Rafe sat in his study, sipping at the brandy Tilbot had brought him a short while ago. It had been three weeks now since he’d left Isabella. His gloom had not lessened with the days. In fact, it only seemed to grow.
He missed her. That was it in a nutshell.
He missed the smell of her, the taste of her. He missed how her emerald eyes sparkled and her cheeks softly blushed when he teased her. He missed her sensual chuckle, the endearing way she would cock her head to one side while thinking, and how she trembled in his arms.
It was good his mother was in residence; else wise, he would not go out at all. They were due to attend Jeffrey Blake’s soiree this evening, but he still hadn’t mustered the courage to face all of those hopeful mamas with their mediocre little misses. It got more absurd the longer that he remained unattached. And this year, given his infatuation with Isabella, was by far the worst.
He had finally acknowledged this annoying passion for his country lady during one of his many recent sleepless nights. Each night as he lay there, the soothing embrace of Morpheus eluding him, he was plagued by visions of Isabella. Most often it was his last sight of her, standing in the foyer, cold, haughty – and so very hurt.
His mother was becoming quite concerned, he knew. Why, she had even brought the doctor home the other day to see if there was any medical treatment for his malaise. Rafe had assured the physician that his only ailment was a case of a guilty conscience. Although the doctor was satisfied, he knew his mother was not.
“Gracious, Rafe,” his mother had said the moment the doctor left, “you only pick at your food and you look beyond exhausted!”
“I’m fine, Mother. Just feeling a bit off lately, that’s all.”
But he wasn’t fine.
Sitting in the dark study, he wondered if he would ever feel like himself again. God, Bella, what have you done to me? He looked down at the glass in his hand, surprised to see it empty.
Isabella was better off without him. If he had taken her that last night, if he had stripped her naked and made love to her in the moonlight as he had itched to do, she would be cursing him even more than she already undoubtedly was. But at least he might have gotten her out of his system, and the guilt would be a natural and fleeting thing, surely. Yes, the way he felt now was simply enhanced by unfulfilled lust. That was why she claimed his every thought, why he dreamt of her during his brief snatches of sleep. He had never desired a woman as much and had certainly never deprived himself of a willing partner before. She was his forbidden fruit – but, God help him, he still wanted to taste her. He wanted to plunge deep into her and hear her cry out again in wild abandon. He wanted to watch her eyes fill with amazement once more as she reached her release. He raked his fingers through his hair, thinking he was a fool.
He heard the clock in the entry chime the half-hour and sighed. It was time to go up and dress for Blake’s party. Well, perhaps tonight he would finally see a woman who struck his fancy and would rescue him from this damned depression he was wallowing in. It was highly doubtful, but still, one never knew when a pretty face would catch one’s eye.
“My dear boy, how very handsome you look!” Anne smiled at Rafe as he sauntered into the drawing room, but there was worry in her soft blue eyes.
“And you look radiant, Mother, as always.” He marveled how lovely and young she still looked, despite the tension in her face. She sat on the edge of the small brocade settee, her body stiff. She was studying his face intently, and he could tell she wasn’t pleased by what she saw. “You are ready to go, then?”
“Oh, yes. I am quite excited.” Anne rose and allowed him to drape her ermine-trimmed indigo cloak over her ruby gown, then she pulled on her red gloves as they left the house. “Lady Stella was telling me at luncheon today about a beautiful young woman that you simply must meet.”
Rafe rolled his eyes as he assisted his mother into the carriage.
“Apparently, she is newly arrived. A pity we just missed her at the ball the other night. She was a huge success, with absolutely every young dandy vying for a dance with her.” Anne eyed him critically as he settled across from her. “It’s just what you need, my boy. A torrid romance will lift your spirits, I have no doubt.”
“Please, Mother. Do not attempt any matchmaking. I can handle my own affairs, romantic or otherwise.”
“Well, you’ve been handling them rather poorly of late, son. I usually have to make an appointment with you, when I am in town and wish your company, you are so in demand with the ladies. Since I’ve been here, you’ve done nothing but mope about. Why, you’ve turned down more offers these last weeks than most men ever receive!”
“Mother, don’t exaggerate so. Besides, is there something wrong with taking time away from amorous pursuits? I do have estates to run, you know.”
His mother only snorted derisively. Rafe said nothing in response, glad when they arrived at Lord Blake’s home.
“My lords and ladies, the Duke and Dowager Duchess of Devonshire!”
“Ah, good!” Jeffrey Blake was there to greet them. “I was so hoping you’d arrive before too many others, dear Dutchess, Rafe.” The redheaded gentleman bowed to Anne, then shook Rafe’s hand. “My mother has been anxious to speak with you, Your Grace. She has quite pestered me with each new guest announced to go and see if there was an error and it was really you.”
“Your lady mother is a twit, Jeffrey, and well you know it.” Humor sparkled in Anne’s eyes, despite her caustic words.
“Of course she is, Dutchess, but she is my mother, and so I must put up with her.” Jeffrey rolled his eyes, then smiled at the duchess adoringly. “Please do go and sit with her, for just a brief spell, I beg of you.”
“All right, but only to get it over with and out of the way.” She patted Rafe’s cheek. “Do be a love and come fetch me in a half an hour.”
“Of course, Mother.” Rafe always found it amusing the way Jeffrey and she dealt with each other.
“Your mother’s loveliness and sharpness of tongue only seem to increase with each passing year. How lucky a man was your father.” Lord Blake chuckled.
Rafe agreed, then, as more newcomers were arriving to claim Jeffrey’s attention, moved off to find the champagne. The ballroom was only just now beginning to fill. He saw several acquaintances from his club and decided to pass the time with them until he had to go and “rescue” his mother.
Isabella frowned at her reflection. “Are you sure about this gown, Whit?” Her hair was pulled up on top of her head, thick ringlets of auburn tresses spilling down to brush against her shoulders. The style made her face even more attractively angular and gave her a bit more height. She could find no fault with the coiffure, at least.
“For the tenth time, Bella, it is absolute perfection and you simply could not look more beautiful.” Whit had selected the evening dress himself, a shimmering, rich gold creation designed just for her.
“Don’t you think it a bit too daring?”
“Rubbish, it is even a bit more modest in the neckline than your lavender one.”
“If you are sure.” Isabella was a bundle of nerves. Goodness, Rafe was a Duke! And not just a duke, but the ‘debauched duke.’ Lisbeth would probably advise her to fly home as fast as she could.
Her cousin entered the parlor, hailing Whit and carrying a black box.
“Stunning, my dear!”
Isabella faced him, smiling at his praise until she saw him frown.
“What’s wrong.” She began to check herself over, panicking as she looked for a tear or stain.
“You’re lacking something.” He opened the box and grinned at her gasp. “Just some family baubles to enhance your glory.”
“Oh, my! Alex, I cannot wear those.” She stepped closer to look at the topaz and diamonds shimmering on a bed of black velvet. “They must be worth a fortune.”
“Bloody right they are, and you deserve no less, cousin.” He set the box down, removed the dainty necklace and clasped it around her neck. He then handed her the matching earrings. After she had put on the earrings, he fastened a delicate bracelet for her.
“There, I think that’s all you need. Don’t want to appear gaudy, like so many of them do with tiaras and brooches and rings galore.”
“An excellent touch, old man. So very thoughtful of you,” Whit said, grinning as usual.
“Well,” blustered the huge man, “can’t have it said me family lacks enough groats to decorate their females.”
“Ha! Like anyone who even knows of your family could think you don’t have enough money. Why, Isabella herself could buy plenty of jewels.”
Isabella looked at her image in the mirror over the fireplace and was surprised how much the simple jewelry enhanced her appearance. She impulsively turned and launched herself at her cousin, hugging him and planting a kiss on his chin, unable to reach his cheek.
“Oh, thank you so much! And you, too, Whit.” His cheek she could reach. “You’ve both made me feel like a fairy princess.” She grinned at their blushes. “Can we go now?”
Alex recovered himself first. “Now, what did we tell you about making a grand entrance? No,” he shook his head at her, “don’t give me that look. We shall wait just a bit longer.”
The three sat in the coach, just down the block from Lord Blake’s residence. They had been there for only some fifteen minutes, and already Isabella thought she would go mad with the suspense.
“Bella, do stop fidgeting, you’ll muss yourself.”
“Alex, how much longer do we have to just sit here? Don’t you think it’s been long enough?”
“No. There are still too many carriages arriving.”
She tried to keep still but that only lasted another ten minutes. She smoothed the fabric of her pure white cape, then tugged at the gold braid, which banded the collar and tied the covering closed.
Whit leaned over and peered out of the window. “You know, Alex, I think it is time.” He looked at Isabella, a devilish twinkle in his soft brown eyes. “Remember what we told you, my dear?”
“Of course, of course.” Isabella fluttered her hand at him dismissively. “I know perfectly well how you said to behave.”
Alex and Whit nodded to each other, satisfied. The larger man thumped his fist against the roof, and the carriage jerked forward.
Rafe escorted his mother back to the party and handed her a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray.
“Ah, there is Lady Stella. I shall go and ask her if that new beauty has arrived.” She gave her son an impish grin, then moved off to speak with her fellow companion in gossip.
Rafe sighed. He was at a loss of what to do with himself. He had yet to find a lady to even remotely tempt him, and Whit and Alex hadn’t yet shown up. The attention of his other acquaintances was now on gaming, something he found a bit boring. He stopped another waiter, liberated two glasses of the bubbly for himself, and downed the first flute in one gulp. He heard the thump of the staff signaling the announcement of some late arrivers. From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of red and turning, saw his mother racing to his side.
“It’s her, I’m sure! Stella said she was not here, as yet.” She looked toward the entry which was raised above the main floor by a low flight of stairs, an anxious expression on her face.
“My lords and ladies!”
Rafe could swear the room grew quieter, as if everyone was anticipating that this was the supposed ‘new beauty.’ He rolled his eyes and his mother poked him in the ribs.
“Look, that must be her!”
“The Earl of Stapleton, the Viscount Langley and the Baroness of Kirkwood!”
Rafe was flabbergasted. Isabella?
“You see, Lady Stella was right.”
What was the hell was she doing here in London?
“My goodness, what a lovely young woman.”
How long had she been here? Why hadn’t Alex said anything?
“I understand she is Alex’s cousin. Odd that he has not brought her around to me for an introduction.”
“Isabella,” Rafe whispered her name, his pulse racing.
“What dear?”
“Good God, it’s really her.” Rafe watched her pause there, at the top of the stairs, her fingertips gently placed on the sleeve of the men on either side of her. “Look at her and tell me again she’s merely lovely. She is beyond words.”
Isabella stood still, the barest trace of a smile hovering about that lush mouth of hers. And then her eyes locked with his and Rafe felt a surge of desire and possessiveness wash over him, the likes of which he had never felt before. He saw her eyes widen, or thought he did, but her gaze left him and she slowly turned her head to survey the room. She was a vision of warm gold topped by her glorious, aureate hair, luminescent with highlights of fire.
What the hell was she doing here?
Isabella’s heart was pounding. She’d spotted him easily enough and it was all she could do to keep from running down the steps and flinging herself into Rafe’s strong arms. Even without her cohort’s earlier warnings, she could not do it, would not do it while the entire assembly was staring at her as they were. She forced herself to look away from his piercing blue eyes.
“Well done, Bella,” Whit whispered close to her ear.
“Ah! The ravishing Lady Isabella.” Jeffrey Blake approached them, a broad smile on his round face. Stray tendrils of red hair defied his otherwise tidy queue.
Allowing a trace of a smile to curve her lips, Isabella lifted her hand from Alex’s arm and held it out to her host, who obligingly kissed it.
“I don’t know how it is possible, but you are even more beautiful tonight than I remember, my lady.”
Isabella had to remind herself not to look toward Rafe as she allowed Lord Blake to lead her forward down the steps. Her two escorts followed close behind.
“Why, thank you, my lord. It was very kind of you to invite me to your home. What lovely decorations.” She could feel Rafe’s gaze still on her. Her skin tingled with awareness of his virile, commanding presence.
“They pale in your presence, my lady. Even the moon hides tonight, knowing it cannot possibly outshine you.”
“Good God, Jeffrey, you’re putting it on a might thick,” Alex muttered.
Isabella chuckled, low and deep. Her host suddenly had a startled look on his face.
“Do not worry, my lord, my cousin has promised to behave himself this evening. He is to attempt to stop glowering so.”
“Ah, champagne, Lady Isabella?” Jeffrey asked, eyeing her guardians standing so close.
“Yes, thank you, Lord Blake.”
“Please, do me the honor of calling me Jeffrey.”
“As you wish.”
Isabella caught Alex exchanging looks with Whit out of the corner of her eye. They looked extremely pleased with her performance thus far. She was acting every bit the regal lady, as they told her to.
Isabella handed her glass to her cousin. “Lord Jeffrey, I should very much like to dance.”
“Of course, Baroness. I should like nothing better myself.”
She could feel Rafe’s gaze upon her, watching her every move, along with dozens of others, as their host led her onto the dance floor and whirled her about. It seemed the plan was working. Her ‘advisors’ had instructed her to ignore her love, as best she could, until he approached her. She was to appear receptive to other men’s attentions, but still be her most aloof self. Whit had said to act as if she held some great secret that none of the others were yet privy too and that she found vaguely amusing. They had assured her such behavior would intrigue any man. She thought it all nonsense, really, although surprisingly easy to do. She hoped Rafe wouldn’t take too much longer.
Rafe watched her dancing, his hands fisted at his sides. She looked positively radiant, damn her, in that gold gown which clung to her curves like a second skin. Where the devil did she get those jewels?
“Darling, you look as if you want to kill Lord Jeffrey. Do stop it. Is this my son who had aloofness down to a fine art?”
“Excuse me, Mother.” Rafe’s gaze narrowed on the couple as Jeffrey’s hand slid down Bella’s back a bit too far, for his liking.
“Rafe, good God, get ahold of yourself!” His mother placed a hand on his sleeve. “You cannot cause a scene by storming onto the floor and hitting him.”
“Why not?” he growled out.
“You are being an ass. Why don’t you just take a deep breath and, when the dance is over, partner her on the next?”
“Of course. Thank you, my dear.” Rafe decided he would waltz Bella out onto the veranda and strangle her there in the moonlight.
Just what the hell was she doing here?
The music finally ended, but before Rafe could get to her, Lord Northby claimed Isabella in the next dance. Soon, Rafe was frustrated beyond belief as the scene repeated itself. The very moment one partner stepped away, another was there to take his place. After Northby was Smythe, then Cross, and so on. Truly, it was disgusting how they all fawned over her.
“Dearest, I have a headache. Would you see me home?”
“I’m sorry, Mother, what did you say?” Lord Elton was now holding Isabella much too closely. Rafe’s eyes narrowed as he watched her smile at some remark from the old lecher.
“Son, I want to leave. I have a headache.”
“What, now?” For the first time since Isabella had started dancing, Rafe looked at his mother.
“Yes, now.”
“Can’t you just take a powder or something? No, no, don’t say it. Of course I shall take you home at once.” He frowned, looking toward his lady fair. “But don’t expect me to sit with you.”
“Of course not, dearest.”