After the Kiss (14 page)

Sullivan sat heavily in his overstuffed chair. His damned leg ached, and as soon as Mrs. Howard had set out the platter of ham and potatoes, he’d sent her home. He’d left his snifter of brandy on the mantel, but wasn’t inclined to get up and retrieve it. The fire burning in the hearth made his small front room look cheery. That was not how he felt.

His front door opened. “I came by with two coins for you to give Charon,” Bram drawled, slipping inside and closing the door behind him, “since I assumed you to be dead and ready to cross the River Styx.”

“Why is it that no one ever knocks at my door?” Sullivan asked. “I’m beginning to think I’m surrounded by housebreakers.”

“Birds of a feather. Where’s the brandy?”

“On the end table. And hand over mine, will you?” He gestured at the fireplace.

“You may work for a living, my friend, but you do have good taste in liquor,” Bram said approvingly, lifting the bottle.

“Thank you.”

“So did he shoot you?” Bramwell poured himself a generous amount of the amber liquid, retrieved and handed over Sullivan’s snifter, then dropped into the chair opposite. “He told half of White’s Club that he did. And apparently there was blood.”

“He shot his tree. I caught a splinter.”

Black eyes looked over the rim of the snifter at him. “I know several discreet physicians, if you require mending.”

“No. And thank you for taking eighteen hours to come see whether I was still breathing.”

“I came by this morning.”

Sullivan stiffened a little, taking a sip of brandy to cover it. “Did you?” he said aloud. “I generally notice when you’re present. You being the talkative sort.”

“I saw Dunston’s coach in the yard, and Chalsey’s curricle circling around the back. It all frightened me, so I fled.”

“Ah. It had nothing to do with your dislike of sticky personal entanglements, then?”

“What did Dunston want?” Ignoring the last comment, Bram stretched his boots out toward the fire. It was early yet for him, and he was dressed for an evening out, but if he wasn’t in a hurry, neither was Sullivan. His leg hurt, but other things troubled him even more.

He realized Bram expected an answer, and shook himself. “He ordered me to stop the thievery nonsense and stay clear of Oliver and his marriage prospects.”

“Was that why Darshear came by, as well? That’s a bit brutish of them to double up like that.”

Sullivan hesitated. He trusted Bram, but his friend also had a cynical streak a mile wide. “It wasn’t Darshear. It was his offspring.”

Bram sat forward. “All of them?”

“Douglas and Isabel. They’d heard the rumor that your father had murdered a thief, and wanted to know if it was me.”

“‘They’?” his friend repeated.

“Apparently Tibby told Douglas about me.”

“You know, my feelings are hurt. I thought this thief business was going to be our secret, and now half of London knows.”

“Very amusing. And I’m not giving you any of the duke’s cigars.”

“That was part of our agreement, Sullivan.”

“He shot at me. Get your own cigars.”

With a snort, Bram pushed back to his feet. “Have it your way, then. I’m off to be charming at the Fordham soiree. The duke’s supposed to be there—did you dispose of that damned fertility idol?”

“I couldn’t carry it, but it’s now cockless. And that bit, you can have.”

“God, no. For once, though, I’m looking forward to conversation with Levonzy. I shall be very sympathetic.”

Sullivan watched Bram walk to the door. Frowning, he debated whether to say anything else.
Damnation
. “Bram?”

Lord Bram paused with the door half open. “Hm?”

“Keep an eye on Lady Isabel, will you? I put her up on a horse today, and she was so pleased that she…hugged me. Some of her friends saw us.”

The door closed again. “You’re the devil of a puzzle, Sully,” Bram said after a moment. “You’ll talk about thieving and being shot at, but you leave out the bit where the girl—”

“It was completely innocent,” he interrupted, craning his head to look back in the direction of the door.

“Unlike the kiss.”

“Kisses.”

“Bloody hell.” Bram returned to the chair and sat again. “I’m not one to advise on matters of the heart or the bedchamber, but…is it your intention to ruin this girl?”

“No! Of course not. Why would you even ask that?”

“You haven’t been overly fond of my breed, ever. And less so since I dragged you back from the Peninsula.”

“Which you shouldn’t have done.”

“Yes, I should have, since you joined only because I was forced to it.”

“That’s a rumor you began,” Sullivan said, stifling a grin.

“Sometimes rumors are true. Which is why I have to wonder whether this business with Isabel Chalsey is some twisted kind of revenge against Tilden.”

“Tibby never did anything to me but witness one of my ill deeds. And I’m not mad enough to fool myself into thinking…anything….” He trailed off.

“Be careful, Sully. I can only save your life so many times before it becomes tiresome.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Watch her tonight, will you, Bram?”

“I watch everything.”

As Bram left, Sullivan sat back to sip his brandy again. Whatever his position in the world, he was accustomed to being responsible for his own destiny and actions—and no one else’s. Now, though, he abruptly had someone else whose well-being concerned him. And all he could do was hope that Isabel’s friends were truly that, and wait until morning.

And think of her for every moment between now and then.

“How is your head?” Lady Darshear asked, putting her palm against Isabel’s cheek.

“I’m fine, Mama,” Isabel replied, elbowing Phillip to gain a bit more room on the coach seat.

“If you say so.”

In truth, Isabel wasn’t certain how she felt. Feigning an aching head had been silly, but she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that something was wrong. Her outing with her friends had been perfectly enjoyable but for a few whispers and giggles where she’d been left out of the amusement. She couldn’t remember being excluded even from the most inane conversation before, but it was also entirely possible that she was looking for something that wasn’t there. For something to be wrong when it wasn’t.

Barbara had congratulated her for riding Molly, but only Barbara knew how difficult it had been for her to do so. Eloise Rampling and Oliver had said nothing, and no one had commented about her embracing Sullivan. Perhaps they understood that it had been perfectly innocent, as had her parents. Or even better, perhaps they hadn’t seen it at all.

Because it hadn’t been completely innocent. She wouldn’t have embraced Phipps or Delvin for helping her. Or Oliver. One of her family, yes, but not with the same breathless…joy she felt in the presence of Sullivan Waring.

“Do you remember the Fordham ball last year?” her mother asked. “Your dance card was nearly obliterated, it filled so quickly.”

Isabel chuckled. “And Phillip was nearly blinded, so many cards were thrown at him.”

“I can’t help being irresistible,” her brother drawled, “though I’m not so pretty as Tibby.”

“Thank goodness for that. I would be terribly jealous.” In truth she did feel pretty tonight. She’d worn her newest gown, a deep burgundy with lace at the neck and sleeves, ribbons of the same color twined through her blonde hair. If
not for that nagging sense of trouble in the back of her mind, tonight would have been nearly perfect.

It still could be perfect, she told herself. The trouble could all just be in her head, because she knew the truth of why she’d embraced Sullivan. And that was because she hadn’t been able not to.

It had begun as a game, but it wasn’t anything near that any longer. It was wrong, and forbidden—and all the more tantalizing because of it. Like Juliet and Romeo, except that this Romeo wasn’t from a hated rival family. He would have been acceptable, except for the niggling fact that his father had been married to someone other than his mother. And his father wouldn’t claim him. From what she’d overheard this morning, Lord Dunston would never acknowledge Sullivan as his own son.

“Isabel?”

She shook herself. From her mother’s tone, it wasn’t the first time she’d spoken. For heaven’s sake, she was about to attend the grandest ball so far this Season. She could dwell on her unfortunate obsession with Sullivan Waring later. “Yes?”

“What in the world has you so distracted?” the marchioness asked.

“I rode a horse today,” she improvised. “I’d like to brag about myself, but everyone would just think me odd.”

“
We
don’t,” Phillip supplied, giving her a very brotherly smile. “No odder than usual, anyway.”

“Oh, thank you very much.”

“Phillip,” their mother chastised. “We’re proud of you, Tibby.”

“Very proud,” her father echoed. “In fact, I was thinking we might purchase that chestnut mare for you. Or I’m certain Mr. Waring wouldn’t mind a trade, her for Zephyr. And
then when you’re more comfortable later on, we’ll get you a younger, more spirited animal.”

“No!”

“I beg your pardon?”

Realizing she’d spoken far too stridently, Isabel sat forward to take her father’s hand. “If I give up Zephyr, it’s the same as saying that I can’t accomplish this. And I truly want to be able to ride her.”

“Very well. So long as you’re willing to continue to put in the work that is required.”

“I am.”

Thank goodness he’d given in. Because giving up Zephyr would mean giving up Sullivan. He might be bad for her, but she absolutely wasn’t prepared to let him go. Not yet. Not even if it was selfish, and not even if it meant a great deal more trouble.

As the coach rocked to a halt, a yellow-liveried footman hurried up to pull open the door and assist their party to the ground. Once again Isabel banished Sullivan Waring from her thoughts. She could dwell on him later, in her dreams.

Phillip offered his arm, and with a smile she wrapped her fingers around his dark sleeve. Tonight there would be three waltzes, a quantity almost unheard of at any one event. Did Sullivan dance? Did he know the waltz? He’d been raised as a gentleman, he’d said, but the waltz was just becoming more popular than scandalous in London. Of course, he’d spent time in Europe where it had begun, so perhaps he did know it.

On the other hand, what did it signify? They would never dance together, because he would never be invited to any soiree, much less the Fordham ball.
Pay attention, ninny
, she reminded herself, stepping forward with her parents and older brother.

The butler announced her family, and they strolled together into the largest of the conjoined ballrooms at Fordham House. “What a sad crush,” her mother exclaimed happily, and Isabel nodded in agreement.

She caught sight of Eloise Rampling halfway across the room and waved, but her friend turned and scampered off in the opposite direction. Considering that she could barely see her own hand in the crowd, she didn’t know how anyone was supposed to find a particular person and hold a conversation. Still, that seed of uneasiness in her chest stirred a little.

“Relent a bit, will you?” Phillip complained. “Before you break my arm off, preferably.”

She hurriedly loosened her grip. “Apologies.”

He chuckled. “No worries.” Unexpectedly he put his hand over hers. “Are you certain something’s not bothering you?” he asked more quietly. “I wish I’d been there to see you ride. I hope you’re not ang—”

“I didn’t expect a parade or a royal decree, Phillip,” she broke in, putting the smile back on her own face. “Nothing’s troubling me. Truly.”

“Very well.” He looked past her shoulder. “There’s Barbara, then. Must I stand by you? She makes me nervous.”

“Only because she wants to marry you.”

“Yes, that’s it precisely.”

She released his arm. “Go, then, you coward.”

“Thank you.” With a jaunty grin, her brother strode into the crowd.

“Was that Lord Chalsey?” Barbara asked, joining her in the crush.

“Yes. He saw an old friend from university and ran off.” Isabel took in her friend’s blue and yellow silk gown. “That’s the material you chose at Mrs. Wrangley’s, isn’t it? Oh, it’s lovely.”

Barbara curtsied. “Thank you.” With a quick glance around, she took Isabel’s hand and tugged her toward one of the dozen doorways. “Come with me,” she said in a lower voice. “I need to talk to you.”

Isabel frowned, then swiftly smoothed away the expression. “What’s going on?” she asked, allowing herself to be pulled along. “You haven’t found someone to replace Phillip, have you?”

They finally found a quiet alcove, and Barbara sank against the far wall. “It’s Eloise,” she whispered.

“What’s happened? Is she well?”

“She’s been talking. To everyone. About you lusting after a stableboy.”

Isabel’s heart rattled and froze. “Oh, no.”

“Yes. I told her to stop it, but she—”

“You were whispering with her all afternoon, Barbara,” she interrupted, scowling. “You might have said something to me before now.”

“I was attempting to make a jest of the whole thing. I thought she must have understood that you would never think of such a thing.”

But she was thinking of such a thing
. Isabel blinked. “You still should have told me.”

“I know, I know. But I’m telling you now. You need to say something.”

“What would I say?”

“That you certainly have no designs on a stableboy, or that Oliver’s stolen your heart and you felt…pity for Mr. Waring.”

“He’s not a stableboy.” Nor had Oliver stolen her heart. The Sullivan family, legitimate or otherwise, had only one thief who interested her.

“Yes, but—”

“He’s not,” Isabel insisted. “I know that’s probably what Oliver wants everyone to think, but Sullivan Waring is a very well respected horse breeder. And he helped me ride a horse. Why shouldn’t I have thanked him?”

“I don’t think you should be worrying about the definition of Mr. Waring’s employment,” Barbara returned, her own frown deepening. “He’s a by-blow with no confirmed parentage, and Eloise is whispering to everyone that you’ve…been with him.”