The Maiden At Midnight (23 page)

And that was the problem. She stirred
feelings in him he did not know how to deal with. One moment
exasperated, the next moment amused. And while it was perfectly
acceptable to feel both amusement and exasperation when one was
associating with the likes of Isabella Hathaway, the increasingly
regular periods of intense desire she generated in him were not.
They caught him up unexpectedly and almost swept him away, leaving
him shaken and frustrated. The truth was, he could not deal with
his ever-increasing need for her and so he behaved like a fool.

If that didn’t make him a bastard, he didn’t
know what did.

‘But I do not
want
a wife!’ he
muttered, frustrated. He had no intention of marrying for years. No
intention of settling down with one particularly woman when there
were so many sweet, willing females to be plucked and plundered.
‘Even if she does look like an angel she is not
my
angel.’

Not that Isabella Hathaway was an angel. Far
from it. She was manipulative, scheming and determined, all of
which were very unladylike. Admittedly, there were reasons behind
her actions, excellent reasons that some would say were quite
noble. She loved her family and wished to take care of them. But
that did not alter the fact that she was absurdly domineering,
infuriatingly argumentative and would be a perfect shrew to live
with.

She would, damn it! What kind of idiot would
want to tie himself to a female who refused to be guided? Not for a
moment did he fool himself that the girl would be any more amenable
after the ring was on her finger.

But dear God, how good it
had felt to kiss her and how perfect to hold her in his arms. He
had never experienced such a sense of
rightness
before when he had held a
woman in his arms. But Isabella had felt as if she belonged there
and it had been ridiculously hard to let her go…

He needed perspective. Did
he really want to enter into a state of matrimony with a girl like
Miss Hathaway? It was Joss who was determined to marry, to
surrender his freedom and settle down. Before long, there would be
a bunch of brats underfoot and his friend would be a father.
Probably a doting one, for he had a liking for children which Harry
had always found inexplicable. God alone knew what the man who
married Isabella Hathaway would be in for. There would be endless
arguments, although she had shown that she possess intelligent
opinions on any number of subjects. He could
talk
to Isabella. Not like other
females he had spent time with who were only interested in hearing
pretty words that were forgotten the moment they escaped his lips.
He was prepared to wager that a man’s life would never be boring
when Isabella was striding through it…

‘I need a drink!’ Or any number of them.
Something to wash away the memory of that kiss. It would take more
than one drink to do that.

He suspected there wasn’t enough alcohol in
the world that could erase the feel of Isabella Hathaway from his
lips.

‘Isabella?’

That wretched voice again!

Isabella turned and saw
that Willett was once again intending to waylay her. What
was
wrong
with the
man? Had he no sense of propriety?

She was burning with an almost feverish
desire to be gone. At least, she hoped that was why she was
burning. And here was Willett, repeatedly making her life more
difficult that it should be.

‘Excuse me, Willett. I need to find Mama.’
She would have brushed past him but he laid a hand on her arm.
Isabella looked at it, then at him, expression cool. ‘My lord?’

He winced and removed his hand immediately.
‘Isabella, I’m sorry but I wanted to speak to you. To talk to you.
I feel dreadful about how things ended between us.’

‘Things ended between us
because you did not have the bottom to remain in the saddle,’ she
replied crisply. ‘You were worried that people would think
you
were somehow involved
in my father’s scandals and that if you married me, your life would
become irretrievably less respectable. You became engaged to
Isabella Hathaway, daughter of a well-respected nobleman. You found
yourself engaged to Isabella Hathaway, penniless female with no
dowry and no connections. That is how things ended between us,
Willett.’

Lord Proctor had grown very pale. ‘It’s
true,’ he admitted in a low voice, ‘but I did not mean to hurt
you.’

‘Well you did. Very much. But at the time,
it was just one more blow to be bourn. Happily I am over it now.
And as such, I wish you well.’

Even as the words left her
mouth, she knew they were true. She
was
over Willett, well and truly.
Why, even when she had been engaged to him she had not been swept
up in the throws of unbearable passion. Willett was… well, he was
somebody she had known almost all of her life. Familiar.
Comfortable
. His
desertion had not left a hole so much in her heart as in her world
for she had thought of him as her friend.

‘Really?’ he stared at her, his expression
one of almost painful intensity. ‘Do you really feel that way?
Because I know that I did the wrong thing and I have felt bad about
it for so long.’

Which, Isabella realized with exasperation,
was what this conversation was all about. Willett trying to feel
better about the past.

‘It could have been worse,’ she told him
quietly, ‘we could have gotten married and I would never have known
that anything else existed. Do not trouble yourself, thinking about
what has already happened. I certainly don’t intend to.’

‘Well, you certainly seem
to be popular. Who
was
that man who dragged you away earlier? I can’t say I
appreciated his attitude.’

‘Didn’t you? I must say I did. Very much.
And now, if you’ll excuse me -’

He swallowed heavily. ‘You are such a decent
girl, Isabella! I do believe we could have been happy
together.’

‘Are you mad? I would have driven you to
drink within a year. Now let me be. I have to find Mama.’

And go home, to try and forget that Harry
Carstairs had kissed her.

Chance, she reflected bitterly, would be a
fine thing.

Chapter Ten

Isabella felt an odd sense of dislocation in
the days that followed the party at Lady Bromley’s. It was as if
she were in two places at once; one Isabella, going through the
day-to-day business of being a young lady immersed in the London
Season and the other, still crushed against the all too manly chest
of Mr. Harry Carstairs.

Mama and Audrey had been all sympathy on the
way home from the party, lamenting Willett’s presence and how it
had cast a pall on things but rather extraordinarily, Isabella
found she had already moved on. Her meeting with Willett had, in
some strange way, liberated her.

‘Do not think about it,’ she had assured
them. ‘We spoke and it was perfectly all right, I can assure
you.’

‘Was it very uncomfortable for you darling?’
Mama had demanded, the concern in her eyes obvious.

‘Not at all. I’m glad I met him. Now I can
put all that behind me.’ She had smiled at them both. ‘I promise
you. I am over the whole affair.’

It was, she reflected later, easy to be over
one thing when another, much bigger thing overshadowed it. Her kiss
with Harry was proving to be much bigger than she had thought
possible. The memory of it was so distracting, in fact, that she
resolved to put the entire episode out of her mind. It wasn’t as if
Harry was making that difficult. After the party she did not see
him at all. Clearly he had realized that he had made a dreadful
mistake and was taking pains to avoid her.

The thought made her feel absurdly bereft so
she cast herself into what needed to be done with desperate
determination.

She could claim something of a win in her
quest to promote the Earl of Stornley as Alora’s future husband for
she had taken several opportunities to get the girl alone. It had
not been at all difficult to bring the topic around to Joss as
Alora herself seemed very keen to speak of him.

‘He is a very amiable man. Do you not think
so Isabella?’

‘Hmmm? I beg your pardon?’

‘The earl. I find myself liking him more and
more.’

‘Oh! Yes… oh yes, I quite agree. His
lordship is all that is amiable.’

‘Are you all right, Isabella? You seem a
little distracted.’

And so she was. Isabella
was
very
distracted, her mind caught up with thoughts of a man she had
resolved, very firmly, not to think of again. It had taken her
almost no time at all to forget her resolve but her friend’s words
made her realize that it just wouldn’t do. She needed to focus on
the task at hand and, after that, she had tried very hard to do
just that.

‘Your aunt really does not seem to like his
lordship, Alora. Do you have any idea why?’

‘I expect it is because his uncle did not
come up to scratch. Mama told me that Aunt Elise never recovered
from the slight.’

Isabella had blinked at this. ‘Excuse
me?’

‘The late earl’s brother, Lord Edgewater.
Aunt Elise had a dreadful penchant for him in her debut year and he
flirted with her outrageously. She was sure that he would make her
an offer. He didn’t, of course, for he was something of a rogue,
apparently. I don’t think she ever forgave him.’

Oh my
… This certainly explained Elise Fortnum’s animosity to
Stornley. Scorned women could be very bitter and hold a grudge
forever. ‘But the earl is nothing like his uncle.’

‘Not in the least,’ a small, secret smile
curved Alora’s lips. ‘His lordship is very attentive. Hardly a day
goes by without me seeing him.’

‘I know. He’s besotted.
Surely
you
do not
think the past is an impediment to his offering for
you?’

‘Oh no,’ Alora had agreed placidly, ‘that
would be quite absurd.’

This was so very promising that it seemed to
Isabella that Joss should just get on with his proposal. But just
to be sure…

‘Alora, are you falling in love with his
lordship?’

Alora had blushed quite adorably and lowered
her eyes. ‘Perhaps a little. He is such a wonderful man.’

To which Isabella had clapped her hands
together with delight, resolving to suggest that Joss waste no
time; he should propose as soon as possible. She just had to
convince him not to approach Miss Fortnum first.

Her friend’s blossoming romance was not the
only thing that was going well for, the afternoon after the party,
she received a call from Mr. Huntingdon. He had sat in the parlor
with Mama and Aunt Geraldine, drinking tea and making the usual
excruciating conversation young men had to make when their interest
in a girl had to be filtered through her relatives. Really,
Isabella had thought wryly as she sipped her tea, it was a wonder
people married at all for there was surely nothing as uncomfortable
as this dreary dance. As stilted as the whole affair was, James
Huntingdon had cast frequent admiring glances at her and she tried
very hard to feel a sense of triumph that such an excellent and
eligible specimen should have decided to further their
acquaintance.

It had been exactly the
kind of thing she was after and she knew she should be delighted.
She
was
delighted,
in principle, anyway. But she also felt strangely hollow, as if she
were missing something. Mr. Huntingdon’s pursuit did not stop there
for he appeared at a ball given by the Duchess of Marle and asked
to dance twice, the maximum number that was acceptable, on such
limited acquaintance. Aunt Geraldine had been bedside herself with
happiness.

‘Huntingdon here! He never
goes to this kind of thing. You clever girl, Isabella, attracting
such a man. Why he has nine thousand a
year
.’

Isabella had smiled and
nodded and wondered why
she
was not more excited by the prospect of nine
thousand a year. She would have been a fortnight before, or even
the previous week. But now James Hungtingdon’s yearly income
stirred no great excitement in her.

Of course, Mr. Carstairs did not put in an
appearance at the ball. She had known he wouldn’t, but that had not
stopped her looking for him, her heart jumping like a startled deer
when she glimpsed the back of some likely dark head that all too
quickly resolved itself into the wrong man.

Her mother noticed her preoccupation;
picking absently at her meals and had delicately enquired as to the
reason behind her daughters abstraction.

‘Are you quite well? You look a little
peaky.’

‘No, Mama. I am perfectly well.’

‘You seem to have lost your appetite,’ Lady
Hathaway pointed out, ‘and you are in another world. Are you sure
that your meeting with Willett did not upset you?’

As if it could. She had barely thought of
him since that night. Isabella had grimaced inwardly. This would
never do. What was she up to, mooning about after Harry Carstairs,
a man she did not even like most of the time? ‘Not at all. It is
nothing, Mama. Truly. I just… well, I’m finding London a little
overwhelming, I suppose.’

Her mother’s face had softened. ‘Of course
you are. It has been…’ she paused and drew a deep breath, ‘it has
been a dreadful year for us all, my love. And you know, there is no
hurry to rush into a marriage that you yourself do not deem
suitable. Take your time, Isabella. Enjoy the dances and the
parties. Have some fun.’ Isabella had heard her mother sigh. ‘The
world will not be going anywhere without us, you can be sure of
that.’