The Sweetest Revenge (8 page)

“Why is that, my lord?” Miss Juliette whispered.

He had no answer for her. He loved women—their physical attributes, the way their minds worked, their overall sweetness and softness. He loved bedding them, most of all. Women kept him sane. But no woman could compare to
her
. In his own distorted way, he would remain faithful to her. He would never marry.

He took a shallow breath. He’d thought of her too much today. Far too much. He needed a drink. He needed Sutherland to distract him with a frivolous competition for a bit of skirt.

It had only been a day, and these women were peeling him apart, removing his layers of defense much more rapidly than he would have believed possible. If he was so reduced after one day, what would he be like in a week? A weeping, begging disaster?

No
. Not if he had any say in it. He straightened his spine.

Miss Juliette tried again. “You said you considered monogamy, but then you said you would never have just one woman. You contradict yourself, my lord.”

“Perhaps I do.” If she could see his eyes beneath the blindfold, she would see they shot daggers. “But I fail to see how it could be any of your concern.”

“I am sorry. I just want to understand why…how….” She faltered, then stopped speaking altogether.

“Do not try to understand me, Miss Juliette. It is an impossibility, even for myself.”

“But that is why we are all here, Lord Leothaid, to understand you and to help you to understand us,” she whispered.

“Then Mistress Jane is correct. We will be here a very, very long time.”

“Do you really want that?”

“I do not.”

With a soft sigh and a rustle of silk, Miss Juliette lowered herself beside him on the chaise. Mistress Jane still pressed against his body on his other side.

“I do not mean to upset you, my lord,” Miss Juliette said.

What an outrageous thing to emerge from a villain’s lips, from someone who had captured him, chained him, and conspired to feed him appalling chicken.

He took a deep breath, preparing to speak, but the words froze on his lips. Something about her…

The way she had spoken, that hint of a…of an accent…

He inched closer to her and inhaled deeply. Her scent…

The air in the room thinned, then vanished altogether. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move.

It all came together, a coalescing boulder of awareness in his chest.

Miss Juliette was
her
. The woman from his dreams.

No. It couldn’t be.
It couldn’t be.

But it was. Only she possessed that particular scent—that gentle flowery smell with something unexpected, something wild, just beneath. It was faint, but he knew it. It smelled of heather. Of his home in the Highlands. The scent fit her perfectly. Like her, it was reserved and unassuming on the outside, wild and carefree within.

She gasped, and he felt her stiffening beside him.

The world tilted on its axis. He had last heard her gasp seven years ago. It was the noise she made when she came.

Leo swayed, tried to regain his balance, then had the distinct impression of falling, flying off the edge of a cliff, hurtling toward jagged rocks below.

It was impossible.

It was undeniable.

It all made sense, yet it made no sense whatsoever. She was dead.

His mouth moved like that of a landed fish, gaping then closing, unable to summon a word.

Her name. He’d avoided it like the plague. He never spoke it, had disciplined himself to never even think it. Now it came to him like a soft caress. It curled into his mind, steadied him, and finally revived his breath.

“Belle?”

CHAPTER FIVE

Isabelle stood before the fireplace in Susan’s gilded drawing room. Tremors rolled through her body. She clenched her hands together to keep from ripping off her gown, petticoat, and stays. They had never felt so constrictive as they did at this moment. She just needed to breathe, to take in a lungful of pure, clean air.

Susan, unruffled as always, glided beside her. She squeezed Isabelle’s forearm. “It is going to be all right, dearest.”

Isabelle stared at her arm, then at Susan. She took a ragged breath. “He knew me.”

“Yes, he did. That was unfortunate.”

Bile rose in Isabelle’s throat. Unfortunate? It was much worse than unfortunate—it was a disaster.

She sank to her knees. The pattern on Susan’s Turkish carpet swam before her eyes. Her cheeks felt like they might burst into flames. What had she done? Had she thought this to be some kind of game? The abduction of a lord was a crime punishable by death, and she had willingly participated in it. The ruse was over. She hadn’t thought of the consequences of her actions, not seriously. Not until now.

She pictured herself in the gallows at Newgate, surrounded by other odious criminals at the morning hanging. The people would hate her for what she’d done to the handsome earl. They’d jeer at her, pelt her with foul things. The hanging itself would be nothing in comparison to what she’d have to endure first.

She clutched her stomach. “Susan, I believe I’m going to be sick.”

A flurry of activity ensued in the room. Isabelle was dimly aware of Anna’s arms wrapped around her shoulders as she whispered reassuring words. A maid held out a basin.

Isabelle knelt over the porcelain container, heaving great breaths of air, but she did not retch. Anna squeezed her shoulders. Susan snapped orders. A maid tackled the tapes and buttons on her gown and petticoat, and finally, mercifully, plucked the laces along her backbone, liberating her of the stays.

Slowly, Isabelle regained control. When she finally rose on shaky legs, two maids helped her to her room, laid her on the bed, and tucked the covers up to her chin. One of them sat on a chair beside the bed and spoon-fed her hot tea. Susan and Anna hovered at the other side of the bed.

Isabelle waved her hand faintly. “All this really wasn’t necessary. I will be fine.”

Her only true illness resided in her mind, and resting in bed and drinking tea wouldn’t help that.

“Nonsense. You are as white as a sheet,” Susan said.

“It is just that…that…I am afraid,” Isabelle whispered.

She glanced at the dark-haired maid, unsure of whether she was revealing too much. The woman’s eyes were downcast, focused on her task.

Susan dismissed the maid and lowered herself into the chair beside Isabelle’s bed.

“Do not worry so,” Anna said, once the maid had shut the door. “We will not let him harm you.”

“He will have me hanged,” she whispered.

Anna stiffened. “Of
course
not. We would never allow it.”

“She is right, my dear.” Susan touched a spoonful of tea to Isabelle’s lips. “We will protect you from him at all costs.”

Anna plunked down at the foot of the bed and tucked her feet beneath her. “Maybe he didn’t refer to you at all. Isabelle is a common name. Who knows how many Belles he’s bedded?”

“He knew.” Leo’s expression swam into her mind. He had lost his color and seemed to sway a bit on the chaise. She could almost see the memories slamming into him. He knew exactly who she was. “Oh, Anna, he’ll have me drawn and quartered!”

“Never!” Anna exclaimed. “I would throw myself over your body to protect it, Isabelle. I would sleep with a hundred seven-foot giants like Pierre as payment for engineering your escape!”

Isabelle glanced at Susan and caught the tail end of a grimace. Not for the first time, she wondered if there was something between Susan and the Frenchman.

“How did Leo recognize you?” Susan searched her with penetrating black eyes. “Not by your voice—your whisper conceals your voice quite well. What do you think it was?”

Isabelle closed her eyes, picturing the sensuous curve of his lower lip, the flare of his nostrils as he had breathed her in. “I believe he remembered my perfume.”

“Really?” Anna exclaimed. “After all that time?” She jumped off the bed. “Where is it? I want to smell it.”

“It is in the green case on the dressing table. My great-aunt designed the scent for me when I was a lass.”

Anna found the little shagreen case, removed the stopper from the bottle, and held it to her nose. Then she passed it to Susan, who did the same.

“It is a very pretty scent, Isabelle. Different. I can see why he remembers it.”

“I put some on before we went down to the cellar, but then I thought I oughtn’t wear it, so I washed it off.” She had wanted to rid herself of the memories—she never anticipated that the smell would spark
his
memories. “I don’t think I washed it well enough.”

She shifted to a seated position on the bed and sniffed at her wrists. Indeed, the scent was still there, very faint, but present. Amazing that he could have identified her from something so weak.

In her mind’s eye, she saw him standing as they had walked into the cellar tonight, his back as straight as if he stood at the reception line at a ball, his clothing disheveled, his face wary and alert despite the blindfold. His coppery hair had curled around his ears. When he had turned to her, his lips had tilted in blatant invitation.

That was before he had recognized her, though. How would he look at her now? Would he think of her as she was, a painfully shy, dried-up spinster?

“Imagine…remembering a scent after years and years apart from someone. It is so romantic, don’t you think?” Anna returned the perfume to its case and settled back on the foot of the bed, lying on her side facing Isabelle.

“Romantic?”

“Yes.” Anna sighed dreamily. “It could be a novel. A rakish dandy remembers the sweet maiden he lay with long ago, just by her smell, and falls madly in love all over again.”

Susan groaned. “I do wish I could get you to read something valuable, Anna. Those novels you consume are confections for the brain.”

“At least they are sweet,” Anna retorted.

Susan arched her eyebrows.

“Well, I do prefer the ones that end sweetly,” Anna said, grinning.

The contrast between Anna’s playful attitude now and her behavior in the cellar reminded Isabelle of a kitten with sharp claws.

“It would be romantic indeed, Anna,” Isabelle said dryly, “if only he had been in love to begin with.”

“Did you not think he loved you? I mean, while you were with him.” Anna turned to her side and propped her head in her hand. “He was so gentle with me. I thought he loved me. I was sure of it.”

Susan arched one perfect black brow. “You thought he loved you? After so little time spent with him?”

“Certainly, I did,” Anna proclaimed.

Shame flared in Isabelle’s cheeks. She had once been so secure in his love. How many women had he made feel that way? She wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered. “Yes. That was what made it so difficult to bear, in the end.”

She glanced at Susan, who toyed with the sugar tongs on the tea tray.

Anna asked what Isabelle was too timid to ask. “What about you, Susie? Did you think he loved you?”

Susan bit her lower lip, staring at the tongs as if fascinated by them. “I do not know about love, per se, but I did… Yes, he did lead me to believe he had strong feelings.” She dropped the tongs and looked up. Her eyes shimmered. “He lied.”

Isabelle stared at her friend. She had never seen Susan look distraught before. She was always so composed. What on earth had he done to her?

“I know.” Anna sighed. “He is a cruel liar. And I hate him.” She flopped onto her back at Isabelle’s feet, clasping her hands behind her head.

Susan stirred Isabelle’s tea absently. “I always thought he would understand how he’d wronged all three of us by the end. What I failed to consider was that he might find other ways to identify us besides the sounds of our voices. I thought he’d had so many women he couldn’t possibly remember the details about every one.”

Isabelle clasped her hands in her lap. “Maybe…maybe he remembered me simply because I was...I was his first. His first conquest.” Tears stung the backs of her eyes. “I knew him before he earned his reputation.”

Susan’s eyebrows drew together. She set the spoon aside. “That is true. The scandal with you gave birth to his reputation, so you were special to him. Of course he would remember you.”

“Exactly.” Isabelle doused the glimmer of hope that there had been something more behind his recognition. There was nothing more. In the end, he was the son of an earl and she the daughter of a sheep farmer. In all likelihood, he simply believed her too low for him. She was worth a summer of quick tumbles, but her value did not extend beyond that.

“If that’s true, then certainly Susie and I are safe from his recognition,” Anna said.

“But we must be vigilant,” Susan added, looking up from the tea tray.

“I agree,” Isabelle said. “But I do think you ought to continue. He already seems…calmer. More thoughtful, somehow.”

“But what will we do about
you
?” Anna asked.

“Deny her identity.” Susan rose from the chair and began to pace the little room, her heels clicking on the wood plank floor. “He has no proof that you are who he thinks you are. We will offer him nothing, give him no further indication that you might actually be Isabelle Frasier. If, when we free him, he decides to pursue you, you shall use me as your alibi. Society considers me a most upstanding widow. It is his word against mine. Nobody will believe him. But honestly, I doubt he will try. He’s intelligent enough to know that it would destroy his reputation if word got out that a twenty-five-year-old spinster locked him in a cellar.”

Perhaps she was right. But Lord Leothaid was a rich earl with allies in the highest places. And he was a man. He had the ability to seek his vengeance without making it public. Isabelle pressed her lips together, suppressing a shudder.

Anna patted Isabelle’s foot over the rose-embroidered bedspread. “That is a good idea. Don’t worry, Isabelle. I will threaten him terribly. When we free him, he will be too terrified to consider pursuing you.”

Susan paused at the fireplace. “And you will be hidden far away, in Scotland where no one can find you.”