Free Isabella by Loretta Chase Page B

only be led so far; she was still wary of him, still taken with Edward.
    He gazed for a long time into the fire, watching the logs crackle and break, to send off bright, hot little sparks before they crumbled into ashes. Though Isabella was not an antidote, she certainly was not beautiful. Next to the sparkling good looks of her young cousins, she was a mouse. But there was something about her innocent, blunt way of reacting to him which was rather appealing.
    There was an odd mixture of longing and defiance in the looks which accompanied her earnest scoldings, and these looks somehow tempted him. Today he had succumbed to temptation. The brief embrace showed that she was truly inexperienced, despite that insinuating laugh of hers. But tutoring her might be rather pleasant, for she was—though in the oddest way— attractive. He did not love her, but maybe in time might feel affection for her. And perhaps those attractions might even command his attention—at least now and then—over the interminable dreariness of marriage.
    Yet one could hardly contemplate marriage when one's Intended refused to have anything further to do with one. What a fool he'd been. What would it be now? Go to Lord Belcomb, confess to compromising her, offer to repair the damage by marrying her? He paused, the glass halfway to his lips. Could he carry it off?
    Not likely. True, her noble relations might agree to any nonsense he suggested. When Maria had run off with her cit, they'd coldly washed their hands of her. They'd do anything to prevent another scandal. After all, a second generation run amok would indicate something depraved in the blood. But Isabella was just as likely to pack up and return to her commercial uncle and bury herself in the country. Marry a scoundrel? On account of one stolen kiss in broad daylight? No. Something else must persuade her, and soon.
    According to Freddie, Lord Hartleigh had called more than once for Isabella; and he was seeking a mama for Lucy. So either he was interested in Isabella on her own account or he was courting her on account of the moppet. Not that it made sense, for Edward could marry where he chose. And of course, if he chose Isabella, she'd have him. Then Basil would have to start afresh with another Answer to His Prayers, and that would take time. But time was running out.
    In this unusual state of self-doubt, Basil continued until the fire had long died down and Freddie appeared, seeking company for dinner. As he waited for his friend to dress, Lord Tuttlehope helped himself to a glass of brandy and settled himself in the chair Basil had vacated. When Basil re-emerged, Freddie eyed him up and down.
    "See Stutts came up to snuff after all," he commented.
    "The aunt, Freddie, whose generosity surpasseth understanding," Basil explained. "She has paid the tailor, in hopes that—in appearance, at least—her nephew will not disgrace her."
    This led to a discussion of the cut of waistcoats and a review of their acquaintances' merits in this area.
    "All in all," Freddie noted, "only one in the same race with you is Hartleigh. But all his valet's got to do is dress him." And thus casually discounting Lord Hartleigh's sartorial achievements, he went on. "By the way, heard he's taking Miss Latham to look at some pictures tomorrow. Never fancied art myself. Hunting scene's not a bit like the real thing, you know."
    Basil, who had been regarding his reflection in the glass with a certain degree of complacency, whirled around. At Lord Tuttlehope's blink, he turned back again, adjusted his neckcloth, and responded blandly, "Indeed? So you've been to see the Belcombs et al. on your own today."
    "Well, yes. That is...well, you were engaged." Discomfited, Freddie blinked at his brandy glass several times.
    "And were you rewarded, my friend? Did you catch a glimpse of the fair goddess?"
    "What? Oh. Well, that is..."
    Basil was amused to see his companion's face turn red as a beet root. He turned from the mirror