Tiger's Eye (30 page)

Alec seemed uncharacteristically diffident when Amberwood came into view. Sandwiched into a chaise between Alec and Paddy, who was driving, Isabella exclaimed with pleasure at the property’s beauty.

“ ’Tis a lovely place,” Paddy agreed, while Alec smiled wryly.

“I always feel like there should be a lord or at least a squire attached to my name when I come down here. The butler who came with the place is swanker than I am.”

“But you own it,” Paddy pointed out, speaking across Isabella in a tone that told her they’d had this conversation before.

“Aye, I own it.” He glanced at Isabella. “I got it for practically naught, in a private deal to keep the previous owner from total financial ruin. At the time I was thinking of moving here—I’ve investments down this way that could stand keeping an eye on—but after a few visits I decided that I was more comfortable in London.”

“You can take the lad out of the slums, but you can’t take the slums out of the lad,” Paddy finished with a grin.

“Exactly.” Alec grinned too, while Isabella, looking from the huge man driving to the leaner, handsomer one resting back against the seat, had to fight not to reveal the sudden pang that assailed her heart. The truth was that Alec felt uncomfortable at Amberwood because he considered himself inferior.…

“Who was the previous owner?” she asked, to cover the fierce surge of protectiveness she suddenly felt.

Alec’s sideways glance was wry. “Wondering if you know him? Maybe you do—he’s your sort. Lord Rothersham.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Well, you’ve been sheltered. If you ever take your proper place amongst the
haute ton,
you can tell him how much you like his family home. Though I don’t suppose you will. If you did, you’d have to tell him how you came to see it.”

Something in Alec’s voice—a barely suppressed bitterness?—made her look quickly at him. Before Isabella could answer, Paddy was turning into the circle at the end of the long drive and pulling the chaise up before the door. The rag-tag cavalcade behind them followed suit, so that when the impeccably dressed butler opened the door, it was to see an odd assortment of carriages, horses, well- and ill-dressed men. His eyebrows lifted a mere fraction of an inch. Otherwise his expression was wooden as he surveyed the scene before calling out to someone inside the house.

“Good afternoon, Shelby.” Alec’s manner of greeting his butler was perfectly proper as he ascended the steps with Paddy’s unobtrusive support. Isabella, slightly ahead of them, stepped through the door first. The entry hall was floored with marble in black and white squares laid on the diagonal. To the left a curving walnut staircase led upstairs. To the right closed double doors presumably opened onto a salon. The hall was furnished with a settee and a console table and mirror flanked by a pair of chairs. All very appropriate, but lacking … warmth?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Tyron. We were not expecting you, sir.” Again, Shelby’s words were perfectly proper, but like the house, lacked warmth. Only just inside the door, Isabella could well see why Alec had not been able to make this place his home. Owner or not, there was no welcome for him here.

By that evening, Isabella’s initial impression had been amply confirmed. The staff, from Mrs. Shelby, the housekeeper, to the lowliest housemaid, all of whom had been kept on from Lord Rothersham, treated Alec with a kind of contempt that was no less evident for being heavily veiled. Isabella herself had requested that Paddy, Alec and herself be served their dinners on a small table before the fire in the enormous master suite, so that Alec, who had grudgingly consented to go to bed for the day, might be comfortable in a dressing gown and slippers. Upon receiving the order, the butler had made the mistake of raising his eyebrows at Isabella, who had responded with a stare so incredulous that the man had hastily decamped.

The meal had been delivered, and properly set out on a table covered with white linen and laid with silver, but the food was scarcely more than adequate. The celery soup, which should have been cold, was warm, and the mutton, which should have been hot, was not. In fact, all the courses were of approximately the same temperature. Isabella was not surprised to see Alec consume his meal without enthusiasm, and lay down his fork when he should have been no more than half-done. Paddy, who with his large frame was by necessity a prodigious trencherman, did a better job on the meal, but he too grimaced at the watery syllabub and pushed it aside barely eaten.

“ ’Tis a mystery to me how Rothersham contrived to grow so fat on stuff such as this,” Alec muttered wryly as he cut cigars for himself and Paddy in lieu of dessert.

Paddy grinned. “Only think how fat he would have been did he have a cook who could cook.”

“True. Very true.”

Isabella looked from one to the other. She was itching to take the running of the house in hand, but under the circumstances—after all, what status had she to give orders at Amberwood?—she disliked to put herself forward. Alec lounged back in his chair, a fresh bandage around his head, clean-shaven now with his hair neatly brushed into a queue at his nape, puffing on his enormous cigar. White wreaths of aromatic smoke circled his head. Paddy paced about, clad in boots, breeches and open-necked shirt, puffing on his cigar quite as furiously as Alec. The smell was enough to make Isabella faintly queasy—or maybe the slight sickness was the result of the meal.

“I believe I’ll retire, if you don’t mind,” she murmured. It was obvious that Paddy had much to say to Alec, and it was equally obvious that he didn’t like to say it with her present.

Alec removed the cigar from his mouth and looked at her. “I expect you to treat this as your home for the nonce, Isabella. Ring for whatever you need.”

“I will. Good-night, Alec. Good-night, Paddy.” She rose to her feet and, with a smile, left the room. The room she had been given was just along the corridor from Alec’s. If truth Were known, she would have preferred to share his—’twas funny how used she had grown to his presence, and how comforting, and comfortable, she found it—but if she shared his room, she would, sooner or later, end up in his bed. And she could not allow herself to sink to the level of mistress.…

The chamber she had been allotted was very grand. The walls were hung with yellow silk, the furniture was of fine mahogany, and the rug was an Aubusson. But dust had settled on the surfaces, and a cobweb adorned a ceiling corner. All in all, it was obvious that someone badly needed to take a hand with the housekeeping.

She pulled the bell. When a maid answered—after a wait of nearly a quarter of an hour—she requested a bath. This request, too, was filled slowly. But at last she was seated in a porcelain tub before the fire, rubbing scented soap into her hair and revelling in the blissful sensation.

Her bath complete, she stepped out, dried herself and put on a nightdress and wrapper from the baggage that, with Paddy and the others as bodyguards, they had retrieved from the wreckage. Then she sat on a footstool before the fire, rubbing her hair with a towel and fanning it so that it would dry in the heat. To her surprise, despite the unconventionality of her position, she felt oddly content.

Her hair was almost dry when a knock sounded at the door.

“Yes?” She felt suddenly nervous. The previous night’s experience had left its mark on her.

“ ’Tis I, Paddy.”

“Just a minute.” Reassured, she crossed to the door, opened it, and stood looking up at the scowling giant on the other side.

“Alec asked me to send you along to him.” His voice was abrupt. Something in the way he looked at her made Isabella color.

“Oh.”

Still Paddy stood there, looking down at her with that fearsome scowl. Having deepened her acquaintance with him over the last few weeks, Isabella knew that he was nowhere near as unapproachable as he appeared. Still, that scowl made her uncomfortable.

“Is ought the matter?” she asked finally when he continued to glare at her.

His frown deepened. “Alec talks about you all the time. Isabella this, Isabella that.”

“Does he?” She colored even more furiously, and her eyes fell.

“He does.” There was a long silence. Isabella finally looked up to meet Paddy’s eyes. Those soulful brown eyes were hard, measuring. “I believe ’tis time and past that you went home. Did I have your husband killed, would you be willing to go? You’d have naught to fear, then.”

Isabella stared at him in astonishment. “No!” Then, more loudly, “No!”

“No?”

“No! You cannot be serious! You’ll have Bernard killed …?”

“If that’s what it takes for you to be safe in your own world. You’ve been in ours too long.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Alec. Alec is—he’s gettin’ grand ideas about you. I know him as well as I know myself, and I know he’s gettin’ set up to be badly hurt. ’Twould be best if you just went back to where you came from.”

Isabella stared at him. Paddy met her look with that same fierce frown.

“I forbid you—forbid you, do you hear me?—to have Bernard killed. That’s murder, and I won’t be a part of it, nor permit Alec to be a part of it on my behalf. As for Alec and his grand ideas about me—I know of none. But our relationship is between him and me.”

She met Paddy’s gaze without flinching, little realizing how ridiculous it was for a slender, fine-boned young woman to try to stare down that monster of a man.

“Telling me to mind my own business, are you?” Paddy shook his head. “Alec is the closest thing to family I’ve got. He is my business, and I’d advise you not to forget it.”

With a nod, he then headed down the corridor. Isabella watched wide-eyed until he vanished around a corner. For a moment longer she stood stock still, and then she picked up the skirt of her wrapper and went to Alec’s room.

XLII

H
is door was not even locked, Isabella discovered as she turned the knob minutes later when there was no reply to her soft knock. Letting herself in, she saw that Alec was seated in a wing chair before the fire, his head bent over a newspaper that he held before him. So absorbed was he in whatever he was reading that he didn’t even hear her enter.

Isabella closed the door with a little snap, and ostentatiously turned the key in the lock. She turned back to the room to find that Alec was looking at her at last.

“The door was not locked,” she said in a scolding tone, walking toward him.

“Wasn’t it? There’s no real need for it. I’m hardly likely to be murdered in my bed. Paddy’s got an army of men stationed on the grounds.”

His carelessness with his own safety nettled Isabella. “And what if the murderer is already in the house?”

Alec laughed, folded the paper and put it aside. “Who? Shelby doesn’t like me overmuch, but I don’t see him slitting my gullet as I sleep. After all, I pay his salary. The same goes for the other servants. There’s no one else here, except Paddy—and you. And I acquit either of you of designs on my life.”

Isabella had to agree that both Paddy and she could be counted as perfectly safe housemates.

“Besides,” he added placidly, “I asked Paddy to send you along. I’ll Jock the door before I go to sleep, I promise.”

Isabella stood beside the wing chair in which he sprawled, looking down at him with a frown.

“What did you want me for? Shall I change your bandage for you?”

Alec shook his head. “ ’Tis fine. I expect to dispense with it altogether tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“I’ve suffered enough wounds in my life to know when one is serious. This one is not, believe me. The most I’ll suffer will be a scar on my forehead, and such is not fatal.”

“The doctor said—”

“I know what the doctor said.” Alec’s tone of voice as he interrupted said far more than his words.

“Do you suspect that Dr. McIver had a hand in what happened last night?”

“I don’t know. I’m simply covering all the possibilities. I’ve men talking to McIver now. And to Hull. And John Ball, if they can find him.”

“But he didn’t know you were there until you came to the door for me.”

“That’s true. But he’s long had designs on some of my crafts, and he’s the kind of wily bastard who’d think killing me was the best way to take over. Still, he’s only one of any number of suspects.”

“Do you think you’ll find out who it is—before they get to you? They’re bound to try again.”

“Aye, they’ll try again. But I don’t expect them to try at Amberwood. The place is too heavily guarded. And they know I’ll be waiting for them this time.” His eyes moved over her, widened. “That’s a fetching nightdress.”

Isabella, startled by the abrupt change of subject, looked down at herself and blushed. Seeing her embarrassment, Alec grinned.

“ ’Tis a wrapper, and the most decent one I could find at the Carousel.” The words were defensive.

“I’d give a schilling to see the ones you rejected as indecent.”

“I’m sure you already have. They mostly belong to Pearl.”

At the acerbic note in her voice his eyes rose from their leisurely inspection of her silk-clad body to her face.

“Did I not know better, Countess, I would suspect that what I detect in your voice is more than a touch of jealousy.”

“And did I not know better, I would suspect that the wound to your head has addled your wits.”

He laughed at that. “Touché, love.”

His teasing had annoyed her, and she shifted impatiently, her bare toes curling into the oak floor.

“Was there something you wanted, or did you just call me in here to tease me? If so, I’ll return to my own room.”

Alec’s eyes darkened. “Oh, aye, there’s something I want.”

There was a note in his voice that made Isabella cease to breathe. His eyes slid over her again, making it clear what he meant, while she drew herself up to her full height and prepared to wax indignant in the face of any indecent proposal he might make to her.

“I’ve a dressmaker coming tomorrow. You’ll oblige me by ordering what you need from her. Everything, from the skin out. You cannot continue to go about in someone else’s clothes.”

“Very well.” Isabella bowed her head. “I’ll have a dress or two made up. If you’ll take their cost out of whatever you intend to pay me.”