The Marriage Bargain (9 page)

The door opened and a footman appeared, reaching his hand in to help Isobel out of the carriage. She gathered up her skirts and put her hand in the footman’s as he helped her to the ground. Beckett quickly followed, offering his arm to Isobel.

“We must keep watch for Alfred,” Beckett said. “It’s always good to have him around once the quips start flying.”

Isobel glanced at her husband, suddenly feeling uncertain. It must have shown on her face, for Beckett clasped her hand in his and smiled down at her reassuringly. Strange how one touch of his hand could calm her inner fears, while at the same time set her heart to racing.

Through the massive front doors, Isobel could see the dancers swirling around the ballroom. Music drifted out to greet them on the soft evening breeze. The orchestra played a sprightly waltz, which rang over the sounds of conversation and pattering feet.

The women all seemed to be floating in concoctions of diaphanous fabric, their jewelry glittering in the light from the hanging candelabras. A heady mixture of flowers, food, and brandy perfumed the air.

Isobel looked down at her gown of amber silk and hoped she looked like a countess. She touched the topaz necklace that her husband had given her, and took a deep breath.

“The earl and countess of Ravenwood,” the butler announced, holding his arm out and motioning them ahead.

“My dear, may I present the earl and countess of Whitcomb.”

Her husband’s hand touched her lower back, steering her toward their hostess and her spouse.

“She’s lovely, Beckett.” The aged noblewoman smiled, offering her hand to Isobel. “Wherever did you find such a treasure?”

“You know what they say about treasure, countess. One always comes across it buried in the most unusual places.”

Their hosts eyed each other, shaking their heads.

“Beckett, you are still the charmer, I see.” The countess laughed. “I hope you can handle him, my dear.”

“I will certainly try, Lady Whitcomb.” Isobel smiled and made her curtsies as Beckett made his bows.

They passed through the outer doors and into the ballroom. From behind her, Beckett put his hand on her elbow and leaned around to whisper in her ear. “There—you’re through the first assault of this ballroom battle. Stay sharp, Lady Ravenwood. This is where it gets interesting.”

Beckett led her through the crowd, introducing her to so many viscounts, marquesses, earls, and even a few dukes, she knew she’d never remember all their names. Finally, he turned away from her to speak to a round little admiral with enough medals on his chest that it was a surprise he didn’t topple over.

Isobel felt a man’s hand on her arm. Startled, she whirled around to find Alfred close beside her, though she couldn’t stop a little squeal from escaping her lips.

“Terribly sorry,” Alfred said. “Forgive my appalling manners, Lady Ravenwood. I did not mean to frighten you.” Languidly, he brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Beckett asked, turning away from the admiral. “Trying to woo my wife, are you?”

“Why, yes, actually. She is the prettiest woman here.”

“You’d better watch your tongue, Alfred. If you insist upon shamelessly flirting with my wife in such a manner, I may have to box your ears,” Beckett said, but he was smiling at his friend.

“Hah!” Alfred scoffed, good-naturedly. “I’d like to see you try, old man. Until then, I shall admire Lady Ravenwood’s stunning beauty to my heart’s content.”

Isobel blushed as Alfred pressed his lips to her hand.

“Might I ask the lovely creature to dance, Beckett?” Alfred inquired.

“You might.”

Alfred performed an elaborate bow for Isobel’s benefit, his mischievous dark eyes shining up at her.

“Lady Ravenwood, would you do me the honor of accepting my request for a dance?”

“I’m afraid I am not a very good dancer, Alfred,” she warned.

“Wonderful. Neither am I!”

But he was a good dancer. He guided her gently and helped to cover up her mistakes as they moved across the ballroom. Isobel swirled around and around, letting the music make her feel light as air.

The room spun around her as Alfred expertly maneuvered them through the crowd. Lord Weston was like the older brother she’d never had, for his embrace was strong, kind and protective. Isobel felt weightless as she danced in the glow of the candlelight, but Alfred’s touch didn’t make her skin tingle as Beckett’s touch did. She glanced over at her husband.

For a moment she forgot everything. For a moment, as she met those intense blue eyes across the room, she felt real, unexpected happiness.

Less than a week ago, she would have thought it impossible to feel anything but fear. Had it all really happened? Right now, in this ballroom, the memory of Sir Harry and her flight from him seemed only a bad dream.

She would not think of it! She couldn’t. Not here. She was safe now, surely. Sir Harry Lennox would never have her or Hampton Park. He would never be able to make her his bride, now that she was another man’s wife.

Isobel stole another glance at Beckett and saw his gaze upon her—a penetrating mixture of ice and fire.

Yes, she was certainly another man’s wife. Instantly, the memory of their wedding-day kiss flooded her senses, a reminder that Sir Harry could never claim her.

Isobel would fulfill her part of the marriage bargain by appearing publicly united with her new husband.

Then she would retire to Hampton Park as the true mistress of the estate. And she would rid herself of Lennox once and for all. It was a perfect arrangement.

At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

“So. You actually had the audacity to attend Lady Whitcomb’s ball. How very provincial.”

Isobel turned around slowly, as befitting a countess, and met the icy green eyes of Cordelia Haversham.

Where was Beckett? He was nowhere in sight. She would have to do battle with this harpy alone.

“My husband, the earl of Ravenwood and I, were specifically invited by Lady Whitcomb. I am sorry if our presence distresses you, Miss Haversham.”

“Distresses me?” Cordelia gave a brittle laugh that was quite unattractive. “Oh, I assure you, I am not in the least bit distressed. It is you, my dear, who should be distressed.”

“Miss Haversham, I wonder, are you planning to use the word ‘distressed’ with such constancy during our discourse? Because if you are, and you surely have a preference for the word, I will leave off using it.

I have found that it is quite tiresome to use the same word so very much during genteel conversation.”

Cordelia’s eyes blazed. “You have quite the nerve!”

“I am sure you think so.”

Cordelia’s eyes narrowed. “You are deceiving yourself if you think he married you for any other reason than to get back at me. You are a joke, my dear. A little trollop from the gutter, masquerading in a countess’s clothing. Everyone knows who you really are.”

“Oh—Lady Ravenwood, you mean? Why, thank you for reminding me, Miss Haversham. I can hardly get used to the idea myself. And considering that you yourself might have been Beckett’s countess, it really is so very kind of you to point out my good fortune.”

If steam had risen from Cordelia’s ears, Isobel would not have been the least bit surprised. As it was, the woman’s face contorted into a strange configuration and turned a very unbecoming color.

“My word,” Isobel intoned. “Are you ill, Miss Haversham? You look as if you’ve swallowed a large fruit.”

Cordelia seethed. “If there were any large fruit near at hand, I would most likely stuff it down your throat!”

“There is a pineapple across the room, there,” Isobel said, pointing, “and I would dearly love to see you attempt it. Shall we give everyone a good show?”

“Do you think me stupid enough to cause a scene? There’s no use in trying to make me look a fool.”

“Oh, you don’t need my help, Miss Haversham. You’re doing quite well on your own.”

Cordelia looked around quickly and grabbed Isobel’s arm, jerking her close. Her voice was a harsh whisper in Isobel’s ear as she said, “Look, you little harlot. You may be the countess of Ravenwood but who knows—you might get sick. You might die. People have accidents.” The woman pulled her closer, so that they were nose to nose. “I had Beckett wrapped around my little finger before, and I can do it again. I could have any man in this room, but I want Beckett and I want the Ravenwood estate. No one casts me off, do you hear?”

Isobel yanked her arm back and met Cordelia’s venomous eyes. “If you’ll be so kind as to remember, Miss Haversham, it was you who put Beckett aside when you learned that he had no fortune.”

“Well, now he has one, doesn’t he? That was the only reason I broke the engagement.” Cordelia made a face. “And don’t try telling me that you married him for love. I know very well why you married Beckett, and so does everyone else in this room.”

“For his fortune and title?” Isobel asked. “Those were your reasons. Not mine.”

Cordelia stood back and glared at Isobel. “Whatever the reason, be warned. I shall not rest until I am the countess of Ravenwood.”

“Then you shall not rest, shall you, Miss Haversham? Do enjoy the rest of the evening. I must return to my husband.”

Isobel turned slowly, as she had before, and walked away as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She heard Cordelia behind her, snorting and stomping like a badly behaved horse. It made her smile.

Moving through the crowd, Isobel saw Beckett near the refreshment table. As she drew close to him he handed her a glass. She brought it to her lips and tasted the raspberry punch, its welcome sweetness filling her mouth.

“Are you enjoying the evening, Isobel?” her husband asked, catching her eye meaningfully.

She met his gaze and smiled. “Yes, I think so. Though I was unable to use your advice about swooning while conversing with Miss Haversham.”

“Cordelia? What did she say? What did you say?”

“Well, at one point she looked unwell and I remarked that she resembled someone who had swallowed an oversized fruit. To which she replied that if there was one available, she would take great pleasure in stuffing it down my throat. I pointed out the pineapple, but she abandoned the notion.”

Beckett stared at her, seemingly dumbfounded. Then his face lit up, and he doubled over with boisterous laughter. “A pineapple! A pineapple?” Eventually, he regained control of himself and regarded Isobel with laughing eyes. “My dear, I knew you would make a name for yourself, but I had no idea that name would be the countess of Pineapple.”

Isobel smirked and surrendered to her own laughter. “Do you think that it shall get around?”

“I wouldn’t completely rule it out. We shall have to check the Times tomorrow morning.”

“Oh dear. I shall cause a scandal.”

“I don’t care if you do, Isobel. And neither should you. I shall be quite happy being husband to the Lady of Large Fruit.”

“Of large what?” Alfred said, popping up beside Beckett. “I say, is that any way to speak to your wife?”

Beckett bowed over Isobel’s hand. “They are beginning another waltz, my lady. Would you do me the honor?”

Isobel felt a little thrill at the warmth of his hand. “I would be most pleased.”

Beckett led her onto the dance floor and curved one arm around her waist, his hand flat against the small of her back. She looked up into his face and saw that the laughter was gone from his expression. He stared down at her with glowing blue eyes, and all at once Isobel knew why moths flew into the flame.

Isobel felt herself becoming terribly warm all over, but was it from the dancing, or his nearness? The memory of his lips on hers kept returning, and suddenly, unexpectedly, she wanted him to kiss her.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice like velvet.

Isobel lowered her gaze to his chest. Oh, please don’t let me blush.

“You’re flushed, Isobel. Is it from your thoughts, or is it from the dancing?”

“I’m sure it is from neither.”

“Are you, now? Well, I am not so convinced. Let us do an experiment, then. What would you say, Isobel, if I pulled you close and kissed you here in front of this whole room?”

Isobel’s head jerked up as she met his twinkling eyes. “You wouldn’t.” A thrill swept through her body, and hot tingles spilled down her back.

“You see, I was right. You blushed because of your thoughts. Of course, this time I planted the seeds. I would dearly like to know what you were thinking before that made you blush so sweetly.”

Feeling suddenly daring, as she had with Cordelia, Isobel answered. “If you must know, I was thinking about when you kissed me on our wedding day.” She paused and looked up at him. “I imagine you must be quite shocked by my forwardness. I admit, I am feeling very bold tonight. This being a countess must be going to my head.”

“Well, then, it agrees with you. I like a woman who can speak plainly.” He brought his face closer to hers and they stopped swirling. “And I like a woman who thinks about kissing. Especially about kissing me.”

Isobel stared transfixed. Was he really going to kiss her in front of all these people?

“Perhaps we should take a turn out in the gardens. It is a lovely night.”

Isobel nodded silently. Beckett was her husband, now. If he wanted to kiss her senseless up against a tree, that was his right. And suddenly she knew that if he wanted to do more, she would not protest!

Beckett was so unlike Sir Harry. Certainly, he was handsome—but at first glance, some would say that Sir Harry was handsome, as well. But Sir Harry was so menacing, so dangerous that to her he appeared as attractive as a warthog.

Beckett led her out onto the balcony. He smiled at the other guests and as they walked, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. They made their way down the steps and headed toward one of the torchlit paths on the grounds.

Oh, why was her heart pounding, so?

Beckett looked down at her and placed his hand over hers in the crook of his arm. “One of the benefits of marriage is being able to enjoy a walk in the gardens like this without causing a scandal. I daresay these gardens are as big as Vauxhall. And just as private.”