Читать книгу Once A Rake - Rona Sharon - Страница 8

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships,

And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?

Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.

—Christopher Marlowe:

The Tragical History Of Doctor Faustus

Seven Dover Street, 7 years ago

“I wonder what’s for dinner.” Captain William Aubrey smacked his lips as they trotted into Dover Street. “I smell oxtail stew, pork and apple pie, and roast beef with Yorkshire pudding.”

“You didn’t notify them that we were coming for three days?” Ashby asked.

“Why spoil the surprise?” Will smiled. “Izzy will shriek and cry and it’ll be splendid fun.”

A smile tugged at Ashby’s lips. “She always reacts that way when you visit.”

Will eyed him sardonically. “When I visit?”

Ashby felt his face warm. “Stop that, Will. She mustn’t know that I know.”

Will burst out laughing. “The entire world knows my little sister has a tendre for you, Ash. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes and ears.”

“No, it isn’t, and her knowing that I know will only embarrass her.”

“The only one who seems embarrassed by this is you, Ashby.” Will chuckled. “I swear, with all these madwomen throwing themselves at you in every town and garrison, not to mention those here in London, my chit of a sister is the one who makes you blush. Bloody capital.”

It was true. Izzy Aubrey made him blush. Furiously. He supposed the reason for his absurd reaction to the little chit had something to do with her reasons for liking him. Women had always liked him. They liked his title, his money, some even his wicked reputation, and mostly how his body made them feel, but a fifteen-year-old chit? Now that was a mystery he was unable to solve.

“Speak of the little she-devil…” Will chuckled as they spotted Isabel sitting on a bench near the rose garden, a tiny black pup cuddled in her lap. “Isabel Jane Aubrey!” Will called out. “Come and kiss your bone-tired brother hello!”

“Will!” Izzy shrieked, bounding to her feet. Her gaze darted to Ashby and an adoring glow spread in her wide, sky blue irises. Ashby’s heart missed a beat, then it expanded to absorb the warmth she instilled in him. Vaguely he recalled feeling this way once, a long, long time ago.

“I rest my case,” Will mumbled. He swung off his horse and opened his arms in invitation. Izzy put the pup in its padded basket on the bench and flew into her brother’s arms.

Enjoying the scene, Ashby swung down and tossed his and Will’s reins to a waiting groom. “Don’t I get a kiss?” He smiled, meeting her eyes while she rested her cheek on Will’s chest.

Isabel extricated herself from her brother’s embrace and timidly approached him. Her color was high; her girlish smile melted his heart. “Captain Lord Ashby.” She bobbed. He bent his head, and she rose on tiptoe to softly kiss his cheek.

“Major now,” Will corrected.

“Congratulations! You’ve made it before Will did.” The glorious smile Isabel bestowed on him put Ashby in a daze. She didn’t mind; she applauded him. No one but his servants ever did, and they were paid to be respectful.

“Thank you.” Ashby nodded stiffly, his throat clogged.

“And he’ll probably make lieutenant colonel by the time he’s thirty,” Will remarked. “Do I smell Eccles cake?” He sniffed the air, tripping after his nose.

“You’ve smelled every meal from Cuidad Rodrigo to St. James’s Street.” Ashby smirked.

Izzy shook herself. “Will, wait. I need you to take a look at my new puppy. He won’t stand on his left foreleg, but I couldn’t find anything wrong with it.”

“What do I know of pups? Ask the expert.” He waved his arm at Ashby. “Here’s your man with the special skills.” He went inside the house, announcing his presence to everyone else.

Izzy stared at Ashby. He ambled to the bench. “Let’s take a look at your pup, shall we?” They sat side by side. Izzy lifted the tiny black ball from its basket and put it in Ashby’s hands.

“I don’t know how he got here. He seems but a few days’ old. I wonder what happened to his mother and siblings. I couldn’t find them anywhere within a mile of Dover Street.”

The tiny thing filled the palm of his hand. Ashby caressed it, running his finger along the pup’s neck and making it gurgle with pleasure. “Left foreleg, you say? Let’s see.” He rolled the dog gently onto its back and examined the leg. “No scrapes. No bruises. No broken bones.” He tried to set the pup on its feet, but favoring its left foreleg, the pup tilted aside and fell. Ashby scooped it up tenderly. “Where did you say you found this black ball of fur?”

“He was ruining Mama’s roses,” Isabel replied. “She wanted to toss him in the street.”

“The rose garden…” Ashby smiled. He took the tiny leg and carefully examined its paw. “Uh-ha.” He plucked out a thin, almost invisible thorn and offered it to Isabel. “Here’s your problem.”

Isabel’s eyes shone. “You’re a great gun, Ashby…beg pardon, Major Lord Ashby.”

“Call me P…” His heart began thudding. “You may call me Ashby. Everyone else does.”

“Thank you,…Ashby.” As she pressed another chaste kiss on his cheek, the pup leapt from his lap, onto the drive, and hopped up the front steps. “Dear lord! Not in the house!” She dashed after the dog, burnished locks bouncing on her shoulders, short blue skirts swelling around the pantalets concealing her slender calves, and vanished inside the house.

Ashby came to a decision; it was the most shocking one he’d ever made: He wanted a wife. He wanted this, what Will and Izzy had, a home, with children and puppies to greet his face, with mouthwatering treats cooking in the kitchen. He wanted someone other than solicitors, bankers, or estate managers to correspond with from the front line. He wanted a family. It was the only sane thing worth living for, the one thing he’d want to return to when the war was over.

Whistling with satisfaction, he walked into the familiar bedlam of Seven Dover Street and met Will at the foot of the stairway. Will’s mouth was stuffed with cake. “Fixed the dog?”

“I fixed the dog.”

The anarchy upstairs grew louder. “Let’s find out what’s so bloody interesting up there.”

They padded upstairs and nearly tripped over the pup as it dashed downward. Shrieks and footfalls followed as an army charged straight at them: Teddy and Freddy, Will’s eight-year-old twin sisters—miniature duplicates of Izzy—were at the lead, followed by Izzy herself, and three anxious servants cringing from Lady Hyacinth’s infuriated, shrill voice. “If that dirty thing is not out the door in one minute, you’ll be looking for new posts first thing tomorrow morning!”

“Welcome to Seven Dover Street.” Will chuckled.

Ashby grinned. A home, with children and puppies to greet his face. Firmly resolved, he followed Will to the first floor drawing room to greet the dragoness.

“Oh, William! My dearest boy!” Lady Hyacinth swooped on Will, pasting a loud kiss on his cheek. “And my dear Captain Lord Ashby, how good of you to come. Oh! You must join us for dinner. I absolutely insist. I care not what elaborate dishes they are presently preparing for you at Lancaster House. You must sit with us and tell us all about Wellington.”

“I would love to stay for dinner, Lady Hyacinth.” Ashby smiled.

“Good. Then it’s settled. Now I must send someone to fetch Stilgoe from White’s. Norris!”

“Your brother lives well,” Ashby remarked to Will with half a smile.

Will shrugged. “Yes, well, not everyone is like you, Ash.”

“Don’t judge him. He has a family to look after, as most of the aristocracy. I don’t.”

“Of course you do.” Will slapped his back fondly. “What are we, little goats? Besides, if anything should happen to you, Izzy will never speak to me again.”

Ashby cracked a smile. “You know, I just might run off with her to Gretna Green, if she keeps smiling at me like that.”

“Please! Do! Go off with her! Restore our peace of mind!”

“Your mama won’t like it.” Ashby grinned.

“Are you serious?” Will’s face wrinkled comically. “My mother would make an offering to the gods! I think she secretly does, anyway…” Will hushed up as Lady Hyacinth reentered.

“Oh, dear. Look at you.” Scowling, she perused their dusty regimentals. “You must wash and change before dinner. Will, show Ashby to the guest chamber, why don’t you, my love?”

“Ashby knows where the guest chamber is, Mama.” Will strolled out, leading the way, nonetheless. “By the bye, Ash, my sister’s bedchamber is over there,” he pointed at the opposite direction while they traversed the hallway, “should you ever decide to run off with her.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Just a thought…” Will threw his hands in the air as he walked into his bedchamber.

Ashby continued down the hallway, heading for the guest chamber. The idea of running off with Isabel was both amusing and petrifying. He was thirteen years her senior. By the time the war ended and she grew up, he’d be so old, she wouldn’t remember what she ever saw in him.

He bathed and changed into a clean uniform and sent a note to Lancaster House, informing Phipps that he’d be arriving much later. He and Will had already made their stop at the Horse Guards to collect Ashby’s new rank, so he was free for the next three days. After that it was back to hell, but not before he paid a visit to a certain lady. Tomorrow, he determined, he would go to Ashby Park to see Olivia. His heart warmed at the prospect. Olivia had hinted on more than one occasion that were he ever to propose, she wouldn’t wait till after the war to have the wedding. She’d also let him know that she wouldn’t mind not waiting in other respects as well, should they agree upon a later date in which to take their vows. This was something he was not in a hurry to act upon. The last thing he cared to do was leave her with a fatherless child.

As they convened around the dinner table, Ashby noticed Isabel was missing.

“Gads, Ashby! Look at you!” Charles Aubrey, Viscount Stilgoe, gave him an appreciative once-over. “What are you—a major now? Impressive, old chap. Who’d have thought back in the merry old days at Cambridge that you’d become a war hero one day?”

Ashby nodded with a smile. “I’m still not over the shock, myself.” He leaned aside and in a hushed voice asked Will, “Where’s Izzy? She’s not dining with us?”

Will shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. She never misses dinner when you’re in attendance.” He looked across the table. “Theodora, Frederica, where’s your older sister?”

“In high dungeon!” Little Freddy announced, grunting sternly.

“In high dud-geon, puss,” Will rectified. “Where is she?”

“She’s very high, up in the attic with her new puppy,” Teddy informed everyone.

“No, she’s not!” Freddy disputed. “She’s in her bedchamber, but she said she wouldn’t come down to dinner until Mama agreed to let her keep the black puppy.” She turned pleading eyes onto her mother. “Can we have puppies, too, Mama?”

Lady Hyacinth sniffed. “No, you may not. And neither may Izzy. If she is more obstinate than hungry, she may just as well remain in her bedchamber until her condition reverses itself.”

“Perhaps I shall influence her to join us.” Ashby excused himself from the table and went upstairs. He wasn’t certain which of the girls’ chambers belonged to Izzy, so he padded quietly, listening for cooing noises. What he heard was the sound of a girl crying. He swallowed hard and knocked lightly on her door.

“Go away!” Isabel’s sniffling voice called out.

“It’s Ashby, Isabel. May I please come in?”

“You may not. I’m alone.”

Ashby shook his head, smiling. The chit was concerned with propriety. Hell, why not? He was a man; she had every right to view herself as a young lady. “I’ll leave the door open, then.”

“All right.” She sniffed.

He found her sitting on the floor, fiddling with the padded basket. Her large blue eyes were red; her nose puffy. Leaving the door half open, he strolled in. “Where’s the little black devil?” he inquired, perusing her chamber. He’d never visited little chits’ chambers before, older ones’ yes, but those didn’t have frilly pink drapes and dolls on the bed.

“He’s hiding under the bed.” Izzy blew her nose in a handkerchief, not meeting his gaze. “Everyone was chasing after him and now he’s scared to death, poor thing.”

“He’s not scared.” Ashby sat on the floor beside her, one booted foot firm on the ground to support his hand on his knee. “He’s too young to know the meaning of fear. He probably thought it was all just a splendid game. He’ll come out soon. You’ll see.”

“I tried to lure him out, but he wouldn’t come. No doubt he’s afraid of me, too, now.”

Ashby glanced at the frilly pink bed. “Did you try tempting him with food?”

She indicated a small cup of milk put on the floor close to the bed. “He won’t touch it.”

One day he’d have a daughter just like her, Ashby thought with pleasure. “Don’t you think you are overreacting a bit? He is a dog, Izzy.”

“He’s my responsibility.”

“He is your responsibility because you chose to make him that.”

“Yes, I did.” Lifting her head, her glorious mane exploded into fiery curls as coppery and golden as the sunset; her eyes blazed with emotion; her rounded cheeks glowed with heat; her plump lips trembled with fury. “We can’t all put blindfolds over our eyes and pretend we do not see the suffering out there. Or worse, rely on someone else to dispose of the problem. The little dog has no one in the entire world, Ashby. Is it at all graspable to you?”

His throat constricted. A little girl—whom was he fooling? She was a little woman with the potential to ensnare any man’s heart, mind, and soul. “Why is your mother adamantly against your adopting the little dog?”

“My mother fears he’ll ruin her furniture,” she drawled scathingly. “I’m to leave a bowl of milk for him outside the kitchen.” Tears flooded her beautiful eyes. “Food and temporary shelter aren’t remotely sufficient. If he runs out to the street, a coach will squish him. He may be just a dog, but he’s also a baby and an orphan. He needs to be loved. How will he survive otherwise?”

He almost wished he were the dog. “Creatures survive without love,” he stated softly.

She regarded him disdainfully, as if he were the cruelest man alive. “Thank you for coming up here, my lord, but your dinner is getting cold.”

Her icy glare was more than he could bear. “If I promise to take very good care of the little pup, will you let me take him with me?”

She looked horrified. “To the frontier in Spain?”

“Many soldiers keep dogs. He’ll stay with the caravan while I…”

“When you’re off risking your life,” she finished, tears rolling off her creamy cheeks. The glow was back in her eyes, though, and something else—profound concern for his safety. “I apologize for snapping at you. Please forgive me. You are the kindest, most generous man…”

Ashby could breathe again. He stood up. “No, I’m not. Now let’s go down to dinner. We’ll leave the door closed, so Hector won’t escape while we’re dining.”

“Hector?” She smiled, standing up.

“Why not? Hector was a great warrior. I might need such a friend at my side. He’ll help me look after Will.” He followed her out to the hallway, shutting her bedchamber door after him.

“Suppose he refuses to come out from under the bed?” Izzy asked as they took the stairs.

“He’ll come out eventually. Trust me.”

She stared at his profile. “For milk?”

“For milk, for a caress, whichever he needs more.” From the corner of his eye he saw that his comment pleased her. He grinned. “I’d crawl out for a caress.” And he walked right into it.

“I’ll be sure to remember that, Ashby.” She smiled engagingly.

It was comments such as this that made him blush. Gads.

Everyone was pleased when they joined the table between the oxtail stew and the pork and apple pie. “I’m very happy you finally came to your senses, Izzy,” Hyacinth declared.

Izzy’s smile was small but triumphant. “Ashby offered to adopt my dog. He’ll take Hector with him to Spain.”

“Hector?” Will snickered softly. “I fear you’re in danger of growing a halo, my friend.”

Ashby met Isabel’s smiling eyes. He had his reward right here and now.

“Do you really intend to take the whelp with you?” Stilgoe asked after dinner, when only the men remained at the table to drink whiskey and smoke cigars.

“I gave Izzy my word,” Ashby replied. “I can’t renege now.”

“You could leave it with Phipps.” Will eyed him with a raised eyebrow.

“Phipps doesn’t know the first thing about dogs.” Ashby tossed his entire drink back and felt his throat catching fire. He also felt like an idiot, not because he’d offered to care for the pup, but because of the reason he’d done it. “And I can’t very well leave the dog with Olivia.”

“Olivia, right…” Will murmured, his eyes frosting with disdain. “No doubt she’d boil the poor thing and feed it to the servants.”

“It would hurt Izzy’s feelings,” Ashby clarified.

“Really? How would it hurt my sister’s feelings?”

Ashby met Will’s suspicious, angry gaze. “I made up my mind to ask Olivia to marry me.”

“And when did this epiphany occur?”

“Today.” Why the devil did he feel like he needed to apologize? Ashby swore.

Will glanced at his older brother. “Charlie, would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes?”

“Not at all.” Stilgoe stood. “I’ve a card game waiting for me at Boodle’s.” He circled the table and patted Ashby’s shoulder. “Take care, old chap. I’ll see you tomorrow, Will.”

As soon as they were alone, Will attacked. “Olivia? Have you completely and thoroughly lost your mind? I thought the crazy heroic thing on the Bussaco Ridge was a moment of insanity, to help push for the new rank, not an advanced stage of a fully developed mental illness.”

Ashby poured himself another glass of whiskey. “That’s a fine thing coming from you.”

“Explain.”

He whirled the whiskey in his glass. “Do you know why you consider my maneuver on the Bussaco an insanity, Will? Because you have this! This home, with its laughter and mayhem and life to come back to. I have a very large, luxurious, empty manor.”

“And you believe that Lady Olivia Hanson will fill it with laughter and mayhem and life? Think again, old chap. Olivia is nothing like Isabel! She’s a cold, manipulative, grasping bitch!”

“I’ve known Olivia since childhood. I know what she’s like.”

Will was virtually shaking with fury and disbelief. “And?”

“She’s in love with me.”

Will sagged in his chair, shaking his head and groaning. “My God, Ash. I understand why Wellington singled you out immediately, why he considers you some kind of prodigy, and why he pushes your advancement, but by Jove, you can be one stupid ass sometimes!”

Ashby considered the amber liquid in his glass and decided to pass. “I should go.” Pushing away from the table, he got to his feet. “You’re drunk. I’m drunk. I’ll see you in three days.” He lifted the small, padded picnic basket Izzy had left on a chair for him and ambled out the door. Flipping the lid open, he smiled at the black ball of fur sleeping on the cushion inside. “I hope you kissed your old mistress goodbye, because you might not see her for a very long time.”

His army horse was saddled and waiting for him on the front drive. “Thank you, Jimmy.” He took the reins and dismissed the groom. He was about to swing onto the saddle when the front door opened and closed. He glanced beyond his shoulder and saw Izzy running toward him.

“Ashby…” She panted, wildness in her eyes.

He froze. “What’s wrong, Isabel? Anything happened to Will?”

She shook her head, out of breath. She swallowed. “He went to bed.”

He set the basket on the ground and flipped the reins around the handle. His thoughts raced in several directions. One suggested she’d overheard his argument with Will. He didn’t want to hurt Izzy’s feelings, but he was a twenty-eight-year-old man. She had to expect that sooner or later he’d take a wife. “Come, let’s sit on the bench.” He took her elbow, stirring her toward it.

They sat down quietly, an adequate distance between them. “Lord Ashby,” she began, shifting sideways to face him. “I have another special favor to ask of you.”

“Your wish is my command.”

She gripped her hands tightly, twining and untwining her fingers. Her eyes were very large, dark, and anxious. “I know you and Will are soldiers, fighting a terrible war against a dangerous, despotic madman who wants to subjugate England and make us all eat frogs, but—”

Ashby smiled perceptively. “Your brother is like a brother to me, Isabel, and I don’t have siblings to spare. You may rest assured I will protect Will with my life, if necessary, because if anything happened to him…Well, let’s just say I’d rather die than fail. However,” he exhaled deeply, “having said that, you are mature enough to understand that in war as in peace our fates are not entirely in our hands, if at all. You have to be brave. You mustn’t—”

She edged closer, whispering, “I know you’ll protect Will. It’s you I worry about.”

“Will protects me. It’s a bargain.”

“Will is short and scrawny.” She wrinkled her pert nose.

His smile quickened for a heartbeat. “Look at me. Am I short and scrawny?”

She took him in from head to toe. “No. You are tall and strong.”

He swallowed, wishing he’d had that last shot of whiskey after all. “I appreciate your concern, Izzy. I’ll be fine. Go to bed.”

Crystalline tears trembled in her eyes. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Because I’d die if anything happened to you.” She wrapped her dainty white hands around his neck and pressed her lips to his. His mind went numb. Isabel Aubrey had a temptress’s lips—soft, pink, full, and enticingly sweet—and for a fleeting moment his mouth responded.

He gripped her shoulders and tore his mouth away. “Oh, God.” His head wilted; his heart thundered in his chest. Bloody hell. He forced himself to meet her gaze. Isabel’s wide eyes mirrored his shock. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she got up and dashed into the house.

That night, cursing himself for being every kind of villain, he rode straight to Ashby Park, with Hector sleeping in the basket across his lap, and asked Olivia to be his wife. She said yes.

Seven Dover Street, Present Time

Isabel was exhausted when she returned home from Iris’s fundraising soiree. She scarcely uttered a word the whole evening, let alone helped her friends solicit donations for their charity, though she didn’t think an active participation on her part would have literally tipped the scales in their favor. The English aristocracy didn’t care about poor war widows and starving babes; they only cared about their little amusements. Nevertheless, Isabel fully expected Iris and Sophie to demand an explanation for her odd behavior tonight. But deuce take it, what could she tell them? That she was devastated? That the only man she ever cared for had tossed her out of his sight and mind that morning, never to return again?

She never told them about her girlish infatuation with the earl. When they embraced her as a friend during her first season, Ashby was considered a legend among his peers: an established womanizer, a celebrated cavalry commander, thirteen years her senior, socially ten times her better, and where she was concerned—wholly unattainable. He had also been away in the Peninsula at that time, a fact which spared her the humiliation of having to face the man who had scorned her kiss.

It had taken her a long time to get over the shame—and the heartache. And it had taken her two years to muster the courage to go see him after his return from the Continent.

Go home, Isabel, and don’t come back here ever again. The idea of never seeing him again shredded her soul. Inevitably her thoughts drifted to happier days in which Ashby and Will rode in unexpectedly, bringing the sun with them. They were polar opposites—Will, the carefree wit; Ashby, the intense lord—and yet they complemented each other perfectly, creating a synergy that was almost enviable.

She recalled the first time she had laid eyes on him as if it were yesterday: She was twelve-years-old; Ashby was more than twice her age. Will ushered Ashby into the parlor, where she sat on the floor playing with her twin sisters while her mother leafed through the Society pages. She remembered scrambling to her feet and bobbing politely, and Ashby taking her hand and bowing over it. “You never told me you had a beautiful little doll for a sister, Will,” Ashby remarked. When she looked up at him, she met the kindest, most expressive, loneliest sea-colored eyes.

Those eyes cut right through her and captured her heart for good. Without Ashby and Will, what remained in the place where her heart once beat was a great, suffocating void she found unbearable. Ashby had closed the door in her face, and there was no going back.

Lucy jumped to her feet when Isabel entered her bedchamber; the poor maid’s eyes were red and bleary. “This arrived half an hour after you’d left, miss.” Lucy gestured at the exquisitely carved mahogany box sitting on Isabel’s bed. It was tied with a sky blue ribbon and adorned with a daisy. “Old Norris wanted to give it to Lady Aubrey, but I happened to be nearby when the footboy arrived, and when I saw his livery and heard him say the box was for you, I snatched it.”

A strange thrill meandered along Isabel’s spine. “Well done, Lucy. What was special about the footboy’s livery?”

“It was black and gold, ma’am.”

Isabel’s pulse sped up. A box from Ashby? She had offended him. Why would he send her a gift? She spun around, presenting her maid with her back. “Lucy, quick. Unlace me, please.”

As Lucy undid her back, Isabel met her maid’s eyes in the dressing mirror. “I, eh, hope you remembered to forget our little sojourn this morning?”

“Forget what?” With an impish smile Lucy helped her out of her gown and silk shift and removed her hair clips. “Good night, miss.”

“Thank you, Lucy. Good night.” Isabel quickly donned her nightshift, shook out her thick mane of curls, and climbed on the bed. Her heart racing, she stared at the box. All of her dull, unimaginative beaux sent her bouquets of red roses, but a single yellow daisy seemed a message in itself. Only she had no idea what it meant. “You’re a sentimental twit,” she chastised herself. Yet, her hands were shaking. Carefully she pulled the blue ribbon loose, ruining the beautiful bow, and retied it around the sunny daisy’s stalk. She ran her fingertips over the mahogany lid. A lion and a lioness, surrounded by their little cubs, were etched in the wood—a pride of lions. She opened the box. “Banknotes?” Then it dawned on her—a donation. She counted the money: One hundred, two, three…a thousand, two thousand…five thousand pounds! “Goodness gracious!”

Slack-jawed, Isabel gaped at the heap of bills scattered on her bed coverlet. “Five thousand pounds…” They could accomplish anything with such an obscene sum. They could finally pay their solicitor, Mr. Flowers, lease office space for their charity, hire runners to extend their list of bereaved families in need. Countless ideas whirled in her feverish mind. Iris and Sophie would be ecstatic! She couldn’t wait to tell them, but first…

A small envelope lay on the bottom of the box. The mark of a lion was stamped in the cold wax—the lion etched in Ashby’s signet ring. She lifted the envelope and nearly dropped it; her hands quivered like an old woman’s. She drew the small card out. In a bold, foreign hand was written, “I beg your forgiveness and wish you success in all of your endeavors. Yours, PNL.”

“PNL.” With every fiber of her being she knew the L stood for Lancaster, but the P and the N were a mystery. She didn’t know his Christian name. Nor his middle one. She knew so little about him. She lay back and pressed the note to her lips, shutting her eyes. Ashby.

She would not give up on him. Not now. Not ever. Isabel smiled. He may not wish to see her, but she needed Ashby to be a part of her life again, as he had once been a part of her family, and his donation provided her with the best pretext for paying him another visit. Somehow, she would persuade the Gargoyle to come out for a caress.