Secrets of a Viscount (3 page)

Chapter Four

Though her mind commanded her mouth to speak, she couldn’t. She opened her mouth once, then twice, as if to say something, but nothing came out. The only thing she could do was to open and close her mouth like a fish. And stare. Yes, she could certainly stare.

He was taller and leaner than she remembered him to be. Broader and more angled, too.

“
Good evening, Belle,” he said with a slight bow as he approached her.

Anger she knew she had, but didn’t expect to have surface, surged inside of her at his informal, almost friendly greeting. She tore her eyes away, spun on her heel and retreated across the ballroom.

She was such a fool.

At least she felt like one and had no desire to allow him to think her one; or make her into a bigger one.

Instead, she wouldn’t give him anything else to think of her.

Cutting him might be perceived by some—likely, himself included—a cowardly thing for her to do, she knew, but considering all the vile things that had befallen her during the year after their ‘marriage’, it was the best she could do. At least to her mind it was. Spurning him as he’d spurned her was fair, was it not?

On their way back from Scotland, they’d been involved in a terrible carriage accident. One that left the coach in shambles, the coachmen dead, and her unconscious.

She obviously didn’t recall how long she was unconscious, but she’d been alone when she awoke some weeks later with intense pain in her back and both hips. Pain that was so sharp and crippling that something as simple as breathing made her cry, which only brought about more pain.

And through it all, Sebastian who’d been her friend far longer than her husband, was nowhere to be found.

True to his word as soon as they’d climbed back into the carriage outside the smithy’s, he’d orchestrated their annulment and was gone. Never once did he call upon her or even ask how she was while she was recovering. Just gone.

Hurt and anger bubbled up inside of her. She hated him. Absolutely hated him. And his having the nerve to appear so devilishly handsome out of nowhere and speak to her as if nothing had happened between them was too much.

“
Miss Knight.”

Isabelle started and turned to see the soft green eyes of Simon Appleton, a quiet sort who defied the norms of most gentleman of his young age of twenty. Though he’d never sought Isabelle out outside of balls, routs, and musicales, it was clear he had some interest in her, or else he wouldn’t always be the first to claim two of her dances for the evening and eager to suggest he take her to the refreshment room. She flashed him the best smile she could.  “I was just looking for you—just in the wrong direction, apparently.”

A broad grin took his lips. “Good. Then, I’d like to claim my dance now.”

“
Of course.” Doing her best to control the slight tremor in her hands, she allowed him to lead her onto the floor. Following her injury, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to dance again without pain, which wasn’t a true concern of hers since she’d never really given dancing much thought as a young girl, given her position and all. But truth to tell, Mrs. Finch still loved to dance and often insisted Isabelle practice with her. Considering the break in her hips and how long it had taken her to walk again, Isabelle feared she’d let her companion down, but had actually found it very helpful with her walking and movement to spend so much time practicing dancing. It helped make her gait more even, too. So much so that it’d be hard for anyone to ever know how badly she’d been injured.

Her partner, Mr. Appleton, was a magnificent dancer even if she’d never seen him practice the skill with anyone other than her.

His green eyes sought to lock gazes with hers, and she struggled to keep her eyes on his, too apprehensive about the set of sharp brown eyes that she knew were watching her from the edge of the ballroom. She nearly laughed at her own foolish notion.
He
wasn’t watching her. Sebastian’s interest in her was very little. Very little? She almost snorted. Very little was too much. His interest in her was absolutely none.

So then why was he watching her?

To mock her, perhaps?

She shivered and a knot of raw emotion formed in her throat.

She surely hoped not. She’d suffered enough mocking at his hands these past years, and had no desire to have any more.

“
Is everything all right?”

Mr. Appleton’s question snapped Isabelle from her thoughts. “Of course.”

He nodded as if he accepted her answer and flashed her a nervous smile. “As you may already know, Miss Knight, I attend these balls because I’ve now reached the age where I’m in search of a wife...”

Whatever it was he had to say after that was lost to Isabelle as a knot the size—and the approximate weight—of a cannonball lowered into her stomach. If she thought it difficult to breathe before with the emotion clogging her throat, it was nearly impossible now. “Mr. Appleton, please don’t,” she rushed, cutting off whatever words he’d practiced to say to her at that moment.

The way he blanched then turned red made her guilt grow.

“
What I mean is...”
My desire to marry you rivals that of your desire to bed a sixty year-old scullery maid: none
. Were she younger and him someone else, she’d have said that very remark without concern to the consequences, but she couldn’t. Her reputation couldn’t survive such a scandalous statement. Whether she truly wished to find a husband or not, such remarks must stay quiet or she’d bring more rumors and scorn upon her head. “Mr. Appleton,” she began again with a sigh. “I like you, I truly do, but I think we might be better suited as friends.” Which was rather generous considering their acquaintance so far had been restricted to less than a dozen dances and a couple of trips to the refreshment room spread out over a handful of balls.

“
I see,” he said slowly, another nervous smile spreading across his lips. “I hadn’t thought of you as a potential bride before.”

Isabelle misstepped.

Mirth danced in Mr. Appleton’s green eyes. “I, too, thought of us only as friends and was merely going to ask what you thought of Henrietta Hughes, but now that you’ve suggested...” He shrugged and flashed her a full grin that left her uncertain. Either he was lying to protect his pride or she’d been too distracted with the idea of marrying someone other than Edmund to see his attentions for what they were: just being friendly.

“
Er...Henrietta seems nice enough, I suppose.”

He quirked a dark brow. “You suppose?”

“Well, she is a bit...er...shy don’t you think?”

“
And what do you consider yourself?”

Isabelle almost misstepped again, and might have if not for Mr. Appleton’s tightened grasp. “I’m not shy. I’m more...reserved.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. She’d never been termed reserved a day in her life. Well, at least not until after the disaster that was her elopement... But Mr. Appleton didn’t seem to know of that folly, nor the girl she’d been prior to said folly. Thank heavens.

“I’d say Henrietta is reserved, too,” he remarked. “This is her what? Third season?”

Isabelle murmured something he’d take as agreement. Honestly, she had no idea how long Miss Henrietta Hughes had been on the Marriage Mart. She’d never met more than a fraction of the people who were here tonight and had only heard of a quarter. Well,
heard
might not be the correct word. More like she’d read about them. In scandal sheets, to be exact. And only then when Mrs. Finch instructed her to read such claptrap to her. As it was, Isabelle would happily never look at that section of the newspaper ever again.

Mr. Appleton chuckled and led her to the side of the room. Apparently the music had ended. She blushed and followed her escort’s lead.

“You really are distracted tonight,” he mused.

She bit her lip. Was it that obvious to him? It was quite obvious to her since she kept getting lost in her own thoughts. Just like she was doing now, dash it all. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then opened them again, refreshed. “What is it that you were saying about Miss Hughes?”

He shrugged again. “Nothing. Just that I find that perhaps she’s reserved.”

“
I don’t see why she’d have a reason to be, it’s not as if she’s haunted by a scandal,” Isabelle said before she could think better of it, her eyes flaring wide.

Mr. Appleton eyed her curiously. “One wouldn’t think that a little scandal in one’s past would be enough to make a girl unmarriageable, would it?”

Isabelle stared at him, her eyes searching his face. What did he know? Was he still talking about Miss Hughes or was he now talking about her? She opened her mouth to say something, but immediately closed it with a sharp snap when a voice came from behind her, sending shivers down her spine.

“
No, I shouldn’t think so,” came the soft, quiet voice of none other than Sebastian, Lord Belgrave, her no-good former husband.

***

Isabelle whirled around to face him, fire blazing in her green eyes.

Sebastian offered her his hand; the opening strains of a waltz just starting. “May I?”

She couldn’t very well refuse and they both knew it. She swallowed in a way that made the center of her slender neck move and then took his hand.

He’d been watching her from across the room since she’d walked away from him without so much as a word of greeting. At first, he thought she might be as stunned to see him as he was to see her, but now that she’d had time to recover from her shock, he wanted to speak to her. She was his wife, after all, that made it his right to do so.

“How have you been?” he asked after he had her in his arms and began leading her about the floor.

Her fiery eyes scorched him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“
Don’t pretend as if we are friends when you know as well as I do that we are not.”

“
Hmm, and when did you become as stuffy as a matron with seventy-five years in her dish?”

Belle didn’t answer, at least not with words. Her stiff body and piercing eyes said more than enough.

He pulled her closer, delighting in the way she seemed to resist, but still complied. “I do hope this isn’t how you conducted yourself with your other dance partners or you’ll never find a husband.”

“
No. It’s only your arms I long to get out of. I melt to jelly in any other’s embrace.”

He almost chuckled at her words, and then actually did when her eyes grew large with what appeared to be horror that she’d actually spoken those words. “Do you no longer speak the first thing that comes into your mind, then?”

“I’m a lady now, Belgrave,” she said in a tone he didn’t recognize. “I temporarily forgot my manners when you provoked me, but I assure you, that I shall not again.”

“
Pity that.” Why he said that, he didn’t know. It was one of the things that irritated him most about her: her loose lips and stubborn streak.

“
No pity. Ladies must remember to be mindful of their reputation.”

“
I see. And that requires them to mind what they say?”

“
Exactly. What I just spoke was inappropriate and...and...I apologize.”

He bit back a grin at the grimace on her face as she spoke those words. Belle had never been one ready to apologize. Ever. He cocked his head to the side. “Tell me, is your newfound desire to apologize for speaking your mind part of your pretending to be a lady?”

She glared at him, but simply said, “I am not pretending.”

“
No, I suppose you’re not.” He hoped she wouldn’t challenge him on that for he’d hate to reveal so soon just how much of a lady she was. He sighed. But she wouldn’t challenge him. He could see that quite plainly on her face. Her eyes said she wanted to demand he explain his cryptic statement, but only after she accused him of not being able to recognize a lady if there were a parade of one hundred of them led in front of his face. Her slightly downcast face, complete with closed lips and lowered eyelashes spoke volumes of her new position as a “lady”. One who didn’t issue challenges or demand answers.

A wave of an emotion he couldn’t name—shame, embarrassment, anger, perhaps—washed over him. It was because of
him
that she’d become this stiff creature who felt being a lady meant she couldn’t speak.

“
Tell me, Belle, do you have an interest in the gentleman you were just dancing with?” he asked to change the subject and staunch his feelings.

“
Mr. Appleton?” she asked with a slight hitch in her voice that he couldn’t place. At his nod, she continued. “We’re...uh...friends.”

“
I see.” He twirled her around their spot on the floor. “And do you wish to become better friends with him?” He chuckled at her blush and pulled her even closer. “Is he the one you’ve set your cap on, Belle?”

“
No.” She tried to distance herself from him, but he wouldn’t let her. “As I said, we’re just friends.”