VIscount Besieged (34 page)

At Basingstoke,
Isadora was obliged to wait for an agonising hour before the
stagecoach arrived at the Green Man, at which hostelry the farmer
had assured her it would stop on its way to Staines, and thence to
London. But no irate Syderstone arrived to interfere with her plan,
and she was able to remind herself that in all probability he was
still waiting for her to emerge from the room at the little
inn.

The stagecoach
was noticeably slower than the curricle, and Isadora had too much
leisure for reflection. But she had a role to play—for it was not
to be supposed that the other passengers, curious to a man, would
ignore an obvious member of the quality travelling by the
stage—and the effort of appearing as much like a youth as possible
kept most of her inevitably dismal thoughts at bay.

When the coach
stopped for the change, everyone alighted. Isadora would have liked
to remain on it, for in spite of her confidence in her disguise she
could not help a shiver of apprehension from rising in her bosom.
Yet it would arouse suspicion if she did not get down like the
others, at least to stretch her legs.

Ignoring the
steps, she jumped down—as a young man would—and, adopting what she
hoped was a male stride, marched towards the inn into which her
fellow passengers had already filed, sparing no glance for the knot
of people standing outside.

As she
approached the door, a dry voice halted her in her tracks, one she
had imagined to be miles away.

‘
Rosalind, I presume?’ said Roborough. ‘Or is it
Viola?’

***

Isadora whirled
about. He was standing not two feet away from her, having stepped
from out of the clutch of persons she had vaguely noted as she
passed. And, for all the mildness of his tone, he was looking like
a thundercloud.

‘
Oh,
God help me,’ she said involuntarily.

‘
You
may well say so,’ he returned grimly.

Blank shock was
swiftly succeeded by the rising tattoo of her pulse in her breast
as she stared at him. Useless to pretend she was not herself. He
had already recognised her. How had he come here? How had he known?
If anything, he should have been wrestling with Syderstone’s
whereabouts. She found her tongue, in an inevitably blistering
attack.

‘
What
are you doing here? How did you know? You had no right
.
I am
going to London and you cannot stop me.’

‘
We
will not discuss rights at this present,’ he responded evenly. ‘But
stopping you is another matter. Your journey is
done—sir.’

Her attire!
Glancing about, she realised they might easily be overheard, and
flushed at this timely reminder. She saw a measure of satisfaction
enter Roborough’s features and her ire rose. She glared at
him.

‘
We’ll see about that.’

‘
We
shall indeed,’ he replied in a calm voice that belied the granite
set of his jaw. ‘I imagine you have a portmanteau in that coach. We
will begin by extracting it.’

‘
You
will do nothing of the…’

Her voice died
as she encountered such a blaze of fury in the light eyes as she
had never seen before. A little shiver shook her, of fright and
distress. It was hideous to have him in such rage with
her.

‘
We
will,’ he repeated, the words weighted with menace, ‘extract your
portmanteau. Then we shall go into this inn, where you will change
back into your proper raiment, which I make no doubt is contained
therein.’

It was too much.
How dared he take such a tone with her? Yet Isadora’s voice shook a
little.

‘
I
will not!’

His eyes
narrowed. ‘My good
sir,
you endanger yourself more every
moment. You will, for once in your life, do as you are told.’ He
paused briefly, then added icily, ‘Or, if you prefer, take the
consequences.’

Isadora
hesitated, her heart beating rather fast. There could be no doubt
that she had driven him utterly beyond his patience. Moreover,
dressed as she was, he might do anything he chose to her and no one
would intervene. She looked every inch a young lad, and Roborough
was her senior by so many years that he might treat her as such
with impunity. Discretion, on this occasion, must be the better
part of valour. She bit her lip on any further protest.

‘
Very
wise,’ he said drily, and turned from her to address a lounging
ostler to whom he had evidently been speaking before he had
accosted her.

In a very short
time indeed, Isadora found herself carrying her own portmanteau,
and trailing in the viscount’s wake—just as if she had been a youth
and not the lady she actually was—up the stairs, to halt outside
the chamber designated by the footman who had shown them
up.

‘
I
thank you,’ the viscount said to him, nodding at Isadora to enter
the room. ‘Inform the landlord that I shall require ale and coffee,
together with a light luncheon—nothing at all elaborate, if you
please—to be brought to the parlour I have bespoken.’

The footman,
pocketing the coin that Roborough handed him, confirmed that he
would relay these instructions, and went off down the corridor. The
viscount followed Isadora into the room and closed the
door.

‘
What
now?’ she demanded.

‘
Belligerent as ever, I see,’ he remarked coolly. ‘Now, ma’am,
I will leave you to return to your true identity.’

‘
And
what do you suppose the landlord is going to say when he sees you
with a female instead of a youth?’

‘
I
have not the slightest interest in anything he may say. The matter
does not concern him.’

‘
He
is bound to think it extremely odd.’

‘
Then
he will have penetrated your character extremely shrewdly,’
Roborough said blandly. ‘No one could be more odd. If this escapade
had been perpetrated upon anyone other than myself, I imagine you
would by now have been carted off to bedlam.’

‘
How
dare you? Do you suppose I did this to play some sort of trick upon
you?’

‘
We
will argue the point when you have changed,’ he said, moving back
to the door. ‘And don’t think to try any further trick on me as you
doubtless tricked Syderstone, for I shall be waiting outside the
door. Don’t take too long, either.’

With which, he
extracted the key from the inside of the door and, taking it with
him, removed himself and shut the door.

He left Isadora
fuming. How dared he treat her so? What, was she a child to be
ordered this way and that? Let her but return to the mansion—which
she could not doubt was just what would happen—where she was no
longer vulnerable to his threats, and then they would see. She
would tell him precisely what she thought of him.

Ripping off her
jacket, she began savagely to undress herself, raging still. He was
hateful. He was a beast. Great heavens, he was so angry! Tears
started to her eyes, and her hands slowed in the act of tearing
away her improvised cravat. That was the worst of it. God knew she
had raged and ranted at him many a time, and once or twice he had
hit back. But never like this. And he had called her
ma’am
.
That, distancing her dreadfully, was so extremely painful that the
tears squeezed from her tightly shut eyes and trickled down her
cheeks.

A rapping on the
door brought her eyes flying open.

‘
A
little speed, ma’am,’ called Roborough from the other side. ‘There
is no necessity to titivate.’

Resentment
flared anew. Titivate indeed. As if she were in the habit of
spending hours on her appearance. But she began to hurry
nevertheless, dragging her somewhat crumpled black gown out of the
portmanteau and slipping it on over her chemise. She shook out the
skirts, but there was nothing to be done about the
creases

Nor was there anything she could do with her hair,
she
thought despairingly. She had lost most of her pins so that her
usual topknot was impossible. The best she could do was to pin back
the front curls and allow the remainder to hang down her back. She
stared critically at herself in the mirror above the
dressing-table. It would have to do. Not that it mattered what she
looked like. Roborough was intent only on punishing her. He was
hardly likely to pay the slightest attention—even had he the least
interest in the matter—to her appearance.

The thought
caused her eyes to well again, and she realised that her cheeks
were a trifle streaked from where she had wiped away the earlier
tears. Hastily rubbing her fingers over them, she removed what
traces she could see.

Then, seizing
the portmanteau, she marched to the door and flung it wide, a touch
of defiance returning. Roborough was leaning against the wall
outside. He turned his head, and his glance raked her from top to
toe, resting briefly on the tresses curling about her shoulders,
and then on her cheeks. Did he notice the tell-tale traces of
tears? Apparently not.

‘
That’s better,’ was all he said, unsmiling. ‘You make, I
admit, a fetching boy, but I prefer you as a girl.’

Was that a gleam
at the back of his eye? Or was she imagining it, only because it
was what she longed to see? She looked down to hide any hope that
might be reflected in her face, a faint flush staining her
cheeks.

Roborough took
the portmanteau from her hand, saying roughly, ‘Come
along.’

He led the way
back to the main hall above the entrance where the footman had
earlier pointed out the private parlour. The room was small,
furnished with a table in a window alcove, already laid with a
cloth and two places, and a couple of armchairs before the empty
fireplace. The viscount set the portmanteau down against the wall
near one of these, and turned to survey the table.

‘
I
wonder what they will produce for luncheon?’ he said musingly, and
moved to the bell pull beside the mantel. ‘Perhaps they have
forgotten us. I had better ring and remind them.’

‘
Oh,
for heaven’s sake,’ exclaimed Isadora, suddenly exasperated. ‘Must
you conduct yourself in this tiresomely normal fashion? I know you
are angry with me, and if you mean to scold me I wish you will set
about it immediately.’

He looked over
at her. His voice was even, but she could hear the undercurrent of
rage beneath. ‘I dare not, ma’am, for if I start I cannot answer
for my temper.’

‘
Ma’am
again,’ she threw at him bitterly. ‘How can you
speak to me in that manner, after all that has passed between us? I
must be the last person in the world to be troubled by a little
loss of temper. There is nothing I hate more than waiting for a
quarrel. Let us get it over with!’

‘
I
don’t wish to quarrel with you, Isadora,’ Roborough said in a
tightly controlled tone. Then, as if he could no longer contain
himself, he burst out furiously, ‘What I wish to do is to throttle
you!’

‘
Throttle me? When all I have done is to try and help you to be
rid of Syderstone?’

‘
This
is your notion of helping me, is it? Doing your best to ruin
yourself?’

‘
What
do you care if I ruin myself?’

‘
I
will tell you—’ he began, but broke off as the door opened and one
of the inn servants entered, armed with a laden tray.

The viscount
cursed inwardly. He had known what would happen if he allowed rein
to the fury consuming him.

The servant,
excusing himself, went to the table, casting as he did so a
surprised glance at Isadora, who had flounced away to the other
side of the room. Of course he had not been expecting a female. No
doubt he had heard their voices, too. Not that it mattered. Better
to be overheard here, where they were not known, than at home where
the repercussions might be endless.

Although he was
still excessively angry with the little monster, he was so relieved
to have found her this easily that his murderous fury was muted by
now. Never in his life had he spent a more painful journey, racked
both by rage and a very real fear for Isadora’s safety. He could
swear that it was only the thought of the severe chastisement he
planned to administer that had kept him from insanity. He had very
nearly done it too—when she had dared to defy him even at the last.
She must have known instantly that the game was up. But no, Isadora
could never give in without a fight. Which was why, of course, he
felt as he did about her.

His rage began
to slide away from him. But what other weapon had he? She must
learn that he was not to be trifled with, and only a fury greater
than her own appeared to do the trick. He began to chafe. Damn the
servant! Would he be forever at his work? He glanced across at
Isadora. She had paced to the fireplace and was standing with her
back to him, looking down into the empty grate.

At last the man
finished laying out the luncheon, and Roborough slipped him a coin,
saying, ‘I do not wish to be disturbed again. Unless I ring let no
one enter this room, if you please.’

That took
Isadora’s attention. She turned quickly, waiting only for the door
to close behind the servant before rushing into speech.