Fourteen
Feeling decidedly abused, Barth stormed through the hall to his grandmother’s wing. He paid scant heed to the servants who dodged out of his furious path.
Women.
They should all be...
Well, he was not quite certain what should be done with them beyond keeping them far away from him.
He had done everything in his power to win lsa’s hand in marriage. More than he would have done for any other woman, he seethed with a sense of injustice. And yet she had been determined to condemn him as an unfeeling monster from the moment he had returned to Kent.
For God’s sake, he might as well have remained in London.
Reaching his grandmother’s private salon, Barth entered without bothering to announce himself. With an unconsciously dramatic motion, he closed the door and marched to the center of the room.
“That is it.”
Seated in her favorite chair, Lady Sarah laid aside her cup of tea and regarded him with a faint smile.
“Goodness. Now what has occurred?”
“I am finished with all females.”
Predictably, the older woman merely laughed at his ominous threat.
“I presume you are referring to Isa?”
“Why must she be so bloody stubborn?” he growled.
“Is your grand battle plan not a success, then?”
Success? More like a ghastly failure.
“I have done everything to woo her as a proper suitor.” He paced across the carpet with a restless motion. “I flattered her, I seduced her, and I even cared for her when she was ill. Still she prefers that namby-pamby who barely notices she is about.”
“I thought that you intended to rid her of Mr. Effinton’s company?”
He smiled wryly as he recalled his naive boast. Until this morning, he had never considered the possibility that his determination to win the battle might lose him the war.
“I did.”
Lady Sarah raised her silver brows. “And?”
He abruptly turned to face his grandmother with a grim expression.
“And now Isa never wishes to clap eyes upon me again.”
Lady Sarah appeared far from surprised by his pronouncement. Indeed, she regarded him with a faint hint of sympathy.
“Really, Barth, what did you expect?”
He frowned at her absurd question. “Certainly not this.”
She gave a click of her tongue as she leaned forward and stabbed him with a piercing regard.
“For a gentleman who is a reputed rake, you know very little about women.”
His nose flared at the insult. Although he was certainly no rake, he could boast a measure of success with the fairer sex. Wasn’t that what had supposedly landed him in this beastly brew in the first place?
Of course, he readily admitted that he hadn’t the faintest clue to comprehending Isa Lawford. She was without a doubt the most troublesome maiden it had ever been his misfortune to encounter.
“I presume you intend to explain that remark?” he demanded of his grandmother.
“Isa is not a bounty of war to be won by the better general,” Lady Sarah readily retorted. “She is a woman with feelings.”
That strange, decidedly unpleasant pang once again twisted his heart.
“Yes, feelings for Peter Effinton.”
“Fah.” His grandmother snorted.
“What?”
“She does not love Peter Effinton.”
He threw up his hands in exasperation. His grandmother was right. He knew nothing of the devious workings of the female mind.
“Then why is she so furious?”
“Because she is afraid.”
Barth abruptly halted his pacing. “Of me?”
“Of her feelings for you,” Lady Sarah clarified. “She loved you once and was hurt. She can have no desire to risk such betrayal again.”
Could it be true? he inwardly wondered. Could Isa’s continued resistance to his charm simply be a feminine fear of being hurt?
It was certainly a thought more preferable to the belief that she desired another.
Still, that did not solve his current difficulties.
“I have promised I will care for her,” he informed his grandmother. “What more can I do?”
Lady Sarah appeared thoroughly unimpressed by his confession.
“You claim to care for her, and yet you plotted to have her only friend removed from Kent.”
Bloody hell, she sounded just like Isa, Barth seethed.
“Would you prefer that I had hired him so that he .and Isa could wed and live in their pretty little cottage?”
“Yes.”
Barth was stunned at the simple answer. Had his grandmother grown a bit daft? Or was she just being difficult?
“What?”
Lady Sarah smiled, clearly reading his less than flattering thoughts.
“That is what someone who cared for her would do.”
Allow Isa to wed another? Never.
“She belongs to me.”
His grandmother studied his harsh expression for a long moment; then, with a small sigh, she settled back into her cushions.
“Did you know, Barth, that your grandfather was engaged to another when we first met?”
Barth bit back his instinctive response. For once he was in no humor for his grandmother’s rambling tales of the past. He wanted Isa. And he had somehow thought Lady Sarah would possess the necessary insight to reveal how he could convince her that she was making a ghastly mistake.
Still, he respected his grandmother far too much to reveal his annoyance. Instead, he gave a vague shrug.
“No.”
Lady Sarah chose to ignore his obvious lack of enthusiasm as a reminiscent smile touched her aged countenance.
“Miss Fellwan,” she continued. “A lovely girl with the most charming stutter.”
“Grandmother . . .”
“Of course, the moment I met the dashing Lord Wickton, I tumbled madly in love,” she said, overriding his attempts to steer the conversation back to Isa. “And despite his best efforts, I could tell he returned my feelings.”
Barth was barely paying heed to the low words. “How fortunate.”
“Actually, it was most unfortunate,” the older woman argued. “Whatever our attachment, he was promised to another.”
“Obviously he ended the promise.”
Lady Sarah gave a slow shake of her head. “No, he did not. Despite our feelings, he refused to betray Miss Fellwan.”
Barth gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Good God, Grandmother, please do not confess that the two of you never wed.”
She wagged a heavily jeweled finger in his direction. “Of course we did. But not until Miss Fellwan had decided that she preferred to wed Lord Lanfield.”
It was a very nice story, but Barth gave an impatient sigh. Really, he did not have time for such nonsense.
“What does this have to do with Isa?” he demanded.
“Can you not see, Barth?” Lady Sarah regarded him as if he were being deliberately stupid—not a sensation that he particularly enjoyed. “It was the very fact that your grandfather refused to hurt Miss Fellwan that convinced me that I could always trust him with my heart. If he had simply tossed his fiancée aside, how could I not fear that he would someday treat me in a similar manner?”
Barth grappled to follow his grandmother’s meaning. Not an easy task for a gentleman who believed in fighting for what he desired. To simply stand aside seemed tantamount to conceding defeat.
“And you would have preferred to lose him forever?”
Lady Sarah’s gaze never wavered. “Yes.”
Barth gave an impatient growl. It was easy to make such noble claims now. He could not imagine that the two were so resigned to their fate at the time.
“I am not my grandfather,” he charged with a relentless expression.
A sudden tenderness softened his grandmother’s features. “No, but you do possess a good heart. If you truly care for Isa, then you will place her happiness before your own.”
* * *
He had not changed.
Pacing through the salon, Isa pressed a hand to her aching heart. After all the assurances that he cared for her and even the long days he had comforted her during her illness, he was still the same arrogant beast that she had branded him.
What else but arrogance would allow a gentleman to behave in such a manner?
He had not cared if Peter would be happy with his new position or even if he wished to leave Kent. He had simply desired to send the potential suitor far away from her.
He had not even considered her own feelings. After all, he did not realize she had accepted the fact that her attachment for Peter was not love. As far as he was concerned, she still desired to be Peter’s wife. And yet he had used every means at his considerable disposal to keep them apart.
He was still the same Lord Wickton.
So why, then, did she feel like weeping?
Because despite all of her sensible determination to keep him at arms’ length, and all her proud claims that she had thrust him out of her heart, she still loved him.
She choked back a sob of despair. Heaven above, how could she be so weak?
She had always known that Barth would never return her love. To him she was simply the woman that he was expected to wed.
And that was why she had been so furious with his cavalier treatment of poor Peter. Barth might not love her, but in his mind she was Wickton property. And no one poached upon Wickton property. He did not allow his possessions to be stolen by another.
She should never have agreed to see him after his return to Kent, she told herself sternly. In her prideful manner she had convinced herself that she was impervious to his charm. After all, she had already suffered and recovered from the pangs of first love. In truth, however, she had never stopped loving him.
Or at least she loved the man who had taught her to swim and brought her flowers when she was ill and kissed her in the garden.
As for the rest . . .
Well, he would never change. He would always be arrogant. He would always place his own needs first. And he would never love her.
She was a fool to hope for a moment it could be otherwise.
“Please, my lord, Miss Lawford does not wish to be disturbed.”
The sound of Rushton’s voice echoed through the open door,
making Isa stiffen with alarm. No. Surely not even Barth would be so
bold as to follow her after their unpleasant encounter this morning.
But there was no mistaking Lord Wickton’s stern tone. “I must see her.”
“My lord, I must insist that you leave.”
“I will stay here all day if need be.”
“Lord Wickton . . .”
Without even realizing that she was moving, Isa was across the room and standing in the doorway to regard the anxious servant and the towering lord. A pang twisted her heart at the sight of the lean features and well-molded frame, but none of her inner weakness was allowed to be revealed on her stern countenance.
“For goodness’ sake, let him in, Rushton,” she called.
At the sound of her voice, Barth instantly thrust his way past the disapproving servant.
“Isa.”
With a stiff back, she returned to the center of the salon. She waited until she heard the sound of the door closing; then, willing herself to maintain her composure, she turned around to face the gentleman who had once again disrupted her life.
“What is it that you wanted, my lord?”
He stepped toward her, his gaze closely studying her pale features.
“I have come to speak with you.”
“Once again ignoring my own desires in the matter,” she pointed out.
Something that might have been annoyance flashed over his face before he had swiftly dampened the emotion.
“I want to apologize.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“For what?” she demanded in cold tones.
“For interfering in Mr. Effinton’s life. As you said, I had no right.”
The words were said with a smooth ease, but Isa was not swayed for a moment. He was not sorry for his actions, merely that they had not succeeded.
“Fine.” She gave a faint nod of her head. “You have apologized. Now you can leave.”
He frowned. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“I have admitted that I was wrong.”
Her lips twisted. She wondered what it cost his pride to make such an admission.
“And that is supposed to make everything all right?”
The hazel eyes flashed. “What more do you want from me?”
Your love. The betraying words flashed through her mind before she angrily thrust them aside.
She would no longer hope for what never could be hers.
“Tell me, Barth, why are you so determined to marry me?”
“I have told you.” He carefully watched her reaction, as if determining how best to convince her of his sincerity. “I think we should suit very well.”
“You did not think so when you fled five years ago,” she reminded him in dry tones.
“I was young, and I resented the thought of having my future determined for me. Is that so difficult to understand?”
“No, but I do not believe that it is because you have suddenly realized that we are suited that you have changed your mind.”
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
Her chin tilted. “You could not bear the thought of losing to another gentleman.”
An unexpected hint of color stained his cheeks. “Absurd.”
“Is it? You had no interest in me beyond my dowry until you realized I might love another.”
His mouth opened as if to deny the accusation; then, meeting the glitter in her amber eyes, he gave a reluctant shrug.
“I will admit that I was angered by your interest in Mr. Effinton.”
“You saw me as your possession, and you were determined no one else would have me.”
His hands clenched at his sides. He was clearly unaccustomed to having his will countered.
“I have done everything possible to prove I will make you a good husband.”
“No, you have done everything possible to take me from Peter.” She gave a shake of her head. “It is just like that ghost story you are so fond of telling me—about the knight and his stolen bride. Perhaps if that knight had not been so intent on revenge, he would not have killed his bride.”
He stilled, his expression becoming grim. “And you believe that I care more about revenge than you? You think I am that shallow?”
A darkness entered the hazel eyes, and for an absurd moment Isa dared to believe that more than his pride was wounded at her determined resistance. Then, with a silent chastisement of her susceptible heart, she determinedly turned and blindly gazed out the window.
“Yes,” she murmured.
He heaved an exasperated sigh. “So what do you want from me?”
It took a pained moment before she could force the words through her dry throat.
“I told you earlier.”
“You never wish to see me again?” he demanded in disbelief.
“Precisely.”
She heard him scrape in a sharp breath. “And what will you do?”
“Do?”
“Do you intend to wed Peter Effinton?”
She gave an unsteady laugh. “That is hardly possible now.”
He was silent for so long that Isa began to wonder if he had simply walked out on her. Then, just as she prepared to turn about, she heard his soft words.
“No, I suppose not.”
She closed her eyes as a pain ripped through her body. How desperately she desired to admit that it did not matter why he wished her to be his bride, that she only longed to be at his side. It was only the bleak image of belonging to him and yet never being a part of his life that kept her determination intact.
“I believe that we have said everything that there is to say.”
“Yes. Indeed, I shall make it easy for you.”
That did have her turning back, and with a sense of shock, she discovered that he appeared as wounded as she felt.
Odd considering his own heart was not being torn in two.
“What do you mean?”
“I am returning to London,” he pronounced in grim tones.
Unbelievably, her pain managed to deepen.
“Of course,” she said through white lips. “You must find a bride.”
His features twisted with a stark anger. “I assure you I have lost all interest in brides.” He gave a stiff bow. “Good-bye, Isa.”
Caught off guard by the bitterness in his tone, Isa watched in silence as he stalked from the room.
Then, pressing a hand to her trembling lips, she sank onto the window seat.
“Good-bye . . . my love,” she whispered.