The Sweetest Revenge (11 page)

“I am pleased to hear it. Will you be returning to Scotland soon?”

Before she could stop herself, she sighed deeply. “Aye. In less than a month, I’m afraid.”

Mr. Sutherland stared at her with an expression she could not decipher. “You do not wish to return to Scotland?”

She hesitated, then said carefully, “Scotland is my home.”

There was far more tied to her feelings about Scotland than she could ever admit to anyone, especially this virtual stranger. Scotland was her homeland, and she was tied to it on an intrinsic level. Yet the place was so lonely to her now. It had never been the same to her after the summer she’d spent with Leo.

He nodded. “I understand. I feel somewhat the same about London. Of course, I am frequently forced to leave, as I have an estate near Bath.”

“Do you? I have never been to Bath, but I hear it is lovely.”

“I would love to take you there,” he said.

She felt her eyes widen. Did he mean…?

“Mr. Sutherland, I—”

“You and Lady DeLinn and Miss Tomkins,” he amended quickly, shifting in his seat. “And Archer, too, of course. We could make quite a holiday of it.”

“Yes.” Isabelle searched his face. “Quite.”

He gave her a friendly smile. He had attempted to cover it, but she was certain he had just made her an invitation.

How disconcerting. She felt warm and jittery, like she’d just swallowed a gallon of strong tea.

She ought to be deeply offended, but for some reason she could not decipher, she wasn’t. Maybe because Mr. Sutherland was a handsome man, a rich man, clearly a gentleman. A part of her liked having his attention. She hadn’t experienced the attention of a gentleman for so long.

It made her feel powerful.

Yet it was so odd it was happening now. Now, after seven years of being ignored by the male sex. When Leo just happened to be in the same house.

She looked up into Mr. Sutherland’s eyes and returned his smile.

Susan’s voice cut into their exchange. “…Lord Leothaid…” Isabelle swung her head toward Susan and Lord Archer. “I heard he was away in Scotland?”

Susan glanced over at Isabelle and gave her a terse nod.

“Yes.” Lord Archer ran his fingers over his chin. “He did say he might be gone for some time.”

“So you do know him, then!” Susan exclaimed, feigning surprise.

“I do.”

“I thought you might,” Susan said. “Did you know I was once acquainted with him as well, coz?”

“I did.” Lord Archer’s soft voice penetrated the otherwise silent room. His gaze dropped away from Anna.

“You must be friends, then, Thomas. Very good friends, in fact.”

Lord Archer glanced at Mr. Sutherland. “Indeed. I have known Leo for some years now.”

“Well, is that ever a coincidence? Why, I once knew Lord Leothaid myself,” Anna said.

Lord Archer’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

Isabelle slanted a nervous look at Mr. Sutherland and discovered him watching her.

“Yes, well, Leo is quite a familiar figure here in London, after all,” Lord Archer said. “Quite a dandy, he is. They say he will be the next Brummell.”

Anna laughed delicately.

Isabelle thought of Lord Leothaid, dirty and unkempt in a dusty cellar, of how much it must chafe him to be there, in that state, in the presence of ladies.

Susan lifted a graceful hand to her mouth, stifling her own laugh. “Do you truly think so, coz? I have trouble imagining Leo sitting in the bow window at White’s with such an arrogant look upon his face.”

“But you cannot deny that he is an arrogant man,” Anna said.

“No, no, I will grant him his arrogance,” Susan said. “But it would be difficult to compete with Mr. Brummell, don’t you think? I can hardly picture Leo being so outwardly disparaging to innocent walkers-by.”

Lord Archer nodded. “It is true. Brummell was unique in his ability to ridicule others. I suspect the spot will go to Lord Alvanley, a fine dandy, but much less caustic a fellow than Brummell.”

“Caustic or not, I rather liked some of Mr. Brummell’s inspirations.” Anna said. “Lord Alvanley is quite dull in comparison, despite his…ah”—she paused, and then finished in the most delicate way—“hourglass figure.”

Susan arched an eyebrow. “That is the result of elephants pulling on his corset strings, I daresay.”

Isabelle’s cheeks burned. Surely this topic could not be appropriate for a gathering between gentlemen and ladies! Then again, Susan and Anna were not typical society ladies.

The conversation progressed from current masculine fashion trends to the theater, and the fashions to be viewed while in attendance there.

“Have you been to the theater since you’ve been in town, Miss Frasier?” Mr. Sutherland inquired.

Isabelle shook her head.

“The theater!” Anna exclaimed. “I haven’t been since we went to see that terrible farce back in May, Susie. We must go, don’t you think?”

“And you must join us,” Mr. Sutherland said. “They are performing
Twelfth Night
this week, I believe, and Archer and I are planning to attend tomorrow night. I would be delighted to share my box with three lovely ladies.”

Lord Archer’s lip curled. “I heard it was a ridiculous, frothy spectacle.”

Anna laughed. “Well, we are probably all rather familiar with
Twelfth Night
, regardless of the quality of the performance. I daresay it’ll be more interesting to observe the audience.”

“Quite possibly, Miss Tomkins,” Mr. Sutherland said.

“Well, isn’t that generally the case at the theater?” Susan said.

“It is.” Mr. Sutherland turned to Isabelle. “But it seems you ladies have been without that singular experience for far too long. I do wish you would join us, and we’ll all inspect the crowd through our opera glasses while the actors make fools of themselves.”

“Oh, lovely!” Anna exclaimed.

“We would love to, Mr. Sutherland,” Susan said.

Isabelle sat mutely, terrified at the prospect. All those people seeing her with Lady DeLinn and Lord Archer… There was no doubt there would be whispers about her identity. And when Leo was released…

Mr. Sutherland smiled at her and said in a voice so low only she could hear, “You’re blushing, Miss Frasier.”

She fidgeted under his inspection as he added, “And it’s very charming, indeed.”

***

Leo fumed.

He knew what they were doing.

They had kept him alone all day in this damned, stinking cellar, with only Hercules as company, and they had done so deliberately to torture him.

Hercules did not qualify as company, for he refused to say a word to Leo. He came first to give Leo a breakfast of uninspiring porridge, and later to replace his basin of water and leave him a book.

The book was entitled
Vindication of the Rights of Woman
.

Upon reading the title, Leo’s first impulse had been to toss it across the room, but he was too practical to so quickly discard his only source of entertainment, as dull and as exasperating as it might be. Trust Lady M to give him one of the books he felt least inclined in this world to read. The rights of women, indeed.

It was late afternoon, and Leo had grown desperate enough to taunt the giant. He knew that the man felt nothing for Mistress Jane, and Leo couldn’t countenance the idea that it might be Belle for whom the giant was participating in this enterprise.

It had to be Lady M.

“So,” he asked conversationally, “tumbling our Lady M, are you?”

The giant did not speak, but his silence tautened as he lit the hanging lantern.

“Lady M, Lady M,” Leo mused. “I wish I could remember her deportment between the sheets. But then, all aristocratic ladies are bores to bed, don’t you find?”

Water sloshed in the basin as Hercules retrieved it. He walked out of the cellar, slamming the door behind him.

Leo smiled.

Hercules returned a few moments later with the fresh basin.

“It is deuced tiresome to bed a cold fish,” Leo continued as if the giant had never left. “But I’d wager she pays well. At least there’s that, eh, Hercules?”

Hercules set the basin at Leo’s feet. Water splashed over the lip.

Leo chuckled. “Tell me who she is, and I’ll advise you on how to bed her properly. My techniques can render even the most frigid of ladies—”

Hercules grabbed the collar of Leo’s shirt and lifted him off the chaise. His lips set in a ferocious grimace.

“You will pay for those insults, monsieur.” Hercules shoved him back onto the chaise, tramped out the door, and didn’t reappear for the remainder of the afternoon.

Leo rubbed his abused neck and stared up at the ceiling.

All day, the floorboards above him had creaked with movement, and the delicious smells of cooking food had wafted down into the cellar: sage and thyme, cinnamon and sugar. His stomach gurgled with longing.

Lady M must be having a soiree of some kind.

Belle was somewhere up there. What was she doing?

Belle…Belle…Belle.

Now that he had given himself permission to use her name, it repeated incessantly in his mind. He wanted to see her. To touch her. To talk with her.

Had she dressed in a cornflower-blue silk to match her eyes? Did she stand between Lady M and Mistress Jane, quietly garnering the attention of every man in the room? Belle had been tragically shy, but wherever she went, she drew stares of admiration, all the while remaining totally within herself, reserved, quiet, utterly unaware of the powers she possessed.

But she had opened to him, and he had discovered her intense, hidden sensuality, her innate wildness, her internal beauty.

He closed his eyes, remembering her laugh. It was like a waterfall that made him thirsty for kisses—as if by kissing her, he could drink in her sweetness. Kissing a woman one only wanted to bed, he realized after many years of experience, could never be compared to kissing a woman one loved.

Would it be the same if he kissed her now?

Did he still love her?

He sank his head onto the back of the chaise. He loved the memory of her, for certain. But
her
? A woman who conspired with her friends to lock him in a cellar and torture him?

It didn’t matter how he felt about Belle. She hated him. She must. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here at all.

She had reason to hate him. Look at what he had become.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and groaned.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Isabelle had hardly eaten since the night they’d taken Leo from St. James’s Park. Last night, she had barely touched the exquisite dishes created for the dinner party.

This morning, however, she was ravenous.

“You are positively glowing this morning,” Susan said.

“Am I?” She dropped a second baked egg onto her plate.

Anna leaned back in her chair and pointed her toast at Isabelle. “I do believe it has something to do with a certain black-haired, blue-eyed gentleman of our acquaintance.”

Susan’s eyes widened. “Truly? I did not notice. Did you find Mr. Sutherland appealing, Isabelle?”

Isabelle pretended to look down at the offerings of the sideboard.

“You did not notice, Susie, because you were so intent on arguing with your cousin. The man did nothing but fawn over Isabelle all evening long, and she encouraged it.”

“Oh goodness, Anna! I encouraged no such thing.” Isabelle turned to take her seat and set her plate on the table.

“Come now.” Anna rolled her eyes. “All I heard last night were Mr. Sutherland’s attempts to get you into his bed.”

Isabelle nearly choked on a bite of egg. “Anna!”

“What’s this?” Susan asked.

Anna pressed her toast against her heart and spoke in an exaggerated, low voice. “Oh, Miss Frasier, I should so like to take you to my home in Bath. Alone. I should like to watch you floating completely naked like the Romans of old—”

Isabelle’s face was aflame. “He said nothing of the sort! He said all of us, all five of us.”

Susan looked aghast. “All five of us bathing naked?”

“No, of course not,” Isabelle said. “He said we all ought to take a holiday together.”

“I was watching him, Isabelle,” Anna said. “He could hardly contain himself. He kept flexing his fingers… Ooh, he wanted to touch you, I could
feel
it. He wanted you. Quite badly.”

“Oh dear!” Isabelle’s fork clattered to her plate. “That can’t be true.” But she heard the tinny uncertainty in her own voice.

“Isabelle, you must learn to read people more closely. Words are just the beginning. Don’t worry, I shall teach you.” Grinning, Anna took a large bite of toast.

“Well, well, well,” Susan said. “Philip Sutherland. He’s a bit of a rake, but he’s as rich as Croesus. You could do worse, Isabelle. Much worse.”

“Oh, Susan, not you too!” Isabelle covered her face with her hands. Heat transferred from her cheeks to the cold tips of her fingers. She should be horrified by this attention, but she was enjoying it, which she supposed should make the entire situation all the more appalling.

But she was not appalled. Last night had been…
fun
.

And Anna had confirmed it. Mr. Sutherland had been smitten with her.
Her
, a shy, ruined spinster. Miracles never ceased.

“He is a handsome man.” A smile played about Susan’s lips. “If he offered me the opportunity to climb his highest peak, I would not decline it.”

Isabelle dropped her hands, groaning. This was going too far. “You are teasing me, both of you. I’ve no intention of climbing any peaks, high or…not.”

Unless
…nay. She banished that thought as soon as it materialized.

Anna descended into paroxysms of giggles. Isabelle shot her a quelling look and took a deep breath. “First of all, I know nothing about the gentleman—”

“Except that he’s a gentleman, and he’s rich and handsome, and he wants you,” Anna piped up.

“—Secondly, I would not, would never—” Oh, dear! How could she put it without being utterly crude? She threw up her hands in defeat.

“Never give yourself outside of marriage?” Susan asked.