Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (20 page)

“
Do you know, Miss St. James,” he
said, taking her hand when there was a pause in the conversation,
“something about you reminds me of my daughter.”

“
Why, thank you, Your
Grace.”

“
Sarah’s eyes were pale, but her
hair was as golden as your own. I’m surprised if Hartforde hasn’t
mentioned it himself.”

“
He means, Miss St. James, the
late Lady Hartforde. I must beg to differ with His Grace. There is
no resemblance that I can see,” Alexander said stiffly.

“
Well”—Lord Burke filled the
uncomfortable silence—“there can be no disagreement that Miss St.
James is a beauty.”

“
There is no disagreement about
that,” the duke said, “and I, for one, would be honored if she
would dance with me.”

Isobel took the duke’s hand without looking at
Alexander. “The honor is mine, Your Grace.”

“
Perhaps you would care to rest
outside?” the duke suggested after only a few moments. “It is
rather warm, and no doubt some cool air would be
refreshing.”

“
Yes, Your Grace, it would be.”
She was grateful he had noticed her agitation and she fanned
herself as they stepped out into the garden. He led her to a stone
bench and sat down beside her.

“
Will you think me rash if I say I
have been completely overcome by your beauty?” His voice was
hushed.

Isobel looked at him in surprise and stopped fanning
herself. “I would think you rather silly for saying such a thing,
Your Grace.”

“
But, ‘tis true, I have, Miss St.
James. You are the loveliest creature I have ever seen.” He took
her hand and raised it to his lips. “You are sublime beyond
belief.”

Isobel tried to pull her hand away, but he held it
fast. “Your Grace, you will embarrass me if you continue this,” she
said, becoming alarmed when he turned her hand over and pressed his
lips first to her palm and then to the inside of her wrist. “Stop
this immediately!” Apparently it had been a dreadful mistake to
come outside with him, but it had never entered her mind he would
suddenly act half his age.

“
Don’t be cruel, my love. I insist
I am carried away by your beauty.” He moved closer to her and
wrapped an arm around her waist.

“
You had better unhand me. I shall
call out if you don’t!” In answer, he laughed and bent his head to
kiss her temptingly bare shoulder. “Let go of me this instant!” She
tried to push him away.

He raised his head to look at her, his dark eyes
devouring the pale expanse of skin above the décolletage of her
gown. “Surely you realize how much more I have to offer you than
he.” His hand caressed her throat. “I am a much wealthier man.” The
words, calculated to offend, did exactly that.

“
So much more to offer me than
whom? What are you talking about?”

“
You needn’t play the innocent
with me, my dear. All of London is talking about you and your
lover. Had I but known what a beauty you were, I should have
arranged to meet you much sooner.” His arm around her waist
tightened as she struggled to get away. “You are exciting me beyond
my imagination—”

“
Let me go!” Isobel was horrified.
Surely he couldn’t mean what he was saying?

“
Hartforde may be better-looking,
my dear, but I assure you I would be more generous. If it’s jewels
you like, I would shower you with them. If you were my mistress, my
fortune would be at your feet.”

Isobel was so scandalized when the duke’s words sank
in that she stopped struggling. “Hartforde?” That swine! she raged
to herself. While he had been pretending to not care, he had been
telling all of London about her loose behavior. She sagged against
the bench, devastated to discover that Hartforde had such a low
opinion of her.

“
That’s much better,” the duke
crooned, bending his head to kiss her, while one hand pulled at the
bodice of her gown.

When she felt his fingers on her, she struggled to
stand up. “Let me go!” she cried, twisting her head away from his
lips, and pushing at his chest. To her relief, suddenly he did let
her go. She jumped up from the bench so distraught she did not
notice he was staring past her. “I assure you, you have made a
grave mistake, Your Grace. I am not, nor have I ever been, Lord
Hartforde’s mistress, and for you to suggest such a thing
is…is…why, it’s simply appalling!”

The duke stood up and bowed to someone standing
behind her. Isobel whirled around and saw Alexander. There was an
amused expression on his handsome face.

“
Perhaps you’d best leave, Your
Grace. I don’t believe Miss St. James desires your company after
all.” He spoke softly, moving aside to let him pass. When the duke
was gone, he gave Isobel an offended look. “My mistress?” he
repeated in an incredulous tone. “Would you care to explain what
that little scene was all about?”

She sat down on the bench again, feeling nothing but
relief now that the duke had left. “I should think you ought to
know,” she said at last.

“
I’m afraid I am at a loss.” He
shrugged.

“
You’re the one who’s been telling
everyone that I, that you—that we—” She was too ashamed to
continue. She blinked rapidly to hold back her tears.

“
What are you babbling on about?”
When she glared at him, he raised his eyebrows. “Oh,
that!”

“
A gentleman would have kept
quiet. But, then, I should have known you are no
gentleman.”

“
Miss St. James, I assure you, I
have not told a soul about that little…peccadillo, shall we
say?”

“
Well, I certainly didn’t! Perhaps
you’d care to tell me why His Grace seems to think I am your
mistress?” She bit her lip, embarrassed at the implications of what
she had just said.

“
What a ludicrous idea. Perhaps he
meant only to flatter you, and you misunderstood.”

“
If the duke was flattering
anybody, it was you!” she snapped. “And I don’t believe I mistook
his meaning. Of course, what’s important is that he insulted you.
Why, he told me you’re stingy with your lovers.” How dare he
suggest she was making up the man’s vile proposition! Her cheeks
were still burning, only now it was due to anger.

“
But I am quite generous to my
mistresses!” Alexander put a hand to his heart, as though
wounded.

“
Oh, yes, it must pierce you to
the quick to hear yourself slandered so cruelly. Never mind all of
London thinks we are lovers, and that I am ruined because of it. If
I were you, I would call him out for saying you don’t treat your
mistresses as well as he treats his!” She was nearly sputtering
with fury.

“
Are you sure he asked you to
become his…lover?” He looked doubtful. “I expect he meant to be
gallant but found himself carried away.”

“
Well, let me see, sir, if I can
recall his exact words. He said although you are the
better-looking, and of course I must agree, he would be the more
generous, and that as his mistress, I should want for nothing. Tell
me, do you think I misunderstood? Or have I overreacted to a
proposition commonly made in English society?” Isobel glared at him
and then looked away, suddenly ashamed to meet his eyes and
unwilling to let him see tears spilling down her cheeks.

Alexander sat down next to her and took her hand.
“The duke believes, however mistakenly, that I was responsible for
his daughter’s unhappiness. After we were married, neither of us
was very happy, and it’s true I eventually gave up trying. I
suspect he even blames me for her death.”

“
What does that have to do with
telling everyone we’re lovers?” She snatched her hand
away.

“
I’ve done no such thing.
Mallentrye simply wanted to make trouble for me. And he’s certainly
succeeded. Isobel,” he said softly, pulling her face around to his
with his other hand. He found himself looking into eyes liquid with
tears. Before he could think about what he was doing, he bent his
head to hers. He could feel her trembling as he held her face with
one hand, while his other hand moved to her back to pull her to
him. He kissed away the tears escaping down her cheeks.

“
No,” he heard her say, but he did
not want to listen to protestations. He moved his lips over her
throat. He felt her try to push him away, but he raised his head
and covered her lips with a kiss that demanded she give in to the
desire he wanted to create in her. He groaned when he felt her arms
around his neck and he leaned forward until she was pressed against
the back of the bench, her body yielding to him. He grasped her
waist with both hands, pulling her up against him. He was a fool to
think he had imagined his feelings the first time he held her in
his arms. He wanted this woman as he wanted no other, and she was
returning his kiss with a passion that told him she wanted him just
as badly. He knew he was being foolish, but while she was answering
his desire so exquisitely it was difficult to think of anything
else. His need for her shook him. He felt as though he could not
get enough of the lips that were meeting his own increasing demand.
When at last he pulled away, because if he hadn’t he would have
taken her right then, he could only stare at her for a moment
before saying, “Isobel, this can lead nowhere. I’ve already told
your father I won’t marry again. In the name of decency, I ought to
tell you the same thing. For God’s sake, you’re not even twenty
yet, are you? How could you possibly understand? I’d be taking
advantage of you if I let this go any further.”

“
Let go of me,” she
whispered.

He told himself it was for the best when she left
him without saying another word.

V

The next day Isobel stayed in her room and made a
halfhearted attempt to read. Eventually she threw the book down and
just stared out the window overlooking the gardens. It was no use
denying she was in danger of losing her heart to a man who had as
much as told her she meant nothing to him. She ought to have
slapped him, or struggled, or something—anything except cling to
him the way she had. She had been powerless to do anything but
stare into those moss-green eyes. As soon as his hand touched her
cheek, she felt as though there was a slow fire spreading from deep
inside her, and she had wanted more. The humiliation of his disdain
for her ought to cure her, but she only wished she could make him
like her better. It was not only that he was beautiful; there were
other men almost as handsome who were ten times more agreeable.
There was an electricity about him that had drawn her to him from
the very moment they met. And they were very much alike; he sought
power with the same fervor with which she devoted herself to music.
And it was that fervor that attracted her—that and the realization
that in spite of it, he never lost sight of himself. She had
already experienced the intensity of his intellect, seen how he
measured others until he was satisfied he knew their worth, and she
admired his ruthlessness in discarding the unworthy. Try as she
might, she could not discover the difference between knowing the
quality of a man and being in love with him.

She was surprised when Bridget announced Lady Julia
was waiting downstairs for her. “Send her up here.” She smiled
thinly when Julia came in, unable to summon any enthusiasm at her
visit. “It’s terribly early for you to be up, isn’t it? It’s barely
two o’clock,” she said, making a feeble attempt at humor.

“
You don’t know, do
you?”

“
Know what?” She wandered over to
another chair and plopped down dejectedly.

“
Hartforde and the duke of
Mallentrye are said to have had words last night,” Julia
said.

“
Is that so?”

“
Yes. I’m told a duel was barely
prevented.”

“
Why did they argue?”

“
I was under the impression you
might tell me.” Julia sat down on the edge of the bed and looked
expectantly at Isobel.

“
I?”

“
Hartforde told me the duke had
said something unpleasant to you.”

“
Oh, Julia, this is simply awful!”
She stood up again and began pacing the floor at the foot of the
bed.

“
What do you mean, awful? Why,
this is practically a declaration for you. I had no idea my brother
could be so romantic as to fight over a woman! What in heaven’s
name happened?”

“
The duke asked me to be his
mistress.”

Julia stared at her.

“
Your brother overheard him.” She
leaned against the windowsill. “I won’t regale you with the tale of
my behavior, but I am quite certain your brother thinks I am as
common as they come.”

Well before the end of the day, everyone knew that a
duel between Lord Hartforde and the duke of Mallentrye had been
narrowly averted and, further, that Isobel St. James was reputed to
be the cause of this latest rift.

Lord Strathemoore was not the only man, married or
unmarried, whose heart sank to think the young heiress was spoken
for. But, to the amazement of all and the gratitude of a few,
Hartforde seemed deliberately to shun her.

VI

If Isobel had hoped Julia was correct when she
interpreted her brother’s actions as a declaration, she was
destined for disappointment. In the days that passed, she rarely
saw Alexander, unless Angelica Vincent, or occasionally some other
handsome brunette, was on his arm. She told herself she did not
care and almost convinced herself it was true. She decided if he
was so unaffected, then she could at least appear to be the same.
She turned her attentions to Lord Strathemoore; of all the men who
were pressing suit, he was by far the best-looking.