Read VIscount Besieged Online

Authors: Elizabeth Bailey

Tags: #regency romance, #clean romance, #sweet romance, #traditional romance, #comedy of manners, #country house regency

VIscount Besieged (8 page)

BOOK: VIscount Besieged
8.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

But this was no
moment to be reminding himself of the horrors he had left behind.
He had something of more importance to hand here, for the present.
And an agreeable interlude it was proving to be, before the fell
hand of fate moved inexorably on. Because Isadora Alvescot—a
mercurial creature—had eased into warmth, and he wished, if he
could, to sustain that.


What
do you call her?’ he asked her of the horse.


Juliet,’ she answered, and instantly laughed. ‘Now you will
say that you should have guessed it.’


Had
I thought about it, yes,’ he agreed, smiling. ‘But then I have only
seen you do the one role. You might as easily have named her Lady
Macbeth.’


Oh,
indeed?’ said Isadora, firing up. ‘Is that supposed to reflect upon
my character?’


Not
unless you are driven to murder the unwelcome guest under your
roof.’

Isadora let out
a crow of laughter, her quick flare of anger dying down. ‘Let me
tell you, it will not be your fault if I don’t. Murder you, I mean.
You are quite the most abominable man I have ever met.’


As I
don’t know what other men you have met, Miss Alvescot, I am unable
to judge the worth of your estimate,’ he retorted. ‘You will notice
that I make no attempt to return the compliment.’

Isadora found
herself smiling warmly at him, only half aware that Rowland watched
the quick give and take of words in frowning puzzlement.


That
is because you are stronger than I,’ she told the viscount, ‘and
you must know how unfair it would be to enrage me into engaging in
hand-to-hand combat. But I can be fair, too. I will save you the
trouble. I know I am abominable.’


What
an admission.’


You
are supposed to deny the charge, you know,’ Isadora told him
frowningly.


You
jest,’ he said, brows raised. ‘Nothing would induce me to do
so.’

Isadora began to
think that in Roborough she had met a foe to be reckoned with. She
was quite unused to be spiked at her own game. No one in the family
had either the wit or the will to challenge her thus. They moaned
at her, nagged at her and called her unlovely names. But they could
not engage in this sort of cut and thrust. She had to admit to a
feeling of exhilaration.

It faded rapidly
as she came out of the stables to find the rest of the family
waiting. As she noticed her young cousin run up and whisper in
Fanny’s ear, she began to regret having allowed herself to become
engaged in such banter with the viscount. Rowland would tell his
sister. She would report to Cousin Matty and Mama, no doubt, that
Dora had threatened to murder Roborough. Then she would be obliged
to endure Cousin Matty’s recriminations and Mama’s
lamentations.

Great heavens,
why must they be so blind? Could they none of them see that the man
had something up his sleeve? She felt it, even had it not been
obvious. If the family would but look, instead of fawning all over
him, they would see it too.

She watched the
viscount’s face surreptitiously, taking little part in the noisy
argument that accompanied the showing of the house to its new
owner. She could not have been said to gain by it—no clue as to his
intentions, certainly. That strong countenance, firm at the jaw for
all the ready laughter, its lean lines animated enough, and the
light eyes, alive with interest, nevertheless gave little
away.

* * *

Roborough, had
she but known it, had as little idea as she of his intentions. As
the tour continued, wending its way into the added wing, back
through the kitchens and thus, room by room, up the stairs to the
living area most frequented by the family, he brought his wayward
attention to bear on his surroundings. They were extraordinarily
apt for this family. Had he a choice, he would leave them living
here as they always had done. But the estate, Thornbury had told
him, could not sustain them. What was he going to do?

His
preoccupation kept him silent, although he was aware of the
argumentative voices of the family all about him as he
walked.

He came to
himself to find that he was standing at his bedchamber door, down
the hall from the big drawing-room, and that all the members of the
Pusay household—with the exception of Isadora, whose features were
once more tight and closed against him, he noted—were gazing at him
expectantly.


We
dine in an hour,’ Cousin Matty said helpfully.


Dear
me, yes,’ fluttered Mrs Alvescot, reminded of her duty. ‘You will
wish to change. We will all do so now.’ She looked hopefully at her
cousin. ‘Matty, is it the dining parlour upstairs, or—?’


Yes,
indeed, Ellen,’ said Cousin Matty at once. ‘Lord Roborough will not
wish for any formality. Not on this first day.’

Formality,
Roborough thought, had long gone by the board. Which was all to the
good. Let it be more so.


Indeed, no,’ he said reassuringly, addressing himself to Mrs
Alvescot. ‘And I do wish you will drop the title. My given name is
Titus, if you care to use it, but Roborough will do.’


Titus?’ repeated Fanny. ‘What an odd name.’


Be
quiet, Fanny,’ begged her mother in a strangulated tone. ‘You will
not use it, be sure.’


Perhaps we can call him Cousin, as we do you, Cousin Ellen,’
suggested Rowland brightly.


Yes,
yes,’ said his mother hurriedly. ‘Now that will do, both of you. Go
away and leave Lord—I mean, Cousin Roborough—to his
toilet.’


Yes,
I thank you,’ agreed Roborough, his eyes crinkling with that innate
warmth. ‘I would not wish to make a performance of it. I do not
have Isadora’s talent.’

Cousin Matty
instantly scattered her offspring, and Mrs Alvescot hurried away,
leaving only Isadora standing her ground. She was staring
suspiciously at him. He eyed her, a hint of a question in one
slightly raised brow. Now what was troubling her?

At length, he
said resignedly, ‘I see I have been relegated to a coiled snake
again.’


Why
are you being so pleasant to everyone?’ Isadora burst
out.

So that was it.
Well, he could counter that one. He allowed a slight frown to
crease his brow.


Do
you think there is anything to be gained by being rude and
offensive?’

Isadora flushed. ‘Which is to say that I am
offensive.’


Strange to say,’ he said mildly, ‘I meant no such
thing.’

Mollified, Isadora said grudgingly, ‘I suppose I have been
rude.’


Very.’ Then, not quite deliberately, he grinned. ‘But not
without provocation, I confess.’

She tried, but
the bubbling laughter would not be contained. In spite of herself,
Isadora warmed to him again, feeling her suspicions melting away.
But not entirely. It could be that he was just as he appeared. But
she could not rid herself of the conviction that there was about
everything he did, everything he said— if not to her, to the rest
of the family—a calculation, as if he meant to achieve something by
it.

Roborough, aware
of the changes in her thoughts because they were reflected by the
expressions flitting across her face, wondered at her a little.
That she did not trust him was certain. But she could not help
herself enjoying this sort of bantering exchange—as he did himself,
for God knew it came as a welcome diversion from the relentless
gloom he had left behind him at Barton Stacey. Really, he did not
know why he was making this effort with her. It did not matter what
he decided. It was plain that Isadora was going to be
difficult.


What
are you going to do with us?’ she asked on an almost plaintive
note, almost echoing his line of thought. ‘And pray don’t fob me
off with your
depending upon circumstance
. You have not come
here without any plans, for all you may try to make the rest of
them believe that.’


Isadora…’ he began, then, realising what he had said, added
quickly, ‘If you will permit me to call you so?’


I
don’t care what you call me,’ she said impatiently, ‘if only you
will tell me what I want to know.’

He grinned.
‘That is a considerable concession, I hope you realise. I have a
very fertile imagination—especially when it comes to name
calling.’


Don’t try to turn the subject,’ ordered Isadora crossly. ‘I
will not be put off so, Roborough, so do not think it.’


I
don’t,’ he admitted.

Though he had
hoped to divert her, the persistent little devil. What in the name
of all the gods was he to answer? Scarcely the truth. Heaven help
him if she learned what he had in mind. She must eventually, if it
proved the way forward. But not now.


Isadora,’ he said in as non-committal a tone as he could
summon to his aid, ‘you are an intelligent female. Look at the
thing from my point of view. I scarcely know the situation here. I
have not seen the accounts. I have not been around the estates. I
cannot possibly make any value judgements until I have some facts
upon which to base them.’

It was not
working. Isadora’s eyes had narrowed and the enmity, which seemed
to slide in and out of her in wayward fashion, was back.


Fudge! You do not mean me to know, and that is the matter in a
nutshell.’

He was silent.
It was true. What could he say? For a moment Isadora held his eyes,
a dangerous light in her own. Then she turned abruptly and walked
off down the corridor towards the entrance to the wing.

Roborough
watched her out of sight, beset by the oddest feeling of
depression—an echo of that which he had been enduring at Barton
Stacey. Was Pusay to become unbearable too? Shrugging off the
threatening mood, he went into his allotted bedchamber and gave
himself up into his valet’s capable hands.

***

 


But
what an extraordinary coincidence,’ said Harriet Witheridge,
amazed.

True to her
promise, she had hunted Isadora out in the little end-parlour
downstairs, a retreat to which she was prone to escape, either to
practise her roles or when she did not want anyone to know where
she was. Harriet was privy to this hiding place only by virtue of
the fact that she had once, walking across from the squire’s house,
come upon Isadora entering by a side-door to the house which led
directly into this room.

The only other
person who knew of it was the elderly butler Hampole, who had
discovered the young daughter of the house shivering in there one
winter morning, and, without betraying her, had taken it upon
himself ever since to make up the fire for her. Today, however,
Isadora had escaped not to work but to think furiously, so that she
would be ready with a counterplan the moment she learned what
Roborough intended.

Not that she
could have been said to have profited by it. Nothing had occurred
to her. Instead she had found herself going over everything that
had happened since his arrival, recalling the truly infuriating
manner in which the family had taken him to their collective
bosom.

Rowland and
Fanny had rapidly passed from awe to downright devotion, as far as
she could see. The viscount might have been their long-dead father!
Cousin Matty apparently regarded him as some sort of hero. While as
for Mama… Well, if she had not placed her future fair and square in
Roborough’s lap, then Isadora did not know her own parent. And the
viscount himself was plainly amused by the whole thing. Yes, and
very obviously amused—great heavens, how she was beginning to
loathe the wretch!—by her own disgust at her family’s voluntary
subjugation. Amused, too, for all she could tell, by her stubborn
determination not to swell the number of his Pusay
conquests.

It was therefore
with distinct relief that she greeted the arrival of her friend
Harriet, and proceeded to regale her with every detail of the event
that had turned their lives around in the Pusay house in the less
than twenty-four hours since Harriet had left them
yesterday.


What
is a coincidence?’ demanded Isadora, picking up her friend’s
remark.


That
Lord Roborough should also have lost his father, thus giving rise
to all your nonsensical speculations about the poor
man.’


He
is not a
poor man
,’ protested Isadora fiercely. ‘Anything
but, in fact. I have never met anyone more capable of holding his
own. Nor of making himself agreeable. Why, the rest of them are
positively berserk with admiration.’


So
why not you?’ demanded her friend, arranging her muslin skirts as
she sat next to Isadora on the small sofa on which she was perched.
‘What is he really like?’

Isadora’s eyes
kindled. ‘He is abominable, if you must know. A teasing wretch. He
chooses to joke with me, but I suspect it is only to bring me
around like the others.’


For
goodness’ sake, Dora,’ exclaimed Harriet impatiently. ‘I mean, what
does he look like? Is he young? Is he handsome?’


I
will allow him to be attractive,’ Isadora said grudgingly. ‘But he
is neither young nor handsome. At least, I dare say he is not above
thirty. But he is not pretty like Edmund.’ She paused a moment, and
added almost as an afterthought, ‘His eyes smile.’

BOOK: VIscount Besieged
8.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

A Bear Goal by Anya Nowlan
Phillip Adams by Philip Luker
Love and Devotion by Erica James
Rhapsody on a Theme by Matthew J. Metzger
Suspicion of Innocence by Barbara Parker
Blood Atonement by Dan Waddell
Desert Disaster by Axel Lewis