VIscount Besieged (27 page)

He laughed.
‘Where did you come by the notion that I think you
horrid?’

‘
Well, you will keep on saying I am dangerous,’ said Isadora
defensively, ‘just as if I had done something really wicked,
like—’

She broke off,
appalled at hearing herself almost fling her accusation at him
again. The good humour left his face, and Isadora was conscious of
the most uncomfortable sensation in her chest. Guilt. And dread.
Oh, God, let him not be angry with her again. Not like that hideous
day in the library at Pusay.

‘
Like
me, you mean,’ he said curtly.

‘
No,’
she cried despairingly. ‘I didn’t mean that. At least, I did, but I
did not mean to carp at you, I swear it. There is—there is nothing
to be done about— I mean, I know I cannot change anything by
railing about it, only—oh, fudge, I wish I had never met
you!’

The warmth was
back at the corners of Roborough’s eyes as they crinkled in
amusement again.

‘
Extremely lucid, Isadora. Perhaps you would care to join Fanny
in the schoolroom so that you may learn to express yourself with
more coherence?’

Isadora cried
out and raised clenched fists to heaven, but her sense of humour
betrayed her and a giggle escaped her lips.

‘
Abominable! I hate you.’

He grinned. ‘I
know it, alas. Never mind. Let us agree to defer our differences
for the moment, shall we? I have something of some moment to ask
you.’

She
was diverted at once. ‘Indeed? What is it?’

‘
Just
this. If you would not care to be shown over the grounds, perhaps
you would instead like to come with me to the stables and choose a
horse to ride until Juliet arrives.’

Isadora stared
at him. Her heart swelled with warmth for his kindness. ‘You are
having Juliet brought here for me?’

‘
Is
it so strange that I should do so? Totteridge will bring both her
and Titian. I left him to make all the necessary
arrangements.’

‘
But
I thought you would sell her,’ said Isadora unthinkingly. ‘I
thought you would sell all the horses.’

A shadow crossed
his face. His voice was harshly bitter.

‘
Did
you?’ He uttered a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Of course you did. What
else were you to think?’

Isadora gazed at
him, realising abruptly that he was hurt. Her heart plummeted. How
could she have done that? Without pause for thought, she crossed
the space between them, holding out her hands.

‘
Don’t look like that, Roborough! Curse me for a shrew, if you
will, but pray don’t look at me so. That was too unjust of me. I
know you are not that cruel.’

He received her
hands in his, clasping them strongly. His countenance relaxed, and
he said in the gentlest of tones, ‘Damn you for a shrew, Isadora
Alvescot.’

Isadora smiled
at him. The viscount, hardly conscious of what he was doing,
released her hands and cradled her face between his own.

‘
You
are extraordinary, Isadora. I think, if I had to select that side
of you that maddens me the most, it must be this volatile tendency
to sweep from one extreme to another without any warning at
all.’

Isadora watched
the warmth radiate at the corners of his eyes and felt his thumb
lightly caressing her cheek where he held it. His voice was almost
tender.

‘
It
is very unsettling.’

Unsettling? What
was Isadora to say of the sensations that were churning inside her?
She was frozen to stillness by his touch, but heat was sweeping
through her in waves. Her bones seemed to go weak and a quivering
began in her limbs.

Roborough’s
brows drew together.

‘
You’re trembling.’

His hands left
her face, moving down to grasp her shoulders. The urge to drag her
closer was almost irresistible.

Isadora read it
in his face. Remembrance threw her into panic. What was she doing?
And with this man! Abruptly she thrust him away, wrenching
back.

His countenance
altered, the frown descending so rapidly that she was conscious of
that dreadful discomfort once more. But her own treacherous
emotions were too all-consuming to allow it to weigh with her. Her
thoughts tumbled from her mouth unchecked.

‘
You
nearly did it. Oh, God, but you nearly had me softening again,
cozening wretch that you are! What do you hope to gain by it? I
must have taken leave of my senses indeed. I have not forgotten, if
you have, what you truly are under this mask you wear. I will not
forget it!’

Roborough said
nothing. What was the point? For a moment he had thought there was
a faint hope. He could, of course, reveal it all now. Why, though?
It was all so disheartening. In spite of all, he hankered for that
elusive, impossible trust. She had almost softened. Somewhere
beneath the suspicion and doubt there was a measure of belief, only
her hostility was so hurtful that all desire to disabuse her of her
misconceptions about him left him totally.

‘
This
time you are clear enough,’ he said coldly. ‘I shall leave you to
amuse yourself. Pray consider the place your own.’

He left her on
the words. Isadora watched him go, and, discovering that she was
still trembling, sat down again, clenching her hands in her
lap.

***

The sitting-room
given over to Mrs Alvescot’s use was a quiet parlour which,
thankfully, had none of the grandeur of the receiving-rooms. After
a light luncheon attended by everyone except Roborough—a fact which
afforded Isadora a bagful of mixed emotions, for she had only seen
him at meals these two days—the family had congregated in this
apartment at the request of Cousin Matty.

‘
We
have discovered something which you all should know,’ she began
impressively.

Isadora, espying
on her young cousin’s countenance the smug look that she knew well,
uttered drily, ‘You mean Fanny has discovered it.’

‘
Well, yes,’ admitted Cousin Matty, ‘but you may be sure that I
sought the truth of the matter from Miss Callowell before troubling
you with it, and it seems that there is no mistake.’

‘
Oh,
dear me,’ sighed Mrs Alvescot apprehensively. ‘Is it something
dreadful, Matty?’

‘
Dear
Ellen, I am afraid you will be seriously shocked. I have been so
myself.’

A pulse began to
throb in Isadora’s temple. No! Oh no. Cousin Matty had discovered
the truth about Roborough. Now they would all despise him. Hate him
perhaps, just as she did herself. She could not endure the thought
of it. It was one thing for her to know him for what he was, quite
another to have the family—who had, God knew, taken him to their
collective heart—so shamefully disabused.

‘
Oh,
Matty,’ her mother was saying, ‘you are raising the most fearful
apprehensions in my mind. Tell me the worst at once!’

‘
I’ll
tell, shall I, Mama?’ pleaded Fanny, obviously dying to do
so.

‘
Why
you?’ demanded Rowland jealously. ‘I could tell them just as well
as you.’

‘
Be
quiet, both of you,’ snapped Cousin Matty, in a manner that was so
out of character that both her children subsided at
once.

Isadora held her
breath. It had to be that. Why else would Cousin Matty be so
distressed? She wanted to cry out that she knew the truth already,
but her tongue would not utter the words.

‘
Matty, speak,’ cried Mrs Alvescot anxiously.

‘
It
is about Lord Roborough,’ pronounced Cousin Matty solemnly. Then
her countenance collapsed piteously. ‘That poor woman! Oh, Ellen, I
confess I had thought her demeanour quite odiously affected and
silly. But if I had been obliged to endure what she has
endured—’

‘
Matty, what do you mean? Are you speaking of Lady
Roborough?’

‘
Yes,
poor soul. You see, Ellen, he lost
everything.
And all
through his own wretched folly.’

‘
He
was a gambler,’ said Fanny with relish, determined to shove in her
oar. ‘He gambled away all their money.’

Isadora saw her
mother’s eyes widen in horror, and her heart contracted. She wanted
to cry out that it was not true. That Roborough was not that kind
of man. But how could she defend him against what she already knew
to be the truth, for had he not condemned himself out of his own
mouth?

‘
Fanny, do be quiet,’ begged Cousin Matty, far less strict now
that the news was out. ‘They are desperately poor, Ellen. Isn’t it
terrible?’

‘
Oh,
terrible,’ said Mrs Alvescot faintly, looking quite bewildered.
‘From what we have seen, one would never have supposed such a
thing.’

‘
No,
but I must confess that I had wondered, as we passed through the
halls—such elegant sweeping arches—how it came about that the
carpeting was so threadbare in places.’

‘
The
drapes are faded and worn, too,’ put in Fanny irrepressibly.
‘Corinne says that it is only in the big saloons where they receive
their guests that they have managed to replace the
furnishings.’

‘
How
do they live?’ asked Mrs Alvescot. ‘To be sure, we have ourselves
been obliged to make retrenchments, but—’

‘
Oh,
it is far worse than our situation,’ said Cousin Matty earnestly.
‘Only consider the size of this house. Do you recall, Ellen, Lady
Roborough saying that she has been obliged to accustom herself all
her life to things over which she has no control?’

‘
Yes,
for she repeated the words to me only yesterday.’

‘
For
my part, I thought I was unfortunate when I became widowed at so
early an age,’ pursued Cousin Matty, ‘but, though it pains me to
say it, I had rather be a widow than discover my husband to be
addicted to gaming. Why, one would never know a moment’s peace of
mind.’

Isadora, who had
been grappling with what she was trying to convince herself was
quite unwarranted distress, here blanked completely. Husband? She
gazed at Cousin Matty, hearing nothing of what either she or her
mama was saying. Lady Roborough’s
husband
was a
gambler?

‘
Cousin Matty,’ she interrupted imperatively. ‘Are you saying
that the
late
viscount was a gambling man?’

Her cousin
looked round at her, raising her brows. ‘You don’t suppose I meant
Cousin Roborough, do you, Dora?’

The sarcastic
inflexion went right over Isadora’s head. Yes, that was precisely
what she had supposed. A hollowness opened up in her chest. Could
it be—was it possible that—?

‘
Are
you sure?’

‘
What
is the matter with you, Dora?’ demanded Fanny. ‘Of course she is
sure. Why, Bettina and Corinne told us all about it because we
commiserated with them on losing their papa.’

‘
What
did they say?’ asked Isadora, painfully conscious of a weight of
remorse threatening to descend upon her at any moment, with the
realisation that Roborough was innocent.

‘
Bettina said we must not mind it if they seemed not to be
grieving unduly,’ Fanny recounted, ‘because the truth of it was
their papa ruined their mama’s life with his gambling, and they
were all of them more relieved than sorry at his death—especially
since it meant their brother Titus would now be in
command.’

‘
Yes,
for their portions had been all swallowed up and they could not get
a husband,’ added Rowland. ‘Only they suppose Cousin Roborough will
mend everything in time.’

Isadora heard
the rest of what Corinne and Bettina had said only through a haze.
She thought she was going to swoon. Roborough was not the gamester.
It was his father who had brought them to this pass. Then
Syderstone’s debt must have been—

Oh, of
course
.
Syderstone was a much older man. He had never said,
had he, that the debt had been incurred by Roborough himself? He
had called it a debt of honour—gentlemen stupidly believing that
they might readily neglect to pay their tradesmen only so long as
they paid their friends. Papa had explained it all to her once,
those peculiar standards of honour obtaining among the stronger
sex. Naturally, Roborough would consider himself to be under an
obligation to pay his father’s gambling debt. The debt of honour
would have devolved upon him.

A sudden gust of
rage shook her. Iniquitous! That the late viscount had ruined his
son’s inheritance was bad enough, but that his son should also be
obliged to pay for the precise thing which had ruined it—oh, she
wished she had the deceased Lord Roborough before her. She would
tell him a thing or two to make his ears burn. Instead, she had
said all those things to his son.

Her heart
lurched. How unjustly she had treated him! How cruelly she had
lashed him—as if he had not enough to endure without her added
spite. But it had not been spite. She had spoken in good faith,
indeed she had. And Roborough—

Her fury veered
suddenly. Why in the world had he not told her the truth? Great
heavens, he had allowed her to believe it of him! How dared he let
her make such an out-and-out fool of herself? He must have guessed
she would discover the truth within days of stepping within his
door. Oh, the unmitigated, hateful wretch!