The Maiden At Midnight (22 page)

‘I suppose I am. Very well. I appreciate the
offer. There are times when you can be very helpful.’

‘Oh, I’m a helpful kind of man,’ he said and
she caught a certain something in his voice, an undercurrent with
an edge.

Isabella determined to ignore it, believing
that the less she knew about the bewildering workings of Mr.
Carstairs mind, the better.

Mr. Huntingdon (he of the decent property in
Cumberland) was in conversation with a small group of people,
always a good thing when one wanted to intrude. It did not look as
if one was specifically interested in any individual, convenient in
the husband hunting business. Fortunately Mr. Carstairs knew most
of the group and he paused, smiling at the assembled company with
all the charm Isabella was beginning to notice more and more
frequently.

‘Huntingdon! Just the man I wanted to see. I
believe you have a rather exceptional gelding that you’re looking
to offload?’

It was just the right thing to say and it
immediately opened up the conversation. Several ladies sighed
loudly and lamented that the men folk would now talk nothing but
horseflesh while the object of the exercise, Mr. Huntingdon, rose
to the bait like a hungry fish.

‘I do indeed. Perhaps best to keep it for
another time,’ he rolled his eyes at his companions, ‘don’t want to
make ourselves unpopular.’

‘I do not think that would be possible,’
Lady Cicely Bryce-Harcourt twittered, fluttering her fan – and her
eyes – flirtatiously at both men. Isabella had met the girl on
several occasions and thought her a sad romp. ‘Who could think
badly of the two most eligible men in London?’

‘I say!’ Albert Fanshaw protested. ‘Spare a
thought, Miss Bryce-Harcourt. They may be fine enough fellows but
they have their vices, I do believe.’

‘That’s one of the reasons they are so
eligible!’ Lady Margrave, the daughter of a duke and Miss
Bryce-Harcourt’s dearest friend, gurgled. ‘For what lady does not
like a little naughtiness in her men?’

Isabella winced inwardly and realized, yet
again, why she was finding it hard to strike up friendships with
many of the ladies who were engaged in the same social activities
as she was. Lady Bromely had ensured that there were not a great
many eligible females present tonight but it would have looked odd
if she had not invited any. As Lady Margrave was engaged and Miss
Bryce-Harcourt had expectations of accepting an offer – or so it
was rumored – at any time they had been safe options but it did not
stop them from flirting, apparently, and Isabella was irked that
they should find Mr. Carstairs so obviously pleasing.

Mr. Huntingdon smiled at these sallies but
he was looking at Isabella. ‘And who do we have here? I don’t
believe we have been introduced?’

It was a very informal way of going about
things but Harry managed it very smoothly, introducing Isabella and
then moving back, just a little, the better to let James Huntingdon
move in. She smiled at the man, liking the clear blue of his eyes
and the way his light brown hair fell forward, so simply dressed
that it may as well have been left to its own devices. Clearly Mr.
Huntingdon was no dandy for, while his clothes were of an excellent
quality his shirt collars were of a modest height and his jacket
cut a la sportsman, which certainly found favor in her eyes.
Isabella had nothing against the dandy set but she did not really
care for a man who cared more for the cut of his jacket than the
quality of his conversation.

After only a short time, she decided that
she liked James Huntingdon very well, although she found it
difficult to relax with Harry shifting ever more restively beside
her. She could not understand why he had remained so close. Having
done what he had set out to do, why did he not move away? But,
while he chatted idly with Mr. Fanshaw and the ladies, he remained
on the edges of her own conversation and for some reason she felt
oddly stilted. What was even more surprising was, after only ten
minutes or so his hand closed around her arm once again, making her
look up at him inquiringly.

He was smiling down at her but there was
something in his face that suggested it was forced. It certainly
never touched those green eyes. ‘Miss Hathaway, I fear I have kept
you from your mother for too long. I did promise to return you
shortly.’

As he had done no such thing, she was
bewildered. What was he about? Especially when things were going so
well. ‘Oh, I am sure she can spare me for a little longer.’

‘A promise is a promise,’ he said quietly.
‘I would be loathed to disappoint her.’

‘Must she go so soon?’ Mr. Huntingdon
sounded disappointed.

‘This is a relatively small party,
Huntingdon. I am sure that it will not tax you too much to find
Miss Hathaway again, if you are so inclined.’

‘Oh, aye. Right you are then. If Miss
Hathaway does object to being found?’

‘Not at all,’ she murmured, giving him what
she hoped was an inviting look from under her lashes. She could
have kicked Harry Carstairs solidly in the ankle. What was he
about, dragging her off just when she was doing so well?

Making as good a show of it as possible, she
walked away with her infuriating escort until they were far enough
away not to be heard, then, ‘Why did you do that, may I ask?’

‘Do what?’ he snapped. For
some reason he was angry, which incensed her even more. What right
did
he
have to be
angry?

‘Drag me away. I was
having
a
conversation.’

‘It does not do to be seen talking to the
one man for too long, Miss Hathaway. I am surprised I need to point
that out to you. Or have you been inured in the countryside for so
long that you have forgotten the social niceties? I was merely
looking out for your reputation.’

Isabella was so stunned that for a moment,
she was bereft of words. But only for a moment. ‘Are you implying
that my conversation with Mr. Huntingdon was improper in some
way?’

‘You were being far too forward,’ he
returned, his cold tone at odds with the spark of fury in his eyes.
‘If you must fling yourself at a man, do so when there are fewer
people around. Do you want Society to think you a doxy? Nothing
would be surer of spoiling your chances, let me assure you.’

Isabella was now as thoroughly enraged as he
was. Glancing around her a little wildly, she saw that an alcove
lay not six feet behind them and, seizing his arm, she dragged him
into it. She needed privacy so she could tell Mr. Harry Carstairs
what she really thought of him because, plainly, he thought very
little of her!

‘How dare you call me any
such thing you
horrible
man. You know perfectly well why I wanted to speak
to him. And you know perfectly well that I behaved with perfect
propriety. To suggest otherwise is simply… well, its simply
rude
.’

‘I know perfectly well, do I?’ he snarled
back at her. ‘Can I ask what kind of propriety incites a girl to
chase after an unsuspecting fellow with the view to leg shackling
him? The poor fool won’t know what’s hit him! And just how far are
you prepared to go to snare him, hey? A kiss? A glimpse of those
lily-white breasts? Just how far are you prepared to go to ensure
your future?’

Isabella gasped.
‘How
dare
you?’

‘Oh I dare! From the moment this whole farce
began you have been determined to set aside all sense of decorum in
your quest for a suitable husband. I am just wondering what you
intend to do to get what you want.’

‘You are a
beastly
creature.’
Isabella’s voice was a low quiver of mortified rage. She did not
deserve this. He knew her situation perfectly well, knew why she
was doing what she must.

‘Well then,’ he said abruptly, reaching for
her, ‘as I am so beastly I may as well live up to my true
nature…’

She had known he wanted to kiss her for most
of the night. And she had wanted to kiss him just as badly. Time
and again she had found herself wondering how it would be to have
Harry Carstairs take her in his arms.

Now, fuelled with the delicious ignition of
their mutual anger, she found herself exactly where she should not
be, his arms wrapping around her, his mouth seeking her own in a
kiss of such searing heat that she was suddenly weak limbed,
leaning heavily against him as his lips took her own in a furious
onslaught.

The hunger behind his questing mouth was
unmistakable, demanding a response and she gave it to him, opening
up beneath his fiery need with an eagerness that matched his own.
When his tongue slid into her mouth it felt as if it were the most
natural thing in the world. When his body pressed against her with
fervent insistence, she pressed back just as ardently because,
frankly, the pressure of his body against her own made her feel
more alive than she had ever felt before. Everything, every part of
her, felt as if it were suddenly awake, stirred into aching,
desperate life. Even the shocking hardness of his groin, a solid
weight against her hipbone, could not stop her feverish response to
his outrageous assault. Isabella knew that this was wrong, but it
was a vague thought somewhere in the back of her mind. Reason was
smothered by need and she needed to feel the hot thrust of his
tongue into her mouth, the wicked grind of his manhood against her
yielding flesh. Everything he was doing to her he did with her full
consent and they both knew it.

It was a long time before he raised his head
to look into her eyes. He released her slowly, hands moving to
settle on her shoulders and for a long moment, there was silence
between them as they tried to catch their breath. Isabella’s mouth
felt swollen and heavy from the tender abuse it had received, a
sensation that was echoed through her entire body. Her breasts were
tingling, her stomach filled with emotions she could not begin to
put a name to while between her legs, a slow, steady pulse seemed
to beat in time with a rhythm that thundered within her. It took
long moments before the reality of their situation filtered
through.

She was standing in a shadowy alcove with a
man who was not, nor was ever likely to be, her husband having just
been thoroughly kissed. And even though her behavior had been just
as bad as it could be, she could not wish that kiss back again, not
for the world. Even if it did ruin whatever lay ahead for her. That
kiss had been everything it should have been and more. It had made
her feel like a woman was supposed to, when she was soundly kissed
by a man.

‘Isabella,’ he murmured on a long, drawn out
breath. ‘I did not mean for that to happen.’

‘Didn’t you?’ She did not believe him. They
both knew that kiss had been building between them for some
time.

‘No! That is… dear God, I wanted to kiss you
badly enough -’

‘So it seems.’

‘ –
but I did not think
that I would lose control like that.’

‘I see.’

She heard the air hiss between his teeth.
‘Isabella, I am not what you need. I am not the man for you.’

Of course, he would want to have to say
these things at this moment. Men rarely knew when to remain silent
and even more rarely, when to speak. ‘You are not in need of a
wife. There is no need for this, really.’

‘Isn’t there? I just kissed you!’

He had, very much, just kissed her. It was
still imprinted on her lips. The way she felt right now she thought
it possible that the memory of it would remain there forever. ‘You
do not want a wife. But I want a husband. So… we will forget that
this ever happened. We will move on with what must be done.’ And
she stepped back, making his hands drop away. There was something
within her, some absurd part of her that regretted the loss of
contact. It urged her forward, into his arms again.

But she could not listen to such voices for
they would betray her completely.

He was looking at her, face
tight with all the things he could not bring himself to say. She
wondered what those things were. Not an apology; they both knew
that would not ring true. But if he allowed himself to speak would
he reveal the state of his heart?
Did he
even know it?

Suddenly, Isabella knew that she could not
stay there any longer. ‘I must get back.’

This brought his hand up, briefly, as if to
stop her. It fell to his side again almost immediately.

Turning, Isabella hurried away, putting as
much space between them as her hurrying feet would allow.

Running away from him. And from herself.

Harry stared at Isabella’s retreating figure
and knew that, without a doubt, he was a complete and utter
idiot.

From start to finish, he had behaved like a
knave, almost since the moment he had set foot through the door
earlier in the evening. But it had galled him unbearably to show
the girl the potential husbands that he and Joss had come up with.
He had a name for the hard, angry knot that had been lying in his
stomach all night long; jealousy. He hated the idea of one of the
seven candidates they had selected laying hands on Isabella
Hathaway’s creamy white skin. He loathed the idea of one of them
taking possession of that full, pink mouth while the idea of one of
them stripping the clothes off that soft, delectable body had him
on the edge of a full blown explosion.

He
wanted to do all those things himself. He wanted Isabella with
all the unvarnished lust of a man in the throws of an obsession.
And he had wanted to do so more or less from the day he had first
set eyes on her.

And then to see that damned fool Proctor,
sidling up to her. Harry had watched the man spot her from across
the room, had seen recognition dawn but instead of doing the decent
thing and leaving her alone, he had planted his fool self in front
of her. Naturally, Harry couldn’t have that. Isabella needed
protecting from the likes of Proctor who had treated her so
shabbily in the past. Sometimes, he thought she needed protecting
from herself.