Forbidden in February (7 page)

“No, thankfully.”

When she didn’t continue, he asked, “Any why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I thought that was the end of my dealings with Bertram. I hoped he would move on with his life and forget about me, but he hasn’t. He wants me to return home and has threatened to tell any future employer whatever it was he told your mother.” Color drained from her face as another realization came to her. “What if he tells the agency? I’ll never get another interview, let alone another position, if he contacts them directly.”

“Surely he’s only concerned about your welfare.”

Isabel forced a laugh. “I assure you, my cousin cares about no one but himself.”

“Still, wouldn’t you be safer at home?”

The irony was not lost on him that they appeared to be two sides of the same coin. Both of them in service but with family who were determined to see them give up their independence and return home. From the way her brows rose in disbelief, she’d come to the same realization. She didn’t comment on it, however.

“My cousin is determined to see me married to a man old enough to be my grandfather. One who, by all accounts, was cruel to his first wife when she was alive.”

He knew that marriages were arranged all the time, but it never ceased to surprise him that families continued to make such alliances, essentially sacrificing their young women to a lifetime of unhappiness all for the sake of a better position in society. He’d seen it to an extent with the Duchess of Beckworth.

“And he hopes to force your hand by ensuring you have no means by which to support yourself.”

Isabel nodded, her shoulders sagging as she considered the truth of his words.

He repeated his earlier question. “Why are you telling me this, Miss Durham?”

He waited, expecting her to ask for money. And if she did, he’d give it to her. It was the least he could do after she’d sacrificed her own savings to look after this house and the other servants within without knowing if she’d ever see that money again. What he wasn’t expecting, however, were her next words.

“Because I’d like you to ruin me.”

She’d found her courage again, because her eyes never wavered from his as she waited for his response. Her request rendered him unable to speak as he registered the effect her words had on him. His initial reaction was to oblige her. He imagined leading her upstairs to his old bedchamber, which was larger than hers and, more importantly, had a bed that would allow them to make love without worrying about falling out of it. But even with the surge of lust flowing through his body, his mind wouldn’t allow him to ignore the fact that the woman seated opposite him did not appear as though she would go with him willingly. As much as he desired Isabel Durham physically, he was not about to force himself on a woman who didn’t truly want to be with him.

Isabel drew in a breath, then released it slowly when he didn’t reply. “Is the thought that distasteful to you? I thought… after what happened when we first met…” She shook her head and stood. “Never mind.”

He stood as well. “You surprised me, and I can’t help but think that what you’re suggesting is the last thing you truly want.”

Isabel sighed. “I’m not very good at this, I fear. I’ve never tried to seduce a man before, and so I thought it would be better to be straightforward about what I want from you.”

For some reason, watching Isabel flounder for words, so unsure about the power she held over him, made him want to take her into his arms and shield her from any negativity that could touch her. And that thought terrified him. The last thing he wanted was to become embroiled in a relationship, and he feared that would happen if he followed through with Isabel’s request.

“As you’re so fond of telling me, you needn’t stay in service. With the bequest my mother left you…”

Isabel shook her head again. “My cousin won’t stop. I fear this has become a game to Bertram, and knowing him as well as I do, I can assure you that he always wins. If I’m to have any hope of living free from his influence, I must ensure that he no longer sees me as an asset he can barter away to the highest bidder.”

“And to do that you must lose you virtue.”

“Yes,” she said with a firm nod of her head, and he could see that she truly believed that. “Sir… well, it doesn’t matter what his name is. Just know that the man my cousin is so determined to have me wed is very wealthy, and he’s told Bertram that he wants me. But while he may be cruel, he is also a very pious man. Well, outwardly, at any rate. He wouldn’t want me without my virtue, which is why I must shed it. With any luck, my cousin will leave me alone once he can no longer use me for his own gain.”

She’d started to pace, her agitation growing with each word she spoke. When she turned to look at him again, he knew he was lost. Yet he needed to give her time to weigh her actions. She was acting out of desperation, and much as he wanted nothing more than to make love to her, he didn’t want her to regret it afterward. It was clear to him that, unlike the other women he’d consorted with, Isabel wasn’t someone who could couple with a man and then carry on as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“I’m not agreeing—” Isabel’s face fell and she was about to interrupt him, but he held out a hand to stop her. “I’m also not disagreeing. I don’t want you to rush into something you’ll regret later.”

She tilted her head and stared at him. The weight of her measured gaze almost had him reaching out and pulling her into his arms, regrets be damned.

“I won’t change my mind.”

“Nevertheless, I’m going to suggest that you take at least the rest of the day to consider your request carefully before we proceed. It’s only been an hour since you received your cousin’s letter.”

Her face lit up with her first genuine smile since he’d stepped into the room. “So you agree.”

“Only if you’re absolutely certain. And for that, you’ll need time.”

“I don’t need any more time, but your concern tells me I’ve chosen the right person to… well, to help me.”

Her smile dimmed, and he realized it was because he was scowling. Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to him that she might approach someone else with the same request, and that thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. He managed to smooth his frown before taking his leave. She didn’t follow him out into the hallway, where he gathered his outerwear from the wardrobe.

Instead of hiring a hackney to take him to Mayfair, he decided to walk for a bit. The rain had stopped while he and Isabel had been talking, but darkness had descended. A bitter wind swirled around him, a reflection of his inner turmoil—was it his imagination, or did the weather seem colder that year?

Isabel was definitely a threat to his resolve not to become involved with any woman. He wasn’t in any danger of falling in love with her, of course, but he already felt more for her than for any he’d been with. He couldn’t explain why, but he couldn’t deny the urge to help her.

It occurred to him that, while she hadn’t asked for money, he should have offered to increase the amount his mother had left her. Surely then she could move forward with her life and in so doing no longer be a danger to his peace of mind. He wasn’t going to keep his mother’s money, after all. He’d take the money he’d earned over the years and that he’d sent to her, but he wanted nothing to do with the rest of it. Not the house—the house his father had purchased for his mother when he’d established her as his mistress—and certainly not the money his father had given her.

He’d thought about donating it all, including the proceeds from the sale of the house, to the various charities that had sprung up after Waterloo. Many soldiers had returned home with injuries so serious they could no longer support their families. And then there were the widows who’d lost their husbands and couldn’t care for their children. He knew what it was to grow up without a father, but at least he’d always had a roof over his head and no fear of going hungry. The same wasn’t true for countless others.

Yes, that’s what he would do. He’d ensure Isabel could care for herself… maybe he’d give her the house. Or perhaps lease it to her. He’d be able to visit her then whenever he was in Town.

He froze as soon as the thought entered his mind, realizing the direction in which his thoughts were headed. Someone bumped into him—he hadn’t even been aware that there were others out on the street—and he mumbled an apology as the harried man brushed past him. He changed direction and hailed the hackney he’d spotted going the other way.

During the short ride to the Beckworth town house, he tried to erase his previous thought from his mind. He was not his father. He wouldn’t set up a woman just so he could visit her whenever he was in London. Good lord, what if he got her with child? He’d be dooming another innocent to live the same life he’d had, always wondering why he wasn’t good enough for his father to acknowledge.

No, he’d increase the bequest his mother had left Miss Durham—no doubt his mother would have done the same if presented with all the facts related to Isabel’s attempts to gain her independence—and then be done with her. At that point, it was up to her to make her own way in the world.

He paid the driver after reaching the town house and made his way to the servants’ entrance. Absently, his thoughts still in turmoil, he smiled and greeted the maids and footmen he passed on the way to his room. It was smaller than the one he used at Beckworth Park, but not as small as Isabel’s room.

Damn that woman, would she never get out of his thoughts?

After lighting a lantern and shedding his outer garments and topcoat, he didn’t try to curb the urge that drove him to the wardrobe. He shifted the clothing aside, moving unerringly to the small sketchbook he’d buried in the back, beneath a blanket he kept there. He didn’t know why he’d purchased the thing. He hadn’t drawn in years. Not since entering service. But it had soothed the frustrated artist within to know that the pad was there and that he could take up drawing again at any time.

It took him a little longer to find the pencil he’d tossed into one of his drawers. Finally unearthing it, relieved to see it was still sharp, he rolled up his shirtsleeves and settled against his headboard with the tools of his long-unused-but-never-forgotten passion. No one would be calling for his services—he didn’t really have a place in this household anymore.

He opened the pad to the first page, and as he gripped his pencil, he experienced a moment of uncertainty, wondering if it had been so long that he’d lost what little talent he’d once possessed. But the need within him was too great to ignore. With a deep breath, he loosened his grip and drew the first stroke. The rest came easily after that, almost as though he’d never given this up. He wondered why he ever had as the drawing came to life under the confident strokes of his pencil on the paper.

When he was finished, he looked down at the image he’d drawn. A woman waking from sleep. Isabel. Only instead of wearing a day gown and reclining on a settee, she was wearing a filmy night rail that clung to her curves as she sprawled amid tousled bedsheets.

He lowered the sketch and leaned his head against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling as he exhaled a harsh breath. Isabel Durham was definitely a danger to his peace of mind, but one thing was certain—if she was determined to continue on her current course of action, he was the man who would be seeing her as she appeared in his drawing.

Isabel had expected to be on edge as she waited for Robert to return. However, when the next morning dawned bright and clear, anticipation coursed through her veins. If her cousin had his way, she’d be married to a man three times her age who intimidated her more than a little and sharing the marriage bed with him. She shuddered at the thought. The bed she’d soon be sharing with Robert Milton wasn’t sanctioned by the church, but with him she might actually enjoy what happened within it.

It was then that she realized the truth. After one year of listening to Mrs. Milton recounting stories about her son, she’d already been half in love with him when they met. She hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that fact, but it remained true nonetheless. She’d told herself that every mother was biased about their children and had expected to learn that Robert was not at all like his mother had described, but that hadn’t proved to be the case.

Now it remained up to her to ensure she didn’t fall the rest of the way. It would be all too easy, but Robert seemed determined to remain in service. It was already going to be difficult to leave the only place that had felt like home since losing her parents several years before. The very last thing she needed was to add a broken heart.

As the hours passed, doubt began to creep in and she started to wonder if he’d changed his mind. Robert hadn’t actually agreed to help her with her plan… What if he wanted nothing to do with her? She tried to keep such thoughts at bay, but it became increasingly difficult when noon came and went and she still hadn’t heard from him. She tried to convince herself then that he was waiting for nightfall. Although she imagined some people might enjoy having relations during the daylight hours, Robert might not be one of them. The more she thought about it, she realized it probably would be easier, less embarrassing, for everyone involved if he arrived that evening.

After convincing herself that she wouldn’t see him until after the sun had set, she decided to return to the library and continue reading the book of poetry she’d started on the day he’d arrived. It didn’t seem possible that it had only been two days since she’d woken from her nap to find a stranger in the room.

When she heard the front door open shortly after the clock chimed two, she almost dropped the slim volume of poetry. She stood and returned the book to the shelf. She was about to go downstairs but hesitated. She wasn’t the mistress of the house welcoming a guest who was paying a visit, so she didn’t suppose etiquette would demand that she go downstairs to greet him. And she wasn’t sure she could face him if he were speaking to Mr. Walters or Mrs. Harris. The nerves she’d thought absent made themselves known in that moment, and she couldn’t help but think that anyone who saw the two of them together would know what they planned to do.