The Widow's Auction (8 page)

She forced herself to look up, to meet his gaze. Around him, the others were chattering about this and that, oblivious to the drama playing itself out right there before them. But he sat quietly, patiently, his expression showing nothing. No cruelty, no hint of revenge.

But nothing else either. As if he waited for her to do or say something before he acted.

She glanced down again as something dawned on her. A glove was such an impersonal item. If he'd wanted to shame her, he could have brought something more damning, like the garter or stockings she'd left behind. But he hadn't.

So what did it mean? What did he expect her to do?

Then it hit her. He was offering her a choice–acknowledge the glove as hers and in so doing acknowledge their connection. . . or deny that it was hers and end their connection forever.

Oh, Lord, what a choice. If she took the glove, she'd be trusting him not to use it against her. And what if her trust were misplaced? What if their wonderful night had merely been leading up to this–to Lord Warbrooke's final public triumph over her?

No, she couldn't believe that. Not without believing that every word he'd spoken was a lie, every caress was feigned. . . every dark, hungry look had been only the basest form of lust. And she simply couldn't.

But what if she accepted, and he offered her only a place in his bed and not in his heart? Could she endure that?

She sighed. Whether she could or no, she owed it to him to tell him that to his face. Continuing as a coward was not fair to him.

Even if he
was
making it easy for her to refuse him. All she need do was tell him that the glove wasn't hers and hand it back. She sensed that he'd accept such a gesture as her desire to keep her identity secret, not only from the rest of them but from him as well.

He probably wouldn't challenge it. But she'd lose him.

If she'd ever had him at all.

She swallowed. Her other choice was to acknowledge their connection by accepting the glove. No one else would know what it meant. But he would. And after that, everything would change between them, regardless of what his intentions were. Did she dare to risk that?

“Lady Kingsley, are you all right?” Mr. Dawson queried.

That jolted her back to her surroundings. “I-I'm fine. I was merely remembering something I left behind.”

She glanced to Justin, stunned to see him look suddenly vulnerable, even afraid. He didn't want her to deny him. And God help her, but she didn't want to deny him either, no matter what pain it might mean for her in the future.

She didn't want to be a coward anymore.

Taking a deep, steadying breath as she held his gaze, she bent and picked up the glove, then slid it into her apron pocket.

Relief flared in Justin's face, relief and something else. Could it possibly be love?

Hope sprouted within her as she sat down and wielded her gavel a bit unsteadily. “I call this meeting to order,” she began. “At our last meeting–”

“Before we go on, Lady Kingsley,” Justin broke in. “I'd like to make a suggestion.”

“Yes?” she whispered, her heart in her throat.

“I've taken some time to read your proposal, and I find it a very worthy project. So I'd like to withdraw my own proposal and move that we adopt yours instead. I have some funds at present that I could funnel into your endowments, and I'm sure if others contributed–”

“I have a better idea, Lord Warbrooke,” she interrupted as hope took even firmer root in her heart. “What if we do both? I, too, spent some hours examining your suggestions, and I think we should embark on your factory idea at once.”

A murmur of surprise ran round the table, and even Justin looked stunned.

She went on hastily. “But your proposal and mine aren't mutually exclusive, you know. I happen to have come into some funds recently that I'd be more than happy to contribute to the endowments. That would leave you to use your funds for the factory.”

A slow, hopeful smile spread over his Roman conqueror's face. “What a brilliant idea, Lady Kingsley. It seems we've finally found something we can agree on.”

“It does seem that way, doesn't it?” She allowed herself a smile in return.

The others could only sit and gape at them.

“I say,” Mr. Dawson finally ventured, “whatever happened to you two since the last meeting? Have you both been neglecting to wear your hats in the sun?”

“It was wine, Mr. Dawson,” she couldn't resist saying. “I had some wine that went straight to my head.”

“How odd,” Justin retorted. “So did I. Tell me, Lady Kingsley, was it as delicious as mine? Because the one I had–”

“We don't care about the damned wine, old fellow,” Lord Bradford cut in. “Let's just put the proposal–whatever it is now–to a vote, so we can all go home.”

Isobel exchanged a happy glance with Phoebe, who was grinning broadly enough to split her face open. “Certainly, let's vote at once. All those in favor of embarking on both projects, raise your hand.”

Everyone raised their hand. Even the irascible Lord Bradford.

“Good,” Isobel said. “Then that's settled. And I see no point to further discussion on the matter today. Why don't we all go home and examine both proposals in depth, then meet next week to talk about implementing them?”

She could tell her fellow board members were bewildered by her sudden amiable eagerness to adjourn a meeting, but she didn't waste too much time worrying about it. She merely tapped her gavel on the table and watched as Phoebe shooed the others out of the meeting room.

All except Lord Warbrooke. He was already rounding the table and coming toward her. She rose and tried not to read too much into that possessive glance of his, but it grew harder by the second. Glancing behind him to where Phoebe had paused in the door, she shot her friend a look of panic. But Phoebe merely smiled and blew her a kiss before walking out and closing the door behind her.

Isobel and Justin were alone at last.

He stood so close that she could touch him, but she didn't. Instead she stared down at the glove she'd just drawn out of her pocket. “How long have you known who I was?”

“From the moment you said your name was Bella on that dais,” he said softly.

Her gaze shot to him. “As long as all that?”

He nodded.

“But why did you keep quiet? Why didn't you just unmask me right then and there?”

“In front of Bradford? I wouldn't be so cruel.” He edged nearer, surrounding her with his heat, his scent. “At first I thought to shake you up a bit, bedevil you the way you'd been bedeviling me with your pronouncements about my character. I intended to give you enough rope to hang yourself before I unveiled you and gave you the lecture of your life about hypocrisy and morality and. . . ”

He paused, lifting his hand to stroke her hair.

She flinched. He'd manipulated her from the moment he'd won the auction. He'd tricked her into telling him everything about her past, and then. . . 

Then he'd made love to her with the most unbearable sweetness. “And what?” she prodded. “What else did you intend to lecture me about?”

“The foolishness of participating in a widows' auction. I meant what I said about protecting you. I always intended to keep our little battle between the two of us. I would never have told anyone else about your appearance at that auction. So although I admit that I began by wanting to torment you a little, it was never meant to be more than that.”

Hooking his finger beneath her chin, he forced her to look at him. “Then everything changed. The longer it went on, the more I was swept into it, and the more fascinated with you I became. It didn't take long before I realized I didn't
want
to unmask you unless you wanted it. All thoughts of lecturing or embarrassing you went right out the window.” His voice grew husky. “Along with my self-control. Because by then I desired you more than I've ever desired anyone in my life. By then I could see the real woman beneath the lofty faÇade. And I wanted that woman for my own.”

A thrill shot through her at his blatantly possessive words.

“Now I need
you
to explain something to
me
,” he said, that vulnerability flaring in his face again. “Why did you leave before we could discuss any of this?”

She swallowed. “Because I was afraid you'd want me only as a mistress.” With a sinking heart, she realized he hadn't yet said he wanted her for anything else. “Not that I blame you, of course. A man with your future doesn't need a wife with my past as a liability. But I just couldn't–”

“Oh, Bella, I'm so sorry I didn't make myself clearer. All that talk about having you for my mistress was meant only to provoke you into revealing yourself. Once I made love to you, there was only one role I wanted you to play in my life, and that was as my wife. I wouldn't settle for anything less.”

Her fear began to ease. “But what about your future in politics?”

“I have no future in politics without you, darling. Because if I can't have you at my side, none of it is even worth pursuing.” He flashed her a rakish grin. “If you refuse to marry me, I'll have to give it all up. Otherwise I'll make myself a laughingstock. They'll be gossiping all over town about poor Warbrooke and the widow who broke his heart.”

A smile crept over her face. “You're exaggerating, you silly man, but I don't mind. That part about my breaking your heart is very sweet, even if we both know it's nonsense.”

“It's not nonsense,” he protested. “Are you blind? Can't you see I've fallen in love with you? Good God, woman, do you think I propose marriage every day?”

That Roman conqueror's look was in his eye now. She stilled, hardly daring to hope. “If you have indeed fallen in love, it's with Bella.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I fell in love with all of you–with Bella, the fetching temptress. . . with Lady Kingsley, the highly moral reformer. . . and even with Isobel, the orphan millworker.”

She shook her head. “The only one of those who really is me is Isobel. Henry created Lady Kingsley, and as for Bella–”

“She's you, too. Just as Lady Kingsley is you. Yes, your husband set out the road for Isobel to follow, but it was Isobel who took it, Isobel who did the work, Isobel who transformed herself into Lady Kingsley. There would be no Lady Kingsley without Isobel working behind the scenes. And even Bella, that naughty minx, is Isobel when she's at home and relaxed. . . or in the throes of lovemaking. They are all you, my darling, and I'm in love with every single one of them.”

“Oh, Justin,” she said, hardly able to speak for the joy filling her throat, “that is quite possibly the most wonderful thing any man has ever said to me.”

“So that means you'll marry me? Even if you don't love me, perhaps in time–”

“
Now
who's blind?” she said, stretching up to silence his ridiculous uncertainties with a kiss. “Of course I love you.” She mimicked his authoritarian voice. “Good God, man, do you think I accept a proposal of marriage every day?”

He raised an eyebrow. “This had better be the last. Because I don't intend to share you with anyone. I plan to be Galatea's only husband from now until eternity.”

Then he swept her into his arms and gave her the most delicious kiss yet. Or perhaps it was the most delicious because they were in love. And being in love seemed to make everything more wonderful–the air, the room, the kiss. . . She couldn't wait to try this out in every room of her town house. And his. And
theirs
.

When he drew back, he wore a decidedly mischievous look. “Now that you've agreed to marry me, my lovely Isobel, I'll have to establish some rules.”

She eyed him warily. “Oh? And what might those be?”

“Rule number one–no more masks.”

With a laugh, she relaxed in his arms. “I think I can agree to that.”

But he wasn't finished. “Rule number two–no more sponges.”

“
More?
We didn't even use them the first time,” she pointed out.

“Good. And we won't use them in the future either. At least not until we've had a few children.”

She swallowed. “And if I can't have children?”

“Then we won't need them anyway, will we?” When she continued to stare at him uncertainly, he added, “Children or no children, I want you, Bella. But I should like to attempt to have some.”

“So would I,” she admitted shyly.

“And finally, rule number three–no more widows' auctions. I'll soon have pockets to let if I spend a thousand pounds every time I need to get your attention.”

She laughed and tightened her arms about his neck. “Don't worry, my love. I've had enough of auctions to last me a lifetime. Unless you'd be interested in a
private
auction. I know this widow named Bella who for a certain price would be willing to commit the most naughty, outrageous acts imaginable.”

As desire flared in his face, he growled. “Oh? And what precisely would that cost me?”

“Your heart,” she whispered back. “Nothing but your heart.”

He grinned as he lowered his head to hers. “Then thank God that's a price I'm more than willing to pay.”