The Wrong Woman (12 page)

“Yes, they were, Lord Revere. They are always laughing at me. I am Dizzy Izzy, remember?” She laughed weakly. Her pain made him angry.

“Ignore them,” he spat out the words.

Isobel laughed again. “Do you think I haven't tried?” She looked hopeless. “For ten years I have been ignoring them. Each time I left the house, saying to myself that I would pay no heed to the whispers I thought I heard or the sideways looks. For ten years I have tried not to be the clumsy girl. But it never works. That is all they ever see.”

Miles knew it was true. That was all he had seen. But now he wanted to protect her.

“Isobel,” Miles shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. “You are so much better than any of them. So much better than me...” He trailed off, his eyes dropping to the floor. Isobel let out a choked laugh.

“I am not.”

Miles looked back into her eyes and said firmly, “Yes, you are.” When she began to shake her head at him, he gave her a lopsided smile. Perhaps humor would work to cheer her up. “Yes, you are better than I am. And you know how hard that is for me to admit.” His heart flipped over when she smiled sadly at his attempt to make her laugh.

“Are they all talking about me?”

“No one is talking about you. They've quite forgotten what happened. But I wish you would come and dance anyway.”

She shook her head vigorously. “No, Lord Revere, you know I do not dance.”

“I do not know that,” he gently teased her. “I have never seen you dance. That is not quite the same thing as knowing that you
cannot
do so.”

“You would not want to see me dance.” The humor seemed to be working. Her tears were gone and she was smiling at him.

“On the contrary, madam, I most certainly would.” Miles rose from his kneeling position and offered her his hand as if to lead her to the dance floor.

Isobel shrunk into the chair. “No, I cannot. Not tonight.”

“I insist.” He caught her eye and gave her a smile. Then firmly took her hand and drew her out of the chair. She resisted. “Just come on, Isobel. I promise I will not take you out to the ballroom.”

Isobel looked at him in confusion as he drew her to an open space in the little room they now shared. He had a plan, but he would not share it with her at the moment. He wanted desperately for her to trust him.

“What are you doing?” she asked. Miles had placed her at the edge of a rug that bordered a small, open space. He found the confused look on her face to be quite amusing. But he was comforted to see that she was staying, not running away from him.

He stepped away from her and said, “Just wait. You will see.”

Miles stepped toward Isobel again and bowed low. “Miss Isobel Masters, may I request the honor of this dance?” He gave her a comically pitiful look.

The tears now were gone as she laughed and shook her head. “Oh... if you insist.” She curtseyed to him. Miles took her hand in his as she smiled up into his eyes. She had placed her trust in him and the reward was greater than he could have imagined.

“What are we doing?” Isobel half sighed and half laughed the question.

“I thought that was obvious. We are about to dance a waltz, Miss Masters.” Miles said the words as he pulled her close. A waltz seemed the appropriate dance, as there were no other couples to make up a set.

“I am not good at it, Lord Revere. You should be warned.”

Miles smiled at her. “You have done your duty, Miss Masters. I am duly warned.” They both stood still for a moment. “I will count off, and then I will lead you around the floor.”

“I hope you are wearing sturdy shoes.” Isobel looked incredulous.

“My toes will survive. Just follow me. One-two-three, one-two-three.” Miles counted out the pattern twice and then began to move them around the room. It took only a few steps before they were falling over each other. Isobel let go of his hand and stepped away from him, frustrated.

“You see, I am hopeless.”

“Isobel,” Miles said sternly. “That is entirely untrue. You are simply out of practice. Come here and we shall try again.” She returned to his arms. He looked down into her face and the breath left his lungs. He whispered, “You must trust me.”

Three times they started and stopped before Isobel finally trusted him with the steps. But when she did, a feeling of power flowed through him like he’d never known before.

And close on its heels came a feeling of panic. Now he must take care of her. Could he do it? He was afraid he would mess everything up. The panic made him miss a step and trip them both. They only just manged to stay upright.

“Ah, this time it was not me!” Isobel laughed.

“No, it was not,” he laughed along with her. “That was most decidedly
my
fault. I beg of you to let me try again, Miss Masters.”

This time she came naturally to his arms. He counted off and they began to spin around the room. On and on they went in the small space. Step after step and circle after circle they moved without falling down. He felt her soft skin in one hand and the smooth material of her dress in the other. As they continued to whirl around to music that neither of them could hear, Miles looked down at Isobel.

“We're dancing!” Her eyes flashed in triumph. Then she closed her eyes, abandoning herself to the dance. Miles swallowed hard. The pale, smooth skin of her neck begged to be kissed, just at that place below her ear. He wanted to run his tongue over the sensitive spot. Still moving in the steps from the dance, Miles pulled her closer to him. All of his senses pulsed with the rhythm.

“Isobel,” he whispered with emotion. She opened her eyes and studied him. Miles brought them gently to a halt, but kept her in his embrace. He held one arm around her waist, and with the other he reached to smooth his thumb over her soft, warm cheek. His eyes followed as his thumb moved over her lips. They parted slightly and he could feel her hot breath that seemed to come faster each moment.

Isobel's eyes closed and she nuzzled her cheek into his hand. His fingers strayed down her neck, which arched toward him. He followed the tempting ringlet with his fingers, feeling smooth, hot skin and silky hair at the same time. The sensation overwhelmed him. The ringlet drew his fingers to the space between her breasts. The tips of his fingers gently caressed the soft skin he found there.

She caught a breath and opened her eyes. Miles stared intensely at her, searching her face for something. He did not yet know what. She blinked heavily for a moment and then shifted her gaze to his lips and back up to his eyes. Now it was his turn to catch his breath.

“Miles.”

The intimacy of his name undid him. He brought his lips to hers and for a long moment he reveled in the sweet feel of her against him.

But then she parted her lips and the sweetness was no longer enough. He gathered her in his arms and pressed his mouth more firmly on hers. She made small noises in the back of her throat and put her arms around him. One hand reached up to caress his neck and he grew dizzy with the sensation. It was his turn to groan as he felt her breasts press against him. He had never kissed with such need, such desire. He wanted the wonderful sensations to last forever.

Isobel uttered a noise of protest and pushed away from him, a stricken look on her face.

“No!” She uttered in a horrified whisper and covered her mouth as if to hide the evidence of his kisses. Miles was mortified.

“Isobel ---” he started to say, still panting with desire. She interrupted him.

“No. No, I am the wrong woman. What have I done?” She shook her head. Miles wanted to take her in his arms again and kiss away her doubts. But he held himself across the room from her. He did not want to do more damage.

“Isobel, I'm… I’m sorry.” What was there to say? He was supposed to be courting her sister. They both knew it. The heat of the moment had overcome him. He had indulged in a sweetness he had not known he wanted. And now they would both pay for it. Even if she had felt anything for him, Isobel loved her sister too much to steal him away. And he respected both sisters enough not to trifle with them. Until tonight, he thought he had been courting Catherine. But somewhere along the line, Isobel had worked her way to the very depths of his heart. She might not have felt anything in that kiss. But he had. He could not mistake what his body had told him. He had to tell Isobel it was
her
, and not Miss Catherine, that he wanted.

Miles took a step toward her to share this discovery. But his movement only served to scare her.

“No!” Isobel almost yelled the word toward him before she turned and ran out the door. He let her go, unable to gather his thoughts or slow his breathing. What had he done? The ache in his chest grew unbearable.

Chapter 14

What have I done?

Isobel stood outside the closed door, her hand pressed to her mouth, trying to erase the feel of Lord Revere's lips on hers. She had kissed the man who was supposed to be her sister’s husband. And the worst of it was that she wanted to do it again.

What have I done?
So many emotions welled up within her breast that she could hardly breathe. But when she put her hand over her heart to still its rapid motion, but that only brought the memory of Lord Revere's hand there.

Isobel's fist closed over the ringlet. She crushed the delicate curl and cursed the vanity that had put it there this evening.

What have I done?
The question propelled her down the hallway toward some unknown destination. She only needed to be away from that room. And from him. He'd dazzled her and she, like a silly girl, had fallen for it. The intimacy of the darkened room, the closeness of their dance. Isobel had lost her senses.

Or found them. Nine and twenty years of life had not provided her with many exquisite moments like that. But it was not supposed to be her moment. It should have been Cat’s.

Isobel had been so carried away by the feeling of being in a man’s arms. For the first time in a long time, she had felt comfortable and safe just as she was. No need to worry. She'd even forgotten her past with Lord Revere. He had been so gentle.

And then it had all come crashing in. She had kissed her sister's intended husband.

What now? She could not stay here. She could not face him again. Nor could she face going to the ballroom to find Aunt Hetty or Cat.

Home
. It was all she could think of.
Home
. She needed her own room. She needed to lay on the bed and weep out all the emotion inside of her. Only then could she decide what to do.

Home
. She would go now. Gathering the tiny scrap of self-possession that she had left, Isobel made her way to the front door. Should she call Aunt Hetty and Cat? No. Isobel did not want to ruin the rest of their evening. Besides, she would have to explain herself. No, home was not far away. The brisk night air would do her good and help her clear her head.

Isobel gathered her coat from the footman and stepped out into the midnight air. She inhaled deeply, the chilly air filling her aching chest.

With each few strides, she took a deep breath. It calmed her after the turmoil of what had just happened. Nothing had changed, nothing was resolved, but her own mind was calmer now that she was doing something. She stopped and closed her eyes.

And so she did not see the dark figure until he had overtaken her and clapped a dirty hand firmly over her mouth. She felt something cold jab into her neck.

“Don't move or scream, lass, or I will kill you.”

Isobel whimpered as the panic rose within her.

“Good. You've made my job very easy tonight. Now we're gonna get into that carriage. Don’t fight or you die. Understand?”

Isobel nodded as his legs kicked hers into motion. She stumbled forward, terror for her life prompting her to obey each order.

The rough man pushed her into the vehicle and climbed in beside her.

“Don't scream,” he commanded. His pistol gleamed in the dim light from the lantern outside of the carriage.

Isobel was too terrified to do anything but stare at the weapon. Surely this was a nightmare. It had to be. This whole evening had to be some kind of nightmare. Isobel prayed she would wake up soon.

Chapter 15

“Jack, have you seen my sister lately?” Cat looked around the ballroom for the third time as she spoke. Fewer and fewer couples were dancing now and the ball was coming to a close.

“No, Miss Catherine, I cannot say that I have seen your sister,” Jack Shepherd answered her with a sheepish look. “I have not been much in the ballroom, though, so I might have missed her.”

Cat smothered a smile. Aunt Hetty had reported to Cat some time ago that Lord Revere's younger brother was making quite a name for himself in the card room, to the chagrin of both the gentlemen he was wagering against and the young ladies who had counted on him as a dance partner.

He had made a brief appearance in order to dance with Cat earlier in the evening – and he had been an admirable partner, she had to admit – but then he had disappeared back into the card room.

Cat had not been abandoned, though. It seemed that Izzy's fall – awful as it had been – had drawn attention to her younger sister. Men who had not noticed her before had been approaching Aunt Hetty all evening and begging to be introduced. Some of the men had been so obsequious that she'd had a hard time not laughing in their faces. But in spite of those fellows, she had found the attentions quite pleasant. And had not much missed her sister.

Or Lord Revere.

Cat had been very pleased to see him so attentive to Izzy. And even more pleased when he had gone off to check if she was all right. But Cat had seen neither of them for some time now. Half of her was worried, and the other half was delighted. She and Aunt Hetty could not have planned it better.

But now it was time to go and she still did not see any sign of her sister or Lord Revere. If Jack had not seen them either, something might have happened. Or be happening...

“Cat, where is your sister? I am tired and in need of my bed,” Aunt Hetty asked.