AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Probably.’ He was angry at her jibes. The colour was touching his cheekbones and the green eyes were cold, but the drawl was as casual and as insolent as before. ‘What are you doing in town, Isobel?’
‘The Season. What else?’ She shrugged.
‘I thought that was the last thing you wanted.’
‘That was before a certain gentleman reminded me about the pleasures of the flesh,’ she said, smiling at him when his brows snapped together in a frown. A demon seemed to have taken control of her tongue. ‘I thought perhaps I might be…entertained if I came to London.’
‘And I thought you did not want to marry again.’
‘Were we discussing marriage, Giles?’
‘You little witch. If it is fleshly pleasure you want—’ He tugged on the wrist he still held captive, pulling her against his exquisite silk waistcoat. The lingering scent of roses warred with his citrus cologne in he
r nostrils and under it was the faint musk of a man who was hot with temper.
And lust, she realised as his mouth came down and his hands trapped her and his lips punished her for defiance. She knew his body and he knew hers. She found she had clenched one hand on his buttock, holding him tight against her. The pressure of his erection sent tongues of flame to the core of her as his mouth left hers and he began to pull at the neckline of her gown, his lips seeking the nipple, his tongue and teeth wreaking havoc with her senses.
They were crushed into a corner now, his hand under her skirts as she lifted her leg to hook it around his hip to give him access. It was mad, insane, they were both so angry, both so—
The sharp clip of heels on marble was like a bucket of cold water thrown in her face. Isobel gasped, found her feet, pushed at Giles even as he spun round instinctively to shield her.
‘Geraldine,’ Giles said. His mother.
From behind him Isobel could see the dark sheen of black satin, the glitter of diamonds. She pushed her way free to stand at his side and confront the other woman, her chin up.
‘You little fool,’ the Dowager hissed. ‘So you lied to me. You will be sorry for this. Very sorry.’
Isobel simply turned on her heel and walked away. Neither of them made the slightest attempt to stop her.
The passage turned and she jumped at the sight of someone coming towards her, then she saw it was her own reflection in a long glass. Her bodice was awry, her hair half-down, her skirts crumpled. With hands that shook Isobel righted her gown, twisted the loose ringlets back into order, fanned her face with her hands until the hectic colour began to subside, then went out into the ballroom before she had time to think about what had just happened.
‘Mama.’ Lady Bythorn was deep in conversation with the Dowager Lady Darvil, but she turned with a smile that became rigid when she saw Isobel’s face.
‘Are you unwell, my dear? You look quite—’
‘Flustered,’ Isobel hissed. ‘I know. Mama, I must speak with you alone. Urgently.’
‘You have the migraine?’ Lady Bythorn said clearly as she got to her feet. ‘Do excuse us, Georgiana, I fear Isobel is suffering from the heat—we had best go home. Come, dear.’
With a suitably wan smile for Lady Darvil, Isobel let herself be led to the hallway and fanned while their cloaks were found and the carriage called.
‘What is it?’ her mother demanded the moment they were inside. ‘Has someone been referring to the scandal?’
‘No. Mama, the Dowager Lady Faversham found me in the retiring room and said the most horrible things. She blames me for the injuries Mr Harker suffered.’
‘Oh, my heavens! That frightful creature. I knew Frederica Leamington could not be trusted not to invite the wrong sort of people. Did anyone hear her?’
‘Only Pamela Monsom and she is very discreet. There were other people in the room, but they did not hear exactly what she said and when she left I explained that she was upset about Mr Harker’s scars and they were very sympathetic. But they are sure to gossip.’
‘And now your name will be linked with his,’ her mother observed grimly. ‘There is nothing to be done but brazen it out—thank goodness he was not there tonight!’
Isobel bit her lower lip. She did not feel capable of confessing to her mother that Giles Harker had indeed been at the ball. Her body still quivered from his touch and from the anger that had flashed between them.
‘There, there.’ Her mother leaned over in the shadowed interior to pat her hand. ‘It will be all right. That woman has such a dreadful reputation that no respectable person would believe a word she has to say.’
But I do. She said I would be sorry, and she meant it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
