Chapter 3

3

NUMBER ONE, AGAIN

‘I don't suppose you do,' Isabella said. Again, she had to exert conscious effort to control her voice, to keep it level. She didn't want to talk at all, in fact – she wanted to pull his head down and resume the interrupted kiss. To deepen it. She could feel his heart thudding fast in his chest, just as hers was. He was still erect, his stand pressing urgently against her belly through her thin gown and petticoats, and she was all too aware of the pressure. It was an intimate sensation, no question of that, and she'd wondered how she'd feel when she came to experience such things again, but she found she liked it. She had an enormous desire to touch his body, to explore his muscled back and his chest and beyond, but that would have to wait. Everything would have to wait. ‘And I think we should probably go back into the ballroom now before we are missed. Perhaps we could meet tomorrow afternoon, sir? Blanche has an engagement at four; I shall plead the headache and remain at home if you care to call on me then.'

Captain Winterton hesitated, and she believed she could divine his thoughts. ‘I'm not a young lady who requires to be chaperoned at all times,' she reassured him. ‘You need not worry about my reputation on this occasion. If you enquire whether Lady Blanche is at home and then in her absence ask for me, I don't suppose any of the servants will think it the least odd. There are some advantages to being a widow; you are a family connection, after all, and four o'clock is a perfectly respectable time to call. You can say you have some commission for us from your cousin Georgiana if you wish. She is Blanche's sister now, and mine, and might easily ask you to do some small thing or other for her if you had happened to call on her first.'

He made a visible effort to gather his composure, and a part of this, it seemed, meant releasing her from his embrace. She thought he did it reluctantly, and as for her, it was certainly true that she had been warm in his arms, and now was conscious of a chill. It was an October evening, after all, though for a short while it had felt like high summer in his embrace.

‘I will call on you tomorrow, then, ma'am,' he said. He was a little distant now, but she would not regard it; he had agreed to come to see her, and that was the important thing. They moved towards the door, but before he opened it for her she said, ‘Wait! Am I… dishevelled? I would not want anyone to suspect…'

He looked down at her, and even in the little light that came spilling out from the windows that overlooked the garden she saw his eyes kindle with renewed desire. Or perhaps it had been there all along.

She had put off her mourning recently, on her mother's urging and not without a pang of disloyalty that she had ruthlessly suppressed, and soon after her arrival in London, she had acquired a new wardrobe suitable to her social standing and her purpose, which was, as the Captain had divined, seduction. Her new gowns were fashionable but not excessively so, and perfectly respectable by the current standards of the ton, but many of them were cut quite low across her bosom and her shoulders, and it was clear that this one, her finest – which was a deep blue silk overlaid with gauzy fabric of the same colour embroidered with myriad silver stars – met with his approval. ‘Your sleeve is a little disarranged,' he said, his voice very low and husky, and he reached out and pulled it up a little where it had unaccountably slipped from her shoulder. His gloved fingers brushed her skin, the lightest of contacts, and it was all she could do to suppress a whimper of pleasure at his touch.

‘Thank you,' she said breathlessly. ‘I fear your cravat is somewhat disordered, but I do not think I can help you with it.'

‘I will adjust it when I find a mirror,' he said.

‘My hair has not come down?' Her maid had dressed it in a new style that was all the rage in London; the long braids were coiled in elaborate fashion high upon her head, with a few strands brought artfully down and curled to fall becomingly in front of her ears. She wore no widow's cap, of course, on such a formal occasion. It felt as though the confection was still all securely pinned in place, but it was as well to be sure, and men could be terribly unobservant where such things were concerned, she knew.

‘It has not,' he reassured her, and then, as though he could not stop himself, as though he scarcely knew what he was saying, ‘I wish it had, in all honesty. I would love to see you with your beautiful hair down about your… your shoulders.'

It was ridiculous to blush, considering what she meant to propose to him tomorrow, but Isabella was conscious of her cheeks becoming hot, and bit her lip in frustration. She meant to be a dashing, daring, unconventional sort of a person, at least for a short while before she returned home to Yorkshire and a quiet life of respectable widowhood, and to colour like a schoolgirl at the slightest suggestion of intimacy did not suit her resolution. It was provoking.

He was observant, after all, for a man; he said contritely, ‘I'm sorry, have I offended you? I did not mean to. It was an improper wish, I suppose, and I should not have uttered it aloud. Forgive me.'

‘Oh no,' she said. ‘It wasn't improper – or, if it was, it is of no consequence. I must not be a hypocrite, and I expect you will think that what I mean to say to you tomorrow is far more improper; indeed, by conventional standards, it is.'

‘Really? Shall I be shocked?' She thought he sounded quite cheerful at the prospect.

‘I hope not.' She bit her lip again. ‘Possibly.'

Before her rational self could take charge and stop her, she gave in to an overpowering impulse that shocked her with its strength. Standing on tiptoe and pulling his face down to hers, she fastened her hands on either side of his face, and then she kissed him once more, his mouth opening to welcome her, then she nipped gently at his lower lip with her teeth. He gasped, and though she knew she should stop there she simply could not. She sucked on the sensitive flesh, allowing herself just a taste, and felt his whole frame quiver at her touch. She too was quivering. With an enormous effort of will, she pulled her hands from his face and stepped away.

‘Tomorrow at four,' she said. It was not a question, and she did not wait for an answer, but whisked away, back to the ballroom and the dancing. She did not look back to see if he was following, either. She knew he would be. It was working.

Later, alone in her bedroom, she would take out her list from where it was locked securely in her jewellery box, pick up her quill, dip it in ink and draw a firm line through the first item: kissing.

And then, with an unconscious little sigh, she drew a blank sheet of paper towards her and began writing.

Dear Mama

I hope you and Papa continue well. Blanche and all the rest of the Mauleverers require me to send their best regards to you both. I am in excellent health and spirits, so there is no need to be the least concerned about me. And though you were quite right to say in your last letter that the London air cannot be considered healthful and is liable to cause putrid sore throats, I promise that I have taken no ill effects from it. Tonight was Gabriel and Georgiana's ball at their house in Grosvenor Square, which was a great success, and I wish you could have been there to see it, even though I must admit that it was very crowded in the way such things always are, which you could not have liked. But otherwise, it was so very splendid in every respect and must have impressed you greatly. Georgiana looked lovely in white silk and diamonds, and I am sure no husband could be more attentive than Gabriel, which is most gratifying to see. I know that you think the waltz fast and not quite proper, but it is now danced everywhere – even at Almack's Assembly Rooms, I believe! – and I am sure if you had seen the great ballroom full of couples dancing it in the most unexceptional manner possible you might have changed your mind and approved it. I have no particular plans for tomorrow, so you will be happy to know that I am not burning the candle at both ends, as you feared I might…