To Love a Wicked Scoundrel (28 page)

She handed Lily the glass of water and strove to keep her tone even. ‘Now that you are better, we should concentrate on returning this household to normalcy. No more spontaneous trips to London.’ She did not add that she remained for ever changed by the experience; that when she sought adventure, she never believed it would be so painful in the end, but she would still chance adventure with Constantine any way, any time.

‘He will come.’

The child’s adamant belief could not be changed. Isabelle, on the other hand, reserved great doubt. Too much time passed for her, without note or letter, to believe he would arrive. It seemed more likely, in proof of Meredith’s prediction, she’d proven another of his female conquests, a distraction from his entertaining life. Nothing more.

But what of Lily? It was difficult to believe he would not send an inquiry of her health. Grave concern was evident in every part of her when she left Highborough House. It wasn’t possible a man of such passionate emotion would not care about Lily’s wellbeing when he’d previously shown genuine interest in the child. She should check the post. A shiver of trepidation chased the suggestion. If Con hadn’t written, could her heart survive the blow?

Meredith appeared at the door. ‘Good afternoon, daughter. And you also, Theodora.’

Meredith’s attentive affection towards Lily since her illness warmed Isabelle’s heart. If there was one positive offshoot of the dreadful bout with scarlet fever, it was Meredith’s full understanding of motherhood. She now embraced the role with pure joy and an undying insistence to mend the shortcomings of the past.

‘You have a visitor.’

Isabelle pulse tripped, but as she raised her expectant gaze to meet Meredith’s eyes, her stepmother shook her head negatively and came further into the room to sit on Lily’s bed.

‘It is Tuesday, four-thirty. Lord Lutts has come to call.’

Isabelle rose slowly. ‘Of course. How foolish of me.’ She touched her temple with a light brush of her fingers, and patted her bun to ensure it rested tight against her neck.

‘I had the tea service arranged on the patio so that you might stroll the gardens together. I thought it a pleasant idea, to take some fresh air. You have enjoyed doing so before.’ Meredith reached forward and offered her hand a small squeeze. ‘Never mind. I will be in the drawing room if you need me. It is time I sorted the overwhelming pile of correspondence that has grown to towering proportions.’ She spanned her hands higher and higher, much to Lily’s delight.

Isabelle left the room, her steps slowing as she reached the patio doorway until she stalled completely. Lord Lutts stood with his back to her as he admired the crimson heirloom roses she’d planted just the week before. Somehow he appeared shorter than she remembered, his shoulders narrower. A niggling voice reminded her to stop comparing him to Constantine, but she could not. Nor could she envision herself in anyone else’s embrace.

She rubbed her eyes and banished the image as it formed. Her foolish sentiments would be her ruin more than her broken heart. How fanciful she’d become. Lord Lutts was not here to embrace her. She would find normalcy again in tea and biscuits and she would strive to put London behind her.

***

Constantine pushed through the throng of gawkers on the corner of Park Lane and flew up the steps of his townhouse. Brooks slammed the door behind him and shut out the nonsensical speculation shouted from the crowd gathered on the street. No doubt his escapades at The National Gallery and in prison were detailed in the evening’s scandal sheets. Devlin promised to speak to the powers that be and temper the rags, but one never knew who leaked the choicest tidbits. London’s gossipmongers had a network independent of any sense of loyalty.

He started for the stairs with the goal of a hot bath and change of clothes before setting off for Wiltshire, but his valet hounded his every step.

‘Not now, Brooks.’

‘A minute of your time, milord.’

‘Not now!’

‘Milord!’

‘What is it?’ Con spat the words as he spun around, the action nearly forcing him to collide with the valet’s startled form. ‘Excuse me, Brooks. You did a fine job of fetching my friends, and I thank you, but if there is nothing else save another lecture concerning my behaviour, I have no time. I need you to order Merlot made ready. I am long overdue to pay an important call.’

‘You’re leaving? Must you always burn the candle to the wick? Can you not slow your pace for one bloody evening? This is important.’

Having never heard Brooks raise his voice, Con paused.

‘You have a visitor. She waits in the drawing room.’

Ease washed through him.
Isabelle
. Had she returned to London? Surely she received his messages by now.

The memory of finding her on his doorstep, a gold button pressed to her palm, flittered through his mind and he managed a slight smile. Sweet, sensible Isabelle. It seemed like so long ago, rather than a handful of weeks. How he yearned to hold her in his arms.

He looked down at his state of dress. ‘Who is it?’

‘Lady Wilmington, milord. She insisted upon remaining in your drawing room until you returned home. She has waited a long time.’

Constantine’s shoulders sagged the smallest degree, and he swallowed his disappointment. He glanced in Brooks’ direction with a curt demand. ‘Did anyone see her arrive?’

‘I don’t believe so. She came by hackney and wore a dark hooded cloak.’

Constantine used every ounce of patience in his power. ‘Send in tea.’

‘You cannot mean to see her in your state of dress. You – ’ Brooks stumbled over his words ‘ – are not fit for company.’

Con glanced down to his foul attire, then raised dead eyes and speared the valet, who now stumbled over his words. ‘Milord, I labour to protect your history of carefully cultivated dissolution.’

‘I am in no mood. I will see her now and be on my way.’ He dismissed Brooks with a wave of his hand and called back over his shoulder. ‘Bring in tea. Then order me a bath and make sure the water is wicked hot. I’ll need Merlot ready in one hour.’

Con swept into the room, anxious to be rid of his visitor and up into his chambers as soon as possible. If he made good time, he could arrive in Wiltshire by tomorrow afternoon. And then he would ask Isabelle to marry him. Long days spent confined to a jail cell offered time for an abundance of self-reflection. He would never be happy without her in his life and in his bed. Lost in his succinct planning, he paused before greeting his guest.

‘Adelaide. I am surprised to see you.’ Her keen gaze swept over his filthy attire and he could not help but mumble, ‘Obviously.’

‘Are you in good health? I heard rumours.’

Constantine entered the room fully, and closed the door behind him. ‘Yes, of course.’ He brushed his palms down the front of his tattered waistcoat. ‘A mishap, that is all. When Brooks mentioned you waited, I did not take the time to change my clothes, and came to you straightaway.’

‘I see.’ Her voice haboured an edge of deceptive casualness. ‘I hope you are not angry at my showing here uninvited.’

He’d experienced a few of her emotional tirades when she perceived she did not receive enough attention. It was one of the main reasons their brief entanglement ended. He was in no mood for one of her surly bouts now.

‘I recall you said the very same when I entered my carriage and found you lying on the squabs.’ Impatient to reach the purpose of her visit, he motioned towards the settee. She did not sit down.

‘We did have a fine time, didn’t we?’

‘Yes, but that was several months ago. Now if you will excuse me from reminiscing, I am sorely in need of hot water and a change of clothes, so if there is something else...’

She did not utter a word.

‘When I return to London – ’

‘You are leaving?’

‘Yes, I have an appointment. Was there a specific reason for your visit? I have no time to waste.’

Her mood shifted, a subtle straightening of her spine. If not for his exactitude for detail, the ability to note the slightest change in demeanour, he might never have noticed. When she finally spoke, all placating cheerfulness was gone.

‘Yes, I have a reason, a very important one.’ She paused for less than a breath. ‘I am with child, and I believe the child is yours.’

Chapter Nineteen

A physical blow would not have struck him as hard. He took a faltering step backward as his mind scrambled to make sense of Adelaide’s claim. He always used a French letter. Always. The path of his thoughts wounded him doubly on the tail of the initial news. Isabelle was the only woman with whom he did not take precaution. What would she say were she to learn of this accusation? He would never see her again. It could not be true.

‘Do not trifle with me. You know what you suggest is impossible,’ Con snarled.

She glanced towards the floor, then back again, and he noticed her gloved hands twisted the strands of her reticule.

‘I realise this must come as a shock.’

Did her voice quaver from anger or deceit? Or was she simply overwrought?

‘Your evasiveness forces me to be direct. I apologise for my coarse language, but I took precaution to guard both of us from this very predicament. There is no way your claim can be true.’

When she failed to respond, he continued. ‘We were together nearly five months ago. Why come to me now, when so much time has passed?’ He coasted his eyes down her slim figure. Her accusation made no sense at all.

‘I needed to be sure. My monthly flux has never been predictable. And too, I did not know what to do.’

A brisk knock brought Brooks through the open door. He deposited the silver tea service on the table and with efficiency poured two cups, the clinking of china a discordant noise in a room thick with tension. The valet leaned in to impart a brief whispered message beside Con’s ear then quit the room. Adelaide continued.

‘But now, I am certain I carry your child,’ she said crisply. ‘I did not know where to turn at first. When I consulted my closest confidants, they urged me to tell you about the babe. Even with their encouragement, it has taken me weeks to come here.’

Anger replaced mottled confusion. If Adelaide shared her predicament with friends, there would be no discretion in the matter. Rumours blossomed, and like weeds did not die easily.

His silence prompted her to move closer. Her mood appeared lighter, as if everything was neatly resolved.

‘I have an appointment with a very fine doctor the day after tomorrow. He will confirm what I already know in my heart.’ Her features softened. ‘It is not just the irregularities of my monthly flux. I know my own body.’

‘I have no doubt of that.’ His voice regained its authoritative tone. ‘And I know my own actions. While the doctor may confirm you carry a child, I am confident the child is not mine.’

‘Are you suggesting I am too forthcoming with my favours?’ She bristled as she spoke.

‘Damn me, if we need to explore that topic.’

‘You insult me.’

‘You’ve kept the company of Lord Norton on a regular basis. Why aren’t you on his doorstep? I find it hard to believe you can determine…’

‘The child is yours.’ Adelaide squared her shoulders, the four words spoken in a tone that pre-empted disagreement.

‘If you mean to shame me into some kind of trap, it will not work.’ He shook his head to emphasise the point. The extent of complication that met his life since leaving Highborough House was almost too much to comprehend. He wanted simplicity, normalcy. Damn it all, he wanted Isabelle.

‘I will be in touch in two days time. I expect by then you will be more inclined to discuss our future.’ Her parting words hung in the air as she swept from the room.

He walked to the window and watched as the hired hackney pulled away. The night remained black as pitch and he turned with abrupt temper at the new development, a hand at his forehead to rub away his fatigue. All earlier exuberance and intention to visit Isabelle lie in ashes, extinguished, with Adelaide’s unexpected announcement.

How he despised the constraints of society. His eyes fell closed and an image of his father’s gravesite at Highborough House, overgrown and unattended for years by his strict order, rose to mind. He laughed, cynical and angry. Tonight it was as though the old man mocked him from the grave: his father, a master of grand appearance. The ton should know all his secrets and the truth of how he conducted his personal life.

With a curse, his thoughts returned to the problem at hand. Adelaide’s demeanour struck him as odd. Wouldn’t an unmarried woman be devastated to find herself with child? Instead, aside from a slight nervousness, she seemed determined to convince him the child, if even one existed, belonged to him. If she schemed something, he needed to discover what it was as soon as possible. He glared into the night. Her accusatory mess would cause him another unavoidable delay.

His thoughts flowed to Isabelle. How he longed to go to her and confess his true feelings. He would never have his fill of her in bed, that much was true, but her voice, her smiles, everything concerning Isabelle, he wanted it all, for always. He ached for her and worse, he could still feel the heat of her silky skin against the tip of his fingers. Whatever spell she had cast upon him with her mysterious grey eyes, she now owned his heart.

His strides ate up the carpet as he hurried to his rooms. He had battled far worse than Adelaide Wilmington and emerged victorious. Every sharp strike of his father’s cane against the back of his skull taught him survival, resilience and strength. Every biting lash doled out by his sire, ingrained independence and resourcefulness, until he was fifteen years of age and finally able to garner the courage to threaten his father with physical retaliation. Then the beatings stopped, and soon after the old man did something worthwhile: he died.

Before he had left Highborough House to return to London, he’d visited his father’s graveside, determined to discard the lingering emotions of the past. As he eyed the weed-choked marble marker, no emotion stirred, nary the slightest tug of anger or resentment. Someone had been out to the site though. The overgrown vines had been hastily pushed away to reveal his father’s name. Con’s his first inclination was to dismiss the servant that disobeyed his order and tended the plot, but he just as soon discarded the idea.