Delight and Desire (4 page)

‘Mmm?’ It was more a purr than anything else.

‘You must go back to the house. If you should be found here with me—’ Her sharp intake of breath proved that reality had overtaken her at last. She must be blushing scarlet, but it was impossible to tell in the gloom. ‘Take a little time to compose yourself, ma’am. Walk around the garden in the cool air for a few moments before you return to the ballroom. It will calm you.’ He put his hands to her waist and set her on her feet. Then he stood, too. ‘I will remain here where I cannot be seen. No one will know that we have been together. Go now.’ He gave her a little push.

‘That is
all
you have to say? Is that all there
is
, Major Anstruther?’ His trusting kitten was spitting angrily. ‘I have disgraced myself, I know. But you—’

He caught her back to him and held her close. ‘That is
not
all there is, Isobel. Unless you
do
think me an ogre?’ She shook her head. Her curls caressed his chin in the most seductive way. He forced himself to ignore it and to laugh softly. ‘I am glad of it. But now you must go in.’

‘Yes, I see that. I…Robert, I have to tell you that—’

He silenced her with a long, gentle kiss on the lips and stepped back, ruthlessly suppressing the urge to go further. ‘Will you save me the supper dance? I would deem it an honour.’ His voice was unrecognisable in his own ears.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She nodded. And then she fled, her yellow gown ghostly pale in the dim light.

Isobel gazed around the noisy dining room. She had known it was a risk to have the supper dance with Robert Anstruther, for someone might mention his name to her Aunt Carmichael. But the old lady seemed more interested in playing cards than in acting as chaperon. After that first dance, she had hardly been in the ballroom at all.

Isobel embraced her good fortune, determined to ignore the seed of doubt that was trying to take root in her mind. She would find the right moment to tell Robert the truth. Later. Surely he was too honourable to blame her for a stupid feud? Especially after everything they had shared.

She had danced with him, and she had spent those precious minutes in the garden with him, when he had… Mmm. Yes. It had been even more wonderful than that first kiss, in the magic mist of Caerlaverock. She would remember everything that had happened between them, but later, slowly, when she was alone.

Robert was making his way back from the supper table, carrying two laden plates. He did not need to catch her eye. She could not help gazing at him. How fine he looked in his dress uniform—tall, strong, resolute, and yet so caring underneath. He was—

‘I was not quite sure what you might like, and so I brought you a little of everything.’ He grinned as he took his place opposite her at the little table and beckoned a waiter to fill their glasses. ‘Do you—?’

‘Isobel!’ Lady Carmichael had appeared out of nowhere. Isobel could have sworn she was nowhere near the supper room and yet, here she was, looking like a dark thundercloud about to drench everyone with freezing rain. ‘We must leave!’

‘But Aunt, I—’

Robert rose and bowed to the new arrival. ‘Forgive me, ma’am. I should introduce myself. I—’

Lady Carmichael raised her chin and sniffed loudly. ‘The Ritchie family does not consort with Anstruthers. Isobel, we must leave at once. Come, let us fetch your cloak.’ She stretched out her arm imperiously. It summoned Isobel, and at the same time it barred Robert from approaching her. He might have been invisible.

Isobel threw one last beseeching glance at Robert’s frozen fury and followed her aunt from the room.

Ritchie!
She was Archibald Ritchie’s daughter, that old devil’s only child. She had surely been making a may-game of Robert from the moment he told her his name. She was no better than the rest of the infernal Ritchie clan.

He looked up to see his hostess approaching his table, with one of her gawky daughters beside her. That was more than he could stomach.

He rose and bowed. ‘Mrs Rougely, I must beg your indulgence. I have to leave. If you will excuse me.’ Without giving her a chance to reply, he hurried towards the door. He must get away from this place before it suffocated him!

Outside, in the cooler air, he began to walk vaguely in the direction of his rooms, trying to make sense of the seething mass of ideas and emotions that was threatening to make his head explode. She was little better than a strumpet! No wonder, since she was a Ritchie!

He put a hand to the hilt of his dress sword. Just at this moment, he wanted to draw it and run someone through. Preferably Isobel Ritchie!

He groaned aloud. No, that wasn’t true. That wasn’t what he wanted at all. He would never be able to hurt a hair of her head. She had ensnared him at that very first meeting when she had returned his kiss with such innocent sweetness. That had been
his
doing, not hers. She was no strumpet.

But what about tonight, in the garden? She had willingly gone with him. Alone. Had she been trying to seduce him? She would not be the first to try to compromise him into making an offer of marriage.

She was just like the rest of them. She must be.

No. She was not. He had almost seduced her, but she had not demanded marriage. She had not demanded anything. She had wanted to explain.

He groaned aloud. He had been an utter fool! She had been trying to tell him who she was, but he had been so driven by desire that he had not let her speak. He had been overcome by his need to take her in his arms again, to kiss her till they were both mindless with passion. Which was what he had done. And more.

Isobel Ritchie, enemy and siren, was too beautiful, too spirited, too passionate about life to be condemned without a hearing because of an ancient feud between their families. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman. Ritchie or no, she was like a drug coursing through his veins. He would never be rid of it—of the magic she had woven around him—until he saw her again and discovered the whole truth of what she was.

Alone in the safety of her own room, Isobel was sorely tempted to throw things. Preferably things that would shatter into tiny pieces.

Sir Hugh and Lady Carmichael had called her a disgrace to the Ritchie name. They had threatened to send her back to Scotland, though they all knew it was an empty threat. The family could not afford to waste Isobel’s one chance of snaring a wealthy husband.

Robert was wealthy. He was the sole heir to huge estates. He held the King’s commission. As a potential suitor, he would be eligible in every way. Except for being an Anstruther.

But Isobel’s father would never consent to her marriage to the age-old enemy of her family, even if Robert could bring himself to propose. Why would he? He was furious at her deception. He must hate her now for who she was and what she had done. She could have told him the truth. She had failed, and now she had lost him. By her own stupidity, she had lost the man she loved.

Love?

It should have come as a shock to realise that she loved Robert Anstruther. It did not. It was like the recognition of an old friend, a welcome reunion with a truth she had always known. He had appeared to her like a ghost from the past, emerging from the gloom of those crumbling ruins. He had walked out of the twilight and into her heart.

But her idyll had shattered with one word.
Ritchie.
She would never see him again.

Robert paced the gravel path of the Chelsea Physic Garden. Would she come?

It had taken him two frustrating days to contrive this meeting through the old nurse. He had spent the whole time thinking of nothing but Isobel Ritchie, nymph and nemesis. Had she laid a spell on him, like a witch?

He shook his head at his own stupidity. She was an innocent. If he was bewitched, it was his own doing.

And still he did not know if she would come.

He glanced up at the huge cedars. They were certainly magnificent. Unfortunately they were also famous, drawing many visitors to this exotic garden. Some of them were even beginning to throw enquiring glances at the uniformed officer who was pacing up and down the path.

Robert slowed and forced himself to breathe deeply. He had every reason to be furious at Isobel’s deception, but he must, in honour, give her a chance to explain. Even a Ritchie might have preserved some shred of honour. And after what they had done together—

He would not allow himself to remember that. It was enough that he had so nearly ravished her. He had no right to question her Ritchie honour when he had betrayed his own. If she did come, it was he who should apologise. If she—

‘Why, Major Anstruther! What a surprise!’

Shocked, Robert spun round. She was here! And she looked beautiful enough to rival any flower in this garden. She was wearing a sprigged muslin gown, with a vibrant leaf-green and gold shawl draped across her arms. A straw hat was perched at a jaunty angle on top of her red-gold curls and tied under her ear with a huge bow of green ribbon. She looked good enough to kiss. Or to devour.

But her smile was uncertain and very distant.

Robert bowed. He smiled back but made no move towards her. If only he had not chosen such a public place. ‘How delightful to meet you again, Miss Ritchie. May I say that you are wearing a very fetching hat?’ He let his gaze rest on her face.

Her smile widened a fraction. Now, it was echoed in her eyes.

‘If you wish to walk around the gardens, may I offer you my escort, ma’am? I am at your service.’

She nodded, with a fluttering of green ribbons. Then she turned to her maid. ‘You may walk behind, Annie.’ Without waiting for a response, she slid her arm through Robert’s and they began to stroll along the path.

How very proper. A young lady walking with a gentleman in a public place, with her maid a few yards behind. Close enough to watch, but not close enough to hear.

‘Miss Ritchie. Isobel, I think there are matters we must discuss. About our previous meetings. You—’

She stopped him with a slight pressure of her gloved fingers on his arm. ‘Major Anstruther, I have come to beg your pardon. For everything. And to ask for your continued discretion. You see, I—’ Her voice cracked. She swallowed, and began again. ‘Major Anstruther, I must tell you that a marriage is being arranged for me. By my uncle.’

He had been trying to nurse his righteous fury for days. Now it was gone in an instant, like air from a punctured balloon. His whole body turned icy cold. He was going to lose her. And all to fill the Ritchie coffers, to replace the fortune her father had wasted in pursuit of an ancient feud. Lives would be ruined for the sake of Archibald Ritchie’s stubborn pride. Robert realised, shocked, that his own father was little better. He could have ended the feud, but he had not.

It was a full minute before Robert could control the bitterness and frustration that flooded through him, and allow himself to speak. ‘Have you agreed to it?’ he snapped.

She gasped. The colour drained from her face.

‘The gentleman is wealthy, of course. May I know his name?’

She drew herself up haughtily, though she did not remove her hand from his arm. ‘You go too far, Major. You do not own me.’

She was alone, facing a loveless marriage for the sake of her family. What was Robert’s plight compared with Isobel’s? Her burden would last a lifetime.

He dared to touch his hand to hers. ‘Forgive me. I had no right to speak so. Miss Ritchie, I must be honest with you, even if my words should give you pain. I asked you to meet me here today, because I intended to ring a peal over you for your deception.’

She shivered and turned ashen. Her fingers gripped convulsively on his arm. Her free hand went to her mouth, as if she were about to retch.

His stomach clenched painfully at the sight of the distress he had caused. Words rushed out, unbidden. ‘And to make you a proposal of marriage.’

He had said it. He had not meant to. But, as soon as the words were spoken, he knew she was exactly what he wanted, what he needed. He did not care a straw who her family was. Their idiotic feud could go hang.

She was silent for a long time. ‘
Intended
, sir?’ she whispered at last. ‘I take it that you have now changed your mind?’

He bit back a curse. ‘No, I have not! I would go down on one knee, here on this path, if I thought it would win you.’

‘I pray you will do no such thing, sir,’ she said instantly. ‘Think of the scandal.’

‘It is only because I
am
thinking of the scandal, and of the need to protect your reputation, that I do not take you in my arms and carry you off this minute. Isobel, will you not have me? I know we can find a way to—’

‘Your agitation is starting to attract attention, sir. Let us continue to stroll.’

She was right. She was proving a much better tactician than he was. What on earth was happening to him?

They continued for several minutes. Isobel spoke knowledgeably about various plants. The matter-of-fact discussion seemed to calm them both.

He dropped his voice. ‘I ask your pardon for my outburst, ma’am. But I must ask you to believe that I am sincere in my proposal of marriage.’ She nodded slightly. She was looking straight ahead as they walked, but he knew she was listening intently. ‘I do understand your dilemma. Marriage to me would cause a rift between you and your family. Marriage to the man they have chosen would save your father from ruin.’ When she did not reply, he ventured, ‘Will you tell me about him? Your suitor?’

She sighed. ‘It is almost the end of the season. No gentleman has offered for me.’

‘But
I
—’

‘No
suitable
gentleman has offered for me. My family cannot afford another season. All that money—’ she touched her muslin skirts and let them drop again ‘—has achieved nothing. And so my uncle has found another solution.’

She swallowed hard. ‘His name is James Craigie. You would not be acquainted with him for he is a…a well-to-do merchant from Edinburgh. He has four pretty young daughters and he…he wants them to marry into society. He is prepared to pay to secure a second wife who can smooth their path.’ She shook her head. ‘He must truly love his girls, for my uncle has priced me very high indeed.’

Robert bit back a curse. ‘Isobel,’ he said in a low voice, ‘the Anstruther estates are some of the richest in Scotland. I will pay double what your uncle asks. Forget this confounded feud. Marry me!’

‘My father would prefer ruin to such a union. And I am sure your own father would be just as much opposed. It is my duty to go through with this marriage. And it is your duty to forget me. We must not meet again. I am sorry, Robert.’ She lingered over his name. He fancied her eyes were sheened with tears but she turned her head away before he could be sure. He was losing her!

They had reached one of the great trees. He pulled her round behind it and pressed her back against the trunk. Then he kissed her, hard and long and demanding. She tried to resist, but that lasted only seconds. Then she was kissing him back, pulling him closer, touching his cheek.

‘Miss Isobel!’

They broke apart at the sound of the maid’s outraged voice.

‘Begone, woman!’ Robert snarled. The maid recoiled.

‘Isobel, there is more to marriage than money. Or duty. You know that. Have we not just proved it?’ He touched a fingertip to her lower lip.

She said nothing. She straightened so that her back was no longer against the tree trunk. Then she stared at the ground.

‘Isobel, beautiful Isobel, marry me. I will find a way to make it right with your family. I swear I will.’