane shook his head. They
were
changing the cat’s name. He did not care what it cost him. “However, I was speaking of my mother.”

“Lady Netherley?” She walked over to the desk and bent over, giving him the opportunity to admire her backside. “With you settled, what else could she possible want?”

“More grandchildren.”

Vane grinned at her startled expression. “My mother is relentless when it comes to getting what she wants.”

Isabel turned her head and looked over her shoulder. “Reminds me of someone else I know.” She murmured to the kitten, attempting to coax him out from his hiding place.

The large desk and her nicely rounded backside were giving him a few wicked ideas, but he would save them for his library in London. Vane curled his arms around Isabel’s waist and nuzzled her neck.