Temporary Mistress (7 page)

"How did she come to sail?"

"She stowed away on her uncle's ship when she was fifteen and found herself on a voyage to Trinidad. It was the end of any opportunity for a suitable marriage and the beginning of a life of adventure. She never regretted it, according to my grandfather."

"Your life has been unconventional as well."

"As has yours. Will you write your memoirs someday?"

"And terrify every man of influence in the country? I'll leave that to others. I've plenty of money."
¹

"As do I—perhaps," Isabella murmured, "should all go well. Now, tell me," she added, "of these pleasures," suddenly curious to hear more of the enchanting arts suggested by Molly. An extraordinary door had opened into her sheltered life, and the beautiful, much-desired Dermott Ramsay waited for her on the other side. "Is he really the most-sought-after man in England?"

"Women pursue him mercilessly. He hides here frequently."

Her clear blue eyes widened. "Is he really that good?"

"He's really that good."

Isabella smiled. "So I should be honored."

"You won't be disappointed. Or so my ladies tell me."

"Do they share him?"

"You're full of questions."

"I want to know everything. I want to know what he does and how he does it, what I should or shouldn't do. I want to know how to make him want me."

"He already does."

"But more than he has before. I like to be the very best at whatever I do."

The innocent Miss Leslie continued to astonish her. Emerging before her eyes was a plain-speaking, educated young lady with both unconventional antecedents and an upbringing that would do justice to a man of parts. And an interest in the challenge of captivating Dermott's interest. "Then we must see that you're the very best seductress Bathurst has ever had the good fortune to meet."

"Grandpapa always said I was a quick study."

Miss Leslie was approaching her new education with an enchanting candor. Molly concealed her amazement with effort. "You're sure now." She felt as though a last caveat should be offered.

"Absolutely." Dermott Ramsay filled her senses, her thoughts, her imagination, and she could no more vanquish those images than she could stop breathing. "I'm very sure."

"It's Dermott, isn't it?" Molly had seen that look before.

"I've never felt like this before. Increasingly awash with feeling. I wonder if this is what my mother felt when she stowed away. My heart is beating quite rapidly." Isabella placed her palm over her heart and inhaled slowly.

Molly chuckled. "At least it's not beating with fear like last night."

"Oh, no, not at all. Believe me, the thought of lying beside Dermott Ramsay is much superior, even celestial compared to the alternative of lying beside Harold Leslie." Shuddering, she made a face.

"In a more perfect world you wouldn't have been forced to make the choice."

"But since I am," she said, "I chose pleasure, thank you very much."

"Life is unfair to women." Molly's voice held a degree of anger.

"I don't choose to despair my predicament. Rather, I look forward to securing my fortune and freedom by indulging in illicit pleasures with the notorious earl." Isabella grinned. "You see, I am quite untroubled."

Molly found it ironic that a young woman harried by the world should be consoling her. She gave her high marks for courage. "If at any time you wish to discontinue this… education, you need but say the word."

"But I'm quite sure now I want him. And I've never really wanted anything with such… partiality," she finished softly.

"He's not for sale," Molly warned. "Nor is he tractable." Miss Leslie suddenly sounded like a spoiled young lady who had been overindulged, who wanted what she wanted.

"I know. Perhaps that's what makes this entire endeavor so enticing."

IN THE LATE FORENOON, the Leslies were assembled in the small chapel where the service for George Leslie was about to commence.

"I tell you, she won't miss her grandfather's funeral," Harold whispered, his gaze on the doorway.

"I hope you're right," his father muttered, casting another glance at the entrance. "Or we're going to have to search the entire city for her."

"She has no friends, no money, and Lampert's frightened enough not to give her assistance. And if he should find his courage, we've plenty of men watching his office and home."

"Then it's just a matter of time. Who else can she turn to? She has to come to him eventually."

The minister began reading from the funeral text, his voice carrying out over the small group.

"It looks as though she's not coming," Harold grumbled, taking out his watch from the tightly stretched pocket of his striped vest and surveying the painted face. "I hope this doesn't take too long. I've a race meet at two."

"My milliner is coming to the house at one," his mother whispered across her husband's rotund form. "And she's considerably more important than this useless funeral."

Herbert waved his ringed hand at the minister, indicating he speed up the proceedings. Herbert had a card game he didn't wish to miss.

And so George Leslie was hurriedly sent from this world with little fanfare and less sorrow.

Mr. Lampert watched the brief ceremony with a grim expression, and when he left the chapel, he went to neither his office nor his home. He walked to a bookstore on Albemarle Street and took inordinately long to purchase one book.

It was a waste of time to follow him, Herbert's man reported that evening.

The old man had spent the entire day in a tavern, drinking one pot of ale and reading.

Out of courtesy, Molly had seen that Isabella was alone when the letter from Mr. Lampert was delivered.

Isabella's hands were shaking as she broke the seal and opened the single page.

I'm being watched
, he wrote,
so don't send a message directly to me. Your grandfather was buried this morning and is being conveyed to the vault at Tavora House. Mr. Martin has money for you should you need it but take care approaching the shop. I'm not sure how many spies your uncle has in the city. I wish I could do more
. And he'd signed his name with a shaky hand.

Isabella immediately wrote a reply, telling Mr. Lampert not to worry about her. She needed neither help nor money at the moment. And when the time was appropriate, she would explain her circumstances.

She tried to read again afterward, but her mind was consumed with having missed her grandfather's funeral, and the book lay unread in her lap. She should have been with him as he was put to rest, she thought; it would have been the last service she could offer him. And regret of what might have been lowered her spirits. But reminders of her despicable relatives evoked a simmering anger as well, and she took a degree of pleasure in planning revenge.

Her uncharitable impulses offered a kind of respite, however meager, to her sadness while the troubling uncertainties of her future brought further disarray to a mind already in turmoil. She might be able to maintain an air of resolve concerning her circumstances in the company of Mrs. Crocker, but once alone, she wasn't sure she possessed the courage to actually see it through.

Regardless Bathurst's appeal.

Regardless he was probably her best option.

Regardless he seemed to want her.

And she him.

Such outlandish possibilities shocked her when she allowed herself to consider them, as did the strange and curious desires evoked by the beautiful young earl. But contemplation of Bathurst also generated intoxicating, thrilling tremors deep inside her, and she clasped her hands together tightly on the book lying in her lap to still her trembling emotions.

How should she deal with her feverish response, she wondered, and her only companion in life unconsciously came to mind. Silently, she spoke to her grandfather, the simple act of communicating offering her solace. As she explained her feelings, it seemed as though he were with her again, as though she weren't so alone. She even found herself describing the handsome young earl as though her grandfather might enjoy a description as much as she.

She smiled at the ludicrousness of her imaginary conversation. But a comforting ease overcame her as she offered the bits and pieces of her tremulous thoughts—until a knock on the door interrupted her reflections and a second later Mrs. Crocker bustled into the room, followed by several maids laden with colorful gowns and accessories.

"We brought some things to cheer you up," she briskly said, indicating the items be placed on the bed. "Have you written a reply to your lawyer yet? Dermott's man is downstairs."

"I'll get it." Rising from her chair, Isabella walked to the small table where her note lay and handed it to a maid.

"The earl's man is a precaution, should anyone be watching," Molly explained.

"Thank you for your caution and your company as well. I find myself too alone with my thoughts."

"Exactly why you need a diversion. I had Madame Duclaisse send over some frocks to amuse us."

"I shall pay you, of course."

"At your leisure, my dear. Come now," she said, sitting down, "which would you like to try on first?"

Isabella selected a morning gown, her immediate need that of replacing her robe. The pale blue gauze was embroidered with a wide row of floral designs at the hem, but the simple lines were otherwise unadorned.

Not unfamiliar with servants, although she'd preferred living without a lady's maid, Isabella allowed the girls to help her dress. Mrs. Crocker had thoughtfully provided a chemise of the finest lawn, and after quickly discarding her robe and having the chemise slipped over her head, Isabella tried on the blue day dress.

"You have an eye for size." Isabella twirled before a cheval glass, the belled skirt billowing out around her.

"It was easy. You're the same size as Kate… one of the ladies here," she added in explanation. "The blue is excellent with your eyes."

"It is rather nice."

"Try on some of the slippers. There's some matching ones in several sizes."

A perfect fit was selected from the array, and she could have entertained royalty in her elegant gown. "I must say, a pretty dress always does wonders for one's disposition."

"My feeling exactly. Do try the apple-green silk next. The cashmere shawl is a delicious contrast."

"I don't plan on stepping out just yet," Isabella playfully noted, although the delectable fabric was alluring. Napoleon had introduced cashmere shawls to Europe after his Egyptian campaign only a few years past, and they were the height of fashion. And very dear.

"For when you do, then. I kept two of them for myself." Mrs. Crocker waved to have the green silk brought over. "Humor me. That color is going to be adorable with your coloring."

Before long, a half dozen dresses had been tried on and the room had the air of a dressmaker's salon, piles of colorful silks and gauzes scattered about the room, shoes and shawls and bonnets adding to the flower-garden effect. Mrs. Crocker had had a bottle of iced champagne brought in to add to the festivities. After having put on a rose-colored silk afternoon dress awash with ruffles they'd both agreed were overdone, Isabella and Molly were giggling over the ostentatious confection and casting on eye on the next possibility in their private fashion show.