Isabella (Trevelyan Family 1)

"Lady Belcomb, Miss Latham, may I present Mr. Basil Trevelyan," Lord Tuttlehope announced, with the air of one introducing Prinny himself. And she should count herself lucky, Freddie thought. Mousy old thing for Basil to be leg-shackled to, poor chap, with all his romantic poetical nonsense.

But Mr. Trevelyan was looking at the possible answer to his prayers. Hadn't Aunt Clem warned him that few parents would care to put their daughters' fortunes in his hands?

"Even I should not," she warned him, "though I do believe you'll outgrow it in time."

The Lathams, however, might be willing to trade some thousands of pounds to improve their position in society. Thus he had determined to find the unprepossessing Miss Latham charming, and to charm her in turn. After suitably flattering Lady Belcomb and hinting at the eagerness with which her daughter's entry into society was awaited, he left her to Freddie, and turned those strange amber cat eyes back to Isabella.

"I understand, Miss Latham, that you are new to London."

"Quite new—unless you count my first visit, at the age of five."

"Ah, you were cruel to abandon us. Hard-hearted even at such a tender age. But we must be thankful that you have relented toward us at last, and must endeavour to correct your previously poor opinion."

Perhaps it was the penetrating gaze which unsettled her, as she conjured up the image of a five-year-old femme fatale. At any rate, her careful poise cracked for a moment, and laughter escaped. It was a low, husky laughter; a haunting, inviting sound, completely out of place in this large public gathering.

Her aunt cast a puzzled glance in her direction. Was Isabella flirting with Trevelyan? Lady Belcomb would have wagered half her stable (were it still hers to wager) that her niece had no more knowledge of flirtation that she had of flying. No matter. Trevelyan's expensive tastes were well known, and he was decidedly an unsuitable match for Veronica. This niece (and any of her Latham cousins, in the bargain) was welcome to him; at least his family was unexceptionable. That settled, the viscountess resumed her debate with Lord Tuttlehope over the merits of certain horses of their acquaintance.

For his part, Basil was pleasantly surprised: The Answer to His Prayers had a mind not quite so dull as her face. As he stared, puzzling, at her, Isabella, imagining that she had committed some sort of indiscretion by laughing at her interlocutor's extravagant comments, blushed. She did not know that the combination of heightened color and sparkling blue eyes transformed her face from nothing remarkable into something which, in a quiet way, was rather lovely. Nor did she have any inkling of why her laughter caused people to stare.

Indeed, she would have reddened to her fingertips had she known the thoughts it conjured up in the tawny-haired young man with the unsettling eyes. Basil found himself wondering what it would be like to hear that laughter rather closer to his ear, in more intimate circumstances. The thought cheered him enormously, as he studied her with increased enthusiasm—and curiosity.

"Miss Latham," he continued, his voice dropping almost to a whisper, "I declare you are cruel still. Here am I so deadly serious, so monstrously earnest, and I succeed only in throwing you into fits of laughter. Perhaps, though, you suspect I am attempting to turn your head with flattery. Perhaps for some nefarious purpose?"

This time she controlled herself, and only a twitching at the corner of her mouth hinted at laughter.

"I suspect," she replied, "only that you are talking arrant nonsense and that you do so to amuse yourself. Is London life so dull, then?"

"Dreary as an Irish bog—until now," he whispered, bending closer. Then, noticing that Lady Belcomb's attention had drifted back to them, he straightened and, in louder tones, requested the honour of a dance.

Stunned by the suggestiveness of his tone, Isabella could not think how to refuse him politely. She knew the relatively straightforward methods of business, but society and its ways were painfully indirect and convoluted. Certainly she could not tell him that he made her uncomfortable. There was something so...feline about him: the tawny hair and those strange amber eyes that slanted upward like a cat's. Eyes that were watchful, penetrating, even under their bored, sleepy lids.

"I promise I shan't bite," he said with a smile, leading her to the dancing area. "Although the ton may, if you have not been approved to waltz."

Although she privately felt that, considering her advanced age, such approval was rather irrelevant, Isabella assured him that she had been deemed worthy by the Almack's patronesses. And then she wished she had not, for while she had been taught, along with her cousins, to waltz, it had never before struck her as so perilous an enterprise. Dancing so close to him, her hand on his shoulder, she realised with some shock that he was more powerfully built than he seemed. He was only a few inches taller than herself, and slender, yet he had a supple strength which belied his slight appearance. The hand at her back was uncomfortably warm, despite his gloves, and it pressed her closer than seemed entirely necessary.

Apparently unaware of his partner's unease, Basil made light conversation (interspersed with generous doses of flattery), interrogating her about the sights she had seen thus far and her impressions of the city and its people. He was chagrined to learn that she had not yet been to Hyde Park, had not visited the Tower or the Mansion House or the Guildhall. She was chagrined to learn it was his intention to correct these oversights, personally. It was useless trying to explain that in attending to her two young cousins, she would have precious little time for sightseeing. "We'll take the little girls along with us, Miss Latham" was his rejoinder.

"They are not precisely little..." she began uncomfortably.

"I daresay not. Nor am I—precisely—concerned with improving upon their education. I am not acting from purely altruistic motives; quite the contrary. But you see, society requires that we observe certain proprieties, and I believe I should prefer the superfluous company of your cousins to that of disapproving aunts."

Again she blushed. His tone seemed to lace every sentence with innuendo.

"Mr. Trevelyan," she protested, "I wish you would recall that I am a mere naive from the country and haven't the faintest notion what you are about. Did I somehow give you the impression that I am in the habit of roaming about strange cities in the company of strange men?"

The music stopped.

"I rather wish that you were," he murmured as he released her. "But at any rate, I would hope to become less of a stranger."

"So you have made abundantly clear. Are all London gentlemen as forward as you?" s

he asked as he escorted her back to her aunt.

"I daresay not. But I am rather a dreadful young man, as Aunt Clem is sure to tell you." He indicated a large woman of about sixty, who had just joined Lady Belcomb. Dressed in mauve, and wearing an ornate turban which made her appear to tower over the rest of the guests, the Countess Bertram was an awesome sight. Her height, her grand bearing, the slightly hawkish cast of her nose, all put one in mind of a warrior goddess. Indeed, she seemed to lack only armour and shield to complete the picture.

"Lady Bertram," said the viscountess, "I do not believe you have met my niece, Isabella Latham."

Both ladies pronouncing themselves delighted, Lady Bertram turned her sharp brown eyes to Basil.

"So the prodigal returns," she drawled. "Miss Latham, I see you have already had the dubious honor of meeting my disreputable nephew."

"Aunt Clem! How very naughty of you. And here I have gone to heaps of trouble to present myself to these ladies in the most respectable light possible."

"A physical impossibility," the lady retorted. "I must warn you against him, Miss Latham. This disrespectful scapegrace has not deigned to call on his aunt in three weeks. And a woman of my age has not many weeks to waste." In punctuation, she tapped his arm with her fan and sat down.

"I am sure Mr. Trevelyan cannot be as dreadful as you say," Lady Belcomb felt compelled to remark, though she firmly believed otherwise.

"Honourable chap, must say," added Lord Tuttlehope.

"And what do you say, Miss Latham? Or has he exercised his wicked charm upon you too?"

It occurred to Isabella that Lady Bertram had a pretty fair knowledge of her nephew—and possibly of the perils of dancing with him. As she turned to that lady to respond, she thought she glimpsed something sympathetic in the face beneath the mauve turban.