Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (26 page)

He sat up and looked at her. “It would be all right
if you called me Alexander,” he said as he watched her struggle
with her clothes. He was about to help her when she uttered an oath
and stepped out of the breeches.

“
Oh, never mind!” she said in
disgust. “Even if I got them buttoned, I’d probably never get them
off. You’ll have to go get me a wrap. Bridget should have left one
lying on my bed.”

He sighed and got out of the bed to pull on a
dressing gown of his own before walking barefoot out into the hall.
He came back with the garment a few tense moments before Isobel had
decided he must have been seen going into her room. After giving it
to her, he sat back down on the bed.

“
Thank goodness you’re not totally
useless!” she said as she put on the wrap. When he laughed she
walked over to where he sat on the edge of the bed. “So, Alexander,
what makes you think you might have the ill fortune to have to
marry me?” She looked at him searchingly before she shook her head.
“Oh. I see. You’re quite mistaken if you think I intend to force
marriage on you. And anyway”—she gave a smile that looked bitter
for a moment—“I should never marry a man who does not like
me.”

“
I was thinking more that nature
might force us.” And, although he could see she hadn’t understood
him, all he could think about was how perfect her body had felt
against his. Without thinking, he reached up and pulled her to him,
pushing his hands inside the thin silk wrapper and holding her
hips. “We were together, love, so many times last night….” His
fingers were pulling gently on the triangle of hair between her
legs. He was amazed he could still want her with such an aching
need.

“
I only thank God I am not a
brunette or a redhead—or I should be dead of it!”

Alexander’s laugh was low. “Are you never at a loss
for a retort?” He untied her wrap and pushed it open, sighing when,
with a shrug of her shoulders, it dropped to the floor. He brushed
his fingers over her before pulling her head to his so he could
kiss her. She returned his kiss with an abandon that brought a
familiar sensation to his belly. He deepened their kiss when he
felt her hands on his chest sliding lower, caressing him until he
could stand it no longer. He pulled her back onto the bed and let
his hands explore the curve of her waist down to her buttocks
before raising her up so he could enter her slickness. He held her
against his chest, letting her move on him. “Perhaps I was mistaken
about my preferences in women,” he hissed into her ear.

II

When she shut the door softly behind her, he lay
back and stared up at the canopy. The bed was still warm where she
had been. He was acutely aware that nothing had been done to
prevent disaster, and though he knew they ought never to he
together again, he still found himself thinking of a next time. His
thoughts drifted to the silken perfection of her body, the deep
blue of her eyes, and how he had felt to hear her calling out his
name. He closed his eyes and gave in to a feeling of pleasant
exhaustion. He knew he ought to marry her, but he did not want to
be married again, not just yet. In a year’s time, perhaps. And if,
in a year’s time, he still felt the same way about her, was there
really any reason why he should not consider remarrying?

How weak was Alexander’s resolve not to repeat their
folly was demonstrated by his giving her the key to the private
entrance to his rooms. He told her it would be safer for her to use
his private staircase rather than the servants’ entrance, and every
evening she rehearsed with Faircourt and the orchestra, he found
some excuse to wait for her. One night, though, she went to a ball
given by the duke of Portland that he had declined to attend. He
arrived just in time to take her home. Another time, during the
day, by pure chance he spotted her leaving a building near the
Haymarket. He recognized her because she was wearing his old frock
coat. He made his coachman stop while he leaned out the window and
hailed her. “Mr. Boxham, is it not?” he called out.

“
Good afternoon, Lord Hartforde!”
She made him a nice little bow.

“
My carriage is at your disposal,
Mr. Boxham, if you would care to have me drop you
somewhere.”

“
You are too kind, my lord.” She
stepped up into the coach when Alexander signaled the footman to
open the door for his friend Mr. Boxham. He immediately pulled her
onto his lap and they made cramped but abandoned love while they
drove back to Albermarle Street. The driver had pulled open the
door not seconds after Alexander had finished buttoning Isobel’s
breeches. They walked over to the Duke of Albemarle Publick House
and drank enough ale to float a ship before making their
exhilarated way back to number Ten. That night, Alexander came to
her room.

On the day before she was to return to her father’s
house, he unexpectedly found her in one of the parlors playing a
game of solitaire. Her head was bent over the cards in a study of
concentration, and he had been unable to resist walking quietly up
behind her and surprising her with a kiss on the slope of her
shoulders. “I will go mad if you do not come to my room at once,”
he growled into her ear. And so she had.

I

When Isobel returned to her father’s house,
Alexander told himself it meant the end of an affair he hadn’t
really been having anyway. He did not believe he would continue to
want her if she wasn’t around so constantly. It surprised him not a
little to find he was mistaken. Other women no longer satisfied
him. The event always fell short of what he sought, and he was left
worse off than before. When he began dreaming of Isobel and that
bedazzling body of hers about a week after she had returned to
Redruth, he decided it was high time he did something about it. His
mistake had been in not making it perfectly clear they were not
having an affair and she must not expect an offer of marriage from
him unless there were any unfortunate consequences from their
madness. He convinced himself it would be just as simple as all the
other liaisons he had ended.

He found her in the gardens. She smiled at him
uncertainly, and he realized with a pang of remorse that she had
been hurt by his silence. He sat down when she moved over to make
room for him on the bench. “Good morning, Miss St. James.” He
kissed her hand. Just seeing her made him want to be with her
again. Surely he would forget her after a while, just as he had
forgotten other women.

“
Miss St. James?” She raised her
eyebrows at his serious expression and took her hand away from
him.

“
Isobel, to continue our…alliance
would only be irresponsible on my part.” He did not expect the
scornful look she gave him. “Surely you can see we would be an
ill-matched pair. You know, of course, about my late wife? Let it
suffice to say the experience of marriage is one I wish never to
repeat, and I cannot, in good conscience, offer you less.” He meant
to tell her that if he had got her with child, she could expect him
to do right by her, but she sighed as though bored and interrupted
him.

“
My lord, you are always saying
unpleasant things—when I am not in your bed, that is,” she
added.

“
Isobel, you deserve—”

“
I deserve better than you. I
deserve not to be treated so commonly!” She stood up. “Would you be
so kind as to leave me now?”

“
Isobel—”

“
My lord, I do not like you any
more than you like me. Let us part on that understanding. I’ve had
ample time to think in these last few days, and now I understand
that night was merely an aberration, the result of my disgraceful
drunkenness, of which I think you must agree you took equally
disgraceful advantage. As for the rest of it, it would be best if
we do not examine it too closely, lest we come to some unpleasant
truths. I think we might both be thankful that it is over. Now, you
will surely understand when I ask you, again, to go at once.” When
she saw he intended to say something, she repeated her words. “At
once, my lord.”

“
As you wish.” He stood and bowed.
She was only telling him what he had meant to say himself, and he
wondered why he was angry instead of relieved.

II

When he was gone, Isobel burst into tears. He had
forgotten her existence just as soon as she left his house.
Alexander cared no more for her than some common street girl. And
to her undying shame, she had let him treat her like one. She told
herself she would not waste another thought on a man who cared so
little for her. She had given herself shamelessly to a man who had
dazzled her senses. She thanked God she was no longer naive enough
to hope he did care for her. Whenever her thoughts turned to him,
she would force her mind elsewhere. But she could not stop her
dreams. Isobel began to see Viscount Strathemoore more often, this
time actively encouraging him.

Some two weeks later, she had to send Strathemoore a
regretful note declining their early morning ride in Hyde Park, as
she was ill. She assumed her indisposition was in consequence of
her unhappiness and expected it to pass.

“
No, my lord, you may not come
inside.” Isobel put a hand to his chest to keep him at arm’s
length.

“
You are breaking my heart,”
Strathemoore said, one arm reaching out to circle her waist and
pull her to him.

“
I’m quite convinced you haven’t a
heart to be broken, Lord Strathemoore.” She laughed.

“
Are you sending me away without
even a kiss to sustain me until tomorrow?” He affected a look of
despair that made Isobel sigh and shake her head at him.

“
Yes.” She pushed him away, but he
tightened his arm around her waist. “My lord,” she scolded, “you
forget yourself!”

There was a short silence while James pressed his
lips fervently to the inside of her palm. He had kissed her once
before at a masquerade ball, only to be rewarded with a stinging
slap for his forwardness. It was days before she had consented to
see him again. He chose not to press his luck quite so far this
time. “Until tomorrow, Miss St. James,” he whispered.

Isobel stood at the door after he had gone. He was
nice and she was sure he cared for her. Only once had he crossed
the bounds of propriety and tried to force himself on her. As soon
as his lips met hers, she had thought of Alexander and it was
enough to bring her to her senses. Why was it that Alexander’s
kisses made her giddy, while James’s only made her frantic to get
away? she wondered. He was nearly as handsome as Alexander, and,
unlike him, James was always attentive and unfailingly polite. She
was certain he meant to propose; he was beginning to drop hints to
her. So far she had pretended to misunderstand him. She wasn’t sure
yet she wanted, or even ought, to encourage him in that direction.
She was fond of him, but she did not love him. And she felt nothing
of the passion that was there with Alexander. Why couldn’t she
forget the man, as he had so obviously forgotten her? She sighed
and drew off her gloves and nearly ran into Alexander as she
stepped into the hallway.

He grasped her elbows. “Good afternoon, Miss St.
James.” His eyes were hard as they met her startled look.

Her knees suddenly felt weak and she was
disconcerted to find she could still be so affected by him. “How
nice to see you, Lord Hartforde.” She pulled away from him, hoping
she sounded anything but pleased to see him. “What are you doing
here?”

He grasped her arm again. “Why are you wasting your
time with Strathemoore?” He didn’t really care, he said to himself,
but she was showing remarkably poor judgment.

“
The prince was busy today.” Did
her skin have to tingle from his touch?

“
Strathemoore is
in the process of running through a considerable fortune.”
This is not jealousy,
he
thought,
she just needs to know what kind
of man Strathemoore is.

“
He is very obliging.” Why did his
eyes make her want to throw herself into his arms?

“
I can assure you that that
obliging profligate,” he sneered, “sees only the size of the
marriage settlement he expects!”

“
Unlike yourself, Lord Hartforde,
my Lord Strathemoore is always a gentleman when he is with me.” She
stared pointedly at the arm he gripped so tightly. “And he has
promised me he will give up gambling.” She took a step back when he
released her and rubbed her arm where his fingers had left faint
red marks. “And I do believe he almost means it,” she added
wryly.

Alexander only snorted in response, a little
embarrassed then at his heated reaction to seeing her with
Strathemoore.

“
Why are you here?” she
repeated.

“
I had business with your father.”
In fact, he had had a time convincing the earl they should meet at
Redruth instead of at Brook’s.

“
I trust you had a pleasant
conversation.” She attempted to brush by him, but he grasped her
arm again. “What is it?” She gave him an exasperated
look.

“
Are you always so
impossible?”

“
If I didn’t know better”—she
managed to sound bored—“I’d say you were jealous. Now, I suggest
you let go of me before I summon the servants and have you thrown
out.”

“
Jealous? Of Strathemoore? That’s
ridiculous!”

“
You’ve seen my father, so why
don’t you go?” Isobel jerked her arm free and walked away, leaving
him, she thought, standing in the hallway. She walked haughtily
away, holding back her tears until she was in the privacy of a
nearby sitting room. She had just thrown herself into a chair when
Alexander came in after her. “Do me the courtesy of leaving me,”
she said. “I have no wish to talk to you.”