To Love a Wicked Scoundrel (30 page)

He wore an easy grin and she offered a wobbly smile, despite every plan, promise, and vow she’d made earlier. He stood before her looking wonderfully handsome, his hair tousled from the wind or the ride, she did not know. His eyes searched her face, his expression touched her heart, and every part of her quaked. She could not trust herself to stand.

He viewed her a breath longer, then he swept down onto one knee and grasped her bare hands in his to smooth over the palms and quiet their nervous trembling. She could not speak. She hardly knew what he was about before he reached forward. The warmth of his wrist caressed her cheek.

‘Don’t,’ she objected in a whisper.

Isabelle heard him draw a roughened breath and she fought against the rioting emotions that tumbled her heart head over heels. She could no more withhold her response to his touch than she could keep her heart from beating.

‘How I’ve missed the sight of you, your magnificent hair flowing freely around your shoulders.’

He should have been wearing gloves, but Constantine followed few rules. When his bare palm cupped her cheek and his thumb stroked the track of her tears, she shuddered, unable to stop herself from nestling closer to his caress. Emotion consumed her throat and her mind whirled with the shock of seeing him. Surely he did not expect to simply reappear and all would be forgiven.

He must have noticed the change or seen doubt in her eyes because he answered the question she had no courage to ask.

‘I thought you did not read the scandal sheets, love. It was all a lie, not a shred of it truth. Do not believe it.’ A hint of desperation coloured the words.

They both rose, the magic of their reunion shattered as reality intruded. Finally, she calmed enough to formulate words.

‘I expected you some time ago.’ Her murmur was a faint shadow compared to the depth of emotion welled within.

‘But you’ve read my letters. You knew why I could not come.’

He shook his head as if he were the one to misunderstand. Did he believe he could walk into her garden after a month spent in wait and self doubt, after two magical days,
and nights,
to pick up where they had left off before Lily became ill?

Perhaps her silence confused him. When he spoke again, his voice possessed a distinct brusqueness that forced her eyes to his.

‘I love you, Isabelle.’

Her heart squeezed, and she held her breath in anticipation.

‘And I know you love me. I have never been so sure of anything in my life.’

‘Those are smooth, honeyed words.’ Her whisper was barely audible.

‘No, they are rare and untried, never before given.’

He reached forward and clasped her hand. In a desperate attempt not to be swayed by his admission, she snatched it away.

‘You should go. I no longer know what I want. What was once clear in my heart is now clouded in my head.’ She paused, to let her words become real, because she knew much later she would hate what she had to say. ‘We are from different worlds.’ She ignored the pang of sadness her admission wrought, and forced herself to look at him, her heart consumed with love and regret.

‘You are my world.’

Tears stung her eyes upon hearing his honest admission. Still the disappointment and pain of suspecting he fathered a child with another woman held fast. And of not knowing his true feelings. And the torment of considering every possibility for his absence for over a month. A curious tension stretched the air between them.

He spoke, his voice determined. ‘I will leave you then.’

Her eyes darted to his. Did he see the flicker of panic?

‘I will return soon to call. I have purchased a gift for Lily and would very much like to deliver it. Until then.’ He offered her a short nod and with a brisk turn, left.

It was for the best. She knew that well. Still she promptly collapsed on the marble bench, and gave way to her tears.

***

Constantine wanted to throw something. Of course, the thought of throwing Isabelle over his shoulder and taking her back to the inn where he held rooms tempted him like the devil, but now was not the time.

There was no denying the lady’s emotion. For once, he could read every glimmer of doubt, relief, and affection in the lovely grey depths of her eyes. She had pushed him away, but also begged him for comfort. He vowed to erase her doubts no matter that disappointment edged through him at the finality of her reply.

He reached the back of the estate and Meredith met him at the doorway. At her indication, they returned to the drawing room where he’d entered. Rossmore House was tastefully decorated, scrupulously tidy, and bespoke Isabelle’s influence.

When he declined Meredith’s invitation for tea, she stalled him with her next sentence. ‘Give her a little time. She has been heartsick over Lily and heartbroken over you for more than a month. Be patient. Isabelle is a most sensible woman. Right now she does not know whether to follow her heart or her head.’

‘But I explained in my letters.’ If his impatience with the situation penetrated his reply, he could not avoid it.

Meredith shook her head. ‘She never read your letters. We just discovered them in a pile of mail that accumulated while we cared for Lily.’ She paused and glanced across the room to where a fire burned in the grate. ‘She was so angered by the scandal sheets, when I gave her your letters she tossed them into the flames unread.’

Con exhaled a long breath. ‘That does explain things more fully.’ The silence lingered until he inquired of Lily. ‘And where is the little sprite? Completely recovered, I assume.’

‘Here I am.’

Lily bounced down the last few stairs as if she waited for the perfect time to make an entrance and launched herself towards him with a tight embrace.

‘I see you are no worse for wear.’ He lifted her small hand upward and twirled her in a circle to examine her person. Lily answered with a giggle.

‘She gave us all a fright.’ Meredith moved beside her daughter and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

‘Would you like to meet my mouse? Her name is Theodora. I can fetch her and bring her downstairs.’ Lily looked towards the staircase and then back again. ‘I knew you would come to Rossmore House.’

Her bright eyes bore into him with a worshipful satisfaction he did not deserve.

‘I think you should save Theodora for the next time I visit. I really must go. I needed to talk to Isabelle…’

‘I know. I watched from my window.’ Lily smiled, unashamed by her admittance.

‘Lily. Manners.’ Meredith took hold of her daughter’s hand and pulled her close. ‘What a little busybody you are.’

Said with such affection, the words held no true admonishment, and Constantine suspected he knew exactly where Lily inherited the trait.

The wall clock chimed and all three individuals glanced in its direction.

‘Tuesday, four-thirty in the afternoon,’ Con murmured as he retrieved his gloves from the entry table and strode towards the door. ‘I suspect another visitor is due. I
will
return. I have a present to deliver. Lutts or no Lutts, expect me.’

He winked at Lily as he reached the hall, and paused when he heard Meredith call after him.

‘Lord Lutts is courting Isabelle. He is intent on making her his wife. You should know.’

Constantine turned, a look of disapproval twisting his features as he pulled on his leather gloves with more force than necessary. ‘That does add colour to an already complicated situation, does it not?’

‘If you allow it.’ Meredith appeared determined to have her say. ‘You need to woo her.’

‘Woo her?’ he repeated the words, measuring them on his tongue.

‘Yes, woo her. Court her. Prove to Isabelle you are serious in your intentions and dedicated to a future together.’ Meredith took a step forward and her tone implored him to take heed.

‘Woo her.’ He smiled at the notion. For his entire life women swooned in his path and offered their favours. Wooing would require little effort on his part and he fully intended to capture Isabelle’s heart. He would put every shred of energy into making her his wife.

Lily peeked out from the doorframe with a giggle. ‘Woo her,’ she whispered.

Meredith motioned for her daughter to return to the drawing room although Lily did not budge. ‘Isabelle was wretched waiting for you to arrive and when you didn’t…’ She stopped and pushed a lock of hair from Lily’s forehead. When she began again, her voice held too much emotion. ‘When you did not return, she took it very hard. She loves you that completely.’

Chapter Twenty

‘What are the two of you about?’ A sense of mischief, charged and intangible, laced the air. Isabelle narrowed her eyes in suspicion. ‘Something peculiar is afoot.’

Meredith lingered near the front windows and Lily skipped through the hall. The child paused often to check the large window that offered a view of the tree-lined drive.

‘I am to receive a present. Theodora and I are waiting its arrival.’ Lily lifted the mouse to eye level and then turned again to the glass, all four little eyes trained on the outside world.

Isabelle quirked a curious brow in Meredith’s direction, but her stepmother replied as if nothing out of the ordinary existed.

‘Never mind Lily. You look lovely. I am happy to see you’re wearing the stylish gowns we purchased in London, and not that dreadful collection you once favoured.’

Isabelle forced something short of a laugh. ‘I had little choice. You gave them all away.’

‘It was for the best. Besides I knew your spirits would lighten, and then where would you be with sad sallow muslin hanging in your closet?’

‘At least pretty colours give the illusion of cheerfulness.’ Isabelle made no effort to disguise her morose tone and walked to the bookcase where the painting of red dahlias leaned against the topmost shelf. It was very well done. Her eyes slid to the signature in the corner, but it was impossible to decipher the artist’s name. Strange how the brushstrokes that formed the detailed flowers were meticulous and masterful, however not one letter of the scrawled signature resembled any symbol of the alphabet. She ran a fingertip over the line and stroked the texture. The smell of linseed oil filled her nostrils and an image of Constantine as he bounded down the stairs of his townhouse, a barefoot portrayal of unadulterated handsomeness, rose with fresh clarity. Brooks’ sharp admonishment echoed in her ears and an idea tickled her brain.

No, it didn’t make sense. Oh, how she’d misjudged him. And how she ached for him now. Her heart constricted with a familiar pain. She would manage, somehow, to overcome the love she haboured for the scoundrel even if it killed her to do so. It served as her singular goal the two days past, and would continue to consume her until all memory of the night spent in Constantine’s arms was forgotten. She summoned thoughts of Lord Lutts in an attempt to replace the consuming fantasies, and failed. At least their last meeting had been amiable.

Meredith moved beside her and Isabelle attempted a smile. She needed the diversion.

‘Let’s not discount the most dashing earl in London just yet. He appeared very determined when he left the other day.’ Meredith’s voice went wistful. ‘I suspect you haven’t seen the last of Lord Highborough.’

‘Merely because I’ve refused him. I am certain I represent nothing more than a challenge.’ Isabelle blew out a frustrated puff of breath. Lord Perfection was clearly not accustomed to hearing the word no. And oh, how she’d fallen into his trap.

‘Good heavens, Isabelle, be sensible. Can you not see how much he loves you?’ Meredith placed a hand on her arm and squeezed with a light touch. ‘He looked as though he rode through hell to get here. The man returned to London and went to straight to prison. Upon his release, he was wrongly accused of fathering a child. Do you discount he had a plausible excuse for not seeking you promptly? Yet he set out on a two-day journey and managed it in one. Little wonder he could stand by the time he reached Wiltshire.’

Upon her silence, Meredith persisted. ‘And do not dismiss that you burned his letters, where I suspect he explained his absence to some degree and perhaps, confessed his feelings. I’ve never believed you to be foolish. Do not prove me wrong now.’

No ready reply came to mind and Isabelle shifted her eyes to Lily who stood sentry in the front hall. Did she dare hope?

Constantine had said he loved her, but he was a master of pretty compliments. Were his words true? He had asked her to wait and as much as she believed it foolish, she never dissuaded her heart not to yearn for his arrival. When he did not arrive, old recriminations and self-doubt smothered all belief that he held her in high esteem.

It did not signify that she was absolutely in love with him and wretched without him. She had barely slept the past two nights from the anguish of knowing she sent him away when all she wanted to do was throw herself into his strong embrace.

But what of trust? He’d broken his word that night in his bedchamber when they’d made love. Logic insisted she amend her conclusion. She had invited him into bed and into her heart. It was unfair to place blame on his shoulders when she deserved blame also.

‘He’s here!’

Lily’s outburst pulsed through Isabelle’s woolgathering and a brilliant smile broke loose. She schooled her expression and fluttered to the windows alongside Meredith. Merlot stood in the drive. A groom came forward to tend the Arabian while Constantine removed a package from where it was tied to the saddle.

‘Oh, I hope it is for me.’

Isabelle took in his impeccable attire and breathtakingly handsome profile and Lily’s words echoed the same question of her heart.

He walked up the flagstone path, the brown wrapped package in his hands.

‘What do you think is in that box?’

‘Manners, Lily.’

‘I only ask because Theodora is curious, Mother.’

‘Then it will do you well to teach your mouse proper etiquette.’

They waited with patience, although it seemed an extraordinarily long time before Butler announced Lord Highborough’s arrival. Only then, when he was welcomed into the room, did Lily lose the war with her insuppressible enthusiasm. The child bobbed from foot to foot like an agitated sparrow.