What Isabella Desires (11 page)

“He’s obviously devising a plan to ruin you,” Blakely said while handling an ancient dagger.

“Well, he will regret it soon, mark my words.” Ainsworth hissed. “Yes, you mark my words.”

Ainsworth looked up and his eyes narrowed as he recognized Isabella. “Good day, Lady Willoughby.”

She nodded. “Lord Ainsworth. Lord Blakely.”

Obviously Ainsworth wasn’t happy with Marcus at the moment and was probably annoyed that she had overheard their exchange. She wondered if Marcus would explain the man’s ire.

Sometimes he discussed House politics, and sometimes his lips were tighter than a clam’s. Curious, though, that the two men would openly discuss Marcus in a public place, although to be fair, the shop had appeared unattended.

And people thought women gossiped.

Isabella squinted as she left the shop. The day was unaccountably bright and warm. She had one more stop to make. Ringing bells drew her to the present. She banished thoughts of Marcus wreaking vengeance and looked across the street hoping to see Bertie, who had bypassed the antiques shop and gone onward to the next stop.

She spotted her maid a block ahead peering at the milliner’s window. Isabella needed to catch up to her before Bertie became too firmly attached to some dreadful bonnet sporting an overabundance of fruits and nuts.

She was about to step into the street when the bells jingled louder and raised voices shouted out a warning.

She turned toward the noise, horrified to see a carriage weaving wildly down the street, barreling toward her. Her heart jumped into her throat and she jerked back, the vehicle passing within mere inches of her—the whoosh of the reins and the heaving breaths of the horses close enough to feel. Shock held her immobile as she tried to restart her stilled heart.

“Are you well, Lady Willoughby?” Blakely asked breathlessly as he put a hand on her arm, concern showing in his eyes. She looked at Ainsworth, who was staring after the vehicle, his lips tight. People in the street were shouting after the mad carriage, which had been traveling much faster than allowed. It had clipped two men farther down the street, and people were rushing to help.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Blakely patted her arm and looked down the street, anger blazing in his eyes. “I heard the hooves and shouts. What the devil was that driver thinking? Pardon my language, Lady Willoughby.”

“No, no, you are quite right.” She was relieved to see the two injured men down the street stand with the aid of bystanders. “I was thinking something along similar lines.”

Ainsworth humphed and leaned grouchily on his walking stick.

“Would you like one of us to see you home? You’ve had a dreadful fright,” Blakely said.

She smiled weakly, still a little shaken. “No, but thank you. My maid will see me home after we finish.”

“Do you shop here often?” He pointed back to the antiques shop.

She gave a wry smile. “Trying to figure out if André will give you a good deal?”

Blakely looked chagrined for a moment. “I wish to buy my betrothed a gift. I was hoping there would be something of interest you might recommend.”

“You are betrothed to Lady Margaret Banner, yes?”

He smiled and it lit his blue eyes. “I am indeed.” A mischievous look entered. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything that would suit her, would you?”

Isabella had rarely spoken to Blakely. She knew very little about the man. Marcus disliked him intensely and there had never been much reason for their paths to cross at parties. She’d heard whispers the betrothal was on shaky grounds. It was rumored that secrets had been exposed that had Lady Margaret’s father questioning the future marriage.

Yet, Blakely’s eyes glowed warmly when speaking of her. It would be a shame if ugly rumors, provided they were unfounded, got in the way.

“Actually,” she tapped her lower lip, “there is an exquisite peacock brooch that I think she would love. She looks so wonderful in blue. André has it in the back room. Mention that we spoke of it.”

Blakely bowed low and smiled. “A thousand thanks, my lady.”

“My pleasure.”

“Stay away from rogue carriages,” he said, and grinned wryly. “Perhaps we will see you at the Donningtons’?”

She nodded. “Have a good day, Lord Blakely. Lord Ainsworth.”

Ainsworth bowed, but he was obviously preoccupied.

The men reentered the shop, and Isabella tried to shake off the lingering effects of the scare. She could see Bertie hurrying toward her through a break in traffic, which had backed up after the chaos had occurred. She smiled crookedly at her maid, relieved that she was near a friendly face.

“My lady, are you well?” Bertie fussed over her as they crossed the street, Isabella looking both ways continuously.

“I’m well, Bertie. Just another mad driver racing through the city streets. Did you notice if the men farther down were harmed?”

“They looked well. But when I saw you, my heart nearly stopped. That carriage almost hit you!” Bertie’s face darkened. Isabella had seen that look before and prepared herself for a tirade. “They need to start locking up the drivers who imbibe too much! Can’t hold their drink!”

Isabella let Bertie’s rage at the miscreants of the world wash over her and felt much better as her shaking slowed and her heart fell back into a regular beat. She needed to continue her weekly browsing. The shopkeepers on her Wednesday route always had items waiting for her perusal, and she needed to find something for her mother’s upcoming birthday.

The Donningtons’ party was a reserved affair, since many society matrons were in attendance. Marcus was relieved to see Isabella wearing a lovely, understated gown. Yet, despite the fact that the gown was not daring or flashy, all he could concentrate on were the flashes of skin his view afforded as she moved.

He recognized the gown as one she had previously worn, but his attention had never before been captured by the graceful lines of her neck, or the way the material brushed a hidden curve when she turned. She greeted someone and he was rewarded with a beautiful view of the long column of her neck. Smooth and milky.

He planned to kiss every inch.

Their affair would be much easier if they were away from London. Perhaps a trip to Bristol? He would like to take her to his seaside estate, but Deal was a full day’s ride, even with the team changes he had in place.

His eyes moved from Isabella to her companions. He stiffened. Perhaps he should ask her right now whether her plans for the evening included him. He rather thought that would gain her attention.

As he neared, he overheard their conversation.

“What a lovely brooch, Lady Margaret.”

Lady Margaret Banner blushed and glanced shyly at Blakely, who was by her side. “Thank you, Lady Willoughby. It was a gift from Lord Blakely. Isn’t it lovely?”

As soon as Lady Margaret’s beaming eyes returned to Isabella, Blakely winked. At Isabella. Who smiled back.

Marcus didn’t like that. He didn’t like that one bit.

“The blue matches your eyes. What good taste Lord Blakely has,” Isabella said.

Lady Margaret smiled. “Yes, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, Lord Roth,” Isabella said as he drew level with them, “We were just admiring Lady Margaret’s new brooch.”

He looked at the intricate peacock design crafted in blues. It was definitely something Isabella would like, though it wasn’t something she’d wear.

“Lovely.”

“Lord Blakely gifted her with it just this evening. Isn’t his taste exquisite?”

Blakely smiled. Marcus didn’t.

“Exquisite. I believe this is the dance you promised me.”

Isabella looked confused for a second, as she ought—they had talked about no such thing, but as he expected, she held out her hand and excused herself from the other couple.

As soon as they were moving on the floor, she said, “I didn’t promise you a dance.”

“Didn’t you?” He lowered his mouth to her ear. “I thought you promised me many, many dances. Of all varieties.”

He felt her shiver and contained his look of satisfaction.

She raised a brow. “Interesting that you say that. You haven’t felt the urge to dance previously this evening.”

“Why, Isabella. If I’d known you were quite so eager to dance, I would have accommodated you sooner.”

“Would you have?” She suddenly looked serious.

“Do you doubt your own charms?”

She looked away for a brief moment.

He tipped up her chin. “You do, don’t you?”

“What would you have me say?”

“Something a young blade or flirtatious debutante might. That you know your own appeal. That you know the way it affects me.”

She tilted her head, her long expanse of neck exposed. “But I know nothing of the kind.”

“Would I be in this position, saying these things?” His thumb moved along her palm, stroking the silk glove.

She drew in a shaky breath. “Perhaps. Perhaps if you thought it a game, a way to sate the adventures of poor, lonely Lady Willoughby. A way to string her along, but never quite follow through with it.”

Her eyes were serious, but he caught a fleeting glimpse of wistfulness in their depths. It was provoking.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you want to protect me, but you don’t actually desire me.”

She believed what she was saying. He nearly stopped dancing.

“I don’t?”

“No. I’ve seen you, you know. You are arrogant, selective, and fickle. You don’t smile genuinely at women you are interested in…in mating with.”

“I see.” Women really were bemusing creatures at the best of times. “And according to your logic, since I’ve given you a genuine smile, I therefore cannot be interested in mating with you?”

Spots of rose bloomed in her cheeks, but she boldly pressed forth. “Would you have let me go into my house alone last night if you desired me?”

Last night he had gone from the ecstasy of having her wild and willing in the hallway, to being shaken to the core when she had thrust herself into his arms, stuttering about men chasing her. Last night, after he had deposited her safely at home, he had taken care of Fletcher’s body, visited the docks, and arranged a few less than desirable things. He pushed the thoughts away.

He stroked her silken palm again and pulled her into a turn. “I seem to recall a rather heated moment in my hallway last night that lays waste to your claim that I don’t desire you.”

Her blush deepened and her lower lip slipped between her teeth.

“And the last I checked, your neighbors took stock of the comings and goings in all the houses around,” he said, deliberately pulling her against him as they moved.

“If you desired me so, would you have let me leave your house, then?” He was pleased to note that her voice had gone a little breathy, in the way he was discovering he craved. Dangerous thoughts.

“And had you shamefully enter your house the next morning?”

“Would you have made me leave in the morning? Why not keep me till noon or beyond?” Her eyes searched his.

“And return in the same dress?”

“Surely you have a wardrobe of dresses stashed for your other women,” she said matter-of-factly.

He raised a brow. “Who said anything about other women staying in my home? Have you ever heard such a thing?”

She said nothing. She couldn’t, because he never had. It was rumored fact that he never invited a woman home. He always took them elsewhere.

She picked up the previous threads of the conversation. “Would you have made this the fourth time in a week, the third night running, that you tempted me and then backed away? Promises, but no delights.”

“No delights? I truly have been neglectful.”

He slipped a finger beneath her glove and stroked the smooth skin there. Her eyes grew wide.

On the next turn he pulled her closer, her breasts brushing against his jacket, their lower bodies pressed together for half a second—just enough to stroke across.

Her sudden intake of air pleased him. On the next turn he repeated the motion.

Her hand gripped his shoulder tightly. Rose bloomed in her cheeks once more.

It wasn’t just that he wanted her. He wanted to be the only thing she thought of for hours afterward. The only thought as he moved inside her. The only word on her lips as her head thrust back against her pillow and Marcus, Marcus, Marcus issued from her lips in a strangled, passion-filled litany.

“The neighbors aren’t moving. And the dresses won’t appear.” She bit her lip. He wanted to reach down and replace her teeth with his own. “How do normal patrons conduct affairs?”

If he weren’t staring at her lips, his body already responding, he might have raised a brow and faked a haughty stare. But all he could think of was Isabella lying on her back, legs wrapped around him, head thrown back, and…