To Sin With A Stranger (18 page)

Isobel sighed. “So you do not believe Parliament should purchase them.”

“On the contrary, I know they are treasures and must be protected.”

A smile spread across Isobel’s lips, her happiness with his reply so obvious that she covered her mouth.

“Am I to understand that this pleases you, Miss Carington?” He laughed then, and she lowered her hand and did the same.

“Yes, it does please me. You see, I saw the marbles recently, and now feel somehow intimately connected.” The image of Sterling making love to her atop one of the statues made her blush fiercely. “I know…my passion for them is not easily understood, not even by me.”

He turned her to him and took her hands in his. “That is where you are wrong, Miss Carington. I understand your passion for antiquities quite intimately myself.” A sweep of heated color flooded his cheeks, and the awkwardness of the moment became evident to both of them.

“Shall we return to the phaeton? I daresay, the warmth of the day is surprising, and a fast ride through the streets of London would be most refreshing, would it not?”

He nodded enthusiastically and led her back to stables. But when they arrived, the stable boy was nearly in tears. “I apologize, sir, but I left your horses to fetch some water, and when I returned, their tack was on the ground and they were gone!”

Mr. Leake was thoroughly flustered. “I am sorry, Miss Carington, but I must look for them. So I will summon a hackney for you, if you do not mind.”

Isobel was just opening her mouth to agree when she heard her name on the breeze. “Good day, Miss Carington,” said Mrs. Smithly, who waved to her from a nearby carriage. Lady Marigold leaned toward the door from the opposite seat and fluttered her gloved fingers out the open window. “Good afternoon, dear.”

Isobel lifted her hand and acknowledged them. She was just turning back to Mr. Leake to suggest she request a ride back to Leicester Square with the matrons, when he took off running toward their carriage. He spoke with them through the open window and then beckoned for Isobel to come.

“They said to tell you to marry the Scot,” said the stable boy.

“What?” Isobel spun around to look at the lad. “Who bade you to tell me that?” She furrowed her brow at him.

“Those ladies,” he replied confidently, no longer seeming so upset by his failure to tend to Mr. Leake’s horses properly. “The ladies who paid me a pounder to let the team loose.”

Isobel gasped. The damnable wager.

With a parting scowl at the stable boy, she hurried toward the coconspirators’ carriage.

The next evening
Wormesley House
Park Lane

The annual musicale sponsored by the self-appointed arbiters of taste was an event no one who was honored with an invitation would dare miss.

And, owing to the widespread interest in the wager concerning the question of the marriage of Lord Blackburn and a miss of common birth, but uncommon beauty, the Sinclair family was gifted with just such an honor.

The Sinclair family stood near the window talking among themselves, for, though every devout patron of the arts studied them, no one dared speak to them until Sir Richard Payne Knight had given his approval of the Scots.

Payne Knight rounded the Sinclairs in ever-tightening circles. He was a self-tutored scholar and connoisseur, admired for his theories of picturesque beauty as well as ancient art, especially phallic imagery.

“If he passes me by once more,” Priscilla sniped, “I shall walk straight up to him and tell him his musicale is…uninspiring.”

“He is studying us. Give him a little more time, Priscilla,” Ivy whispered. “I have no doubt that such a self-important Englishman is somewhat intimidated by the sight of
real
men.”

Sterling chuckled at that, and for some reason it was this break with formality that drew Payne Knight to them.

“I am so pleased that you and your family condescended to attend our musicale, Lord Blackburn.” He did not glance sidelong at any of the other Sinclairs.

“There was no condescension involved,” Sterling countered. “My family and I were honored to receive an invitation to join you and the Society of Dilettanti this night.”

Priscilla could not restrain herself any longer. She moved beside Sterling and dropped a deep curtsy to Payne Knight. “We are all greatly honored by your attentions.” She smiled tightly at him. “I wonder, how do you find us?”

From the corner of his eye, Sterling saw Siusan swish open her fan to conceal a grin or look of astonishment, which, he could not tell.

Sir Richard Payne Knight seemed to find Priscilla’s comment amusing. “Why, my dear, I find
you
rather forward, but every beautiful rose bears a thorn or two.” He walked past them all, then turned and returned to stand before Sterling. “I find you all quite aesthetically pleasing to the eye.” He turned his attention back to Sterling. “Even you, Lord Blackburn. Your face is amazingly symmetrical for a fighter whose jaw receives such punishing blows.” He paused for a moment and puffed a silent laugh. “You truly are a contradiction, my lord. You enjoy gambling and sport more than most, but then you are also a true devotee of beautiful things as well, aren’t you?”

“No more than any other man.” Sterling smiled flatly. The only reason he endured this bore was a whisper that Isobel would also attend the annual musicale.

“Ah, but not every man has developed such a keen interest in Elgin’s Parthenon marbles.” Payne Knight pursed his lips and waited expectantly for Sterling to respond.

Sterling raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

“Oh, do not be alarmed, my lord. I hear of everything…of importance to art, that is.”

“I do have interest in the marbles—in
preserving
them.”

“Really?” He folded his arms over his chest, then lifted his right index finger to his nearly nonexistent chin. “I have heard that they are not from Athens at all, but rather crude Roman sculptures.” Payne Knight pinned Sterling with his watery eyes. “I wonder if you have heard the same.”

“I have heard such a rumor, but also that it sprang from your lips, sir.” Sterling shook his head. “And surely it was said in jest, because as a connoisseur and scholar of antiquities, one glimpse of the marbles surely convinced you of their authenticity.”

Payne Knight paused for a moment before laughing. “I do enjoy your company, Lord Blackburn. You are most diverting.”

“As are you, dear sir.” Suddenly Sterling saw Isobel enter the drawing room with her father—and, damn it all, the gentleman who had once raced him across a ballroom to dance with her as well.

Payne Knight’s lips curled, and he gestured for the party to join him and the Sinclair family. Greetings were exchanged, until one was left. “Lord Blackburn, are you acquainted with my protégé, Mr. Burke Leake?”

“I have not formally had the pleasure,” Sterling said, trying very hard not to look directly at Isobel or search her eyes for any indication of worry. He had not heard a word, or received a message from her…and he was sure he would have by now.

Leake bowed his head. “I wonder, do you recall that we were competitors once for a dance with this beautiful and noble lady?” He looked at Isobel, who appeared suddenly stunned. Leake took a step closer to her. “Perhaps we are competitors still, eh?”

Sterling stared mutely at the auburn-haired gentleman before smiling broadly back at him. “Ah, you are partaking in the wager.” He looked hard into Leake’s eyes, but his smile remained on his lips. “Alas, I don’t know the outcome of the bet either.” He softened his gaze and let it fall gently upon Isobel, who blushed becomingly, much to the visible consternation of her father.

“So good to know you all,” Payne Knight said. He gestured at the musicians who were taking their places upon a small dais. “The musicale is about to commence. Please, won’t you all be seated?”

Sterling made to offer his arm to Isobel, but her father stepped between them. He immediately palmed Isobel’s shoulder and guided her and Mr. Leake to a trio of chairs on the opposite side of the aisle from where the Sinclair brothers and sisters were just beginning to take their places.

Sterling turned in his too small chair toward Isobel, but her father’s hardened gaze intervened and she did not so much as raise her eyes.

He leaned to Siusan, who sat at his right. “I need your assistance.”

“What? Now? The musicale is about to commence.”

He shook his head slightly and crooked his index finger at her.

She leaned close and flipped open her painted fan and traced the line of a pagoda, prompting Sterling to study the intricate design while he whispered to her. “Something is wrong. I need to speak with Miss Carington. Would you ask her to meet
you
tomorrow noon for tea at the Garden of Eden?”

“What is the matter? I thought you were so sure just yesterday,” Su whispered softly.

“I wish I knew, but I don’t. Her eyes are worried though. Something has happened. Her father will not even let me near her.” Sterling sighed and lowered his eyes to the program distributed by the arbiters of taste, the Society of Self-Puffery. “Will you do it?”

Su touched his arm. “Aye, of course I will. Assuming you still have a few shillings tucked away somewhere for me.” She grinned.

He nodded absently at Isobel.

Su turned and glanced at Miss Carington, who stared straight ahead, waiting for the musicians to begin, while Mr. Leake prattled on, gesturing to the ancient vases on either side of the mantel.

Ivy leaned toward him from the other side. “Don’t worry so, Sterling. I will assist you as well, by seeing what I can do about distracting our Mr. Leake on the morrow.”

Sterling lowered his head, absently crumpled the program in his fist, and waited impatiently for the hellish musicale to end.

As the musicale and the conversation that followed were mercifully drawing to a close, Isobel excused herself from her father and Payne Knight to return to her chair to collect the wrap and reticule she’d left upon its seat. Whisking the silk wrap around her shoulders, Isobel then bent and snatched up the reticule from the chair. She had started to walk back to her father when she felt something heavy in the bottom of the bag. First shaking it once, to be sure of what she felt, she loosened the cord that cinched the silk reticule, then opened it to peer inside.

“What on earth?” A small white calling card and several guineas gleamed softly in the dull light illuminating the purse’s interior through the delicate silk. Thrusting her forefinger and thumb inside, she withdrew the card. It was blank except for three hand-inked words:
For the orphans
. The writing was familiar to her, for the note accompanying the donations left on her doorstep recently had been inked by the very same hand. She was sure of it, for she had studied the writing endlessly, hoping it might yield some clue as to the identity of the most generous and thoughtful gentleman.

“Who put this—” She jerked her head up and scanned the room for anyone who might have left the gift. The musicale’s attendees still milled around the room, clustered here and there in conversation. She spun around, her eyes shifting wildly as she sought to pick out just who might be the anonymous donor. Just then, from the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a gentleman darting into the darkness through a narrower door, leading not to the passageway and the front door beyond where some guests were going, but, she guessed, into the depths of the house.

Isobel reached out a hand. “Wait,” she said softly, knowing already that since the gentleman evidently wished to remain unknown to her, her plea to stop would go unbidden. No sooner had the word left her lips than he disappeared and the door had closed again, so quickly that it left her to wonder if she had even seen anyone at all.

Leake
. It might have been he who left the coins. While waiting for the musicale to begin, he had seemed extraordinarily interested when she told him about her charity work, even though he likely had heard of it before. After all, she had been London’s parlors’ topic of interest since she charged into the Pugilistic Club. She must thank him and tell him how much she appreciated his support of the widows and orphans when so many would waste their coin elsewhere on games of chance.

Isobel turned around and looked for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. This convinced her further that she was correct in her assumption that Leake was her man.

She hastened after him, but her slippers had barely moved two steps before she stopped.

Certainly Sterling would be watching her, as might her father. It wouldn’t do for any guest—but especially not her, the focus of the
ton
’s scrutiny—to be seen rushing off into the darkness of rooms obviously not meant to be entered.

More importantly, she desperately wanted to speak with Sterling before she and her father quit the musicale, if only for a moment, to be sure he knew it was her father’s invitation, not hers, for Mr. Leake to join them. And if she had the courage, she wanted to assure Sterling that her fondness for him remained ever steady and strong.

She frantically glanced around the room for Sterling, but he was nowhere to be seen either.

Never mind
, she told herself.
I will return in but a moment or two
.

Damn it all
. He’d walked straight into a library that was little more than a box broken only by a single door and a rather small window. There was no other exit.

He knew his time was short. He hadn’t expected Isobel to turn to retrieve her reticule a scant second after he dropped the coins inside. Instead of leaving the musicale at that moment, as he’d hoped, he instead was forced down the row of the diminutive chairs where the only escape from her notice was to duck through the narrow door at the end of the aisle.

Unfortunately, she’d probably seen the door close behind him, and was already fast on his trail. The only way to avoid her was to heave the window open and dive through it.
Bluidy hell
.

Sterling hurried to the window and had just started to lift the sash an inch or two when he heard the gentle squeal of hinges as the door opened behind him. He froze where he stood, his face directed at the window. Though he could see that the night’s moon was but a sliver of light in a cloudy black sky, Isobel would see him and know the small offerings that had been left for her, all he could manage just now, were from him.