A Summons From the Duke (4 page)

~ 4 ~

Isabel cursed her luck as she strolled, arm in arm with Lockwell, from the drawing room to the dining room. Her blasted mother had decided before Isabel had even arrived that she and Lockwell would suit well. Had she gone completely mad? Did she not see what a complete wastrel the man was? Never mind he had read the
Manifesto
—he’d probably had a gun to his head when he did. Isabel couldn’t imagine he would have read it of his own accord. No, someone who wore his hair mussed and his cravat so carelessly tied did not have an interest in books. He had an interest in women who would see to the mussing of the aforementioned hair and cravat.

Even tonight, for dinner with the duke, Lockwell looked as though he’d only just rolled from the haystack—minus the hay, of course.

“
So, did you help your sister with the letter or did she do it of her own accord.”

Isabel’s breath knocked clean out of her. How did he know? “Wha-what are you talking about?”

Lockwell smiled down at her, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. It was a smile full of mischief, blast him. “I think it’s terribly sweet that you want to protect your sister. But truly, there’s no point.”

Isabel shoved her nose in the air, refusing to look Lockwell in the eye. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You sound like a blathering idiot to me.”

Lockwell seemed to choke on a laugh. “You’re not the first to say so, but I expected you to be a little more original in your assessment.”

Was there ever a more infuriating man?

“
Come now, there’s no need for flaring nostrils. I’m not going to make a public announcement about your sister’s chicanery.”

“
Then why are you pressing the matter?”

“
Aha!” Lockwell stopped short and put one finger in the air. Isabel tugged on his arm, not wishing to draw attention. “So you admit there is a matter to press?” he said, falling in step beside her again.

If she hadn’t been so afraid of Grandpapa’s wrath, Isabel would have jabbed Lockwell with the dull sword the decorative knight in the corridor wore. Grandpapa loved that blasted knight more than he loved his own progeny. “I didn’t say that.”

“
But I think you did,” Lockwell replied smugly. “Besides, I already know she did it. There is no question of that. I just want to know why.”

They entered the dining room. Grandpapa was at the head of the table already, watching everyone as they crossed into the room. Isabel pasted on her most dignified expression—pleasant smile, chin even with the floor, eyes vacant—as she replied, “I wouldn’t tell you a thing about my sister’s intentions were you threatening to feed me to a den of hungry lions.”

She dropped his arm with a sigh of relief and headed towards her usual seat at the table.

“
Isabel,” came her mother’s stern but quiet voice. “You will sit further down the table tonight to make room for Lord Heathfield.”

“
But, Mother—”

Her mother quelled her with a look—the one that said she would be punished if she attempted to argue.

Damn Lord Heathfield and his blackguard friend. And while she was at it, damn all the blasted cousins who had yet to arrive, but who would surely continue to turn her home upside down.

“
You will sit here, Isabel.” Her mother indicated a seat further down the table. “And Mr. Lockwell, perhaps you could sit here…next to Isabel.”

Lockwell’s face lit up in a smile that said he knew both what Lady Norland was doing and how Isabel felt about what Lady Norland was doing. Hmph. Did he know
everything
? It was deuced annoying, that.

“
It would be my great honor to sit next to your lovely daughter this evening,” he said, and he never once took his eyes from Isabel.

Isabel squirmed in her skin. There was that blasted feeling again. The one in the pit of her stomach that made her all flummoxed and confused. She frantically sought out her sister, only to find that
she
was already seated in her usual chair and engaged in deep conversation with that insipid Sir Thomas Mason. So much for sisterly support.

~*~

If Damien had been in a more private setting, he would have been rolling about the floor, laughing like the hyenas of the African tundra. What a brilliant decision to join Heathfield here at Danby Castle. He’d only been here a few hours, and already he was having the time of his life. He wasn’t typically one for provincialities, but being in the country was proving to be a great deal of fun. Perhaps he’d start making a go of it more often.

He bounded to Lady Isabel’s side and took his seat. Her body was tense, rigid, which made Damien crow inwardly. He loved to see a girl tied in knots over him.

“
Now,” he said quietly, “about those lions.”

Lady Isabel closed her eyes, as if she were calling upon the strength of the good Lord above to get her through this dinner. “Please, Mr. Lockwell, I beg of you to let the subject be.”

Beg? No, no. He hated when a woman begged. He wanted fire—he wanted a challenge. “No need to stoop to begging, Lady Isabel. I will harp on the subject either way. You’ll find I’m most tenacious.”

“
No, I’ve
already
found that out about you—you needn’t work so hard to prove it.”

“
But I think I must,” he replied, pounding his fist lightly on the table to drive home his point. “For you refuse me at every turn, Lady Isabel.”

“
You ask for information that is private.”

“
How can it be private when I have been dragged all the way to Yorkshire for Christmas? Away from my family at a most important time of year.”

“
If it is so important perhaps you should go back. I’m sure you’d make it back to—” she looked him up and down— “
wherever
you’re from in plenty of time.”

Never mind his family didn’t care a figgie pudding about Christmas. His mother had gone off to Bath to visit her sister, and Father was surely so deep in his cups, Damien doubted they even knew he was gone from the house.

“
Well, I’m from a very remote town…far in the south…of Wales.” Hm. The lie had gotten away from him, it seemed. “My hands are tied now. I either stay here, with your lovely family, or spend Christmas in a coaching inn. All alone.” He sighed and shook his head.

“
If you are searching for pity, sir, I recommend you seek out other company.”

Damien couldn’t help but smile. “No, no,” he said, reaching for his wine, “you shall do just fine.”

Lady Isabel rolled her eyes.

“
Ahem.
”

Damien looked up to see that Lady Norland was glaring daggers at her daughter. Apparently rolling one’s eyes was frowned upon at the dinner table. So Lady Isabel lowered hers to her soup, and Damien suddenly felt horrible.

He shouldn’t have. The chit didn’t have to roll her eyes at him, no matter how annoying he might be. Still, he hated to be the cause of her mother’s wrath. Or disappointment. Whatever it was that Lady Norland held over her daughter’s head.

Perhaps he should change the subject for the time being.

“
Do you go to London often, Lady Isabel?”

She paused mid-bite and gave him a skeptical, sideways look.

He leaned in close to whisper, “I do know how to make polite conversation, my lady. I just don’t care to do it very often.”

She swallowed what was in her mouth and straightened up in her seat. “Well, thank you for indulging me, Mr. Lockwell.”

He smiled. “My pleasure.”

“
And yes, we do get to London quite often. Father does his duty by Parliament, so we spend both the Season and the Little Season in Town.” She placed a morsel of bread on her tongue. “What about you, Mr. Lockwell? Are you able to break away from your Welsh estate to spend time in London?”

Damien chuckled. “All right, I admit it. I’m not really from Wales. I’m from Birmingham, if you must know. And I prefer to spend as much time in London as I can.”

“
Your parents don’t miss you?”

He couldn’t stop the undignified smirk that came to his lips. “Ah, no.” He meant to elaborate but then thought better of it. The pitying look Lady Isabel gave him at that simple no was enough pity to last him a lifetime. He despised pity.

“
She wrote it,” Isabel said on a whisper. “My sister. She wrote that letter.”

However, it did seem to work wonders at loosening a lady’s tongue.

“
But that’s all I’ll say on the matter,” she continued. “To reveal more would be to betray my sister.”

Damien narrowed his eyes and nodded his head. “Yes, yes, I know. You’ve said as much before, Lady Isabel. However…” He lowered his voice even further and leaned closer to Isabel. So close he could smell the tinge of wine on her breath and the lavender in her hair. Damn, but that was an arousing combination.

“
Mr. Lockwell?”

He snapped quickly back to reality, his eyes locking with hers. “However,” he repeated. “I do wonder why she would send a letter to Heathfield, asking him to come to Danby Castle for Christmas, if all she planned to do was flirt with Sir Thomas all evening?”

~
5 ~

Isabel turned to see what Lockwell was talking about, and surely enough, Emma looked as though she might leap into Sir Thomas’s lap at any moment. What was she
doing
? She was supposed to be charming Lord Heathfield, not playing simpering miss to the magistrate that had dinner with them at least once a week.

Unless…

Oh, bloody hell. She was trying to make him jealous, wasn’t she? So he would fall at her feet and promise to break off his engagement post haste? Sometimes Isabel wondered not just about her sister, but about the fairer sex in general. What was it about women that they had to play ridiculous games in order to capture a man’s attention? Though she was one of their ranks, there were some things she just didn’t understand.

“
Hmph.” She sat back against her chair, and then immediately straightened before her mother caught sight of her slouched position.

“
What? What is it?” Damien leaned in close again. She wished he would stop doing that—had he no regard for personal space?

“
I do think she’s attempting to make your friend jealous,” Isabel replied, trying not to breathe in while in such close proximity to Mr. Lockwell. She’d already made that mistake once, and the assault of oranges and balsam on her senses set her stomach to flip-flopping all over again.

“
Hm,” said Lockwell. “I wonder why she would do such a thing.”

When Isabel turned to look at Lockwell, he was leaning lazily against his chair back, his left eyebrow raised as if to say,
There’s nowhere to run now, sweetheart.

How dare he call her sweetheart? Even if it was only in her own head.

“
All right, fine. Emma sent the letter because she fancies herself in love with your friend.” Her words were hushed and rapid. “She thought if Andrew invited him to the estate, he might actually come, and then she’d have an opportunity to…woo him.”

Lockwell made an obvious attempt at trying to hold back his laughter. “She wishes to
woo
Heathfield? Why?”

Isabel leveled him with the look she gave a person when they were being thickheaded. “How should I know? I don’t even pretend to be as featherbrained as my sister. I have no idea what she sees in the man…or any man for that matter.”

Lockwell’s lips tightened. “Yes, yes, of course. Not featherbrained at all, are you?”

“
Don’t poke fun at me.”

“
I wouldn’t dare.” Lockwell took another sip of wine. “But my question is this: why would she bring Heathfield all the way here in order to woo him, and then make up a fake fiancé
and
flirt shamelessly with another man in front of Heathfield himself? Perhaps it would have been best for you and your sister to
share
the featherbrainedness, but it seems as though she got all of it and you got none.”

“
Featherbrainedness is not a word, Mr. Lockwell.”

“
You would know better than I,” he said with a shrug. “I’m sure you adore a rainy day when you can curl up with your dictionary.”

“
It keeps me almost as warm as a trollop keeps you, I’m sure.”

“
Touché, Lady Isabel.”

Isabel couldn’t stop the smile that came to her lips. She did love having the last word.

But then again, did that mean he was admitting to having trollops in his bed? Why did that bother her so? Bugger it all, it bothered her that it bothered her. And now she was just…
bothered
.

“
At any rate,” she said, trying to move the conversation back to Emma and Heathfield and away from Mr. Lockwell’s bed. “I assume this all has to do with the discovery she made this afternoon about Heathfield’s betrothed.”

Lockwell nodded his head thoughtfully as he chewed on his beef. “Interesting. Very interesting, indeed.”