Tiger's Eye (46 page)

“I’ve set you free, so be happy,” was what the note said.

LXIII

T
wo months later Isabella was largely recovered from her injuries. A puckered, pinkish scar still marred the skin of her forehead, but with her hair cut in a fashionable fringe, it was hidden from view. Her speedy recovery had been motivated by a steely determination to find Alec.

And once she did, she would box his ears soundly for the torment he had put her through by his noble renunciation of her, and beg him to love her again. As Sarah had pointed out, a man did not have a woman watched for three months, and traipse around a freezing cold wood himself for days on end, unless he loved said woman madly.

Isabella only hoped that Sarah was right.

Her father had been dead set against her returning to England. He tried everything, from threats to bribes, to persuade her to remain in France, but for the first time in her life, Isabella was obdurate. When she was well enough, she was returning to England—and Alec. Nothing her father could say could persuade her otherwise.

Whenever Alec’s name came up, the duke denounced him long and vigorously. The kindest thing he had to say about the man his daughter loved was that he was not a gentleman.

Isabella didn’t care a fig for that, and told her father so. She also told him that whether Alec was a gentleman or not, she—yes, she, the daughter of a duke—meant to wed her gutter-born criminal if he’d have her. And there was absolutely nothing on earth her father could do to stop her. Sarah whispered later that Isabella’s unaccustomed defiance had nearly sent the duke off in an apoplexy.

But as a widow, and with a comfortable jointure (at the time of his death Bernard had not had time to spend much of the settlement Isabella’s father had made on him, so those funds were now hers), she was no longer subject to her father’s will. And she told him that, too.

For the first time in her life, she was free to do as she pleased.

She had arrived in London only that afternoon, and gone straight to the St. Just townhouse, which, as Bernard’s widow, she now owned. She had walked up the steps as bold as brass, been admitted by the butler, who introduced himself as Kirkland, and been treated with obsequious courtesy by all the staff. Of course, she was their employer now.

Common sense dictated that she should wait until the morrow before setting out in search of Alec, but Isabella was too impatient to put her future to the touch to pay much heed to common sense. She did take a nap, and awoke refreshed shortly before six o’clock. After a light dinner which she ate alone at the vast dining table, she had the upstairs maid, whose name was Marta, prepare her bath, and help her dress.

Deciding what to wear was easy. Alec had always fancied her in lavender.

The dress she chose was beautiful. Isabella had purchased it in the Rue de la Paix before she left Paris. Of a silk so fine that it shimmered in the light, it was simply cut to make the most of her slender figure, with a straight skirt and tiny bodice caught up beneath her breasts by a ribbon of deep purple satin. Her hair was brushed until it shone and piled high atop her head, where it was tied up with purple ribbons that exactly matched the ribbon on the dress. Her fringe served the dual purpose of hiding the scar on her forehead, and at the same time bringing out the size and shape of her eyes.

Around her neck she wore the amethyst necklace Alec had left with her. The matching earbobs dangled from her ears.

“If I may so say, you look a real beauty, my lady,” Marta said shyly. Isabella thanked her with a smile as she draped a cobwebby shawl about her shoulders. Then, her toilette complete, Isabella left the room and went down the stairs, where the imposing carriage with the St. Just crest—hers now—awaited.

If the coachman—York, he said his name was—was appalled at the address she gave him, why, he worked for her and her alone, and did as he was bid. Being a widow had much to commend it, Isabella decided, although she hoped she would not enjoy the state for very much longer. Smiling at that thought, she settled back in her seat.

It was not long before the coach pulled up before the deceptively respectable façade of the Golden Carousel. If Alec was not within, Pearl would know where to find him, although Isabella was uncertain of the kind of reception she could expect from Pearl.

“Shall I wait, my lady?” York asked, looking nervously around at the darkened, deserted street as he helped her to alight. It was just past dusk, and a lamplighter was touching his taper to the torch at the corner.

“Yes, please,” Isabella said, and then walked up to knock on the heavy oak door.

In response to her second summons, the small panel through which visitors were viewed before being admitted slid back.

Isabella smiled serenely at the pale blue eye that blinked at her.

“Pray let me in, Sharp; I’ve business with Miss Pearl,” she directed, and with a sound like a gasp, the butler closed the spy-hole and opened the door.

“Miss—miss, ma’am, uh …” Sharp stuttered unhappily as Isabella walked in and looked about. From the appearance of things, the evening’s guests had not yet started to arrive. Footmen moved about straightening table covers and lighting candles, and packs of cards lay uncut and ready on the tables inside the parlors.

“Is something the matter, Sharp?” Isabella asked, as the butler looked desperately over his shoulder toward the left front parlor. Sharp was spared having to reply by the rustling of skirts behind Isabella. His expression became one of obvious relief, and Isabella turned to behold Pearl.

For a moment the two women stared at each other without speaking. Pearl was as breathtaking as Isabella remembered, dressed for an evening’s work in a gown of scarlet satin trimmed with black lace. As usual, more of her magnificent bosom was on display than was covered, and the front of her skirt was slit to the knees to reveal a filmy black petticoat.

Isabella was obliged to concede defeat. She could never compete with Pearl’s spectacular beauty. But she could compete with her for Alec.

“Hello, Pearl,” Isabella said quietly, breaking the silence.

Pearl’s lower lip quivered, and then she rushed forward, to catch Isabella by the upper arms and press her cheek to Isabella’s in a hug designed to spare both maquillage and gown, but that was no less sincere for all that.

“Oh, angel, will you ever forgive me?” Pearl said, stepping back. Isabella saw to her amazement that there were real tears in Pearl’s midnight blue eyes. “I was out of my mind jealous, to do what I did. I never meant you to get ’urt, never. Paddy and Alec, they tore a rare strip off me for that. But I’d be sorry, even if they ’adn’t. I truly would.”

Such disarming candor made it hard for Isabella to hold a grudge. Indeed, unless Pearl had succeeded in appropriating Alec during the last two months, Isabella bore her no ill will at all.

“Of course I forgive you,” she said readily. Then, a small smile breaking forth, “That is, unless you tell me that you have Alec cozily tucked up in your suite.”

Pearl grinned, relieved. “Paddy’d ’ave a thing or two to say about that, I guess! No, as beautiful as Alec is, I’ve ’ad to give ’im up. ’E ’asn’t been worth much since ’e met you, anyway, so I don’t regret it.”

“You’d better not,” a voice growled from the doorway to her left, and Isabella looked around to see Paddy, his huge form incongruously clad in elegant evening finery. Sharp let out an audible sigh of relief upon seeing him, and returned to his duties beside the door. Isabella smiled at Paddy, genuinely glad to see him. He’d been a true friend to Alec, and any friend of Alec’s was a friend of hers.

“It’s about time you came to put Alec out of his misery. He swore it was over between you two, but I didn’t believe it for a minute. You don’t look the fickle kind to me. Not like my wench, here.” Paddy gave Pearl a lopsided grin as he slid a proprietary arm around her waist. She pinched his wrist in retaliation for his teasing, but then rested contentedly against his side. Looking at the pair of them, Isabella realized that she didn’t have to compete with Pearl anymore.

“Is he here?” Her mouth went dry as she asked the question. It was foolish, she knew, but she got butterflies in her stomach at the idea that Alec might be no farther than the next room.

Paddy frowned suddenly, and shot a quick look down at Pearl. She twinkled saucily up at him. The look Paddy gave her was admonishing.

“He is. Pearl, why don’t you take her along to your rooms, and I’ll bring him down to her?”

“You think ’e can still walk?” Pearl asked, grinning. Then she poked Paddy in the ribs with her elbow. “Go on, let ’er go up. Alec needs to be shaken up a little, and she’ll sure do that.” Pearl looked at Isabella again. “ ’E’s been a regular bear since ’e came back from France. If you can sweeten his disposition, ’alf of London’ll fall on your neck.”

“I’ll try,” Isabella said, smiling in turn. Pearl, for all the havoc she had caused, had a charm that was irresistible. “Where is he?”

“I’ll take you up. Come on, angel.” Pearl turned in the direction of the stairs.

“But, sweetheart, don’t you think—” Paddy protested, sounding worried.

“Oh, pooh! Go on about your business, you great oaf, and leave matters of the ’eart to us what knows about them! Go on now, shoo!”

Paddy, still looking unhappy, shrugged and took himself off into the parlor from which he had emerged.

“What was that all about?” Isabella asked as she followed Pearl up the stairs and along the second-floor corridor.

“Oh, Alec’s been trying to drown ’is sorrows as men do. He’s drownin’ ’em right now, as a matter of fact, and Paddy likely thought you’d take a pet if you found out. But I think you’re made of stronger stuff than that, angel. You give that man a good strong clout on the ear, and tell ’im to behave ’imself in future. ’E’ll do it, for you. I’ve known Alec a long time, and I’ve never seen ’im in such a case over anything as he’s been over you.”

Pearl stopped walking then, put a finger to her lips, and opened a door at the end of the corridor. Looking over her shoulder into a sumptuously furnished bedroom, Isabella was shocked to see two nearly naked females ministering to a totally naked man sprawled out in a bathtub before the fire. The man, whose back was to the door, had tawny hair, a fat cigar dangling from his mouth, and a bottle of brandy in one hand. As she watched, he pulled the cigar from his mouth with one hand and tilted up the bottle with the other, swilling down a large mouthful without so much as bothering with a glass. Alec! Isabella recognized that hair and those broad, bare shoulders with a sense of shock. Then the shock lessened, replaced by a bubbling of anger. She’d come all this way to lay her heart at his feet, only to find him disporting himself with a pair—not one, mind, but a
pair—
of Cyprians! Her fists clenched involuntarily at her sides as she absorbed the scene before her.

One scantily clad young woman was at that moment engaged in adding a bucket of hot water to what was already in the tub. The other scrubbed Alec’s back. Both looked up as the door opened, although Alec, taking another swig from the bottle, remained oblivious. Pearl silenced the surprised girls with a gesture, then beckoned them from the room. As they spared speculative looks for Isabella, Pearl pushed her into the room in their place.

“Don’t be too ’ard on ’im, angel. ’E’s been breaking ’is ’eart for you, truly ’e ’as,” she whispered, then left, closing the door behind her.

LXIV

“D
ahlia, sweetheart, where’d you go? My back still needs washing.”

Clearly unaware that the adoring handmaiden he addressed was no longer present, Alec plopped the cigar back in his mouth and flexed his wide shoulders in anticipation. Standing behind him, Isabella eyed that tawny head, and debated whether or not to make her presence known. But she felt suddenly, ridiculously shy. Perhaps it would be better to let him discover her presence for himself. So she walked up to the porcelain tub, picked up the sponge Dahlia had abandoned, and began to run it over his back without a word.

“Ummm, that’s nice. Can you get a little lower?” Without waiting for a reply, he leaned forward so that she could scrub the small of his back. Isabella eyed that broad, bare back with an expression that was halfway between amusement and anger. He could consider himself lucky if she didn’t squeeze the sponge out over his head, the wretch!

“That’s good. Ah, you smell nice, sweetheart.” His back apparently scrubbed to his satisfaction, Alec leaned back again, his neck lolling on the lip of the tub, his head tilted up. His eyes were closed, and a wreath of smoke from the cigar encircled his head. Even sprawled naked in a bathtub, puffing on a filthy weed, he was still the hand-sorriest man Isabella had ever seen in her life. Just looking at him made her heart contract.

Still she said nothing, obediently sloshing the sponge over his shoulders and the wide, hair-roughened upper reaches of his chest as she waited for him to open his eyes and discover her.

“A little lower here, too,” he murmured sensually, and reaching for the hand that held the sponge, guided it down beneath the level of the water to where the male part of him waited, already semierect.

“You libertine!” Isabella gasped, dropping the soaking sponge full in his face.

“Christ! Isabella!” Swatting the sponge from his face, blinking furiously to rid his eyes of the soapy water, Alec sat bolt upright. Although his vision was somewhat blurry, he discovered to his amazement that his ears hadn’t deceived him. Isabella stood before him, cheeks and eyes blazing with temper, fists on hips and arms akimbo as she greeted him with the fiercest scowl he’d beheld in months. He stared at her, dazzled. With that frown, she was certainly no mirage.

“Isabella! My God, how did you get in here?” He looked quickly around, saw that they were alone, and began to smile. She was the most wondrous sight he had ever beheld in his life, scowl and all. He got to his feet, not caring about the huge wave that sloshed onto the floor, and stepped out of the tub. The bottle of brandy was dropped, forgotten, to add what remained of its contents to the mess on the floor. The cigar he pulled from his mouth as he approached her.