Tiger's Eye (12 page)

XV

B
y the afternoon of the next day, Isabella was as heartily sick of her forced confinement with “the handsomest man she had ever seen in her life” as Alec obviously was of being cooped up with her. Unable to leave the confines of the bedchamber or dressing room while Paddy and his cohorts scoured London for news of who it was who was out to kill him, and feeling more fit with every passing hour, Alec was as grouchy as a large bear in a small cage. He growled at everyone, and scowled at Isabella, for whom he obviously felt particular ire, every time he emerged from the dressing room.

Isabella, for her part, regretted their quarrel, and would have apologized had he given her the least opportunity. But he did not. His fit of the sullens did not go unremarked by Paddy or Pearl, but as they knew nothing of what had passed between Alec and herself, they attributed his ill temper entirely to the sawbones’s visit, and vowed they would not summon Mr. Heath again unless Alec lay dying.

As a result of Alec’s surliness, and her own guilt over adding to it, Isabella was as jumpy as a cat on hot bricks. Whenever Alec emerged from the dressing room—which he did frequently, pacing about the bedchamber and cursing his confinement—Isabella would either watch him with wide, wary eyes or, if he scowled at her, studiously avoid looking at him. Either way, it seemed her actions maddened him.

He seemed to be waiting for her to remark on the fact that, since their quarrel, he wore a decently buttoned-up shirt and breeches whenever he entered her chamber. From the looks he shot her, Isabella thought he was daring her to comment. Prudently she refrained.

When he stalked into her chamber for the fourth time in an hour, she, who had been trying to read a book for that same hour, flashed him a displeased look and sighed loudly.

He caught her eyes for the first time that day. Isabella, thoroughly annoyed herself by that time, refused to back down. For a long moment neither gave an inch. Then an unwilling smile tugged at the corner of Alec’s mouth. Isabella, determined not to be coaxed from the ill temper he had at last reduced her to, lifted her eyebrows at him with all the haughty disdain she could summon.

His smile widened. She gritted her teeth, and sniffed audibly. He laughed out loud. His amusement, Isabella knew, was at her expense. Her temper, usually so serene, heated still further.

“And how, pray, have I displeased you now, Countess? Behold me fully dressed, even to my boots.”

“I am glad you find me amusing, Mr. Tyron. ’Tis worth it if it will serve to sweeten your temper. For my part, I am trying to read, and will continue to do so if you will make yourself less of a nuisance.”

“You can call me Alec, you know. In fact, I wish you would, for I have every intention of calling you Isabella—at least when you Ye behaving yourself. When you’re not, I shall have to call you Countess.”

Alec grinned broadly as her eyes flashed at his baiting, and came to stand at the foot of the bed. His eyes gleamed at her as she lay propped on a mound of pillows. Isabella’s hand clutched at the neck of the lavender bed jacket as those eyes moved over her. Still determined not to be lured from the ill humor he had succeeded in driving her to, she found she could ignore him no longer. Lifting her eyes, she regarded him with obvious displeasure.

“And I wish you would take yourself back to your room. I am not accustomed to gentlemen making free of my bedchamber.” The look she gave him was disdainful.

His eyebrows rose, and he whistled through his teeth.

“Come now, Countess, climb off your high horse and cry friends. We’re stuck with each other for the nonce, so we might as well make the best of it.”

“That,” said Isabella through gritted teeth, “is quite impossible.”

Instead of being angered by her obdurateness, Alec seated himself on the end of the bed, grinning engagingly.

“I’m bored,” he complained. “Put that bloody book aside and talk to me. Tell me how you came to be married to that bounder St. Just, to start.”

“Pearl will be up to see you before long, I am sure. If you wish to talk, talk to her. I am trying to read. And I wish you will refrain from using bad language in my presence, and cease referring to my husband as a bounder.”

“Talking is not what Pearl and I do best together.”

“Indeed?” she replied frigidly, and reached for her book.

“What Pearl and I do best together I cannot do properly with your big ears listening in the next room,” he said wickedly, and to her fury, Isabella felt herself blush. He had meant to shock her, she knew, and she was almost as angry with herself for letting him get under her skin as she was with him for his deliberate baiting.

“Your bad taste in making such a remark is appalling,” she sniffed, her voice dripping icicles, and turned her eyes to her book again. Without warning he snatched it from her, holding it away from her when she would have grabbed it back.

“Mr. Tyron!” Out of all patience with him, she held out her hand for the book.

“Alec,” he corrected. His eyes were devils of merriment as they laughed at her. “If you want the book back, Isabella, you must say, ‘Please, Alec.’ ”

“You can … read that book yourself for all I care,” Isabella hissed, her eyes shooting sparks of real fury because she could not think of any words bad enough to annihilate the maddening creature.

“I see I shall have to teach you to swear, Countess,” he said softly, and then when she thought her temper must explode, he meekly handed her the book. She accepted it and buried her nose in it. He stretched out comfortably along the end of the bed, propping his head on his hand, watching her read.

Of course, with him lying across the end of her bed, she could not make sense of a single word.

“Would you please go away?” she gritted at last, shooting him a look of pure loathing.

He smiled at her then, a charming lopsided smile that, against her will, threatened to melt her bones.

“Talk to me,” he wheedled. Then, when she still scowled at him, though it was an effort in the face of that engaging grin, he added softly, “Please?”

“About what?” she sighed, acknowledging defeat, and leaned her head back against the pillows as she eyed him. If truth were told, she would much rather talk to him than read. Alec was infinitely more interesting than her novel.

“Tell me how you come to be wed to St. Just,” he said again, disposing himself more comfortably. By the time he was settled he was lying flat on his back along the foot of the bed, his hands linked comfortably behind his head and his booted feet extending off the other side of the mattress. His eyes were turned in her direction, and he seemed to be studying her face. Isabella knew that she should object to his posture. But she didn’t.

An odd thrill went through her at his nearness. Such proximity to a man who was not her husband was scandalous, of course, but then the whole situation in which she had found herself since being rescued by Alec was scandalous. He’d slept in the dressing room of her chamber for a fortnight now, wandering through her room in various stages of undress, beheld her more nearly naked than anyone except her maid had seen her since she was a tiny child, and now he sprawled on the end of her bed for a cozy chat. If word of this ever got out, her reputation would be irretrievably ruined. But the mere fact that she had passed a fortnight in a bawdy house would ruin her as surely as anything else, so Isabella relaxed, and allowed herself to enjoy—though not without some guilt—the sheer pleasure of his company.

XVI

“W
ell?” Alec prompted when she didn’t immediately respond. Isabella, recalled to her surroundings, made a face.

“ ’Tis not very interesting,” she warned.

“Tell me anyway.”

“All right.” Absently she smoothed a wayward strand of hair away from her face. Without her maid to dress it for her, it was less likely than ever to stay tidy for any length of time. “Bernard’s property marches along my father’s holdings in Norfolk. My family has known his family for years. I came of an age to be married, Bernard offered for me, Papa accepted, and we wed. And that’s all there is to that.”

Alec looked skeptical. “Why would your da be willing to let you wed a bounder—oh, forgive me, I’m not to call a spade a spade in this case, am I?—a man like St. Just? He’s been wed before, and he’s a generation older than you are—”

Isabella gave him a warning look for his mockingly retracted description of Bernard, but answered anyway. “As I said, my father has known his family for years. When Bernard’s first wife died, he was devastated. Shortly after that, my papa wed for the second time, and Sarah—my stepmama—promptly got with child.”

“That still doesn’t explain why your da married you off to St. Just.”

Isabella sighed. “To be truthful, I expect Papa accepted Bernard’s suit to get me out of his household. Sarah made it rather clear that she found my presence upsetting.”

“Why would she find your presence upsetting? You’re one of the least offensive people I’ve ever known.”

“Why, thank you, sir—I think.” Isabella smiled at him. “But I look like my mama, you see. Almost exactly. Apparently Sarah found it a hardship to be faced with a replica of her predecessor day in and day out.”

“So your da got rid of you for her?”

Isabella shook her head. “It wasn’t like that, exactly. I didn’t enjoy sharing a household with Sarah, either.”

“You weren’t in love with St. Just?”

Isabella shook her head, and smiled a little ruefully. “He was a neighbor, but I didn’t really know him. He’s a very attractive man, of course, I quite see that, but he was so much older and so experienced. I was frightened of him, to tell you the truth, and I begged my papa to call off the wedding. But Sarah was getting closer to her time, and he would not.”

“Fine, loving da you have.” It was a disgusted mutter, but Isabella heard.

“I never saw much of him, not even when my mother was alive. I don’t think they were very happy together. And he dotes on Sarah. And the new babies.”

“Babies? Good God, how many has she had?”

“Three. The youngest, Nathaniel, is a boy. The heir at last. Papa must be over the moon.”

“Don’t you know?”

Isabella shook her head. A slight sadness shadowed her eyes. “I’ve only seen Papa twice since my marriage. He’s been … busy with other things, you see.”

“Oh, aye, I see.” Alec’s voice was grim. His golden eyes narrowed as they met hers and saw the faint darkening in the soft blue depths. “So tell me about being married. Was it as bad as you expected? From what I’ve seen of St. Just, he’d make the devil of a husband for a chit like you.”

Isabella shook her head. “Oh, no, I don’t want you to think that Bernard has been unkind to me. He’s in London most of the year, but when he does come down to Blakely Park he is perfectly civil to me. That’s why I cannot believe he would hire someone to kill me. He doesn’t hate me or anything, you know. He treats me with the respect due his wife.”

Alec gave her a derisive look, but forbore to comment. Instead he asked, “Have you any children?”

Isabella shook her head. Alec forbore to comment on that, too, to her relief.

“So tell me about Blakely Park. Is that your home?”

Isabella eagerly accepted that inoffensive conversational gambit. “Yes, and it is the most beautiful place! Acres and acres of moor with pine trees and babbling brooks and a beautiful blue lake to fish in. I love it there.”

“Were you coming from there when you were kidnapped?”

Isabella nodded.

“Who knew you were on the road? Do you always travel to London at this time of year?” He frowned as she shook her head, then continued more slowly. “Oh, that’s right, you said you’d never been to London before. So what prompted you to decide to come?”

“Bernard sent me a note asking me to join him.” Isabella smiled faintly. “I was so excited! I’m still looking forward to seeing it. The Tower, and the wild beasts at the Exchange, and the theatre and the opera and—” She broke off, laughing at her own enthusiasm. “Hinkel, the head groom at Blakely Park, is a Londoner born and bred, and he’s been filling my head with tales, as you can see.”

“St. Just has never before brought you to London, and he just happened to want you to join him, and you just happened to get kidnapped on the road? And you don’t find anything the least odd about that?” Alec’s voice was sharp with disbelief.

Isabella looked at him with dignity. “There is such a thing as coincidence, you know.”

Alec snorted, then after a moment said, “This Hinkel—did he know you were coming to London?”

“Yes. All the servants at Blakely Park did. Why?”

“Who else knew?” He ignored her question, his eyes intent.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t a secret. I suppose my servants may have told someone in the village; or Bernard’s servants in London, who must have been expecting me, may have told someone.”

“They might have, I suppose.” Alec sounded unconvinced.

Isabella sighed. “You are determined to think that Bernard hired those men to kidnap and kill me, aren’t you? Well, I think you’re wrong. Ours was not a love match, true, but he has no reason to wish me dead.”

“Your money?” Alec suggested.

Isabella shook her head. “Papa paid him a perfectly enormous dowry when he married me. I cannot think he’d have any more to gain if I died.”

“So he married you for your money?” Alec probed.

Isabella shrugged. “Yes, I suppose. But that’s hardly unusual. Nor does it make him a killer.”

“Why do you defend him?” Alec looked at her curiously.

“He is my husband, after all. Though the marriage might not be what I would have wished, it is still a marriage, binding in the eyes of God and man.”

“Noble sentiments,” Alec sneered.

“True, nonetheless,” Isabella insisted quietly. “And so far you’ve told me nothing that convinces me that Bernard is conniving at my murder. Just because he was dressed in mourning, and told one of Pearl’s girls that he was a widower, is no proof that he himself planned to kill me. It only means that he thinks me dead. Why, I don’t know. But there could very well be an excellent reason, just as there could be an excellent reason why he wished me to join him just at this time. Until we know that there is not, I cannot convict him in my own mind on so little evidence.”