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‘Who else but you would skulk on the terrace at Haile Carr, trying to avoid her fiancé in the arms of a stranger? Who else did I come here to see and maybe even steel myself to meet?’
‘I don’t know, but why are you here?’
He grasped her arms as if she was the last person he really wanted to touch and walked her towards the pool of golden light on the still-warm stones. Her gaze ran over his hawkish features and heat and excitement flashed through her once again, but there was such fury in his uncannily light blue eyes it suffocated.
‘Can you see it now?’ he demanded roughly, shaking her a little when she stayed silent. ‘The mark of Cain you have put on me tonight,’ he bit out and the rage and guilt beneath his bitter words felt formidable.
For another cowardly moment she let her gaze linger on features that seemed uniquely his. Eyes clear and pale and steely blue, yet so alive and passionate even the fury in them seemed better than the cold aloofness he was striving for. Eyebrows and wild curls so dark above his icy gaze that looked so hard now. His features were so strongly marked and masculine she couldn’t sort them from a softer, more blurred version that nagged at her memory.
‘The Countess, you’re Lady Carrowe’s...’ Yet again she let her voice tail off as if she was an incoherent and bedazzled debutante. Even the thought of being so silly and unguarded made her stiffen her spine and meet his eyes as if it didn’t cost such an effort. She felt sweat bead her brow. ‘Youngest son,’ she ended, because she knew who he was and still refused to name-call over one thing that certainly wasn’t his fault.
‘Say it, Miss Alstone,’ he ordered with weary impatience. ‘I’m my mother’s publicly denounced shame since the day I had the bad taste to be born alive. I’m the cuckoo in the Earl of Carrowe’s nest; Lady Carrowe’s disgrace; destroyer of innocent ladies’ reputations and all the names they call me if I’m stupid enough to enter a room full of your kind. And what about you, Miss Alstone? You’re Magnus Haile’s affianced wife and far more of a disgrace than my mother ever was in private. She married a monster and you’re about to wed his very opposite; you have no excuse for luring in a lover before you even marry my big brother.’
‘That’s between us and none of your business,’ she said coolly.
‘Tell him about this and I’ll tell the whole world what you did tonight. Dare whisper a word to hurt him and I’ll make sure the world finds out what we’ve done.’
‘You can’t ruin me,’ she defied him and knew it was cheap to invite him to throw mud at the Earl of Carnwood’s youngest sister-in-law if he dared.
‘Wulf FitzDevelin may not get past generations of rank and privilege and be-damned-to-the-rest-of-you, but Dev can do it with a few flicks of his pen and a lampoon from a scurrilous friend who owes him a favour.’
‘You’re him; a famous writer? That Dev?’ she said, incredulous he was the scourge of liars and hypocrites and fools she’d found so irresistibly funny when he wasn’t directing his fury at her.
His more usual style of showing the folly and misfortune of his fellow man took his writing beyond satire. She admired his compassion and delight in ordinary and extraordinary people of great cities and small places alike. In his mind she probably qualified as liar, hypocrite and fool. That idea added a layer of sadness to her guilt she didn’t want to think about right now.
‘Luckily for me there’s no law to stop a bastard being a writer or vice versa. And I thought I was so cynical nothing could shock me, but you proved me wrong tonight, Miss Alstone; I hope you’re proud.’
‘Not really,’ she made herself say as if she was thinking about something more important than a trifling sin she could take to church with her on Sunday and come away with a feeling of absolution.
‘Mention this aberration to my brother and I’ll not only deny every word and ruin you, I’ll take your family and friends down with you.’
‘Don’t threaten me,’ she flared back at him, even as fear for those she loved and wanted to protect flared fiercely in her heart and hurt more bitterly because he was the one trying to put it there. ‘Nobody will rule me or mine with fear or beatings or nasty little lies ever again,’ an Isabella even she hadn’t known was so furious about her childhood spat like a cornered tigress. ‘Stay away from me and mine and your brother as well,’ she went on in a forceful whisper for fear of being overheard. ‘I’ll do what I can for your half-sisters, Mr Wulf, as long as you’re not glowering at me from the sidelines as if I’m the She-Wolf of France and Lucrezia Borgia rolled up together.’
‘Your namesake the Queen Isabella, so-called She-Wolf of France?’ he taunted her.
‘A poor choice of words doesn’t change facts.’
‘I doubt you worry very much about them at the best of times, miss. Luckily for you I haven’t the stomach to stay here and watch you promise to wed my brother as if you’re worthy of even a single hair on his head.’
‘You love him, don’t you? All those stories about you being heartless and impervious to love and affection are more of Lord Carrowe’s lies,’ she said, so shaken by the fact the notorious Wulf FitzDevelin had turned out to be nothing like the man he’d been painted she forgot she was the one doing battle with him right now.
‘I feel very cold and resistant to you, and if you don’t hurry back inside, your undeserved reputation as a cool and lovely lady of fortune will be blasted for good. I’d be the first to dance on her grave, but Magnus wouldn’t like it.’
‘I certainly won’t risk notoriety for the sake of someone who thinks he can threaten all I hold dear because I was stupid.’
‘Stupid? A little more than that, Miss Alstone,’ he said with such revulsion in his voice she decided to let him have the last word, since he liked them so much.
She gave him one last challenging look to dare him to do his worst, then turned her back. He was a mirage—a wonder that turned out nothing of the kind. Magnus and his sisters and her own loving family were real; they mattered. She used her memory of the ballroom’s layout and decorations to sneak back inside unnoticed. She would get her breath back and confess to nodding off in a quiet corner from exhaustion and nerves. Yes, she could put Isabella Alstone back together and even look glowingly happy when her engagement to a good man was announced. Just a few more moments away from the stares and speculation of the cream of local society and she’d be able to playact with the best of them.
Copyright © 2018 by Elizabeth Beacon
Keep reading for a special preview of HIS WICKED CHARM, the latest book in Candace Camp’s popular MAD MORELANDS series!
His Wicked Charm
by Candace Camp
PROLOGUE
