Fallen (17 page)

Celia looked down to where Izzy still held tightly to her trembling hands.

"Do you understand? Do you see why I turned my back on my vows? Or have I shocked you too deeply for you to continue our friendship?"

Izzy was more than shocked, she was revolted. Although she was a bit unclear on the particulars, she knew enough to see that only a monster would demand such from his honorable lady wife.

"The only thing I find shocking is that beast's despicable behavior toward you! Can you not leave him? Is there nowhere for you to go?"

Celia shook her head. "He holds the note on my family's estate. It seems my father gambled away his profit on me in less than a year. Should I defy him, he has promised to turn my mother and sisters out onto the street. He holds their welfare over my head like a sword."

"I shall show him a sword! Where is he? Is he here?" Izzy jumped up, unable to contain her fury. "We are going to get you out of this twisted excuse of a marriage, see if we don't!"

"Oh, Izzy, you do me good." Laughing at Izzy warmly, Celia wiped at her misting eyes and rose. "It is all right, my dear. I know it seems beyond horrible, but truly there is nothing to be done. It is his right as my husband, as deplorable as it seems. The laws are on his side. Society is on his side. If I made this devil's bargain public, it would only bring censure down on
my
head." She shrugged, not very hopefully. "Perhaps it will not happen often, and perhaps I will not mind so much."

"And perhaps I shall take a horsewhip to that fiend, myself."

"Well, you shall have to wait. He stays at the lodge until the last moment, blasting innocent creatures from their holes. I do not expect him for weeks yet."

Izzy was not only furious, she was ashamed. Here she had been, wallowing in self-pity, while her dearest friend faced true horror. She could not imagine a worse fate than that of a wife wed to an amoral brute like Bottomly. To have no rights, to be no better than a slave to the whims of such a man!

Izzy gave thanks to the Fates that she could not be forced into marriage. Poor she may be, and uncertain of her future, but she still had her freedom. It was all she'd ever wanted, at least since her childhood. She had once longed for marriage and children, believing all couples as blissful as her own parents. Now, she realized the rarity of such a bond.

She sat and took Celia's hand once more. "My dear friend, what can I do? How can I make this right?"

"Rescuing me, Izzy? Please, do not worry. That's not what I expected. Just being able to unburden myself has helped more than you know. And you have a few worries of your own at the moment. We must find you a haven here in Mayfair. You should not stay in this house, not for long. For your sake, it is best if you aren't here when my husband arrives."

"No, let me stay! Perhaps he will not—"

"Izzy, no. This is my affair. Of course, he'll know you were here. All the servants report to him, excepting Ellie. She came from my family estate, and I trust her implicitly. The others are my husband's hounds. They accompany me everywhere, recording my callers and so on. He is very possessive."

"Will he be angered by my visit?"

"Perhaps." Celia sighed wearily. "It is difficult to know what will anger him. Yet, what can he say? You are a perfectly respectable houseguest. And I do not much care, to tell you the truth. I please him as little as possible. It is not wise, I suppose, but one must take one's rebellion where one finds it."

Thinking of her life at the manor, Izzy agreed. She smiled, recalling her little acts of revenge against her cousins. In an effort to lighten her friend's heart a bit, she proceeded to relate one prank after another, until the tears that ran down Celia's face were tears of laughter.

From the darkened corner in the smoky room, like a hunter in a blind, Julian watched. He had been observing for hours as his co-conspirator led Melvin Marchwell deeper and deeper into the trap. Not able to participate directly for fear of putting their prey on the alert, he had chosen a concealed seat from which to observe.

It was a well-planned operation, from the participants to the location. A club, not too highbrow, but enough of a cut above Melvin's usual turf that he was panting to impress the members. A club that even a nobody like Marchwell could aspire to.
If
he were sponsored by someone of Lord Stretton's stature.
If
he showed deep pockets in play and a good character in losing.
If
he were not about to experience retaliation, Blackworth-style.

Eric sent a signal; the time was near. Rising, Julian allowed himself the smallest of smiles. Just now, he and Eric had swindled Melvin Marchwell out of every penny owed to Izzy Temple.

Moving closer to his foe, he allowed his thoughts more rein than usual. Eric was risking much by participating in card-cheating, the anathema of every true gentleman. His honor would be irreparably impugned should the truth someday come out. Julian knew he should be grateful, but something was nagging at him, burning at his insides.

Julian wanted to believe that Eric acted out of simple friendship, but his suspicions about his friend and Izzy's relationship had continued to fester in the past days. That episode in the park, Eric's indignation at Julian's highhandedness with Izzy, it seemed a little excessive for simple friendship. And Julian could not forget the sensuality in Izzy's eyes when he had woken her from that dream.

Eric was everything that he, himself, was not. He was the indubitable heir to his father's title and estate. He was fair in both face and person. And he was as steadfast and good as Izzy herself.

Why wouldn't she be dreaming about Eric?

Julian shook off the troublesome musing and turned his thoughts back to the matter at hand. As he approached the table, a perspiring Melvin glanced up and spotted him. A look of bewilderment crossed the man's face, followed by a flash of appalled understanding, then dull resignation.

Like a condemned man about to hear his sentence, he slowly stood as Julian spoke.

"I assume you need no explanation of tonight's events, Marchwell. Surely you understand the wages of sin? One should remember that when one robs someone under my protection." He and Eric exchanged a look, then glared without pity at the man before them. Finished, Julian gathered the winnings from the table. He cast a glance at Eric.

"His pockets are empty?"

"Dry as the Sahara. We've notes for the rest."

Julian pulled a small note from the mass of pounds. He tossed it disdainfully on the table amidst the clutter of glasses and cigar ashes.

"Hansom fare, to make certain you can go home and tell your wife… if you dare."

"Are you going to take that stitch, or simply let the needle hover over the linen for another hour?" Celia smiled at Izzy. "What is it, dear one? Are you worried about your future? You know I shall help in any way I can."

Izzy was embarrassed to be caught in her depression. If anyone had a right to be low, it was Celia. Determined to stop her spiraling self-pity, she shook her head and said briskly, "I'm not worried. Well, not overly. It simply takes time to accustom oneself to the loss of something one has always counted on."

"And perhaps it takes time to accustom oneself to the fact that one's family has betrayed her," Celia said quietly. She moved from her chair and knelt by Izzy's side.

"Izzy, I comprehend your feelings. When my father sold me off, I could accept it, for it saved my mother and my sisters from ruin. When he promptly gambled it away, I felt betrayal such as I hope to never feel again. To have sacrificed my youth and happiness for good cause, I had no issue with. To have sacrificed it for nothing broke my heart."

Izzy brushed at her eyes. "You are so good. And I am selfish. I have more now than I could ever have hoped for. I have you, and I have Julian."

Celia considered her for a moment. "Izzy? I know your plan was to break the betrothal, but do you think—?"

Both women looked up as the door swung open after a perfunctory knock.

"Madam, Lord Blackworth wishes to know if you are at home."

The butler's stern face was disapproving. Celia rose and turned to the door.

"Oh, Madden. It is hardly yet nine. It's not too late. Please show his lordship in."

Sniffing, Madden spun about and disappeared. Izzy's heart beat a trifle faster when she heard the crisp ring of boot heels in the hall.

"Julian! How lovely of you to come by. We were quite without entertainment, weren't we, Izzy?"

"Desolate," agreed Izzy, smiling.

"I bring glad tidings, my dear ladies. Izzy, I present to you…" He held out a finely worked wooden box, drawing out the moment of suspense, as well. Then, smiling devilishly, he placed it in her lap with a flourish.

Not yet accustomed to gifts, Izzy still felt a childish thrill of anticipation. She caressed the beautifully inlaid lid of the box, then lifted it.

Pound notes. Hundreds of them. It was
fitted
with neatly stacked and banded pound notes of all denominations. Shocked, she drew her hands back as if from an adder. Lifting confused eyes to Julian's, she opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

At a loss, Celia dropped into her own seat. "Julian! What is this?"

With a gleaming grin, Blackworth waited, pretending an interest in his watch fob, until Izzy recovered. She finally managed to inhale, then swallow. Easing the heavy box off her knees to the cushion beside her, she looked at it for a moment. Then her eyes rose to the infuriatingly smug gaze of the man across from her.

When the pillow she threw struck him in the face, he burst out laughing. "Very well, then, my ungrateful miss. What you hold in that very pretty box, which took me all day to find, by the by, is the result of Eric's ability with cards and Melvin Marchwell's lack. In other words — your inheritance."

"My inheritance r breathed Izzy. She looked back down at the beautiful box, reaching out to stroke it with a trembling hand. Then she raised glowing eyes to his.

A bolt of alarm shot through Julian, transfixed as he was by her adoration. He felt helpless when confronted with such emotion. An angry Izzy he could handle. Even distraught, she had not made him feel this way. Now, however, she looked at him with that gaze that declared him her knight, a man to be admired, a champion to rely upon.

It was frightening. That look was one he'd never wanted to see on her face, for it made him see how very far from that man he truly was. He was the man who— despite his possessive feelings for her—was marrying her to secure his inheritance. Who had not even admitted that to her as of yet. Did any gift he might give her truly change who he was?

"Oh, do sit down, Julian. You make me feel so small when you hover like that."

Izzy waved him back to his seat. Smiling tremulously, she asked him to tell how he had retrieved her funds.

Julian grinned in relief, glad the moment had passed. Telling the entire tale, moment by moment, took most of the evening.

When Madden planted himself beside the door, disapproval heavy on his face, no one noticed.

«
^
»

Julian stood at the back of the deserted balcony overlooking the ballroom, cornering an agreeable young widow while she flirted with him. She was just to his taste, buxom and uncomplicated. He was relieved to find her appealing, after all. He obviously had not changed as much as he feared. He had no disinclination to sample her manifest charms, no longing for a slimmer form, or a more cerebral connection.

Simple basic lust. Bodies wanting bodies. That was the way he had always preferred it. That was the way he still did. Absolutely.

"Blackworth?"

Eric's voice reached him through the draperies separating the balcony from the hallway beyond. Julian pressed one finger to his female companion's tinted lips.

She bared her teeth and nipped at him, then mouthed, "Hurry back."

Eric stood leaning against the arched opening when Julian pulled back the velvet hanging. He grinned.

"You and Izzy had better get out of there. My sisters are looking for her, and I don't want
too
much education for them should they find you." He peered around the edge of the curtain playfully.

Julian flushed, and yanked the drape shut. "Izzy isn't here."

Eric's face hardened. "You cad."

"What of it? Most married men keep a bit of lace on the side."

"I thought you were beginning to come 'round when you got rid of Suzette, but you have no idea what you have in your hand. If I had a woman like Izzy—"

"It scarcely matters, since it is in
my
hand she resides." Julian kept his gaze even, though his friend's words had ignited something horrible in his chest.

"Fine, then. Go back to your ladybird," Eric snarled with trenchant disgust. "You don't deserve Izzy!"

True enough, Julian thought as he watched his friend stalk back to the ballroom. Crushing down the annoyance that stirred within him, he turned and pushed open the velvet drape. "Now, where were we."

The widow who had been awaiting his return would quickly soothe his jangled nerves—at least if he was anything like he used to be. He gave her a kiss.

He was pleased to find that he was the same as ever. The fleshy female was soft, warm proof of that. Julian intended to tumble her in the garden later, during the dancing. That would prove that he still was capable of…

Glancing out over the balcony, he saw Eric and Izzy meet on the dance floor. Distracted as he was, the widow took advantage and stole a number of kisses from him. Pulling back, he cast another glance over her shoulder, looking desperately around for Izzy. Just in time, he saw the tail of her gown disappear through the doors to the gardens.

A germ of misgiving immediately planted itself in his head. He knew of only one reason a man would take a woman into the gardens.

No. She would be fine with Eric. Despite his worries, he knew that the two would never betray him—would never…

He resumed his exploration into the widow's décolletage. What he found, however, as he caressed her mechanically, was that his thoughts were completely absorbed by Izzy and Eric alone in the gardens.