Seduction & Scandal (13 page)

“Oh, my heavens,” Lucy gasped as she threw herself back onto the heap of pillows in a rather overly dramatic parody of a swoon. “Death is every woman's dream—so dark and intense, and utterly delicious.”

She was rather fond of him, too, Isabella realized. His story had begun to consume her. She had stayed up last night writing, the words pouring from her pen in a stream of thought that had the power of water rushing through floodgates. Something had compelled her to write, then she had slept and had a most wonderful dream of Lord Black.

“But you still haven't given us your heroine's name. Oh, wouldn't it be wonderful to hear her name uttered in Lord Death's velvety voice as he was about to kiss her and have his wicked way with her?”

Frowning, Isabella glanced down at her journal. She had purposely not named her character because nothing felt right. More than once she had caught herself writing her own name and had scribbled it out.

“Well?” Lucy said with a giggle, “I for one would like to put in a special vote that you name her Lucy.”

“Definitely not.” She shuddered with dramatic flare. “I couldn't possibility write your name during a ravishment scene.”

“What a spoilsport you are.” Lucy laughed. “But, Issy, you must write more. I insist. Stay in this chamber all morning and write. And please, please make it a scene where Lord Death takes her in his arms and forces the most shocking embrace upon her person. Make him merciless in his pursuit of her.”

Smiling, Isabella closed the cover of her journal and clicked the lock shut. “I shall try my best to please you.”

Closing her eyes, Lucy let out a long sigh. “That was just mesmerizing, Isabella. How do you do it, when you've never even been kissed, hmm?”

Lucy was fishing again. She had pestered all night
after Lord Black had left, wanting to know what transpired between them. Isabella had denied everything, and Lucy, curse her, had not believed her.

“Is that what it was like last night, in the carriage with Lord Black sitting on the bench in brooding silence as he stared at you from beneath his black lashes? Was he like your Lord Death, watching you from beneath hooded eyes?”

“Lucy, don't be ridiculous,” Isabella answered as she stood and rifled her brush through the tangles of her hair. She did not want Lucy to see her expression, or the high color in her cheeks.

“If not then, what about in the parlor? Did he capture and cage you and demand a kiss?”

“Lucy!”

As she rose from the pillows, Lucy's long red hair spilled over her shoulders as she sat forward, her green eyes glowing as she whispered, “Did Lord Black make you commit unspeakable acts on the parlor floor, Issy?”

Isabella flushed furiously and Lucy bounced on the bed. “Oh, he did! Tell me!”

“Lord Black is a gentleman,” Isabella muttered. “It wouldn't be very gentlemanly if he were to take advantage of me in my own home, now, would it?”

“No, it wouldn't,” Lucy admitted on a little pout. “But I daresay it would be vastly exciting.”

“Lucy!”

“Oh, Issy, it is only you and I here. We can be honest with each other, can't we?”

Not about Black. Isabella couldn't even allow herself the truth when it came to how exciting it was to be in Black's company, and his kisses…exciting was not the right adjective to describe what havoc his lordship's mouth could have upon a woman.

No, Lucy must never discover how Black had nearly ravished her in the carriage and in the salon. As an
innocent, Isabella was quite certain that
ravishment
was the only correct word to use for what Black had done to her.

He had robbed her of thought and speech. Had made her a slave to her own passions. In the darkness of night it had been thrilling, surrendering to the need that flooded her blood, but with the dawn of morning that thrill had ebbed into something more like shock. With a good night's sleep and a clear head this morning, Isabella was astounded that she had so readily released the reins of her control. Not once, mind, but twice.

“Oh, isn't passion wonderful?” Lucy said wonderingly.

“You wouldn't say that if you had been forced to live destitute because of it,” she grumbled. In the reflection of the mirror, Isabella saw Lucy frown.

“I know your life was extremely hard, Issy, and I am truly sorry for what you had to endure. But really, do you believe that the sins of the parent become the sins of the child?”

“I do.”

“Oh, good Lord, then I truly am cursed,” Lucy moaned. “For my parents' sins were to be excruciatingly polite and…absent. I don't want that for my fate. I'd prefer to give myself up to a feverish ardor.”

“Lucy, passion is all very well and I suppose it has its place in life, but nothing takes the place of security. There is no protection in passion. It is a volatile emotion that is ignited by a spark, erupts into a fireball of flame and then promptly explodes, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake.”

“You certainly have a way with words. You've completely destroyed my image of passion.”

“I simply speak the truth.”

Lucy glanced at her. “I would rather walk through hell for the chance of experiencing passion than exist in a cold world with little affection.”

“Because there is only a little spark between two people does not mean there cannot be affection.”

“Is that it, then? You and your Mr. Knighton have a little spark of passion between you?”

Isabella felt the blood drain from her face. Oh, good Lord, she had not even given Wendell a passing thought all night. All she could think of was Black and the embrace, and his whispered words in the salon. How she had wanted more—to be consumed in a fireball of passion and lust.

What sort of woman was she?
Her mother's daughter,
came the reply, and it hurt. Oh, Lord, it hurt to have to acknowledge such a flaw. She was an inconstant woman, and she was mortified by what she had done. True, there was no formal offer from Wendell, and their courtship was just in the beginning stages, but he had intimated that he liked her very much, and Isabella had allowed herself to believe that perhaps Wendell might see her as a suitable wife. But last night…with Black. Oh, she had been selfish, and she had betrayed Wendell. Formal offer or not, she had been disloyal to him with another man.

“Issy, is that it? You've decided that your nice, if inattentive, Mr. Knighton will do because you want security, not passion, in your marriage?”

“Lucy, let it go.”

“I can't, Issy,” Lucy said as she punched a pillow. “I love you too well to see you make the mistakes my parents made. Their marriage was based on the same ideas that you have. Politeness. Companionship. After twenty-five years of marriage they were nothing but friends. There was not enough spark between them to light a match, let alone a fireball.”

“I'm content with that. Not everyone has the constitution for such a marriage, but I believe I do.”

“I don't. How can you be content with such an arrangement? How can you say you will be satisfied when
you write with such yearning? No woman who writes of passion so beautifully could be content with a marriage that is anything less than a maelstrom of desire.”

“How can you ask me that,” she exploded, “when you've seen where I was forced to live?
How
I was forced to live and what my mother endured after she gave in to her reckless passions. Both my mother and I suffered because of her desire to experience passion and love. As I watched her destroy herself I vowed never to become a victim to base emotions. My mother's selfish desire to experience a man's touch, his physical affection, destroyed her, and in the process it ruined me. Do not look at me and say such things, Lucy, for in your heart, you know what my mother's wildness led me to.”

Lucy paled and glanced away. Oh, yes, Lucy knew the truth of her
unfortunate event.
She would never dare say the words, for they were scandalous—the gravest of sins—but she knew even though Isabella had never told another soul the real truth.

“It always comes down to this, doesn't it? Our different outlooks.”

Trying to give her comfort, Isabella smiled sadly. “Lucy, we come from two different worlds. Our worlds have shaped us into the women we are today. That can't be changed. But we can learn from each other. I can warn you to be more temperate in your search for passion, and you can occasionally remind me that it is quite all right to indulge in a most unseemly kiss in the parlor.”

Lucy's smile brightened the room. “Oh, I knew it. You had the look of a woman who had been thoroughly kissed. I bet it was wonderful.”

Nodding, Isabella admitted it was. “But it won't happen again. It made me realize that I didn't care for the reckless feeling it gave me.”
Liar!
“In fact, it rather confirmed Mr. Knighton is the one I want.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really. Now, let us talk no more about this,” Isabella said. Resting the brush back on the tray, she turned in her chair and watched as Lucy gazed out the bedroom window. She was pale today, with dark circles beneath her eyes. There was a sadness there that Isabella wished Lucy would speak of. But try as she might, her cousin remained steadfast in her refusal to talk of it. This discussion of passion had only made her more melancholy.

“How was the séance after I left?”

“Predictable,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I vow, the most excitement was when Black showed up and we all thought him a specter.”

Not a specter, Isabella thought. But Death.

“And the duke?”

Lucy groaned and fell back onto the bed, covering her head with the sheet. “I absolutely refuse to talk of His Grace. What a prig! Do you know,” Lucy snapped as she shot up in bed and tossed the sheet aside, “he actually had the audacity to lecture me on the way home. In fact, he forced Sibylla to sit with the coachman for the better part of the ride so he could lecture me on proper ladylike decorum! Oh, the nerve of the man,” she ranted as she slipped from the bed and paced the room. “Can you believe it? As if I would welcome such a lecture. And from him! Oh, he's insufferable,” she seethed. “He absolutely ruined my night, and then…then—” She broke off and whirled around to face her. “Oh, Issy, after he was done lecturing me he sat back and glared at me and stated quite boldly that once I was his wife, he'd paddle my backside if I ever sought another séance. Imagine, being denied my hobby!”

“Imagine being a duchess,” Isabella said.

“Oh, don't you smile like that, Issy. This is…this is absolutely
horrid
. I won't marry him! I told him so at once, and quite forcefully.”

“And what did he say?”

“Oh, something very pompous and ducal. The dreadful man actually said that my opinions on the matter weren't of importance here. Imagine it, being married to such a man.” She whirled on her then, and there was true fear in Lucy's eyes. “Issy, there is honestly not even the tiniest flare between us. Most especially on my part.”

“That doesn't sound like the duke at all. I knew he was concerned for your safety, but from what you describe of him, he sounded…provoked.”

“Oh, yes, he said that…that I would provoke a saint and such nonsense. But, Issy, I can't marry him. I don't even like him, and the way he insinuated himself into coming with us, why, the man was as stubborn as a bull.”

“Did he kiss you…when he was provoked?”

Lucy froze, then her gaze dropped to the floor. “Yes. And it was perfectly vile.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh' is right.”

“Well, I'm quite certain that your father will not force you to marry him if you don't wish it.”

“Ha!” Lucy grumbled. “How little you know of Papa. He will positively salivate at the very thought of me being a duchess. You know, he's already thinking of how my son shall inherit not only the Stonebrook title but the title of his father. The very thought of being a man with two titles excites him beyond belief. To know that his grandson will be a marquis
and
a duke will definitely seal the deal, and then I will be whisked away and forced to live with a pious, passionless man for the rest of my days.”

“Passionless?” Isabella questioned. How could that be, when the duke was so obviously smitten with her cousin? Isabella had seen him on more than one occasion staring at Lucy with fire and unrequited longing in his eyes.

“Yes, passionless,” Lucy snapped. “A vicar would have kissed with better skill than the duke. It was like kissing a dead fish pulled out of the Thames.”

“Oh, that does sound dreadful.”

“Do not laugh, Issy. I am in no mood for it.”

“I can see that.”

“Oh, this weather. I hate autumn. It's raining and cold, and we will be forced to stay indoors all day which will do nothing to remedy my mood.”

“It is rather gloomy, isn't it?” she answered as her gaze strayed to the window where lashes of rain pelted the window. “Not even a trifling drizzle, at least in that we could take a carriage ride.”

“Well, I must get my mind off last night—and the duke. Sibylla has promised to find out where the next séance shall be, and I am determined to finish off a dress that I'm making.”

“I think I shall write, then. Maybe this afternoon the weather will clear enough so that we might take some fresh air.”

“Oh,” Lucy moaned as she fell back onto the bed and covered her eyes with her arm. “I just realized something dreadful.”

“And that is?”

“Do you think the duke will be at Black's tonight? I don't think I could face him again.”

“Black's? Tonight?” She had all but forgotten.

Lucy lifted her arm and glanced at her. “You don't know? Black sent an invitation around this morning, and Papa accepted. It's all settled, we're dining with Black this evening.”