Fallen (20 page)

"No!" Izzy all but shouted the word. Collecting herself, she turned to him briskly. "No, I will never marry. Last night was the past. We must concentrate on the future."

She eyed him coolly. "We have been very visible, but on the whole it has been a trial. I see no reason why we need continue at this exhausting pace. I will attend the occasional ball, and Celia and I will, of course, make our calls. Other than that, there will be no need for your constant presence. I am sure you have other business that needs attending."

Crossing the room with chin uplifted, she cast him a last indifferent glance. "I will leave in four weeks' time."

With that, she was gone.

Julian sank to his seat with a feeling of narrow escape. Izzy on a tear could be formidable. He couldn't imagine how he could have forgotten that.

But she wasn't leaving. Not yet.

She didn't want to see him. Was there someone else she would rather be seeing? Slow anger began to coil through him. He had a month to make her forget Eric. He had a month to come up with some way to keep her. To keep his inheritance, of course.

In Celia's carriage, Izzy fell limply against the cushions. The tears that she had held on to by sheer force of will came rushing in, and she sobbed brokenly into her hands.

I
am not unwilling to marry you
. No, not unwilling at all to have a cool, loveless marriage. Not unwilling to install her as his wife and never think of her again. Not unwilling to tear her heart to bits on a daily basis.

His nearness, without his love, would mean naught but torture for her. To see him, speak to him,
touch
him, and never see an answering spark of love in his eyes?

To spend her life loving him from a distance was one thing. To expose her heart to a lifetime of the pain she was feeling at this moment?

She would surely die from it.

Hildegard stood outside the small parlor of Lady Cherrymore's townhouse, removing her bonnet to give to the waiting maid. Beside her, a rebellious Millie stood, her lower lip pouting peevishly, her sullen gaze locked on the floor.

"You'll break the subject into conversation, and like it. Hint to them that you will no doubt inherit a sizable portion from your dear Auntie Sarah. So ill, so very ill, and so very wealthy. So very fond of you.

"It isn't a lie, either, you little idiot. Great-aunt Sarah is as old as the hills and richer than God. She doesn't know you from Adam, but no matter. They'll not know and you'll not tell them.

"We need to bring about some interest in you, you useless little brat, before the end of the season. You'll not get two of them, you know. If you don't land a husband this summer, you shall be taking Izzy's place in the house."

Noting with satisfaction how her daughter paled at that, Hildegard spared a small smile. "Well, no need to worry about that now. I'm sure you shall be getting an offer—"

A familiar name uttered by the chattering ladies in the parlor caught Hildegard's attention. Her pulse began to pound in her skull.

Izzy again
. Everywhere she went, Izzy's name followed. Rage threatened to darken her vision as she thought how Melvin, that misbegotten moron, had succumbed to Blackworth's plot. All that money, gone into the pockets of Maria's insignificant orphan.

At least the little horror hadn't made the conflict over her inheritance a public issue. The Marchwells still had their good name. If Millie could make a decent match, then their other debts could be fended off with newly acquired family influence. As much as Hildegard hated the thought, it all depended on her feather-brained offspring.

The empty-headed magpies in the next room were still carrying on about Izzy and her dear friend, Lady Bottomly.

"Thick as thieves, those two are. Why, I heard them giggling away during Lady Strathmore's musicale. They were no better than schoolgirls."

"True. Yet, they do seem to have such fun. Perhaps, if there is no harm in it—?"

"Well, I certainly think there is harm in such a display. You can be sure that when Lord Bottomly returns, there will come an end to such behavior. He keeps a tight rein on that one. As well he should, with a wife who looks like her. The way all the gentlemen stare. An indiscretion waiting to happen with that one."

"Oh, I hope he will not be too angry with them. He seems such a fierce man."

The seed of an idea began to grow in the soil of Hildegard's discontent. Lord Bottomly was, indeed, fierce and, indeed, exercised utter control over his little strumpet of a wife. It occurred to her to wonder if Lord Bottomly knew of the racy company his precious beauty was keeping. Quite racy, indeed.

A woman like Izzy, known for her passionate, outrageous nature, and Lord Blackworth, a most disreputable young rake. Surely such a man as Bottomly would look well on the righteous member of society who brought such news to his attention.

And what of Lord Rotham? Everyone knew he had thought Izzy to be demure and retiring. His disappointment in her had made the gossip rounds by the end of the Waverlys' ball. Surely he would act, however unknowingly, as an instrument of Hildegard's own revenge. "Ladies! How lovely to see you all once again. You must let me in on all the latest!" Sweeping into the room like a ship under sail, Hildegard towed her reluctant daughter into the storm of gossip.

After an early breakfast of coddled eggs and toast, Rotham retired to his study with his news sheet and his post. He followed the same routine during the season and after. Not for him, the flagrant self-indulgence of the
ton
. His self-discipline was as unbending as his spine as he sat at his desk.

Eyeing a heavily engraved envelope with arrogant distaste, he left it until last. Then, impatient to begin his day, he snapped out the folds with a brisk gesture. Because he was reluctant, he compelled himself to read it with great care.

"
Dear sir. It is with Heavy Heart that
I
inform you
… I
cannot in Good Conscience keep this Dark Secret any longer
…"

He did not move, or make a sound, yet any witness would have known his fury by the color of his face.

Julian was brooding, so he had come to the most appropriate place he could find. It was a monkish sort of club, silent but for the clearing of throats and rustling of news sheets. Most of the men who hung about this particular club were married, and used the dim, smoky environs as a masculine retreat from the pressures of matrimony.

Julian was positive that a few of the occupants were actually sleeping behind their papers. Or perhaps they were merely dead, and no one had noticed. No, this was not his usual type of place at all.

That was why he was surprised to see Eric enter the club. Julian had not been attending any of his usual haunts, and it must have finally occurred to Eric to try here.

"Good God, man. Why are you holed up in this dreary den?"

Julian looked up from the bowl of his brandy glass. He held it cupped tenderly between his palms, where he had been contemplating the exact color of Izzy's eyes. Though he sat up and faced Eric, he only grunted in acknowledgment.

Plopping down opposite him, Eric pretended to peer into the glass as well. "What do you see? The future? An omen? Or just a fly?"

"Go away," snarled Julian. He didn't want company, and all the other men in the club had managed to divine that from his forbidding scowl. It was the sort of place a man went for peace, only peace seemed out of his reach at the moment. The last person he wanted to see was Eric.

Eric with his bloody, poaching charm. Eric with his arms wrapped around Izzy.

Eric and his kiss.

"Listen, old man. I hope you're not still angry about that friendly little peck I gave Izzy. I'm not angry you hit me. I know it wasn't well done of me, but it wasn't serious. I was just curious—"

Curious
. With a growl that rose from the depths of his own turmoil, Julian threw himself out of his chair, stopping just short of tackling Eric. Breathing hard, he held himself barely in check. He leaned closer to stare threateningly into his friend's eyes.

"Never," he whispered, "never mention that
peck
again. Not if you want to live." With that, he whirled from Eric's stunned face and exited the club without looking back.

To say that Izzy was astounded to see Lord Rotham would have been an understatement. She could only stand stunned when the Bottomly's butler announced him. When he strode into the flagrantly feminine morning room, his dark-clad form stood out like an exclamation mark against the cream satin walls and rose window hangings.

Pressing one palm nervously to her stomach, Izzy forcibly gathered herself. Not once had she met the man without confrontation. An exception did not seem likely now.

He made no preamble.

"Miss Temple, I am here to urge you to break the betrothal."

At a loss, she could only utter a breathy question. "Why?"

"It seems I was mistaken about you, young woman, and I am here to save my son from the further disgrace of having his name attached to yours." With a grimly satisfied smile, he waited for her reaction.

How cruel he was. No doubt he expected tears and pleading. Izzy felt blessed temper stir under her amazement. She gave him only a cool smile and thought quickly as she watched the smugness slip from his expression.

He wanted what she wanted, did he not? Was it simply her own perversity, not wishing to give a man she detested the satisfaction of obeying his edict?

She wanted to be free of her promise to Julian. Julian surely wished for the same. She had managed to avoid him for nearly three weeks so her time here was nearly gone, in any case.

Although a secret part of her, a wispy hope, died as she decided, she was resolute. It was for the best.

That didn't mean she had to make it easy for Rotham, however. Turning, she ambled to the tufted sofa and sat, spreading her skirts gracefully as she thoughtfully studied the man before her.

He was a distinguished fellow, the very picture of English aristocracy. There was no doubting the source of Julian's strong, even features and rich crop of hair. Julian's would silver just so becomingly in years to come, she was sure.

But where had the son gotten his easy smile, his teasing humor?

The cold figure standing so straight in the room could never collapse with laughter, nor lean nonchalantly on a doorjamb, eyes twinkling with fun, expecting nothing more than that the world should amuse him.

No, the father and the son might look alike, but she would never mistake them for one another.

"What caused this violent change of heart, may I ask?" Casually, Izzy raised her eyes to meet her visitor's. She knew she was the image of monumental unconcern. She knew it would drive the man mad.

She was right. Even as she watched, Rotham's color began to change. Face reddening, jaw visibly clenching, he looked as though he struggled not to explode.

"It has come to my attention," he spat furiously, "that my son was not the first gentleman to be found in your bed. Apparently, he was only the latest of many." With a flourish, he pulled out a letter and flung it before her face.

The moment Izzy took it, she recognized Hildegard's gaudy script. Her stomach chilled in anticipation as she read through the heavily capitalized contents.

"…despite our Stringent Efforts… a most Base and Lascivious Nature… been Many Unsavory Men…"

Many men?

Her? Izzy's jaw simply dropped. She blinked once. Again.

Then, as the ridiculous charge came home to her, she began to snicker. As she realized that finally, after so many years, Hildegard no longer had the slightest power over her, Izzy began to laugh.

Right out loud, directly into the face of the marquess of Rotham.

«
^
»

Immediately, the man began to spew invective. Breathless, Izzy could only hold up one hand to halt the abuse that streamed from her enraged guest. "Stop!" she gasped. "Stop that, directly!"

To her amazement, he stopped. Gratefully, she sank limply back on the sofa and gathered herself. "Please, my lord. Do sit. One shouldn't loom so."

Rotham sat opposite her. He seemed torn between his purpose and disgust at her display. He leaned forward. "You must see that I cannot allow a woman such as you to sully my family's name."

"No, no, of course you cannot. And who could blame you. I am after all, such a 'Wild, Untamed Creature.' " She couldn't help herself. Julian's father was so determined to be hilariously oblivious. "And your son is
such
. an innocent boy. So prone to gullibility."

Now he was aware that she was ridiculing him. The threat in his face would have frightened her if she had anything more in her life to lose. But he could do no more harm to her than her own unruly heart had already done.

"I should not laugh, if I were you, Miss Temple. You would not like this information to be made public knowledge."

"Oh,
no
. Heaven
forbid
."

He eyed her warily, but she only gazed innocently at him.

"Yes, well, I am prepared to keep your filthy little secret. And compensate you handsomely for your cooperation in this, Miss Temple. That is, if you do exactly as you are told."

Izzy pretended to consider his offer, while in reality she was struggling to control a sudden rush of anger. How dare he try to buy her this way? And what of Julian? How could he allow his father to manipulate his life?

Recalling the pain she saw in Julian's eyes whenever he spoke of his father, however flippant his words, she knew. Julian loved this cold impossible man—despite the man's faults and meanness, he was Julian's father. Aching at this sudden understanding of the man she loved, Izzy's anger hardened to fury. Leaning forward, her eyes narrowed, she took satisfaction in his uneasy flinch.

"I ought to make you suffer, you horrible man, but I cannot bear to look upon your face for one more moment. You shall have your way, of course, since it has been my wish from the beginning. I never wanted to marry your son."
Liar
. She shook off the tiny voice inside her head. It was better this way.