What Isabella Desires (4 page)

“Roth!”

Marcus gripped his walking stick fractionally tighter, but maintained his pace beside James as they walked past St. Margaret’s Church through the gray haze that had dropped over the city. The last thing he wanted to do was chat with Ainsworth.

“Roth!”

He could see James looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“No,” he said tersely, answering James’s unspoken question of whether he was going to stop for Ainsworth.

“Roth!”

Ainsworth was one more on the list of incompetent, greedy landowners who were trying to strangle the country by strangling the people. It seemed as if Ainsworth hadn’t paid attention in his history lessons, for these things always bit back after awhile. Besides, healthy workers made for better production. If the owners weren’t so incredibly shortsighted and intent on increasing their own pleasures, and if they spent half a second giving back, they would reap more in return.

And wasn’t that the point in the first place?

“What’s the matter, Roth?” said a loud, strident voice. “Not going to dignify Ainsworth’s presence either? A bit too high on the instep these days? Anyone would think you were a prince, not a baron.”

Marcus considered which action would be more satisfying. Crushing Blakely with his walking stick or walking blithely past the man. He knew which one would be worse for Blakely. And it was definitely the latter. He hated being ignored. Blakely was an earl who was strict about the social order. It chafed him raw that he, a baron, held more power.

Of course, if Blakely weren’t such an obnoxious toad, he could have been a great politician. The man was cunning and smart, but he let his stunted emotions rule everything. And since his brother’s suicide, Blakely had had it in for him.

Blakely’s brother had been weak. Just like…no, best to keep those thoughts firmly hidden. Neither was his fault, and he wouldn’t let them be.

Marcus walked past him, looking straight ahead, and withheld a smirk as Blakely growled. He had to take pleasure in the little things these days.

“Roth! I need to speak to you!”

He saw a group of men watching intently—among them Charles Ellerby, Fenton Ellerby’s younger brother, though they looked nothing alike. Charles was a mere baby in the House of Commons, but had been causing undue strife in sessions, alternating between obsequiousness and superiority. He was going to be in for a major shock when someone put him in his place soon.

Ainsworth caught up to them as they passed Charles Ellerby and his cronies. James looked bored, and he knew the same expression was reflected on his own face.

“Roth.” Ainsworth wheezed a bit. “What the deuce were you trying to do back there?”

Marcus raised a brow. “To what do you refer, Ainsworth?”

“The bill! You struck it down! I know it was you.”

“Thank you for attributing the credit to me, Ainsworth, but you are less aware than I thought if you believe I alone voted against your measure.”

Ainsworth’s face purpled. “It was a good bill! My district needed it.”

“Why?”

Ainsworth waved him off. “We need the subsidy! The bill was a good one. Whose side are you on?”

Marcus watched him coldly. “Pray tell why your district needed a subsidy. You don’t farm. You don’t mine. You don’t graze. It’s a complete mystery what you do there other than make your dependents more miserable.”

“That’s what the subsidy is for! We need to get things back in motion.”

Had Marcus not thought such things crude, he would have rolled his eyes. “Things? Motion? Try being a little more specific, Ainsworth. Your lack of clarity and planning is the reason why you don’t have the bill in your pocket. That and the fact that you are not interested in the welfare of your dependents. That money was going straight in your pocket.”

Ainsworth shook his head, his jowls flopping. “No, the people would have benefited. Everyone knows a happy landowner is a good landowner.”

“What a terribly interesting insight, Ainsworth.”

Ainsworth pointed a finger. “The people will suffer now, and the blame will be on your head. It’s because of you and your machinations.”

“Again, thank you for the credit. But really, your lack of foresight or any grasp on intelligence shine far brighter as reasons. I feel sorry for your dependents, regardless of your reasons. What type of gentleman are you?”

It was hard to believe Ainsworth could turn a darker shade of purple, yet somehow he managed it. “How was this bill any different from the motion you introduced to help your dependents? This is what landowners do.”

Had the man never learned to read? The answer to that question was once again in doubt. “That I need to explain it to you at all answers any lingering questions regarding your intelligence.”

Marcus checked his pocket watch. The action had the desired effect.

“Am I not worth your time, Roth?”

“No.”

“No, I’m not worth your time?”

Marcus started walking again.

“Roth! I’m not done talking to you.”

Marcus thought that presenting his back and walking away basically said everything needed. James paced alongside him.

Charles Ellerby joined them a second later. “You should look back to see old Ainsworth’s face.”

Marcus didn’t need to turn around to see Ainsworth’s face. He knew exactly what the man’s expression would be.

“You sure put him in his place.”

Marcus felt the ever-present headache he sported these days bloom. If he recalled correctly, Ellerby had been toadying to Ainsworth just yesterday. Probably would be toadying again tomorrow as well.

“I wanted to talk to you about the Corn Laws and how we can increase their effectiveness.”

There were so many brilliant people in both Houses, why did there also have to be such bad ones? Though to be fair to Charles Ellerby, he was still wet behind the ears. Fresh from Cambridge with ideas, plans, and dreams. Most of them half-fledged and extremely flawed, but one had to begin somewhere.

“Why are you talking to me, Mr. Ellerby?” He didn’t feel like being fair at the moment. The younger man irritated him.

“I’ve been watching at sessions. I know which way the wind blows. I want in.”

Marcus counted to five. “You want in to what? The secret counsel?”

“Yes,” he responded eagerly. Marcus almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“There is no secret counsel, Ellerby.” It was true. There wasn’t one—there were many, many secret counsels. “You have to earn your place. And you need to know to whom you are speaking.”

“Why, I can’t speak to you?”

Marcus looked straight ahead. He didn’t need to see Ellerby to know what his reactions would be. There were a hundred Ellerbys out there. “Why would you approach me on the Corn Laws when I’ve never shown a scrap of support for the topic?”

“You work behind the scenes. Besides, you are a landowner. Of course you support it.”

“Your powers of observation thus, you will never earn a place in the secret counsel. Good day, Ellerby.”

“What? Wait, you said there wasn’t a secret counsel.” He hurried to keep pace with them, his shorter legs eating up less distance.

“Not for you there isn’t.”

From the corner of his eye Marcus noticed the darkening expression on Charles Ellerby’s face.

“You shouldn’t get on the wrong side of me, Lord Roth. I’m going to be a very dangerous player soon.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. For now, though, you are embarrassing yourself. Run along.”

Ellerby stopped dead, while Marcus and James continued on.

James whistled. “Two down in nearly as many minutes. Color me impressed. Haven’t seen someone so red since you took down Yarnley. You definitely need to find a mistress. Relieve some of that angry tension.”

“Angelford…” he said in warning.

“Roth,” he mocked. “Seriously, though, what has you in a twist today?”

“They are both idiots. All three, really. Tell me that you don’t agree.”

“You know I agree. But you are just as apt to stare coldly as to verbally shred. Especially in the midst of a flux in the Houses.”

Marcus spared James a look, tapping his stick as they walked. “Staring coldly is a time-honored tradition.”

“Why did you feel the need to break from it today?”

“You think I ruined my charitable reputation by being too hard on them?”

“‘Charitable’ reputation? No. But you have been more verbal and blunt these past few weeks. Pushing forward rather than staying in the background.”

It was a last foray. Things were more important all of a sudden. More intense. He couldn’t explain it to James, though. He didn’t want anyone to know about his headaches and blackouts. His dark family history. His cloudy future. Least of all friends who cared and would worry.

“Just trying to stir the murky waters and keep things interesting.”

“It worked.” They walked a few more paces. “Did you want to stop by for tea? Calliope and Lady Willoughby are probably back from shopping.”

“Shopping for new frocks?”

“I suppose. Calliope was awfully excited about something.”

Marcus felt a twinge. He wondered what Isabella might have gotten herself into this time. “That sounds dire.”

“Very well could be.”

“I’ll pass.”

Hearing about a surreptitious shopping trip and all it entailed was not his idea of fun. Besides, he had a niggling feeling that he wasn’t going to like something about it. Calliope with a plan was always a scary proposition. And involving Isabella…

Wildflowers whispered in the breeze. “I have to run by Peel’s to see what to do, if anything, about Ainsworth.” He tapped his stick twice in annoyance. “The man doesn’t do revenge well. He really is an idiot.”

“Charles Ellerby and Blakely?”

He shrugged. “Add a few more to the barrel. Nothing like a few enemies to keep things interesting. Besides, Blakely’s been after me for years.”

“His brother still?”

“Of course.”

He hadn’t given Blakely’s brother the gun, nor shown him how to use it. He had pointed out that his brother’s social and monetary credit was extremely poor on the House floor—but it was only the truth and relevant in the proceedings. That Blakely had balked at giving his own brother more money was entirely his own affair, Marcus thought, not his.

That Blakely’s brother was weak and had chosen the easy way out of the whole matter irritated him. Someone who was healthy and whole and had their whole life ahead of him had instead chosen to waste it. Considering his own circumstance, it was hard for him to feel sympathetic.

“Let me know if you need help,” James said.

Marcus nodded and they separated at their respective carriages.

His head pounded. He hadn’t been eating well. Gray mist hovered in the air. Something further was coming, and he knew he wasn’t going to like it. It was a good thing that he eschewed sympathy for himself.

Calliope’s silk-gloved hand touched her bare arm. “Everything will be fine. Breathe in deeply and remember why you are doing this.”

Oh, she hadn’t forgotten. She just wondered if she was going to regret this as much as her last attempt at pushing herself forward. Somehow, her presence at the Pettigrews’ house party had been hushed up by attendees too willing to believe that Isabella Willoughby had inadvertently attended the wrong party. If she decided to make a real stride in this new direction, her position in society would dramatically change.

“Thank you, Calliope. For everything.”

Calliope patted her arm, blue eyes sparkling behind her mask. “I think you will do wonderfully. And it will be excellent to have someone else to talk to at these things. James can be a dreadful bore when he’s feeling stuffy.”

Her handsome but at times severe husband lifted an eyebrow, then made a motion with his hand that Isabella didn’t understand. However, the blush on Calliope’s face seemed to indicate that she did, and she pulled a less than steady hand through her top locks, in a parody of straightening them. “Well, yes, then.”

Isabella held back a surge of friendly envy and instead focused on the footman who was approaching their slowing coach.

Would Marcus be here? Would he recognize her behind the mask? Would the expression on his face show something other than polite friendliness? And if it didn’t…

The carriage door opened and she surged out to stare at the large light stone town house flanked by two brick houses. It shone between the darker buildings as if the moon held it in special regard.

It wasn’t until she noticed the amused faces of both the Angelfords that she realized she had alighted without help from either the footman or James.

“Oh.” She blushed, but Calliope shook her head in amusement and gently pushed her toward the door.

“You go in ahead of us to stay anonymous. We will meet later. Remember what I told you about holding yourself and using your accessories differently.”

Isabella nodded and quickly set forth, slowing when she was joined by another group of people making their way up the steps. She merged with their group as they slipped through the corridors, upstairs and into the ballroom. She paused on the threshold and held herself there for a moment as she took in the sight. Gaily dressed people danced and talked and flirted, the atmosphere jovial and alive. She quickly caught sight of her prey and moved in his direction, but not directly to him.

Despite the new dress and lessons she had practiced, she didn’t feel any more confident in her ability to fish for beaux. She was a novice among the skilled hunters of the ton. She strolled to a threesome who looked more nervous than she and smiled.

By the time she felt the warm breath close to her neck, she was having a genuinely good time with her new companions. It seemed social situations were the same no matter the level of raciness. Make other people feel better and soon she’d be feeling better too.

The breath of air tickled, but she knew instinctively that the person behind her was not Marcus.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your delightful laugh, and I had to find the lovely creature possessed of such a voice.”

She turned to see Fenton Ellerby, with his charming smile and hawklike nose, holding out a glass of champagne. She accepted it with a smile and took a sip.

“You flatter me, sir.”

“No, it is you who flatter us with your beauty.”

Ah, yes, she remembered now why she had avoided this type of gathering. Useless compliments and excessive flattery, all with one goal in mind.

Of course, she had to concede that if the man uttering them had been dark-haired and golden-eyed, she would have been swooning in girlish glee.

“Please, I must beg you to allow me this dance.”

Isabella saw the new set forming. Calliope had warned her of the increased number of waltzes and the more vibrant nature of some of the other dances.

She also saw two pairs of blue eyes and one pair of golden watching her. Calliope and James were standing alongside Marcus. A woman clung to Marcus’s arm, trying to gain his attention.

She looked back at her new companion. Ellerby was a notorious rake and one of Marcus’s least favorite people.

“I would be delighted,” she heard herself say.

He led her onto the floor and the first strains of a violin caressed the air. He twirled her and she forced herself to relax. She loved to dance, but usually felt as if she were on stage. Closing her eyes, she pretended she was in Marcus’s arms.

Marcus and she had danced together before, but she was always too constrained by propriety and too nervous at holding onto his broad shoulders and firm arms, so different from her own soft ones. Ellerby’s arms didn’t feel as strong, and he didn’t smell of spicy cinnamon and piano keys, but she imagined that it was Marcus’s fingers caressing her waist and claiming her hand. That it was he who wanted to dance with her and flirt with her and teach her all the naughty things he knew.

Her head dropped back and she allowed her skirt to flare out. She felt free.

She heard Ellerby’s breath catch, and a surge of triumph soared through her. Perhaps Marcus—

A hand slipped to her rear, and her eyes snapped open. Fighting the urge to smack the man, she forced a smile and pulled his arm back into position. She might be here on a mission to snag Marcus, but she sure as Mary wasn’t here to fish for anyone else.

“Lud, sir. Don’t you know that a lady likes to be romanced first?”

A flash of surprise passed his features, and he suddenly looked more interested. “Like a bit of a game, do you? Excellent. I love a challenge.”

His voice was low and meant to be sexy, and she had to admit that it probably would be to ninety percent of women—Ellerby didn’t have his reputation for naught.

“I don’t know if my heart could take it.”

“I’ll take good care of it.”

She held back a snort.

The final notes of the song tapered to a close, and she caught Marcus still looking in their direction. She wondered if he had watched them dance the entire time.

She hoped so.

She cocked a brow toward the refreshment area. Ellerby laughed lightly and placed a hand on her waist to lead her forward. They had barely reached the table when she felt his presence at her side. The side unoccupied by Ellerby. She felt her body instinctively lean toward the warmth on her right.

“Ellerby.”

Ellerby stiffened. “Roth.”

“And is this lovely creature with you?”

She couldn’t stop her fan’s movement as she felt the heat start from her cheeks and spread through her body. A lovely tingle that had her eyes at half mast. Yes, she had been right. All it took were the right words issuing forth from the man of her dreams and she puddled at his feet.

Ellerby looked irritated. “I don’t think—”

“Marie.” She held out her hand, cutting off Ellerby and causing a slow smile to curve Marcus’s lips. A predatory smile. She shivered. She’d seen it before, of course, but it had never been focused in her direction.

He placed a soft kiss against her knuckles and she caught her breath. “My pleasure entirely, Marie.”

She could sense Ellerby’s agitation at her side, but couldn’t bring herself to care. Marcus was staring at her as if she were a ripe dessert. She wanted to make sure he got every last bite.

“Would you care to dance, Marie?”

Isabella hesitated, a bit of sense returning. Marcus was the most perceptive person she knew. What if she did something stupid?

Then again, what had she come here for, if not to take the chance?

“I would love to.”

He smiled and led her onto the floor and away from Ellerby’s darkening face.

She tried to steady her nerves as they took their places and he took her hand.

“Are you enjoying the masquerade, Lord Roth?”

Their gloves slid against each other, satin against silk. “I am enjoying it now.”

The warmth of his hand seeped into hers. “Do you attend these parties often?”

She heard the pull of a bow across strings as his body moved against hers.

“Often enough.” His hand held her protectively as he twirled her around. “You, on the other hand, do not attend these parties.”

Her breath caught, and a wisp of hair dislodged from behind her mask and blew across her cheek.

“Oh, but I may.”

“How the silver lie slips from your tongue, Marie.”

“This is a masquerade. How would you know if I had attended one like this before?”

“I assure you it would have been memorable.”

“Nonsense,” she said, but her breath came a little faster. “You could have seen me a dozen times over. Perhaps this is only the first time you’ve paid attention.”

His eyes caressed her mask. “Mmmm…”

He pulled her closer and twirled her so that her skirts flared and her breath quickened—and she didn’t have to imagine a thing this time, because it was better than all her fantasies. She held onto him, her eyes never leaving his. They whirled and danced and their movements sung together. Like two liquids in a glass merging into one.

It wasn’t until the last sighs from the strings that she felt him tense. Following his eyes, she saw Ellerby watching them. Watching her.

Marcus picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. “Allow me to escort you out for some fresh air?”

Isabella’s heart beat a rapid staccato in her chest. “Of course.”

He tucked her hand into his arm and led the way through the mass of dancers. She could see Ellerby trying to reach them, but Marcus maneuvered through the throng as if trying to put as many obstacles between them as possible. Ellerby was soon lost in the crowd.

But what was important was that Marcus was taking her outside. To get a breath of fresh air. Which everyone, even a proper girl like her, knew was synonymous for an assignation.

An assignation. Outside. With Marcus.

The balcony doors loomed ahead and her breath caught. Ten more steps. Nine. Eight. Seven.

And suddenly they were walking down a narrow hall that she hadn’t even noticed in her Marcus induced haze. And he was pushing open a door and urging her inside.

Bookshelves lined the walls. Books as far as she could see.

Isabella could barely think straight. Had he bypassed a few stolen kisses on the balcony to consummation in a library? And how did she feel about this? Yes, she wanted him. She loved him. But this was moving a little too fast for her.

He thought she was someone else. At the beginning of the evening that hadn’t quite mattered in the way it did now. “What are we doing?” she said, unable to keep the nervousness from her voice.

“I’m going to seduce you on the settee.” He pointed to the plush green velvet bench in the middle of the ornate room.

She stared at him for a moment, unable to do anything other than blink. She registered the inane action, but there was nothing she could do about it, as that function of her brain seemed to have come to a complete halt.

“For the love of…I’m not going to seduce you on the settee, Isabella.”

“Oh, well, that’s…er, Isabella? Whatever do you mean?”

His fingers touched her mask and nimbly removed it from her face before she even registered his hand’s movement.

“I seem to have lost my dancing partner, Marie,” he said sardonically.

Her heartbeat increased. “Oh, well, I’m terribly sorry about that. Had I known what would cause you to know it was I—”

“You twit. I knew it was you from the moment I first saw you.”

That threw her for a pause. He had flirted with her. Her, not some random unidentified woman. As if he were actually attracted to her, not simply exchanging their friendly parries of normal.

“Then why—” She looked him in the eye. “—why did you act as if I were someone else?”

His eyes looked tired. She had the distinct impression that he was looking at her as if she were a wayward little sister. “Bella—”

“Don’t call me that.” She suddenly hated that name. It was a name for someone beautiful, and no matter what style of dress or makeup or hairstyle she wore, she knew she would never be more than an average sort of pretty. A trait that someone would find acceptable in a little sister.

“Bella,” he said more determinedly, “this is a masquerade.”

She lowered her head so he couldn’t see the film over her eyes. Dear Lord, she was becoming pathetic.

“Bella, what are you doing here?” His voice was still low and dark, but there was an underlying gentleness beneath the words. She looked up.

“I’m attending this lovely masquerade, same as you.”

His eyes burned and his voice grew darker. “This is not a lovely masquerade. This is a debaucherous party where men take advantage of lonely widows.”