Page 4 of A Duchess of Mystery (The Mismatched Lovers #3)

“You can tell me anything, you know.”

She laughed. “Not when it involves the feelings of someone else, however much I may not care for him.”

The dance moves took them apart. When they came back together again she’d assumed a serious expression more befitting her current status.

“I think I may tell you, though, that I have assured Lord Amersham that as a recent widow I could not possibly entertain the attentions of any man for at least a year.” She had to admit that wearing mourning was useful when it came to putting off ardent gentlemen.

His turn to laugh. How handsome he was when he did so, and how wasted his beauty.

A shame he didn’t like ladies, as he was the one man she might have considered.

The one man she didn’t find a threat, but that was most likely due to his predilection.

“A fiction you will find hard to maintain when the whole world believes you are scandalously involved with me.”

She gave a toss of her head. “What do I care what the world thinks of me?” And the dance snatched them away from one another again.

The dance was a long one, as each couple performed their own part to the end of the line, and it was some time before it reached its close and allowed all the dancers to retire, flushed and laughing, to the edge of the dance floor.

As if from nowhere, as though drawn by a magnet, a coterie of eager gentlemen assembled to surround Isabella.

Of course, the determined Amersham, his face shiny with sweat despite not having danced, numbered amongst them, but so too did the despised Lady Brocklebank’s only son, Giles Worthing, a young man who, as luck would have it, resembled his ageing father more than his stout mother and thus was as long and thin as a string bean.

Isabella, aware of the delicious disapproval of so many mamas, wives, and mistresses, opened her dance card and took the greatest of pleasure in filling it with the names of all these admiring gentlemen.

She took care to reserve the dance before supper for young Giles, at whom she batted her long eyelashes more than anyone, so she could be sure he would escort her in and dance attendance on her while they ate.

The only thing more fun than flirting was to flirt with a young man whose mother, despite her present professions of friendship, hated you.

And on top of that, who also happened to be a close friend of the now dispossessed and jealous mistress of your dead husband. Touché, Lady Brocklebank.

Having filled her card, and with the possibility of having been able to fill it twice over, she spun out onto the dance floor for a cotillion with Lord Alfred Ponsonby, whose wife, she well knew, had been unable to attend the Bembridge Ball due to having just produced their third child—yet another daughter.

Lord Alfred, whose small country seat lay less than ten miles from Stourbridge Castle, must be feeling the usual neglect of a man sidelined in his wife’s attentions by a small baby, and was most attentive to Isabella’s needs.

Which meant he told her frequently how beautiful she was, squeezed her hand suggestively every time the dance brought them together, and took any opportunity that presented itself to squeeze her waist as well.

At least he wasn’t the overly sweaty Lord Amersham.

She’d managed to avoid a dance with him altogether.

And at least because this was a country ball, there was very little possibility of the Prince of Wales attending, as he, like Amersham, could get a sight too familiar.

That he fully intended to make her his mistress, if he could, she knew all too well.

It was only this present inconvenience of Marcus’s death that was holding him at bay. Thank goodness.

Suppertime with Giles arrived, and very pleasant it proved to be.

There was so much one could do while seated at the supper table beside the gentleman of your choice, and so little he could do.

Although she did allow him to put his hand, which proved to be as hot as Lord Amersham’s, on her thigh beneath the table, but that was as far as she was prepared to allow this puppy to go, even though he several times tried to sneak it somewhere slightly more intimate, the naughty, forward boy.

That was a place no one was allowed to go.

Without ever having to glance at his mother, she was able to ascertain her icy, disapproving stare just by the feel of the woman’s eyes boring into her.

To make her worry that little bit more, she leaned in close to young Giles and whispered into his ear.

“I do declare I find you more and more attractive as the evening progresses.”

This produced the desired effect. Poor Giles, rendered quite speechless by such praise, blushed scarlet and turned eyes brimming with hope, and lust, on Isabella, prompting her to kiss her hand to him.

Was that a snort of indignation from further up the table.

She didn’t look but felt satisfied her behavior was having the desired effect.

All too soon though, Wyndham was seeking her out and informing her their carriage was awaiting them at the front doors of Bembridge House.

Just as she preferred to arrive fashionably late, Isabella also made a habit of leaving early.

Not too early, for she didn’t want to be thought straightlaced in any way.

But as much as she liked her entrances to be observed, she also liked the same for her exits, and she liked to leave the men who attended her wanting more.

To this end, she made great play of wishing all the gentlemen who had spent the evening dancing attendance on her a fond farewell, particularly young Giles, with a weather eye kept on his mother’s reaction.

This young man, fortified by a few more seductive looks directed his way, had by then taken on the appearance of a lovesick spaniel.

Something that had not gone unnoticed by his adoring mama. Good.

Isabella extended her hand to Giles to allow him to kiss it, pleased by the lustful heat in his eyes.

What fun it was to keep a man dangling like this, especially when he was the son of one’s enemy.

To allow him to work himself up into a frenzy of desire and yet to relinquish nothing to him.

She’d become quite expert at that over the years, and Wyndham’s presence as her escort was enough to keep her would-be lovers at a safe enough distance.

Lusting after her but unfulfilled. The perfect revenge on the male fraternity from which Marcus had emerged.

Taking Wyndham’s arm, she allowed him to help her into her carriage and settled herself on the velvet upholstery, facing forwards.

Wyndham climbed in after her and took the seat opposite, as was his custom.

The carriage rocked for a moment then moved off into the darkness of the night.

An hour’s drive and they would be back at the castle.

Wyndham stretched his long legs. “You are quite incorrigible, you know, Bella.”

A single oil lamp illumined the interior of the carriage.

Isabella copied him by stretching her own legs out and rubbing her foot against his ankle.

“My feet ache terribly from all that dancing.” She wrinkled her nose and kicked off her shoe.

“I swear young Giles Worthy possesses two left feet. If he trod on me once, he trod on me a dozen times. My toes will be quite black and blue.”

For answer, Wyndham lifted her foot and set it on his lap, his slender fingers beginning the massage she so liked. “Not black and blue. A little red, perhaps.” He had more uses than just as an escort and buffer between her and the men who would like to go a lot further than kissing her hand.

She sighed. “That’s better. You always know just what I need.”

He chuckled. “Which is the only reason you tolerate my presence.”

“Nonsense. I love you. How could I not?”

“Shameless hussy.”

The carriage rumbled on, and Isabella remained silent for a while, relishing the relief for her poor feet. Thank goodness for dear Rupert.

“You know,” he said after a bit. “You probably shouldn’t tease so many of those men the way you do.

Your reputation is quite ruined. And one of these days you’re going to find yourself in a situation you can’t escape from.

Men will only take so much teasing, and some of them would not be above taking for themselves that which they think they are owed. ”

She shrugged. “I can take care of myself, thank you. And as for a reputation, did I ever have one that was worth ruining?”

“Of course you did. Once.”

She shook her head. “You know very well that I didn’t.

Those old harpies and their lecherous husbands had me pegged as the daughter of a cit out to buy myself a title from the moment I showed my nose in Town.

Every single one of them looked down their aristocratic, interbred noses at me in disgust when Marcus married me.

And as for Lady Brocklebank, she hated me from the outset because she’d been after Marcus for Verity, her oldest daughter.

And don’t forget, she’s friends with that dreadful woman.

At least I can be grateful she wasn’t at the ball tonight. ”

“You’re like the elephant that never forgets, Bella.

That was ten years ago now, and they only looked down their noses at you because half of them, the half with daughters to marry off, had wanted Marcus themselves.

Including, as you say, Lady Brocklebank.

Don’t forget that Verity had to put up with marrying that frightful Sir Algernon Chase. ” He gave an eloquent shiver.

She snatched back her foot. “That’s as may be, but not a one of them has changed their opinion. They all still see me as an upstart, despite the fact that I’m a duchess, and have been these last ten years.”

“They might not be quite so judgmental if you behaved differently towards them. Forgave them for their past sins, for example. Stopped flirting so outrageously with their sons and husbands.”

She scowled. “This isn’t at all like you.

Are you out to vex me, or did I miss when you were cornered by Lady Brocklebank and converted to her side?

I do hope you’re not going to be a bore.

I don’t like you when you come over holier than thou.

Do you want me to class you with the rest of them, or do you want to remain my friend? ”

He sighed. “I want to remain your friend, darling Bella. You know I do. I couldn’t live without you as my friend.”

“Well then, stop proselytizing and tell me the funniest thing you saw tonight. Make me laugh. I feel I need to after this.”

He rubbed his temples. “That has to have been the old Earl of Manville with his new young wife. Fat as a hog with features a hog would be proud of, and seventy-eight if he’s a day.

Him, not her. He’s married the youngest daughter of old Clyde, straight out of the schoolroom.

I hear Clyde was much in need of the readies, so he virtually sold his daughter to the highest bidder.

Didn’t you see her? That petite little blonde with the belly she couldn’t hide.

Looks like a miracle has happened, and Manville will finally get himself an heir.

He’ll probably be dead before it’s out of petticoats though.

He’s already looking exhausted by the exertions incurred in getting the girl in foal. ”

Isabella frowned. “That’s not at all funny.

” In truth, it reminded her all too sharply of how she had been bartered by her own father for money.

And her father had lived only a year after her marriage to bask in the glory of having a duchess for a daughter.

Serve him right. Her mother, God rest her soul, would never have allowed him to do it.

But titles were something that had long fascinated Josiah Hope, so when the arrival of a handsome young duke in dire financial straits had presented itself, he’d been quick to take advantage.

Isabella felt nothing but pity for Lord Clyde’s youngest daughter.

She’d seen the Earl of Manville on many occasions, and he made Lord Amersham look positively attractive.

“If you can’t entertain me properly,” she snapped, slipping her foot back into her slipper, “then don’t speak at all. I am quite fatigued and intend to close my eyes.”

Wyndham, well used to her putdowns, did as he was told.