Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (21 page)

Strathemoore’s own fears were soon assuaged when it
became evident Lord Hartforde was no rival as far as Miss St. James
was concerned. Still, he felt glad to have persuaded her to ride
with him in Hyde Park one morning, and although he was curious to
know where she had been the day before, he wisely refrained from
questioning her. He did not want to anger her when she finally
seemed to be softening toward him. Her very aloofness made him long
to be with her, and he considered it as a victory each time he
succeeded in making her smile at him. She had been quite attentive
to him of late, although it concerned him that she was so secretive
about where she spent her time when she was not with him. She
adamantly refused to satisfy his curiosity on the subject.

Strathemoore expertly maneuvered the carriage
through the gates of Hyde Park, and though he seemed to have his
attention fixed on the horses, he glanced several times at Isobel.
She was wearing a rose-colored silk gown with elbow-length sleeves
tied in two small bows at each cuff. Her dainty straw hat hid most
of her face and he found himself admiring the smooth skin rising
above the demure neckline of her bodice. She was obviously a modest
woman and he sometimes amused himself by imagining what it would be
like to awaken passion in her for the first time. He was convinced
that under her almost prim exterior was a woman of great
sensuality, and he wanted to be the first to discover it. He pulled
into the line of carriages without so much as jostling a hair on
her head and relaxed now that the horses would do most of the work.
She did nothing when he let his hand innocently brush her shoulder,
and it emboldened him to let his thigh press against hers. She
blushed and looked away, but she did not move. He said something
witty and was rewarded with a smile. That breathtaking smile of
hers had been turned on him twice already during the ride, and if
they had not passed Lord Hartforde and Angelica Vincent in a
four-in-hand just as he was about to raise Isobel’s hand to his
lips, he would have considered the afternoon a complete success.
Miss St. James’s smile had turned to a frown as soon as Lord
Hartforde’s open carriage passed them. After that, James was sure
Isobel had hardly heard a word he said to her. He found himself
wondering if there was anything to the rumors circulating about the
two.

“
Are you in love with
him?”

“
In love with whom?” Isobel turned
her head around to give him a puzzled look.

“
Lord Hartforde. Who else?” He
shrugged.

“
In love with Lord Hartforde?” She
tried to sound incredulous. “What a ridiculous idea! I loathe the
man! He’s nothing but an arrogant, hateful rogue!” She shut her
mouth firmly when she realized she was in danger of protesting too
much.

“
It’s just that you’ve been so
awfully quiet since we passed him.” Relieved at her response, he
gave her a look he usually reserved for more experienced
women.

“
Why, Lord Strathemoore, I do
believe you’re jealous!” She put a small hand on his arm and turned
her dark eyes to him.

“
Of course I am. I’m jealous of
any man who gets more of your attention than I do.” Apparently he’d
said the right thing, for she gave him another of her dazzling
smiles and afterward seemed to hang on his every word.

Isobel was shocked when Strathemoore suddenly asked
if she was in love with Alexander. As soon as he had said it, she
knew it was true, even though she vehemently denied it. She
panicked to think he might have guessed the truth. She wasn’t
foolish enough to think there was any hope for her where Hartforde
was concerned. At least James cared for her.

I

Isobel hurried home, clasping her arms to her chest
for warmth. It was getting darker and colder by the minute. She and
Faircourt had been at the rehearsal hall, working on the revision
of her first long piece for fortepiano and violins, and it was
nearly seven o’clock before she had even thought to look at the
watch Julia had bought for her. The work was coming along so well
she had been loath to stop, and it was only her desire not to worry
Julia that made her leave. To make things worse, she had been
unable to find a hackney cab, so she was forced to walk the
distance to Albemarle Street, only it was no longer a brisk evening
in March, it was a fully dark and cold night! She considered
herself lucky it wasn’t raining. She wanted only to get to Julia’s
and change into a proper gown and then go home to her own
fireplace. It was easier, and safer by far, for her to change her
clothes in one of the unused sections of Hartforde House. To risk
being seen at Redruth while dressed as Ian Boxham was unthinkable.
At least at Hartforde House Julia could be counted on to provide a
rescue if it became necessary. She drew a breath of relief as she
let herself in the servants’ entrance, thanking the Lord she hadn’t
been set upon by thieves, or worse. She went through the kitchen
and came out into the hall that passed a drawing room where a fire
burning in the hearth looked too inviting to ignore. It was so
bitterly cold her hands were still numb, and she held them as close
to the fire as she dared. Next time, she thought to herself, she
would see to it that she had an overcoat and gloves. Just as she
was about to turn around to warm her back, she was startled to hear
a voice behind her.

“
You, boy! What’s your
name?”

Isobel whirled around, briefly confused, until she
remembered she was still dressed as Ian. She suppressed a moment of
panic before answering boldly, “Ian Boxham.” She nodded her head
toward the enormous figure that stood in the doorway. “I was only
warming myself, madam.”

“
Who are you?” With her hands on
her hips, Mrs. Peaslea’s formidable bulk filled the doorway. “Why
haven’t I seen you before?” She had seen Isobel come in the
servants’ entrance and, suspicion aroused, followed her down the
hall.

“
I’m Emma Carlton’s nephew, ma’am.
The Lady Julia told me I might stop by of an evening to borrow some
books.” Emma Carlton was a former servant of Julia’s, and Isobel
hoped their agreed-upon story—in case someone should see her coming
in the servants’ entrance—was going to work. It had seemed
foolproof when they had settled on it, but now, in front of Mrs.
Peaslea, it did not seem so plausible.

“
M’lady isn’t at home.” Mrs.
Peaslea enunciated each word and crossed her arms over the broad
expanse of her chest as she gave her a suspicious look. It was a
marvel the woman’s hands could reach the distance that separated
left from right.

“
Then I’ll just wait here until
she can see me, madam, if you don’t mind.” Isobel tried to keep her
growing panic from showing.

“
Aren’t we the high-and-mighty
one, borrowin’ books from the lady? Getting a bit above y’self,
ain’t you?” Mrs. Peaslea despised such eager and ambitious young
men who did not know their proper place. A pleased expression came
over her as she thought how she might take this young man down a
peg or two, and teach him a lesson about honest work in the
bargain.

“
Lady Julia has been extremely
kind in furthering my education. I would be in your debt if you
would be so kind as to tell my lady I am here. I am confident that
if you tell her I am here, she will see me, as she was expecting me
this evening.”

“
Not so fast. Y’aren’t above a bit
of honest work, are you?” A smile pulled at the corners of her wide
lips when she carefully emphasized the word “honest,” h included.
“I need someone to help his lordship. Mr. Peters is come down
serious ill. I think you’ll do as well as the next.” She took a few
steps into the room.

“
But, madam—”

“
You’ll be paid for your trouble,
if that’s what’s bothering you. Or do you think you’re too good for
the work your aunt did? Service weren’t too low for your aunt, I
vow! Here he comes now!” She glanced over her shoulder. “Look smart
for his lordship, do y’hear me?” With a quickness surprising in one
of her bounty of flesh, Mrs. Peaslea reached out and grabbed
Isobel’s arm, pulling her out into the hall after her.

“
Where is Mr. Peters, Mrs.
Peaslea?” Alexander stopped when he saw the two of them. “I need
him now.” He was holding a thick packet of correspondence in one
hand, and in the other he held a box Isobel supposed contained his
seals. She surmised, therefore, that he was on his way to the room
where he received callers, and that Mr. Peters was his
secretary.

“
M’lord, he’s taken terrible ill.
But Mr. Boxham, here”—she jerked a thumb at Isobel—“can do for you.
He’s Emma Carlton’s nephew.”

Isobel kept her head down, deathly afraid he would
recognize her and frantically wondering where Julia had got to. If
Julia didn’t show up soon, Isobel was going to have to go with Lord
Hartforde—either that or try to explain why a complete stranger had
entered the house through the servants’ entrance instead of the
front door.

“
Very well, then.” He shrugged.
“Come with me.” He raised his eyebrows as Mrs. Peaslea gave Isobel
a shove.

“
He’s a shy one, milord. It’s due
t’all them fancy books he reads,” Mrs. Peaslea snorted as she gave
Isobel another push between the shoulders.

“
Come along, then.”

Surely there could be no difficulty in acting as
Lord Hartforde’s secretary for a while, Isobel thought, as she
followed him up the stairs. She prided herself on writing a good
hand. How bad could it be? She would write out a few
correspondences, perhaps seal a letter or two, and be on her way.
She was behind him as they continued down the hall, so she could
not see the thoughtful expression on Alexander’s face.

To her great surprise they entered rooms that looked
very much as though they were Lord Hartforde’s private chambers.
She watched him walk to a small desk where he deposited the letters
and the box. He shrugged off his coat and held it out for her to
take.

“
Hang it up over there.” He
pointed vaguely at one corner. When she had complied, he stood in
the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest. “I haven’t
seen you before. Have you been in service here long?”

“
No, my lord. In fact, I’m not
actually on the staff.”

She did not like his curious gaze, and she prayed he
intended to do something besides question her presence in his
house.

“
How unusual that you find
yourself here, then.” He raised his hands to his chin and, pressing
the tips of his fingers together, gave her a speculative look.
“Excuse me a moment.” He stepped over to the bell pull and tugged
it twice. A moment later a chambermaid came in and he instructed
her to draw his bath, then dismissed her.

“
Help me with these boots,” he
said when the girl was gone. He sat down in an armchair and held
out his foot.

“
Excuse me, my lord,” said Isobel
in a voice thick with a growing suspicion of disaster.

“
Is there something the matter?”
He glanced impatiently at his outstretched leg, then back up at
her.

“
Would you be so kind as to tell
me what position is held by Mr. Peters?”

“
Mr. Peters is my
valet.”

“
Oh,” she said.

“
Come, come, young man, I’m not
taking a bath with my boots on.” He clucked impatiently while
Isobel bent down. “You look familiar to me,” he said as he extended
his other leg to her.

“
People say that to me all the
time, my lord.”

“
Fascinating, Mr.—Boxer, was it?”
He stood up and began untying his cravat.

“
Boxham, my lord.”

“
Boxham.”

“
You’re not going to undress, are
you?” she cried, eyes widening with horror.

“
It’s customary to do so when one
bathes, Mr. Boxham.” He began unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Help me
off with my clothes, will you?”

“
My lord, I—”

“
Is there something the matter?”
He put his hands on his hips and stared at her. “Something you feel
you ought to tell me?”

“
This is all just a dreadful
mistake!”

“
How so, Mr. Boxham?”

“
I thought I was going to write
letters for you. I didn’t know you meant to undress! I came here to
see Julia ... I mean, Lady Julia, and then Mrs. Peaslea…well she
saw me and—”

“
Do you know,” he interrupted
calmly, “I am positively convinced I’ve seen you somewhere
before.”

“
Yes, perhaps you have, but as I
was saying, I came here to speak with Lady Julia, and your
housekeeper somehow thought…well…it is entirely impossible for me
to help you…I’m afraid it’s simply been a mistake, and I do
apologize for any inconvenience to you, my lord.”

“
Spare me your excuses, Miss St.
James, I quite agree with you.” He strode across the room to snatch
his coat from the hook upon which Isobel had hung it.

She stared at him. “You knew who I was?” Anger
quickly replaced her horror at her predicament.

“
Of course.” He thrust his arms
into his coat.

“
And you let me think you didn’t
know, that you were actually going to undress?” He shrugged and
gave his attention to the buttons. “For what possible purpose? Just
what did you mean to accomplish? Was it some sort of
test?”