Fifteen
Sipping his brandy, Philip brooded on his current ill humor. It was absurd. Now that he had returned to London, he should be devoting his attention to the vast stack of invitations littering his foyer, or indulging his senses in the practiced delights of Miss Ravel. Instead, he was attempting to drown his thoughts in this exclusive gentleman’s club.
What the devil was wrong with Miss Bella Lowe? For weeks, she had pouted and raved that she had no desire to wed Andre LeMont. Now, as he slowly began to accept that he had acted rashly, she was suddenly determined to marry the jackanapes.
Good lord, the man was not worthy of her. She needed a gentleman who could appreciate her impetuous nature and shrewd intelligence. A gentleman like . . . himself.
A sharp pain jolted through his body as he raised his glass and drained it in one gulp.
Fool. Fool. Fool.
He was Bella’s guardian. What sort of guardian longed to seduce his own ward? To make her his wife and fill her with his children? He was beyond reproach.
Leaning forward to pour himself another healthy measure of the fiery spirit, Philip abruptly became aware that someone had halted beside his chair. Turning his head, he regarded the intruder with a fierce scowl. The scowl was only mildly tempered by the realization of who was impinging upon his privacy.
“Good god, Simon,” he said. “What the devil are you doing here? I thought you were in the wilds of Devonshire?”
“I was,” Simon retorted with a grimace. “And I must warn you that my travels have left me in a foul mood.”
“It cannot be any more foul than my own.” He waved a slender hand toward the wing chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. “Have a seat.”
Simon settled his tall frame into the supple leather and motioned for a hovering servant. “Your best brandy,” he commanded. “And plenty of it.”
“Yes, my lord.” The uniformed man bowed and walked toward a heavy side table. In the blink of an eye, he returned with a crystal-cut decanter and glass.
“Devonshire not all that you wished?” Philip demanded as he watched Simon pour himself a drink and promptly toss it down his throat.
“Devonshire was fine. It was my ill-tempered shrew of a neighbor that was impossible.”
Philip’s elegantly handsome features tightened. There was an edge to his friend’s tone, and a hectic glitter in his eyes that warned him what was troubling him. “A female, I presume?”
Simon poured another measure of brandy. “Claire the bloody cat.”
A cat? He was upset over a cat? “Pardon me?”
“Miss Blakewell,” Simon muttered in explanation. “An unruly, ungrateful spitfire with the manners of a street urchin.”
Ah, so it was a woman, Philip concluded. And a woman much like Bella Lowe, if he did not miss his guess. “Did I not warn you that it was safer to battle Napoleon than to battle the wiles of a cunning female?”
“I will certainly drink to that.” Simon emptied his glass. “What of you? How could your mood be foul when you have been surrounded by the comforts of London and the lovely charm of Miss Ravel?”
“Unfortunately, I just returned to London. I was called away.”
“Called away to where?”
“Surrey.”
“Good God, why?”
Philip’s lips thinned. “My ward.”
“Ah. I thought she resided at your estate?”
Philip could not halt his sharp laugh. “It is a long, unfortunate tale. Let it just be said that at the moment I would like nothing better than to lock her in a cellar and toss away the key.”
Simon lifted his glass with a mocking smile. “Hear. Hear. To deep cellars with thick doors and . . .”
A sudden disruption across the room had Philip turning to discover Huber discretely attempting to turn away the unsteady form of a drunken guest. A flare of disbelief raced through him as he recognized Lord Wickton. With a frown, Philip rose to his feet, and in the same motion as Simon, moved toward their friend.
“Stand aside, Huber,” Lord Wickton was demanding in thick tones.
“My lord, please.”
“Stand aside or be prepared to defend yourself.”
Realizing that Barth was more than a bit bosky, Philip firmly grasped him about the shoulders. “Good God, Wickton, come along.”
Too muddled to argue, Barth allowed himself to be led toward the distant corner, not even protesting when Simon pressed him into a seat. “Challmond? Brasleigh?” He attempted to gather his composure. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“Clearly the same thing you have been doing for quite some time,” Simon informed him.
Barth shrugged, then gave a smile as his gaze landed upon the decanter beside the chair. “Ah . . . brandy. Just what I need.”
“Coffee,” Philip corrected as he whisked the spirits out of the reach of the foxed nobleman and handed it to the hovering Huber. “Now why are you not in Kent with your new bride?”
“There is no bride,” he snapped.
Philip and Simon exchanged a startled glance.
“I thought the marriage was arranged?” Simon retorted.
“As did I.” Barth allowed his head to lay back and closed his eyes. “Unfortunately, the bride has decided that she prefers another. And I must say I do not blame her. He is an absolutely brilliant gentleman without a fault to be discovered. And believe me, I have tried.”
“That is rather a bad break, but she is not the only maiden in England. You will soon find another bride,” Philip attempted to console him.
“Oh, yes, there are no doubt any number of maidens willing to become the countess of Wickton.“ Barth opened his eyes, his expression harsh with pain. “A pity I do not bloody well want them.”
Philip shivered even as he forced himself to give another laugh. “Well, are we not a sad trio? What happened to the ‘Casanova Club’? Love them and leave them wishing for more?”
“It is all that gypsy’s fault,” Barth muttered. “Her and her devil’s curse.”
“Absurd,” Simon denied.
“Then you have not tumbled into the stormy seas of love?” Barth challenged.
“Love?” Simon appeared as if he had been struck by lightning, but before he could confess what had caused such a stark expression, a servant halted at his side.
“My lord.”
“Yes?” Simon demanded.
“A message has been delivered for you.”
“Thank you.”
Philip and Barth waited in silence as their friend swiftly read the missive and then abruptly crushed it into a tight ball. “Damnation!”
Philip was instantly concerned. He did not like seeing his friends so obviously at the mercy of their emotions. No more than he enjoyed being a prisoner to his own. “Troubles?”
“It is from Locky.”
“Locky?” Barth hiccuped. “Where the devil is he?”
“Devonshire. I have to leave.”
“Wait.” Philip reached out a hand to halt his impetuous friend. “Is there something that we can do to help?”
“As a matter of fact, you can wish me luck,” Simon said in soft tones. “I am off to win the heart of the woman I love.”
Philip could only watch Simon stride from the room with a distinct pang in his heart. A pang that might have been envy. At least he was in the position to proclaim his love. Unlike himself.
“The woman he loves?” Barth intruded into his thoughts. “Poor sod. Where is that brandy?”
“I believe you have indulged enough for one evening.” Philip returned to his own seat and glanced at his decidedly foxed companion.
“Oh, no, I have not indulged nearly enough.”
Philip frowned. “What troubles you?”
“Isa Lawford troubles me,” Barth muttered.
Good gads. Another brave member of the Casanova Club ruined by a female, Philip acknowledged.
“I thought you did not wish to wed the chit?” Philip retorted. Certainly Barth had never hidden his dislike at being forced down the aisle.
“I was a bloody fool.”
“Then you wish her to be your wife?”
“Yes.”
Philip slowly leaned forward. His own life might be in chaos, but there was no reason for Barth to suffer. Not if he could help. “Do you love her?”
“Love?” Barth closed his eyes. “What is that?”
“How do you feel when you are near her?”
“As if my guts are being twisted into a knot. Is that love?”
Philip’s expression was mocking. “I certainly hope not.”
Barth slowly opened his eyes and banged a fist on the arm of his chair. “But the beastly thing is that I cannot get her out of my mind. I came to London to enjoy my freedom. After all, I have spent a lifetime being smothered by the knowledge that I would have to wed Isa Lawford to save the Wickton family from disgrace. I should be relieved at the thought that she has refused to become my wife.”
Philip thought of his own chastisements to be happy that Bella Lowe was soon to become Mrs. LeMont. What better means of putting her out of his thoughts than to give her to another? Unfortunately, it had served no better purpose than to make him more miserable than ever.
“But you are not relieved?”
“I have never been so bloody miserable in all my life,” he confessed. “Isa may no longer be my fiancée, but she refuses to leave me in peace.”
It was a complaint all too familiar to Philip. “Do not tell me. She is there every time you close your eyes. You smell her scent in the air, and when you awake in the morning, your arms ache because she is not lying beside you.”
“How did you know?” Barth breathed.
Philip struggled to regain his composure. He was supposed to be helping his friend, not bemoaning his own troubles. “What will you do?”
Barth’s expression hardened. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“I have been informed that a true gentleman should bow out with as much grace as possible.”
Philip regarded his friend with stern disapproval. Bow out, indeed. “I have never known you to give up, Wickton. Remember when we were surrounded by those damned Frenchies and our commander wanted to retreat? You pulled out your sword and demanded that we fight our way through.”
“I would rather face a regiment of Frenchies than a devious woman. At least I knew what was expected of me.”
Philip could not help but agree. “Hear. Hear.”
“You were wise not to become entangled in the dangerous lures of a female.”
“Oh, yes, I am all that is wise,” Philip retorted in mocking tones. “What will you do?”
It took Barth a moment to answer. “I do not know.”
“What do you want?” Philip demanded. He waited for his friend to respond, but Barth appeared lost in his dark thoughts. “Barth?”
Barth gave a sharp shake of his head. “What do I want? I want to see Isa smile.”
Philip caught his breath. Such simple words, and yet they made his heart twist with an aching sense of loss. He had been fighting Bella for so long, it seemed.
What would he give to see her smile at him?
“Bloody hell.” Barth swayed to his feet.
Philip swiftly rose as well. “Where are you going?”
Barth gave a short laugh. “To do the one good thing I may ever do in my miserable, self-indulgent life.”
Reaching out to halt his friend, Philip suddenly dropped his hand and allowed Barth to make his way unsteadily out of the room. Although he had always been the one to rush to the rescue of his friends, it was clear that both Simon and Barth would have to solve their problems on their own on this occasion. When it came to matters of the heart, he was the last person to offer advice.
Once again on his own, Philip returned to his seat and poured himself another glass of brandy. In many ways he envied his friends. At least they appeared determined to do something about their feelings.
He wanted to do the same. He wanted to rush to his mother’s town house, where he had installed Bella, and command her not to wed Andre. He wanted to tell her . . .
“My lord, excuse me.”
Annoyed at once again being interrupted, Philip lifted his head to discover his footman standing beside him with an apologetic expression.
“Yes?”
“You asked me to inform you if anything unusual occurred with Miss Lowe.”
Philip’s heart slammed to a halt. It had been more impulse than logic that had urged him to keep a careful watch on his ward. “What is it?”
“She has left Lady Claypole’s assembly.”
“Alone?”
The young man reddened in embarrassment. “She traveled down the street and then halted at a corner and a gentleman entered the carriage.”
Blast the unruly brat. “Who?”
“Monsieur LeMont.”
“You are certain?” he demanded, even as he realized that it could be no one else. What other gentleman did she know in London?
“Yes, my lord.”
“Where did they go?”
“They are at a small posting inn outside of London.”
“The devil they are.”
In a heartbeat Philip was on his feet. Clearly, the two had realized that he was opposed to their marriage and that in the end he would discover some means of preventing their being together. So they rashly presumed that they could sneak away and perform the deed. Well, not as long as he had a breath in his body. Bella was not marrying Andre. At least not until he told her how he felt.
“Come.”
* * *
The posting inn left much to be desired. Loud, shabby, and reeking of stale food and unwashed bodies, it appeared to cater to those who had nothing more on their minds than to consume as much ale as was possible. Thankfully, Bella had possessed money enough to reserve a private sitting room as well as enough to bribe the innkeeper into ensuring that she was left in peace.
Not that Bella intended to linger for long. Once that she was certain that Andre and Claudette were well on their way to Scotland, she would command the carriage she had hired to take her to Lady Stenhold’s friend. She had already sent her own carriage back to Lady Brasleigh’s in the hope that they would believe she had left with Andre. She would arrive at her destination empty-handed, but Lady Stenhold had assured her that all would be well.
At least she would be away from Lord Brasleigh, she acknowledged with a flare of pain.
The past week had been nearly unbearable. He had seemed to be constantly underfoot, remaining throughout the day and even for dinner. At every turn, she could see his handsome countenance and smell the lingering scent of his cologne. Even worse, he had all but realized that a marriage between herself and Andre was absurd. She had had to work swiftly to ensure her plan worked.
And—unbelievably—it had.
Within the hour, she would be in her new home, and she could begin to make her own plans for the future. There would be no companions, no guardians, no one at all to interfere.
She was free.
Determinedly attempting to convince herself that she would be happy without Lord Brasleigh, she was distracted by the sound of raised voices in the hall. Then, without warning, the door to the sitting room was thrust open. Her heart froze as the achingly familiar form of Lord Brasleigh entered the room.
“Bella,” he growled, his face flushed with anger.
Her eyes widened with shock. How had he found her? she wondered wildly. She had taken such care.
Not that it mattered now, she told herself, attempting to gather her rattled thoughts. For the moment, she had to think of Andre. Her escape might be postponed, but she could at least ensure that the two lovers were allowed to wed. That meant distracting this intimidating gentleman until they were too far for capture.
“My lord.”
His silver eyes flashed. “Where is he?”
“He?” She attempted to appear innocent.
Lord Brasleigh was not deceived for a moment. “Do not play me the fool. Where is LeMont?”
“I haven’t the slightest notion.”
He moved forward to tower over her seated form. “My groom watched LeMont enter your carriage, so there is little point in lying.”
So that was how he knew where she was, Bella seethed. The rat. “You were having me followed?”
“Of course.”
“How dare you?”
“Obviously, you are not to be trusted,” he retorted without remorse.
His arrogance was beyond belief.
“You are the one not be trusted, my lord,” she informed him in angry tones. “I am a young lady, not a common criminal to be spied upon and followed in such a fashion.”
“Since you have yet to act the role of a young lady, I have little recourse but to treat you as a willful chit.”
“You, sir, are an insufferable boor,” she informed him, furious with the aching pain in the center of her heart. “Please go away.”
“I have every intention of going and taking you with me,” he threatened. “But first I intend to beat some sense into that young cur.”
Bella’s protective instincts rose to the fore. It was a lucky that thing Andre was not there; he probably would have fainted at the sight of the furious lord. Bella, however, was made of sterner stuff. “You are to leave Andre alone. If you wish to vent your ill humor onto someone, you can do so to me.”
His expression hardened. “You would protect a gentleman who brings you to this godforsaken inn and exposes you to the worse sort of scandal?”
“I came with Andre freely. Indeed, it was my idea.”
An odd flicker of distress darkened his silver eyes as his hands clenched into fists. “Do you have no shame?”
“I do not understand why you are so angry,” she retorted. “You are the one who wished me to be with Andre.”
“Not in this manner.”
He was impossible, she decided, thoroughly and utterly impossible. “What a hypocrite you are,” she charged.
“No, I am merely beginning to suspect that I made a poor choice in LeMont.”
“He is a fine gentleman.”
“He is not for you,” Lord Brasleigh rasped.
Bella arched her brows. “No?”
“No.” There was a throbbing silence. “I am.”
Bella nearly tumbled off the sofa in shock. Was he implying that he . . . No, it was impossible. She had to have misunderstood. “What did you say?”
“Dash it all,” he muttered, tossing aside his hat and gloves. “I love you.”
Numb with disbelief, she gave a slow shake of her head. This was not at all the arrogant, domineering bully she knew. He suddenly appeared as awkward and uncertain as a schoolboy. There had to be something wrong. “You do not know what you are saying.”
“Oh, no?” With jerky movements he lowered himself beside her and grasped her cold fingers in a tight grip. “I know precisely what I am saying. At last.”
“But . . . You treat me as a child.”
His expression became rueful. “It was the only means of not sweeping you off your feet and into my bed.”
Bella felt as if she had plunged into some crazy dream. For too long she had refused to allow herself to hope that things could be different between her and Lord Brasleigh. After all, such thoughts would only lead to further pain. Now she found herself unable to accept that he could actually be saying the words she had longed to hear.
“My lord . . .”
“Philip,” he interrupted softly. “My name is Philip.”
“You are simply attempting to trick me into going home with you.”
His silver eyes darkened to smoke. “Not this time, Bella. No lies, no deceit. I love you. I think that I have loved you from the moment I arrived at Mayfield.”
Bella gave a rather hysterical laugh. “That is remarkably difficult to believe.”
He possessed the grace to blush. “I will admit that I was angry when you disappeared and I was determined to teach you a lesson. In my arrogance, I presumed it would be a simple matter to frighten you into marriage and then return to my life in London.”
“I am well aware of your despicable plot,” she reminded him.
His hand reached up to push back a renegade curl. “You had plots of your own, ifyou will recall, my dear.”
This time it was Bella’s turn to blush. “Only out of desperation. You deserved much worse.”
“Perhaps.” That distracting finger moved across her cheek, then softly outlined her trembling lips. “I was a reprehensible guardian, but I intend to be the very best of husbands.”
Husband. Bella gave an audible gasp. “You wish to marry me?”
His expression became uncommonly somber. “Only if it is what you wish. I have learned my lesson, Bella. From now on, I will consider only your happiness. If you wish to return to your home, I will ensure that it is properly repaired and you are given a full staff.”
A slow, nearly overwhelming surge of happiness began to flood through her body. “Do you mean that?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
Abruptly, her lingering fears fled, and a luminous glow of happiness shimmered in her dark eyes. “What if I do not wish to leave?”
He gave a low groan of relief and tugged her against his hard frame. “Then I will make you my wife and never let you go.”
Bella had never dared dream that she could feel such happiness. All thoughts of flight were banished from her mind. She was precisely where she wished to be. “Oh, Philip, I do love you.”
“And you will marry me?” he demanded.
“Yes.”
With obvious reluctance, he slowly pulled back. “What of LeMont?”
She flashed him a triumphant smile. “Andre left before you arrived. He is eloping with the woman he loves.”
Lord Brasleigh was clearly stunned. “Then why are you here?”
“I wanted you to believe that I had left with Andre so that you would not search for me in London.”
“Brat,” he growled at her cunning, even as he was slowly lowering his head. “I see I shall never be allowed to let you out of my sight.”
“Is that a promise?” she teased, her lips already parting in anticipation.
His mouth tenderly brushed her own. “One I intend to keep for an eternity.”