Ten
“And so the sword was turned aside, and rather than killing the blackguard who had stolen his bride, the brave knight instead mortally wounded the lady he loved.”
Isa gave a wry shake of her head. She had heard the ghost story since she was a small child. The tragic tale of a beautiful bride stolen on her wedding day by the jealous lord and the frantic knight rushing to her rescue, only to kill her during the heated battle. It was said that she walked the cliffs at night while her doomed lover could be heard among the rocky coast, where he had thrown himself to his death. When she was young, the story had always made her tremble with delicious fright; now, with the sunshine flooding through the enclosed garden and Barth regarding her with a wicked smile, she felt nothing beyond a curious peace.
It was so very odd. Over the past week, Barth had barely left her side. Each day, he arrived just after breakfast and remained until after dinner. And while there a prickly awareness remained whenever he was near, she had slowly forgotten she wished him far away. Indeed, if she allowed herself to dwell upon the matter, she would have to admit that she awoke every morning awaiting his arrival.
It was simply a reaction to her confinement, she always hastily reassured herself. Anything was preferable to sitting on her own.
Glancing toward the nearby bench, she felt the familiar flicker of heat at the sight of Barth’s masculine frame comfortably sprawled, his long, booted legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He was just so damnably handsome, she acknowledged. And he had been so very kind. It was little wonder she at times forgot he was the enemy.
“It is an absurd story,” she at last murmured.
“It is true.” He tugged at his ear in a manner that assured her that he was teasing. “I have seen her walk the cliffs at night.”
“I am no longer an impressionable ten-year-old who believes in ghosts,” she informed him. He studied her pale features for a disturbing moment.
“So you fear nothing?”
She drew in a sharp breath. Of course she feared, she inwardly acknowledged. She feared having her heart broken. She feared being betrayed. And most of all, she feared the dangers of trusting in love.
“Certainly not ladies in white or long-dead knights,” she forced herself to retort. “And what of you? Do you fear nothing?”
Surprisingly, a somber expression settled on the lean features.
“During the war, I discovered I feared a great number of things.”
She experienced a swift pang of remorse. “I am so sorry.”
The hazel gaze lingered on her softened features. “Do not be.”
“What was it like?”
“War?”
“Yes.”
“Cold. Dirty. And for the most part, unbearably tedious.” He paused as if reliving his days with the regiment. “I do not know if I could have survived without the companionship of Philip and Simon.”
“It was said that you saved a gentleman’s life.”
He shrugged aside her words. “We all helped one another.”
“It must have been horrible.”
“Yes. Quite horrible,” he agreed in soft tones. “Which is why we lingered so long in Italy. We needed time to distance ourselves from the memories before returning home.”
“Yes.”
A rather odd smile curved his lips. “And, of course, Rome is a most fascinating location to linger.”
Isa suddenly stiffened. Yes, she could just imagine what was so fascinating.
“Of course.” Her smile was stiff. “I have heard the ladies are quite beautiful.”
The wicked glint returned to the hazel eyes. “Perhaps, but I was referring to an old Gypsy we encountered. She gave us the oddest blessing.”
“Great riches, I suppose,” she quipped, not believing him for a moment.
“Actually, her blessing was that each of us would discover true love before the heat of summer burns again.”
“True love?” She raised her brows. “How fortunate for you.”
He chuckled. “Yes, indeed.”
“Did you believe her?”
“Certainly not at the time.”
“And now?”
“Now I begin to wonder what true love is.” He leaned forward, close enough so that he could capture her hand in a firm grip. “Perhaps you will enlighten me.”
Warmth flooded from his slender fingers through her skin and into her very blood.
“Me?”
“You must love Mr. Effinton,” he retorted.
Her lashes swiftly fluttered downward to hide her all too expressive eyes.
“My feelings are private.”
His thumb stroked a disturbing path over her knuckles.
“At least tell me what such a grand love entails. Does your heart stop when he enters the room? Do you long to hear the sound of his voice?” His own voice suddenly lowered. “Do you awake in the night aching for the feel of his arms about you?”
She roughly bit her bottom lip. Such sensations were not love. They were deceitful pleasures that lured a woman to behave as a perfect fool.
“That is enough.”
“What is amiss, Isa?”
“I do not wish to discuss this.”
“Very well,” he surprisingly agreed, his tone edged with amusement. “Shall I tell you another ghost story?”
She abruptly lifted her gaze to stab him with an unwavering intensity.
“Why are you here?”
His free hand lifted, lightly brushing her pale cheek.
“Where else would I be?”
She trembled but refused to allow her gaze to falter. “London.”
“I am in no hurry to return.” His fingers firmly cupped her chin. “Besides, I could not leave while you were ill.”
Those delicious tingles once more raced through her body. Dangerous, unwelcome tingles.
“I am no concern of yours.”
“I believe that we have already established that I am your friend.”
She did not believe him for a moment. She was all too aware of his necessity to wed a large dowry and to do so swiftly.
“And you still believe that I will marry you?”
He abruptly pulled away and regarded her with a narrowed gaze. Ridiculously, Isa felt a pang of regret at the loss of his warm touch.
“You think I am only pretending concern out of some devious hope to acquire your dowry?”
There was an edge in his tone that warned her that she had somehow managed to stir his normally placid temper. She discovered herself reluctant to openly confront him with her inner suspicions.
“I do not know what I think.”
“My concern for you is very real, Isa.”
It would be easy to believe him, she conceded. No one could have been more attentive to her needs or more patient as she slowly convalesced. Indeed, he had been her most faithful visitor. Unlike Peter, who had not even bothered to call.
Still, it was all so very convenient. Would he be at her side if he had no need of her dowry?
“I have no reason to trust you.”
There was a short pause before Barth heaved an audible sigh.
“Perhaps not. I have behaved as a selfish boor and treated you with an indifference you did not deserve,” he slowly admitted, making her lift her gaze in startled disbelief. “But that was only because I resented being forced into marriage. I desired to forget my obligations for a short time.”
She gave an unconscious flinch. Forced into marriage? The devil take him. Did he think any maiden would wish a bridegroom who was being forced to the altar?
“Very flattering,” she muttered.
“I am attempting to be honest with you.”
“There is no need.”
“There is every need.” He once again reached out to grasp her hand. “I believe we could deal quite well together.”
“Absurd.”
“Why?” He leaned forward, the scent of his soap mixing with the budding daffodils. “We have much in common. We were once great friends. And not even you can deny that there is a potent attraction between us.”
Her eyes abruptly darkened. No, she could not deny the attraction. How could she when she trembled at his every touch? She had been attracted to the gentleman for as long as she could recall. But that was not enough.
“I do not love you,” she denied in tones perhaps a bit more fierce than necessary.
His hand tightened on her fingers, his lean features determined.
“But you desire me.”
“No.”
A sudden tension entered the garden as a flare of heat glittered in the hazel eyes. It was obvious she had challenged his pride. Her own heart faltered as he slowly leaned forward.
“Shall I prove it, Isa?” he demanded, his gaze deliberately lowering to her parted lips.
“Barth.”
With breathless anticipation, she awaited the persuasive seduction of his kiss, only to abruptly freeze as the sound of raised voices floated through the air.
“Sir, I beg of you . . .” her butler protested in outrage.
Cursing the flare of regret at the interruption, Isa drew away from Barth. Was she forever doomed to react like a moonling whenever he was near?
With an effort, she smoothed her curls and straightened her shoulders. She should be deeply relieved at the timely interruption, she sternly assured herself.
“Out of my way, you starched-up peacock,” a familiar male voice rumbled in annoyance.
Isa felt a surge of pleased surprise as she recognized the voice of her grandfather. In all her days she could not recall his visiting Cresthaven. She could not imagine what had brought him at such an opportune moment. “But Miss Lawford is entertaining,” Rushton said, futily attempting to halt the determined gentleman.
The servant might as well have saved his breath.
“Aye, and I not be good enough for the likes of the local nobs,” Edward Brunston charged. “Well, I ain’t leaving until I’ve seen my granddaughter, so you might as well step aside.”
“Sir . . .” Rushton gave a last protest before Edward was sweeping past him and into the garden.
Both Isa and Barth rose to their feet as the large, florid-faced man with silver hair and piercing blue eyes came into view.
“Grandfather.” Isa smiled, and stepping forward, she was pulled into a strong embrace.
Edward at last stepped back, regarding her pleased expression with a frown.
“Why did you miss our appointment?” he demanded bluntly.
Appointment? Isa gave a sudden gasp. How could she possibly have forgotten what day it was? She had been meeting her grandfather on this date every month since she was a child. It was his way of being a part of her life without intruding into what he termed her “proper” world.
She had always looked forward to their luncheon at the local inn, their long drives through the countryside, or pots of tea in a private parlor when the weather was bad.
Good lord, she must be growing soft in the noodle to have lost track of her days, she chastised herself in disgust.
“Forgive me, Grandfather,” she murmured with genuine regret. “I completely forgot.”
A speculative glint entered the blue eyes. “I feared something had happened to you.”
Knowing that the wily old man was bound to be suspicious of her odd lapse, Isa readily grasped onto the most convenient excuse.
“I was ill, but I am much improved now.”
Predictably, the speculative glance became one of concern. “You are pale.”
“I am fine.”
“She is still in need of rest,” a darkly masculine voice intruded as Barth moved to stand close at her side.
Isa swallowed a sigh. She should have suspected that he would not remain meekly in the background.
“Grandfather, may I introduce Lord Wickton? Lord Wickton, my grandfather, Mr. Brunston.”
The bushy gray brows lowered another notch as her grandfather subjected Barth to a thorough survey.
“Wickton, eh?”
With a natural elegance, Barth gave a slight bow. “A pleasure, Mr. Brunston.”
“No, it ain’t,” Edward retorted in his blunt style. “A gentleman can’t wish to be encroached upon. Wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t been worried about my favorite lass.”
Isa tilted her chin. When it came to her beloved grandfather, she did not care a whit what others might think. Including Barth.
“I am glad you did come,” she insisted.
“No, no. Your mother is right. Wouldn’t do to have me popping up. Much better to meet at the inn.”
“Nonsense,” Isa denied. “What do I care what the neighbors may say? You are far more important than any gossip.”
“You are a good lass.” Her grandfather patted her cheek with a smile. “Now, what has made you look so pale?”
Isa shrugged. “A mere chill.”
Barth once again intruded. “She was quite ill.”
She flashed him an exasperated frown. “I am much improved.”
“Has a doctor been sent for?” Edward demanded.
“Yes,” Isa hurriedly agreed, knowing her grandfather was quite capable of calling in every doctor throughout England.
“He insisted that she must rest.” Barth met her glittering gaze squarely. “And that she keep warm.”
“I am fine,” Isa insisted.
Barth turned to the older man, who was regarding them closely.
“Has she always been so stubborn?”
“Aye.” Edward gave a chuckle. “A heart of gold and a will of iron.”
Traitor, Isa thought with a stab of annoyance.
“Do you mind?”
Edward patted her cheek again. “I should be on my way.”
“Could you not stay?” Barth surprisingly insisted.
“I only came to see about Isa.”
“She would no doubt feel much happier after a visit with her grandfather. And she is still too weak to travel to the inn.”
A hint of pleased color crept beneath Edward’s cheeks as Barth wove his potent charm. It seemed not even the hardheaded businessman was immune.
“I should not like to intrude.”
“I assure you that I am the intruder, eh, Isa?” Barth teased with a knowing smile.
With a wry grimace, she turned her attention to her grandfather.
“Please stay, Grandfather.”
“Well . . .”
With a firm stride, Barth crossed toward the open French doors, where the butler still anxiously hovered.
“Rushton, see to tea, will you? And tell Mr. Brunston’s groom to take the horses to the stables.”
Keeping his dismay well hidden, the butler offered a stiff bow.
“At once, my lord.”
Edward regarded the younger gentleman with a stern eye before giving a sharp laugh.
“By gad, Isa, I do believe you have at last met your match.”