VIscount Besieged (32 page)

Her eyes flew
fully open. Even as she took in the enormity of what she was doing,
she was pulling back, thrusting away, turning, retreating—oh, God
help her, what in the world had she done?
—
to the fallen
tree-trunks where she dropped down, panting and hanging on for dear
life to one of the jutting dead branches.

It was a moment
or two before she was able to get her breath, even longer before
the quivering in her limbs began to subside and the pounding of her
heart eased a little. She almost jumped when Roborough’s voice came
from behind her.

She turned her
head. He had not come close. He was looking grimmer than she had
ever seen him. But his voice was ragged with some emotion she could
not have identified if she had tried.

‘
I
will not ask your pardon, for that was unforgivable. In my defence
I have only this to say: when you talk of becoming an actress, you
lay yourself open to just such assaults.’

‘
From
men like you?’

He flinched.
Isadora was instantly contrite. She had not wanted to taunt him.
But she could not help it. That he had dismissed the experience in
such terms hurt so very much. What to her had been the
culmination—or at least the beginning of an expression—of her love
for him had been to him merely the sort of treatment a gentleman
meted out to that kind of woman. The protest burst out from the
pain of his rejection.

‘
You
did it for that, I suppose? To show me the sort of attentions I am
likely to invite if I pursue my ambition to be an
actress?’

Roborough did
not speak for a moment. He had not done it for that. He had not
meant to do it at all. He had kissed her because he could not help
it. And her response had so overwhelmed him that he was within an
ace of disgracing them both, right there in the open.

But nothing of
that must appear in his face or voice. It was tempting to suppose
that her affections were engaged, but experience told him such an
assumption might well be mistaken. He knew enough of women to
understand that a first kiss—and he was certain it was Isadora’s
first kiss, if one discounted the Witheridge boy’s juvenile
attempt—could readily arouse passions that innocent genteel females
were not even aware of possessing. One could set no store by such
responses.

He
took a decision. ‘That is exactly why I did it.’

Fire of a
different kind swept through Isadora. The fire of pure rage. How
could he use her so, and for such a reason? Sarcasm tore out of her
throat as she rose from the tree-trunk.

‘
I
must then thank you, Roborough, for demonstrating your libertine
propensities. I only trust your real mistress will not take it into
her head to become jealous
.
Oh, don’t fear me. I shall say
nothing. I would not wish to jeopardise your chances of gaining by
the marriage—if you can bring yourself to marry her.’

The viscount was
staring at her in the blankest amazement. ‘What in the name of all
the gods are you talking about? My mistress? What mistress,
pray?’

But Isadora was
already regretting her hasty words.

Had she not
known disaster would strike if she rode with Roborough? She must
retract at once.

‘
It
does not matter,’ she said brusquely, pushing past him towards the
horses.

He seized her
arm. ‘No, you don’t. Explain yourself, if you please.’

‘
But
I don’t please,’ she snapped. She wrenched her arm out of his hold.
‘I have said too much already.’

‘
You
have not said nearly enough!’

‘
Well, it’s all I am going to say!’

‘
Is
it indeed?’

‘
It
is indeed!’

He eyed her in
frustrated silence. When she was in this mood, there was no doing
anything with the wench. And he was too much moved himself to joke
her out of it. He no longer knew what had or had not been said.
Except—well, why the idiotic accusation of a mistress? She could
not mean Ursula? Good God!

Isadora was
already waiting at her horse’s side. Automatically he went to help
her. She accepted his aid in silence, settling herself on the back
of the horse. She would not look at him, but immediately set off at
a trot towards the mansion. Remounting, Roborough followed her more
slowly, lost in thought.

This opened up a
whole new line of enquiry. She had spoken in venom, but what she
had said was open to interpretation. Had his caution been
unnecessary? Had he been mistaken in his reading of her response to
his embrace? Could it be—? Or was this merely wishful
thinking?

Isadora,
meanwhile, riding back towards the mansion ahead of him, was beset
by far different emotions—all of them uncomfortable. Shame and
anger were the least of them. But most of all she was conscious of
a yearning ache—for the feel of Roborough’s arms around her,
Roborough’s lips on hers. How she wished she had never experienced
them. Yet how deeply satisfying it was to have had even that tiny
taste of a wine that she would never be permitted to
drink.

The mansion
loomed. The viscount caught her up, but although they rode into the
stable yard neck and neck, Isadora kept silent just as he did.
Vaguely she took in the presence of a familiar curricle standing in
the yard by the stable-block.

Roborough
regarded it frowningly as he swung out of the saddle. Forgetting
what lay between them, he looked across at Isadora, who was
dismounting with the help of a groom.

‘
Another visitor,’ he said grimly.

Isadora, her
consciousness receding as the same thought came to her, met his
eyes in startled enquiry.

‘
Is
it—?’

‘
Yes,
I’m afraid it is. My good friend Syderstone.’

Chapter Eleven

Isadora eyed the
unwelcome visitor surreptitiously as he basked, urbane and
fashionable as ever in a wine-coloured cloth coat, in the flattery
of the elder Pusay exiles, who had invited him to visit this
afternoon in Mrs Alvescot’s private sitting-room. She had been
trying for such an opportunity—impossible yesterday when everyone
had to attend Sunday service—since he had arrived three days
ago.

He appeared
delighted to be in company with both the Pusay ladies again,
exercising the charm that had worked so well before. To Isadora’s
intense annoyance, Cousin Matty threw her a glance pregnant with
meaning. No doubt she supposed, knowing nothing of the deceased
Lord Roborough’s debt, that they owed the doubtful honour of this
visit to Syderstone’s unswerving attachment to Isadora. A useful
view now.

He was not in
the least degree attached to her, she knew well. But that was not
going to prevent her from carrying out the brilliant plan she had
conceived.

It had come to
her the morning he had arrived, as she had watched the bitter
aspect creep into the viscount’s countenance when he had thought no
one was looking. Every other member of the household had been
engaged in the presentations, which were performed with a slight
air of patronage by Cousin Matty.

From their
demeanour, neither Lady Roborough nor Lady Ursula—and one would
suppose the viscount must have opened his mind to her—could
possibly be privy to the information that Syderstone had fleeced
the late master of the house of an enormous sum of
money.

While the elder
man had been enjoying all this feminine attention, the viscount had
allowed his polite company mask to slip a trifle. Isadora, seeing
it, had been conscious of the strongest desire to jump up and fling
her arms protectively about him. Of course she could do no such
thing. Embarrassment apart, it must be unwelcome to him. He might
have conducted himself towards her in a manner scarcely befitting a
gentleman—conduct which she would give anything to have
repeated—but he had made clear his purpose in doing so. It had not
been because he wished to.

Quite when the
germ of her idea came to her Isadora was not sure. But once it had
entered her mind it burgeoned swiftly. She could do it—yes, she
could. And it would solve several problems at one blow. The
viscount would be free both of the debt and the need to provide for
herself, and she—perhaps more importantly—would be free of the
misery of watching him enmeshed in the toils of Lady Ursula
Stivichall.

Not, as she
could plainly see, that he was suffering. Far from it. Anyone with
eyes could tell how much he enjoyed her company. God knew what else
he enjoyed with her in their private moments together.

No, she must not
think of that. The idea of the Ursula female being the recipient of
such caresses as she had received—and more, if Cousin Matty had
gauged the matter rightly—was too painful to be borne. The longer
she remained in this house, the worse it would become. Lady
Ursula’s year of mourning was almost up. What was to stop Roborough
marrying her immediately beyond the moment when Society would deem
it acceptable?

Nothing in the
world. Certainly not Isadora Alvescot. She would be far away,
pursuing that ambition she had long ago decided was the goal of her
life. Only then she had not known she would meet a hateful, teasing
wretch who made her laugh at every moment he was not rousing her to
fury. A wretch who was never going to know that she was doing this
only so she might not be obliged to watch him making love to
another woman.

With an inward
sigh, Isadora thrust these uncomfortable thoughts to the back of
her mind and threw herself into the role she had carefully worked
out through the day.

Interrupting a
nostalgic conversation about the days of their youth—for the two
elder ladies were much of an age with Syderstone—Isadora claimed
his attention.

‘
Oh,
this is quite outrageous, Mr Syderstone, to be talking so hard to
Mama and Cousin Matty about times which mean nothing to me. How can
you?’

‘
It
is indeed disgraceful of me, Miss Alvescot,’ he agreed, the vivid
eyes turning in her direction. They held a slightly questioning
look. ‘Besides, I am anxious to know how you go on. Do you miss
your home very much?’

‘
Oddly, no,’ Isadora replied. ‘But our house, you must admit,
had only the gardens to recommend it. You have not had a chance to
see the gardens here, I think?’

Cousin Matty
jumped in immediately. ‘Now why do you not show Mr Syderstone about
the grounds, Dora? I am sure you must enjoy them, sir.’

Isadora rose
with alacrity. ‘I shall be very happy.’

‘
Why,
this is most kind, Miss Alvescot,’ said Syderstone, following suit.
He added in an undertone, the moment they were outside the door,
‘But why, Miss Alvescot? I cannot think you really wish to show me
the grounds.’

‘
I
don’t,’ Isadora agreed readily. ‘But I could think of no other
excuse to get you away from them.’

‘
This
is most flattering, I protest,’ he said, brows raised.

The implication
of this was not lost on Isadora. She had done nothing to encourage
him, and after his revelation of Roborough’s debt she had barely
spoken to him again at Pusay. She assumed a look of troubled
entreaty.

‘
Well, I hope it may be. I have been in such a quandary, you
see, and could not think where to turn. Then you came, and suddenly
I knew I was saved.’

She glanced at
him as she spoke, still leading the way through the corridors
towards the gallery, to find, to her satisfaction, that the bait
had hooked. His eyes gleamed with genuine interest.

‘
You
intrigue me greatly. Let us by all means hasten to the gardens that
you may tell me how I may save—or at least serve you.’

The grounds
about the mansion at Barton Stacey were extensive, with walled
gardens and stepped lawns leading down towards an artificial lake.
To either side of the unkempt lawns—another sign of the tightness
of funds here—were intermittent alcoves behind wide beds of
overgrown flowering plants where benches were set into the
stone.

Isadora selected
the first of these for her tête-á-tête with Syderstone. She sat,
wringing her hands in an agitated way to show her supposed inner
turmoil.

‘
Tell
me all, Miss Alvescot,’ invited Syderstone, watching her gravely as
he took his seat beside her.

Turning to face him, Isadora put a piteous inflexion
into her voice. ‘It is Roborough. You were right when you warned me
against him.’

‘
Was
I?’

There was
caution in his tone, but Isadora was ready for it. He must realise
that by now she knew the truth.

‘
Oh,
I do not speak of his father’s gambling. He would not take that
path himself.’

‘
You
know, then?’

‘
That
the debt to you was incurred by the late viscount? Yes, of course.
No, no, this is much more painful to me, although the debt is
significant in this.’ She drew a breath as if she must determine
herself to speak. ‘You see, Mr Syderstone, I am wholly in
Roborough’s power. He—he is coercing me to marry him.’