She wouldn’t settle for embers, she vowed. Not when she wanted the blaze of fire-bright flames.
“I will find passion,” she promised herself in a low whisper. “I will find love.”
After all, poetry was all about believing that light was stronger than darkness.
Chapter Sixteen
Dragging himself out of bed, Alec padded toward the washstand, careful to keep his eyes averted from the cheval glass. He didn’t need a glance at his own reflection to know that he looked like Hell.
No doubt the sight would show that a pair of scarlet horns had sprouted up to crown his head during the long, sleepless night.
Shame sluiced over his skin as he splashed a handful of cold water over his face. The Devil’s Disciple—the warning ought to be tattooed on his forehead in matching red letters to frighten off innocents.
Caro hadn’t been frightened, whispered one of the dreadful demons who had taken up residence in his head.
She had been willing.
Even more reason to have exercised gentlemanly restraint, he shot back. But instead, he had behaved like a snabbering, selfish beast, letting lust get the better of him.
He hadn’t been just a beast, he had been a fool.
Seating himself at his dressing table, he raked a comb through his hair, trying not to dwell on how damnably disappointed he was in himself. What made it worse was that she seemed to see a much more admirable Alec McClellan dwelling inside him than he did, one who was capable of laughter and love and passion.
That man didn’t exist anymore.
Alec finally forced his gaze to confront the looking glass.
Or did he?
Uncertain of how to answer, he dressed for a day of riding and went down to breakfast.
Isobel looked up, but tactfully refrained from commenting on his haggard looks. “Cook has fixed a platter of your favorite Yorkshire ham, and there are eggs in the chafing dish, made just the way you like them.” Her eyes lingered on his face. “Would you prefer coffee instead of tea?”
“A potful, please,” he muttered. “Scalding hot and dark as Beelzebub’s heart.”
“My, my, aren’t you in a cheerful mood.” Arching her brows, she buttered a sultana muffin. “Caro has just sent around a note saying that she and Andy—that is, Lord Andover—are planning to take a picnic to the Abbey ruins this afternoon, and I am invited to join them. I was going to ask you to accompany us?
?” Another probing look as she took a nibble of her pastry. “But I think I shall reconsider.”
“Just as well,” Alec answered brusquely. “I have business to attend to in Weston.” Without looking her way, he slouched into his seat and began toying with his empty cup.
“Is there a reason that you are acting like a bear with a thorn stuck in his arse?”
“Aside from the fact that my sister was recently attacked by unknown assailants who may still be at large?”
“Alec, your concern and protective instinct is most admirable—”
He gave an inward wince at the word “admirable.”
“But firstly, we have agreed the attack was a random one and that the danger has passed,” went on Isobel. “Secondly, I am tougher and more resilient than you seem to think, especially now that I am nearly recovered from my illness.”
Alec had to admit that she looked in the first bloom of health. “That may be so. But until I am satisfied that the threat is truly over, I shall remain on guard.” Given Edward Thayer’s actions yesterday, it appeared that extra vigilance was in order. However, with Andover serving as her escort for the afternoon picnic, he felt she would be safe enough.
And Caro. Her courage and resourcefulness were undeniable, though he fervently hoped they would not be put to the test.
Pouring a cup of coffee from the steaming pot, he took a quick swallow, reminding himself that there was no need to worry. She would be alone with the antiquity only a scant hour or two before he contrived to join the excursion party. Then together they would find a hiding place for the stolen treasure until it could be returned to the Museum.
Which meant they would need to wander off on their own, for the others mustn’t have a clue as to what they were doing.