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The acid in her tone made him blink and the sweep of those thick dark lashes did nothing to moderate her irritation with him. ‘Rest assured,’ she added rather desperately, ‘I have no intention of crossing the threshold. Your…virtue is perfectly safe.’
He studied her in silence for a moment. Isobel pressed her lips together to control the other things she would very much like to say on the subject of men who made assumptions about ladies with no evidence and then discussed them with their friends and then ravished them in wet shrubberies and made them feel…made them…
‘What a relief,’ he said finally. ‘I was about to scream for help.’ She glared at him. ‘However, I believe I have an apology to make.’
‘Oh? So you are sorry for that outrage in the shrubbery, are you?’ It was very hard to hang on to a sense of gratitude when the wretch stood there, the gleam in his eyes giving the lie to any hint of penitence in his voice.
‘I am sorry for coming to an incorrect conclusion about your intentions. I cannot be sorry for the kiss, for I enjoyed it too much.’
‘If that is intended to flatter, Mr Harker, it failed. I imagine you enjoy virtually any kisses you can snatch.’ She should turn on her heel and walk away, but it was impossible to leave him before she had made her indifference to him clear beyond any possible doubt. It was very strange—the last time she had felt this stubborn and light-headed had been after an incautious second glass of champagne on an empty stomach.
‘I do not find you in the slightest bit attractive and, even if I did, my upbringing and my personal standards would prevent me acting in any way that might hint at such foolishness,’ she stated, crossing her fingers tightly in the folds of her skirt. ‘If your delusions about your personal charms have suffered a correction, I can only be glad of it for the sake of other females you may encounter.’ It must be the effect of expressing her irritation so freely, but she was feeling positively feverish. Isobel shivered.
Instead of taking offence at her lecture, or even laughing at her, Harker took a step closer, his face serious. ‘Why are you not in your bed, Isobel?’
‘Because I do not need to mollycoddle myself. And grateful as I am to you for rescuing me, I did not give you the use of my name.’
‘If you desire to thank me for getting wet on your behalf, I wish you will let me use it. My name is Giles and I make you free of that,’ he said as he lifted one hand and laid the back of it against her cheek. ‘You are barely warm enough, Isobel. I am sorry for this morning, and last night. I have become…defensive about single ladies. I was wrong to include you with the flirts and, worse, upon no more evidence than a very frank stare and a willingness to stand up to me.’
Somehow his hand was still against her cheek, warm and strangely comforting, for all the quiver of awareness it sent through her. If her limbs felt so leaden that she could not move, or brush away his hand, then at least she could speak up for herself. ‘Surely you are not so vain as to believe that good looks make you somehow superior and irresistible to women? That every lady who studies your profile or the width of your shoulders desires you?’ Oh, why had she mentioned his shoulders? Now he knew she had been looking.
He did not take her up on that revealing slip. ‘Unfortunately there are many who confuse the outer form, over which I have no control, and for which I can claim no credit, for the inner character. And, it seems, there are many ladies who would welcome a certain amount of…adventure in their lives.’ He shrugged. ‘Men are just as foolish over a pretty face, uncaring whether it hides a vacuous mind or fine intelligence. You must have observed it. But the pretty young ladies are chaperoned,’ he added with a rueful smile.
‘And no one protects the handsome men?’ Isobel enquired. She had managed to lift her hand to his, but it stayed there instead of obeying her and pushing his fingers away. She felt very strange now, not quite in her own body. There was a singing in her ears. She forced herself to focus. ‘You are telling me that you are the victim here?’
‘We men have to look after ourselves. I am vulnerable, certainly. If I acquire a reputation for flirting, or worse, with the unmarried daughters of the houses where I work, I will not secure good commissions at profitable country estates.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘Repelling single young ladies has become second nature and a certain cynicism about the motives of those who show an interest is, under the circumstances, inevitable.’
‘What circumstances?’
Giles had caught her left hand in his, his fingers long and strong as they enveloped it. ‘You do not know? Never mind.’ Isobel thought about persisting, then restrained herself—probably this was something that would reveal her as painfully naive. Giles drew her closer and slid his hand round to tip up her chin. ‘You are exhausted and probably in a state of shock. Why will you not rest?’
‘I do not want to dream,’ Isobel confessed. ‘I have night…’ The man must be a mesmerist, drawing confessions out of her as she stood there, handfast with him. She should go at once, stop talking to him about such personal matters. If only her body would obey her, because she wanted to go. She really wanted…
‘You suffer from nightmares?’
‘When I have a lot on my mind.’ Her voice sounded as though it was coming from a long way away. She stared at Giles Harker, who was moving. Or perhaps the room behind him was. It began to dawn on her that she was going to faint.
‘You are in no fit state—’ Harker caught her as her knees gave way and gathered her against his chest. He ought to put her down because this was improper. She should tell him…But he was warm and strong and felt safe. Her muddled brain questioned that—Giles Harker was not safe, was he?
There was the sound of footsteps on the great staircase below them, muted voices carrying upwards. Giles stepped back into his room, pulling her with him, and closed the door. ‘Damn it, I do not want us found by a brace of footmen with you draped around my neck and me half dressed.’ His voice was very distant now.
‘Put me down, then,’ Isobel managed as she was lifted and carried into another room, deposited on something. A bed?
‘Stay there.’
‘I do not think I could do anything else…’ It was an effort to speak, so she lay still until he came back and spread something warm and soft over her.
‘Go to sleep, Isobel. If any nightmares come, I will chase them away.’
He will, promised the voice in her head. It was telling her to just let go, so she did, and slid into a darkness as profound as the blackness of the lake water.
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sp; CHAPTER SIX
GILES LOCKED THE door from his dressing room on to the landing and studied the sleeping woman stretched out on the chaise. Isobel must be utterly drained to have fainted like that. He supposed he should have done something, anything, rather than carry her into his room, but it was a trifle late to worry about that now and they were probably safe enough. The family would be too concerned about Lizzie to wonder where their guest had got to and his borrowed valet believed him to be resting and would not disturb him.
He sat down in a chair, put his elbows on his knees and raked his fingers through his damp hair. Nothing had changed, so why the devil was he ignoring the self-imposed rules that had served him so well all his adult life? Isobel was a single young lady of good family and one, it would appear, that he had misjudged. The wild sensuality he had sensed in her must have either been his own imagination or she was unaware of it in her innocence.
