Читать книгу To Love A Wicked Scoundrel - Anabelle Bryant - Страница 11

Chapter Four

‘Good heavens, it is crowded in here.’ Isabelle’s eyes scanned the room with reluctant enthusiasm, her barely contained excitement at war with her natural pragmatism. ‘Hasn’t anyone given a thought to safety? Lady Rochester has invited far too many people to this event. I can scarcely move in the crush.’

Beside her, Meredith smiled at a passing guest. ‘Crowded and wonderful. I am thankful Lady Newby kept her word and secured this invitation. The Rochester Ball is the most prestigious event of the season.’ She placed her hand on Isabelle’s arm and squeezed. ‘Oh this is a terrible crush and utterly exciting.’

Isabelle looked at her stepmother with mild confusion. During the entire carriage ride she’d endured Meredith’s incessant chatter explaining her strategy for attracting the attention of Lord Highborough. She failed to comprehend how any female could become so infatuated by reading of a man’s exploits having never set eyes on the individual. Wouldn’t one need to know him on a personal level before falling helplessly in love?

‘Won’t this ridiculous crowd hamper your search for the wicked earl?’ She inflected just enough drama into the final three words to express her opinion of Meredith’s goal for the evening. She just couldn’t help herself. The idea of hunting down the man and stalking him until he noticed her seemed immature and absurd.

Granted, Lord Highborough was likely very handsome. The few gossip papers she’d suffered through on Meredith’s insistence described him as dashing and well built, and favoured by every member of the ton, including distinguished gentlemen and aged dowagers. Such a unilateral collection of admirable traits struck her as uncommonly rare. Rather like a unicorn or a four-leaf clover. Surely Lord Perfection possessed some kind of flaw. Yet every article craftily depicted his clandestine indiscretions as romantic, his excessive indulgence as grandiose.

‘Well, I wish you luck in your conquest. I believe if we become separated we will never find each other until the dinner bell rings. There are far too many people crammed into this ballroom. I sincerely hope no one overturns a candle.’ Isabelle ended her complaint with a little squeak and moved her slipper before a nearby gentleman trod upon her toe.

‘I agree, isn’t it wonderful?’ Meredith scrutinised each passing guest in search of her quarry.

Isabelle was happy to leave her to the task as she had no intention of crossing the wicked earl’s path. And if ever she had the notion, which she absolutely did not, how would she even approach him? It sounded as though the man was forever surrounded by dozens of twittering females and raucous upstarts. Perhaps the obsequious mob was needed to support his exaggerated reputation.

The musicians took up their instruments and as she stood on the cusp of the marble floor, dance card on her wrist and champagne glass in hand, Isabelle could almost hear Meredith’s rehearsed plan of strategy and see her stepmother’s diligent gaze darting around the room. Any stranger would assume the lady had something in her eye or was bothered by the huge candle filled chandeliers that bathed the dance floor in soft golden hues. Isabelle rolled her eyes and caught a glance of the elaborate crystal lighting overhead. The shimmering display gave her pause.

The ballroom did look uncommonly beautiful if she allowed herself to appreciate it. Every colour of the rainbow was represented by the beau monde’s extravagant mode of dress. Ample arrangements of flowers graced each available surface not covered with syllabub, sweets and savouries. Much to her delight, Isabelle had noticed a rare bouquet of tulips on the entryway chiffonier as they had whisked though the doorway earlier. Servants bustled about and elegant laughter wafted over the delicate strains of the orchestra. The evening did feel a little enchanted. She took a small sip of champagne and rationalised how it proved impractical to be ensconced in the ballroom and not take full advantage of the situation. Isabelle prided herself on resourcefulness.

With a bemused smile, she relaxed in her new satin slippers. How she had fussed and complained throughout the entire shopping trip to Bond Street, protesting she had no time for foolish vanity. But now she could not be happier she had heeded Meredith’s advice. Dressed in a deep glittering shade of green, she complemented the lovely ladies surrounding her. An unfamiliar, but welcomed feeling washed over her.

***

Constantine Highborough, Earl of Colehill, was not currently ensconced in conversation with a bevy of fluttering females, nor otherwise occupied with a Johnny raw anxious to copy his style or listen to tales of his exploits. Instead, he’d retreated to the study with his closest friends to enjoy an aged brandy courtesy of Lord Rochester’s liquor cabinet. Beside him, Devlin Ravensdale, Duke of Wharncliffe, and Phineas Betcham, Viscount Fenhurst, discussed the purchase of a new barouche. The three of them enjoyed a solid friendship although Devlin rarely mixed with society. Phineas, the tallest and most reserved, balanced family obligations with social responsibilities. He presented himself as a fine gentleman and was considered a prime husband candidate by those who compiled such lists. A stark contrast to Devlin, a dark, reclusive man who lived in secret and shadow. Yet no matter their differences, the men had formed a strong bond, one for which Constantine was grateful.

For the umpteenth time his thoughts returned to the runaway hack and the loss of his artwork. He did not fear discovery as no one in their right mind could decipher the scrawled signature in the lower corner of each work as his name. But the paintings were a part of him, an expression put upon canvas, and he wanted them returned. The hackney yard had record of Brooks ordering a hired vehicle, yet two had shown instead of one, the second carriage arriving nearly twenty minutes later than the first, the driver flustered and apologetic. The entire situation vexed Con immensely.

Taking a long sip of brandy, he glanced to where his friends played at the bagatelle board. The clicking noise of the ivory balls as they struck the pins distracted him from his dark thoughts and he snatched up the cue stick as soon as it was thrust in his direction.

‘How is it that you never tire of these evenings? Were you to take count, how many events of the ton have you attended over the years?’ Devlin asked the question, although his tone implied he did not expect a serious answer.

‘Do you regret your abrupt absence from the social scene, or do you merely prod me towards wedded bliss to help me avoid the monotony of these evenings?’ Constantine paused and realigned his stick. ‘It is not all as it appears. While I attend these functions out of obligation, there is little to spark my interest. I suppose the ton and I share an unhealthy dependency. Lately, more than anything else, these gatherings feel an exercise in tedium.’ He completed a difficult shot and grinned with confidence. ‘Although last week Lord Croft accidently dropped his quizzing glass down the bodice of Lady Hemphrey’s dress. I might not have known anything had happened as I was seeking fresh air on the terrace, but Lady Hemphrey cornered me and made me aware of the mishap. She proceeded to suggest I be the one to retrieve the monocle. I narrowly escaped. She is much stronger than I presumed a sixty-year-old woman to be.’

‘Better that than to be pursued by a matchmaking mama at her daughter’s first come out.’ Phineas missed his shot, but appeared no worse for it.

‘Con? With an innocent?’ Devlin stifled a laugh. ‘I cannot imagine such a thing. Too much potential for disaster there: angry fathers; duel-threatening brothers. Our friend is all about pleasure easily found.’ He aligned his cue and took the next shot.

‘Indeed, you have a point.’

The three men shared a chuckle and the evening continued in a jovial manner. When they had completed two rounds of bagatelle and knew they could no longer remain preoccupied in the study, the men walked to the main ballroom and out among the crush. Too many couples occupied the dance floor now the event was in full swing. As Con contemplated escape, he eyed the double doors leading to the foyer and stalled. His entire body pulsed with awareness.

‘Who is she?’

Bloody hell, she was a goddess.

He waved his gloved hand towards the doorway and his friends turned in the direction indicated, although Con was hardly aware of anyone talking beside him.

‘Haven’t the foggiest?’ Phineas spared a fleeting glance.

‘I have never seen her before. Leave it to you to find the newcomer in the crowd. There are easily three hundred people crammed in this ballroom. Your attention to detail is a gift.’ Devlin excused himself and Phineas remained, his expression dark as he considered the dense crowd.

A footman walked by and Constantine paused him with a touch to his shoulder. ‘Do me a favour, good man, and inquire as to the name of the lady near the arched doorway. I will await your return. If she will allow it, inform her Lord Highborough requests the last waltz of the evening.’

The footman scurried away without hesitation and Phineas whirled in his direction, his brows raised and eyes wide.

‘I have just witnessed a miracle. No one will believe me when I retell the story.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘The profligate Earl of Colehill enlisted the assistance of a footman to secure the midnight waltz.’

‘And it was good of me to do so,’ Con rebutted in defence. ‘The crowd is so thick I have already lost sight of the lady. I can only hope she has an opening on her card.’

‘Indeed, this is something new altogether.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Con refused to shift his focus, although he could no longer locate the breathtaking beauty under the arch.

‘Nothing. The footman is a very useful device when considering how dangerous it is for you to move about society with all the ladies falling at your feet.’ Phineas smiled, seemingly pleased with himself.

Con speared him with a cautionary stare.

His friend continued. ‘Take heart, the evening is already half spent. In no time I suspect you will find the lady in your arms and later in your bed.’

His friends were well aware of his habits. There seemed little sense in denying what he hoped would come to pass. He dismissed the comment with a curt nod and continued to scan the dense crowd.

***

With reluctance, Isabelle conceded Meredith had played her part to perfection and accomplished exactly what she sought before they journeyed to London. Her stepmother struggled to contain her excitement at being asked to dance the last waltz of the evening with Lord Highborough. From what Isabelle could understand, having listened to the story several times in succession, Lord Highborough saw Meredith across the room and sent a footman to her directly. Isabelle had the sneaking suspicion that the earl’s refusal to adhere to convention as closely as etiquette dictated heightened his appeal with the ton. Having yet to lay eyes on the purported capturer of hearts, she reserved a cynical view of how all the discussion of his rakish appeal could possibly be warranted.

She recalled an episode in Wiltshire when a cow broke loose on the county road. By the time the story reached Rossmore House it sounded as if a horrible, deranged monster roamed the streets and every civilised person needed to lock themselves up until the beast could be destroyed. Isabelle suspected Lord Highborough’s exploits had endured years of embellished and bloated acclaim akin to the lost cow episode. She doubted he was a rake or a rogue or any other label the ton attached to his name.

She smiled with chagrin and glanced at her card. She had no partner for the upcoming country dance which was the last number before the much anticipated Lord Highborough waltz, so she strolled into the foyer where earlier she had spotted the lovely tulip arrangement. The ballroom was adorned in roses and violets, easily enjoyed in her home garden. The bouquet of tulips could only have been imported from Holland so she could never deny herself the rare treat of their fragrance.

The bouquet proved to be everything she’d anticipated and curious if other rare flora begged to be discovered, she meandered down a nearby hallway and away from the bustling front foyer, delighting in each elegant arrangement found along the way. As she reached the end of a long corridor, she glanced around in doubt, unable to discern where she’d managed to bring herself within the large home. Straining to detect the orchestra, she heard instead the hushed whispers of two approaching party guests and, swamped with panic, opened the first door on her left. She swept inside and sagged against the closed panel with a sigh of relief.

Isabelle quickly reclaimed her wits and noted she stood in a library. No sooner did she walk further into the room to admire the elaborate pattern of leaves and vines woven into the plush carpet, than she heard the knob turn and the door sweep open.

***

Constantine closed the library doors with force, but the action did not assuage his emotion. He possessed a temperamental temper, if such a quality existed. Any number of things could happen and he held not a care of the mishap or the effort it took to right the matter. Not even the troubling situation of his missing paintings ignited his anger in as much as it challenged him to find a solution. But tonight, his smooth plan to insure he danced with the lovely stranger he’d seen standing under the archway, proved the disaster to spark his temper. The footman delivered his message to the wrong person. He discovered the error too late to rectify the situation and there was little help for it, as the lady accepted his invitation with unabashed enthusiasm.

Lady Newby initiated introductions and while making the acquaintance of Lady Meredith Rossmore proved pleasant, by no means would he consider spending time with the overtly friendly widow. Her thinly veiled attempts at flirtation bespoke of the exact reason he preferred the study to the ballroom. To make matters worse, he’d kept an astute eye on the room for little over an hour and the magnificent beauty he sought was nowhere to be found. With every intention of enjoying another glass of Lord Rochester’s superior brandy, he planned to extend his apologies to the host and leave before dinner was served.

He made long strides to the sideboard, a curse on his lips, and dropped his gloves on a nearby chair. So enmeshed was he in his frustration, he might never have noticed he was not alone, but a sudden intake of breath and the delicate scent of perfume assailed him and heightened his awareness. He replaced the brandy decanter and turned in the direction of the fireplace, unable to stop the slow, satisfied smile that curled his mouth. His temper dissipated completely and another more urgent emotion jolted to life.

Before him, looking just a little surprised, stood the enchanting goddess he had noticed in the ballroom earlier. The unmistakable beauty with whom he intended to dance. When he tried to match eyes with her across the dance floor, she glanced over her shoulder, as if she believed he viewed someone else. The unexpected action struck him as so utterly charming it fueled his curiosity as to her identity further, but then the unforgiving crowd interrupted and prevented him from finding her.

Now she stood half a room’s length away, a shimmering vision in soft green silk and delicate lace. Her hair, captured in a neat chignon, left a few wayward tendrils to dangle enticingly near her ear and neck. Candlelight caught in each delicate curl and reflected the colours of sunsets, rose petals, and passion. Vibrantly intrigued, he resisted the urge to reach forward and undo the lacy netting containing the fiery tresses. How long did her hair flow and what other shades of red would he find in the silky waves were he to act on impulse?

He continued his assessment with a nonchalant sweep of the eyes.

Her dress fit exquisitely, sheathing her in silky elegance without the flounces and ruffles so many women affected to enhance their figure. This gown hugged in all the right places, and he anxiously considered the women beneath the layers, underneath the lace and silk, the tapes and ribbons. She released a hitch of breath and he became distracted by the sheer chemisette covering her lush bodice. Her face was perfection. He could imagine how lovely the rest of her body would be.

‘What are you doing here? Have I interrupted a theft in Lord Rochester’s study?’ He had no doubt the beguiling beauty standing before him stole hearts as a preoccupation. ‘Or are you here awaiting a prearranged lover’s tryst?’ That too, posed a definite possibility.

She startled for less than a heartbeat before she smoothly replied, ‘Nothing as interesting or exciting as you suggest, I assure you.’ Then after a short pause she continued. ‘Of course, I could ask you the very same question.’

Caught off-guard by her belated challenge, Con smiled and strode further into the room. Her voice, melodic with a warm pitch, affected him in an almost sensual way and he had no way to explain the uncommon reaction. He stepped closer still, determined to ascertain the colour of her eyes. ‘I am after a late-night brandy.’ At least that was his original plan. He met her gaze, as silky as a lover’s caress.

She let out a little sound that indicated she thought his answer complete rubbish. ‘You might have requested one from a passing footman in the ballroom.’

He scoffed at her suggestion. If the servants proved as unreliable as earlier, he’d have been left unsatisfied once again. Clearly, the fates intended otherwise. ‘I meant to waltz with you this evening.’

The lady pursed her lips as if she contemplated how to respond. Then vivid eyes matched his, twinkling with a touch of restrained amusement and viewing him as if he might be dimwitted.

‘Then you needed to write your name on a line.’ She raised her delicate wrist and the dance card stilled against her ivory skin.

‘I know.’ He grinned, acknowledging the foolishness of his response. Her inquisitive gaze met his and held. Then one narrow brow arched as if she awaited the rest of his explanation. ‘Things did not work out how I wanted them to.’

Her lips dared a brief smile. ‘I take it you are accustomed to getting everything you want.’

‘Yes.’ He chuckled. Females usually vied for his attention and simpered in his company. The feisty verbal quips of the lovely stranger before him awakened an immediate temptation to discover more. ‘Would you have accepted had I asked?’

‘Absolutely not,’ she replied without hesitation.

‘Then I suppose there is no cause for me to request a servant reset the clock to midnight.’ He mused under his breath.

He surmised she wished to soften her answer because she smiled slightly and made a quick rejoinder. ‘A charming idea, one that likely brings about your desired result, although I could not accept because we have not had a proper introduction.’

Con needed no other invitation. Taking a long stride forward, he watched with chagrin as the lady took a quick step back. She appeared no debutante or young miss at her first come out, and her immediate retreat sparked his growing interest.

‘Come a little closer.’ He extended his hand towards her. ‘I do not bite.’ His voice dropped to a low tone as he continued. ‘At least not here in Lord Rochester’s study.’

Her eyes flared and he held back a smile. She was lovely and intriguing. Very intriguing. Her chin notched higher and she boldly did step forward although her hands fluttered at her sides and belied her show of bravado.

‘I have not seen you at any assembly of the ton.’ Her eyes were grey, a beautiful shade, stormy and secretive, and right now reflecting hints of gold from the nearby candle flames.

‘We are newly arrived to the city, a few days past.’ Her answer, a throaty whisper, revealed she wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to answer him at all.

He captured one glossy curl between his thumb and forefinger and released it slowly, allowing the silky strands to slide across his fingertips. ‘Your hair is magnificent.’

Her ivory skin warmed with a charming tinge of embarrassment and she looked very fetching in the throes of her unease. As ludicrous as it seemed, she appeared unaccustomed to compliments. Still, such a serene loveliness embodied her it was unlikely she did not draw great attention.

‘Perhaps we should share our dance right now?’ He voiced the words before he considered them.

‘Absolutely not.’

As before, her succinct reply urged him to smile. ‘Do you always deal in absolutes?’ He watched her rosebud mouth open and close as if about to answer with the same retort and then realise the error of her ways. If an absolute existed, it was more so that this temptress was absolutely enchanting.

***

Isabelle knew without a doubt she stood face to face with the legendary Lord Highborough, as no other man imaginable could carry himself with such smooth confidence and exacting control. And she had fallen under his spell as quickly as her breath caught when he entered the room and offered her his devastating smile. Foolish, foolish notion, to be so taken by a man’s appearance. Still, no matter how she berated herself, her heart beat triple time whenever he glanced in her direction.

Rakes were supposed to be dark, brooding men with raven locks and a cutting profile to match their wicked reputation. The man before her appeared more the fallen angel. His thick, barely brown hair laced through with golden threads and fell well past his collar to lend him an easy, affable charm. His crystal blue eyes invited her to become entranced and likely not realise a seduction was in play. And his words, dangerously clever and filled with tempting innuendo, caused her mind to race with the same rapid tempo as her pulse.

He reached forward and brushed his fingertips against the side of her jaw with the lightest caress. The pad of his thumb grazed the corner of her mouth and all sensible thought evaporated rendering her unable to object to his boldness. Instead she stood as beguiled as any fool she had previously mocked in the gossip pages.

He tipped her chin up so their eyes matched and his gaze, soft as cashmere, held her spellbound. In a last desperate effort, she blinked hard and attempted to recover her composure.

‘I should not be in here with you.’ She stepped backward and caused him to drop his hand. ‘I should not be in here at all.’

‘So you are a rule follower? I thought when I found you here and not in the ballroom you had escaped for the same reason as I.’

The seductive tremor in his voice whispered over her skin and she looked at him directly, catching the silver blue light that sparkled in his eyes. He did not expound on the comment and she remained too determined to extricate herself from the present predicament to give it further consideration. Forcing a cleansing breath, she tried not to look at his mouth. Doing so caused a strange quivering of sorts in all her nether regions.

‘You say that as if following rules is a terrible thing. Order is necessary in life.’ Yes, discussing a practical topic ought to do the trick in leading her thoughts far away from his tempting lips, never mind the experience of his kiss. Isabelle focused on her new mission. ‘Not everyone can live a scandalous lifestyle and be admired while doing so.’

Isabelle expected him to remark on her impertinence. Instead his eyes glittered with a hint of humour and his lips twisted in a half smile. She might not have noticed, except she had yet to convince herself to look away from his mouth.

‘What is your name? I cannot wait any longer.’

He leaned forward, just a little bit closer, and Isabelle smelled his shaving soap and some other unidentifiable scent. An undercurrent of virility radiated from him, nevertheless she experienced no fear. How odd. Her prudent, mannerly lifestyle always followed the safest path and this fair-haired devil presented danger in every form. That in itself proved perplexing. Then an unfamiliar yearning curled within her and caused her thoughts to tumble one over the other.

‘Isabelle.’ While she knew it went against all propriety to offer him her Christian name, he’d just danced with her stepmother and would recognise their shared surname. How had the evening become so complicated? She had no experience of the game Lord Highborough played and she’d rather keep it that way. Her heart thrummed a chaotic beat and it was a wonder she managed to remain upright. Each time he looked at her with his smile full of sin, her knees grew weaker still.

‘Isabelle.’ He said her name as if he savoured it and she shivered from the effect. ‘It suits you, although you know you just broke another rule.’

He smiled again and Isabelle had a keen awareness of the moment. He stood before her and watched her as if he could peer straight into her soul. Against all reprimand, her traitorous body grew wondrously warm under his scrutiny.

‘So tell me, beautiful Isabelle, why is it as such an ambivalent rule follower, I find you far removed from the ballroom and enticing me with your first name, as beguiling as it may be?’

She couldn’t very well tell him she wanted to smell the tulips, yet the more she forced herself to focus, the more she couldn’t hold a thought. Good heavens, the man proved distracting. She scrambled for a suitable reply.

‘I will keep your secret if you will keep mine. In that manner, neither one of us need reveal the true reason we escaped the crush.’ She took a small step and regained a shred of confidence with her ability to string words into an intelligent sentence. ‘I really must return. I am certain the dinner bell has rung.’ Maybe it would be that easy. He would step aside and allow her to pass. Surely Meredith searched for her.

But he did not move, not even a hair’s breadth. Instead his gaze slid down her length. Slowly.

‘And end our intriguing little interlude? We have yet to make our agreement official and seal it with a kiss?’

His improper suggestion was scandalous to say the least. How else could she explain her riot of emotions? Yet the fact he wooed every female with his fancy words and polished appearance afforded her the opportunity to find reason with expedience. She knew better than to take even one step onto such a dangerous path, no matter the temptation of kissing Constantine Highborough’s sensual mouth. Adventure, indeed.

Resorting to a feminine ploy far below her level of intelligence, Isabelle wriggled her wrist until her dance card fluttered to the floor at their feet. The embossed paper landed near his right boot. Then taking full advantage of the situation as he bent to retrieve the fallen card, she skirted around his prone form and out through the double doors. Isabelle thought she heard rich laughter, in tune to the thunderous beat of her heart, but she could not be sure.