The Sweetest Revenge (32 page)

His lips curved, but he still looked concerned. “I shall try to be discreet, Isabelle, for I know that is what you want. However, it is inevitable that society will learn the truth about us.”

Now she did meet his gaze. “Let them. I’ll not hang my head.”

Leo was a part of London society—he would find out about them. A knife of pain sliced through her, but she steeled herself against it. Their story had concluded on that last night they were together, its pages slammed shut by her own cruel words. She wasn’t surprised he hadn’t come to Scotland for her. There was no hope for them. There never had been.

Phil’s features relaxed, and his smile widened. He squeezed her hand. “I will count the moments until we are home.”

***

That night at Isabelle’s door, Phil put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her. His lips caressed hers, soft and warm, and then pressed gently, urging her response.

Open to him, Isabelle
, a voice inside her urged.
He saved you. Show him your thanks.

She slipped her arms about his waist, parted her lips, and kissed him back.

He increased the pressure on her shoulders, and then one hand slipped down and rested low on her back, drawing her close. His other hand came forward to cup her jaw, his long fingers smoothing over the skin of her cheek.

He pulled away first. “Until tomorrow, then?”

She nodded. “Until tomorrow.”

Ailis had waited up for her. Apparently, the girl had kept busy packing all of Isabelle’s new possessions, many of which she had yet to see, into her trunk. Ailis’s smaller trunk stood beside Isabelle’s spotless and shining one, ready to go.

“Mr. Sutherland is a fine gentleman,” Ailis said. “He treats ye like a queen, too.”

“Aye, he does,” Isabelle said.

“I’m to stay with you tonight, miss.”

“Aye, of course.” Isabelle had noticed the pallet made up on the floor. “Will you help me undress, please, Ailis?”

The girl undid the tiny buttons and tapes down Isabelle’s back and stripped her down to her chemise.

Feigning exhaustion, Isabelle climbed into bed. Ailis carefully hung her clothing, then put out the lamp, snuggled into her pallet, and promptly began to snore.

Sleep did not come so easily for Isabelle. She lay in bed, her body stiff, her mind full. Leo kept leaking through, until, late in the night, he dominated her thoughts.

She missed him so.

***

Leo woke early and rode hard through the mists in the rising gloom, for dawn had never broken clean through on any of the mornings of his journey from London to Scotland this time. It sifted and filtered in, slowly weakening the blackness of the nights into cold, gray mornings.

By the time the obscured sun offered as much light as it was willing for the day, Leo reached Isabelle’s uncle’s manor house for the second time this month. It was a ramshackle place, gloomy on the outside, its gardens ragged, muddy, and unkempt. Ewan hadn’t kept the place as well as Isabelle’s father had.

Leo dismounted, tethered his mount, and rapped smartly upon the door. After a long interval, it creaked open to reveal the unshaven, sour-looking man. Leo doffed his hat.

“Frasier.”

The man regarded him through narrowed eyes. “Aye.” After a long pause, he added, “Milord.”

“Take me to Isabelle. I know she’s here. I know you lied to me before. This time I’m not going away until I see her.”

“She isna here.”

Leo ground his teeth. “You lied to me once. I suggest you don’t repeat the offense.”

Frasier shrugged. “I’m telling you the truth. She ran off yesterday.”

“Ran off?”

The man gave him a sour smile. “Aye, ’tis true. She ran off with some man, or so my servant tells me.”

Some man?

Seeming pleased by Leo’s aghast expression, Frasier’s face turned smug. He leaned indolently against the doorframe. “Can I help you with aught else, milord?”

Leo could hardly form words to speak. Belle had run away…with a man… No, it wasn’t possible. Not possible. Belle belonged to him.

He pushed inside, past the man, ignoring his expostulations. He searched the house, finding the room that smelled of Belle. All her clothes were there, all her possessions, few as they were. He found a little shagreen case on a table. He opened it, and Belle’s scent drifted out to him. He closed his eyes for a second, then turned to Frasier, who was glowering at him from the doorway.

“Do you know where she went?” he said thickly.

“England, I’d wager,” Frasier said. “Carriage looked as though it’d traveled quite a distance.”

Not Belle
.
No
.

Too late. He was too late.

***

Leo rushed back to England, pushing his body to ride for long hours, exchanging mounts often. When he arrived in London, he rode as fast as his exhausted mount could swerve through the London traffic, directly to Lady DeLinn’s house.

The butler answered the door. If he was nonplussed to see Leo, he did not show it.

“May I help you, sir?”

He tried to hide his impatience. He failed. “Lord Leothaid here to see Lady DeLinn. Tell her it is a pressing matter, if you please.”

The butler’s face remained bland. “Just one moment, my lord.”

Leo paced nervously, trailing mud over the parquet floor of Lady DeLinn’s front hall, slapping his gloves against his thigh as he waited.

The man was not long in returning. “Follow me if you please, my lord.”

Leo nearly trampled the butler’s heels as he was led down the hall and into Lady DeLinn’s gilded drawing room, but he stopped short just inside the doorway.

Beneath the shimmering candlelight of a crystal chandelier, between a statue of a Roman goddess in one corner and a potted palm in another, stood Thomas Archer, flanked by Lady DeLinn and Anna Tomkins. Archer, his lips stretched into a taut grimace, glared at him. He set one hand on each of the women’s shoulders.

Though Archer and Lady DeLinn had different coloring, Leo could see the familial resemblance in their almond-shaped eyes and oval faces.
Cousins
, he remembered. No doubt Archer knew the whole story of what had happened between Leo and his cousin.

And of course Archer must also know the whole story of what had happened between Leo and Anna.

What Leo didn’t know was whether Archer knew of his stint in Lady DeLinn’s cellar. The man had been wary and aloof since Leo had returned from his fabricated journey to Scotland, but that could very well be simply because of Leo’s past with both ladies. Still, he wasn’t certain.

But Leo didn’t have time for any of this. He had to find Belle. He turned to Lady M.

Not Lady M, Lady DeLinn
.

“Where is she?”

Lady DeLinn arched one slender eyebrow. “Good evening, Lord Leothaid.”

“I don’t have time for pleasantries. Where is she?”

“Do you mean Isabelle?” Lady DeLinn asked.

He bit back a curse. “Of course I mean Isabelle!”

She gave him a blank look. “I am confused. Have you come from Scotland?”

He gritted his teeth. “Yes. They told me—” He couldn’t finish. “Just tell me where she is.”

“Leo, are you foxed?” Archer asked. “Barging in here and making rude demands? What’s got into you?”

Anna stepped forward, but Archer grabbed her hand protectively, preventing her from coming too close.

Ha
. Clearly Archer did not know that Leo had much more to fear from these ladies than they had to fear from him.

At least this was evidence that Archer had no knowledge that his mistress had practiced a most wicked kind of torture in the cellar a few weeks ago.

“Goodness, my lord,” Anna said. “You’re frightening me. What’s happened? What happened in Scotland?”

They didn’t know? How could this be? Leo gripped the back of a chair for support. “I went to her uncle’s house as you said”—he heard Archer draw in a breath—“and he told me she was gone. That she’d returned to London with…someone.”

This news was met with a resounding silence. Archer finally broke it. “Ah, is this about Miss Frasier?”

He swung his gaze to Archer. “Do you know her?”

“I do. That is, I met her here a month or two ago. I didn’t know that you and she…ah, that she, ah, knew you. You do realize—” Archer’s voice faltered. He turned to Lady DeLinn.

“What?” Leo fisted his hands at his sides. “Who is it, damn it?”

“Have you been assisting Lord Leothaid in locating Miss Frasier?” Archer asked his cousin, as if astonished she would help such a blackguard.

“I have.” Lady DeLinn’s gaze swept over Leo, taking in his disheveled appearance. “He seems to be madly in love with her, coz.”

“His intentions are honorable,” Anna Tomkins added somberly. “That is why we have helped him.”

“Honorable?” Archer gaped at her, bug-eyed.

Leo felt like screaming. “Where the
hell
is she?”

“There’s only one place I can possibly imagine,” Lady DeLinn said.

Anna Tomkins shook her head. “But she said she’d never—”

Archer cut in. “I know where she is.” He looked Leo in the eye. A small smile curved his lips. “Sutherland followed your advice and chased her to Scotland. I saw him at the club this afternoon. She’s with him.”

Leo gaped at him, not understanding. “Sutherland?”

Archer’s smile broadened.

The world fell away, leaving Leo groping in the dark for something to hang on to, something to keep him standing, something to keep him sane.

Sutherland
.

He stared at Archer through a blur. Victory shone in Archer’s eyes. The room pitched and tilted around Leo.

Revenge
.

This was Archer’s revenge for hurting his cousin, for hurting his lover. Archer understood everything. He knew exactly what he had just done.

Leo turned, stumbling down the hall, through the front door.

“Wait.” Lady DeLinn’s fingers closed around his arm. He stopped, surveying her through a haze of pain.

“Leo,” she said, her voice gentle, “whatever you see, whatever you do, remember this: she does not love him.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Isabelle sat before an oval-shaped looking glass in the guest room down the hall from Phil’s bedchamber.

They had arrived in London late yesterday. Phil had been gone most of the day today and taken his dinner at White’s but had arrived home an hour ago, knocked on her door, and politely requested her company for the remainder of the evening.

Of course she could not decline.

Ailis rubbed sweet-smelling oil over her shoulders. Together, Isabelle and Phil had decided to hire her on as Isabelle’s permanent lady’s maid. Ailis was ecstatic about the arrangement and eager to please.

“You’re stiff as a board, Miss Frasier.”

Ailis had been rather soft-spoken all evening, and it was clear she understood what was happening between Isabelle and Phil. She’d seen enough of their interaction on the journey from Inverness to know they had not yet consummated their relationship.

“There now.” Ailis squeezed her shoulders. “Dinna fret, miss. You’ll find it no’ to be so bad. Just close your eyes and the pain will be brief as can be. You might even enjoy it a tiny bit if he’s gentle about it.”

“Oh dear!” Isabelle exclaimed, dismayed that her nervous behavior had provoked Ailis into thinking her a virgin, but more dismayed by the girl’s apparent experience. “I’d rather not discuss it.”

“Of course.” Ailis patted her back as if she were a pet or a very young child. She gazed over Isabelle’s shoulder in the mirror and smiled. “You are looking lovely indeed.”

“Thank you.”

“He’ll be waiting for you now.”

Isabelle sighed. “I know.”

With great effort, she coerced her resisting body to rise. She paused at the door and glanced back at her maid. “Sweet dreams tonight, Ailis.”

“Sweet dreams to you, too, Miss Frasier.”

She trod downstairs, her heart heavy, to Phil’s small but impeccably decorated drawing room. He stood when she entered, a glass of port in his hand.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

So did he, in a velvet-lined tailcoat, black trousers, and a crisp white cravat. She closed the door behind her and took a few steps inside.

They gazed at each other across the room.

Phil cleared his throat and spoke softly. “I want you to be comfortable, Isabelle.”

Well, that would be impossible. She tried to offer him a game smile.

He reached out, snaked an arm around her waist, and pulled her close. Isabelle swallowed down a squeak.

“I’ve waited so long for this night.”

She closed her eyes.

“I’ve wanted you for so long.”

So as not to run, she pushed herself deeper into his embrace.

Turning, he placed his glass on a nearby table. Then he pulled her closer and angled his lips over hers.

The kiss was warm and pleasant and tasted of the port he’d been drinking, fruity and sweet.

Isabelle sank into it, trying to focus on how nice it was, or how soft Phil’s lips were. When she opened to him, he pressed deeper, swiping his tongue into her mouth.

It took all her willpower not to draw away. She clutched his tailcoat by the lapels and kissed him harder.

His hands ran up her back, covered her upswept hair.

He drew away. “Turn around,” he said gruffly.

She turned. He pushed aside a dangling curl at her nape and slowly, deliberately, began to flick open the buttons of her gown.

Her heart began to beat frantically. Why had she taken such care in dressing when her gown was being removed after only half an hour of being on? She should have come to him in her chemise. Or perhaps in nothing at all.

He peeled the gown off her shoulders and brushed his lips over them one at a time. “I want to see you naked before I take you upstairs.”

With a whisper of silk, the gown slipped down to her ankles. He went to work on the tapes of her petticoat.

“I will buy you new clothes.” His lips tickled her ear. “A wardrobe of white silk.”