Isabella (Trevelyan Family 1)

Basil had to smile at this, for though it was not what he'd expected, it was an apt rebuttal. Was she nearly a match for him, then? How utterly fascinating. "But perhaps I am not" was his amiable rejoinder.

"That's your lookout," she snapped, "for though you tell tales into the next century, no one can make me marry against my will. And before you think to frighten me with threats of scandal, think on this: My Uncle Henry—not Lord Belcomb—manages my funds. And Henry Latham would never deliver me into the hands of a fortune hunter." Her hands tightened on the reins as she turned her horse, preparing to depart.

"Stay, Miss Latham," he urged, bringing his own mount around to block her retreat. "Those are harsh words, indeed." As she opened her mouth to retort, he held up his hand and continued, "And I don't deny I deserve them. But before you reject me out of hand, there's one other matter I wish to lay before you."

"I cannot imagine any other—"

"My cousin, you know," he said quietly.

There was that odd flutter near her heart, but she kept her face stony as she met his gaze. "I don't see what Lord Hartleigh has to do with this."

"You don't?" The glitter in his eyes belied the innocence of his tone. "How strange, for I do. I see, for example, that you have developed a tendre for him—oh, don't trouble to deny it," he continued as he heard her quick intake of breath. "I may be a thoroughly disreputable creature, but I am not an idiot. Even your aunt can see it; and doesn't like it above half, I assure you."

"Your imagination is running away with you," she interjected, but weakly.

"I wish it were. But no, the Fates are all against me. For here is Edward, in love with the fair Lady Honoria, who would make a most suitable mama for Lucy. But Lucy can't abide her. No, Lucy wants Missbella for her mama, and no one else will do. I greatly fear, my darling, that Edward will offer for you, just to please his ward. That he will be spiting me in the bargain will, I assume, add some little zest to the venture."

Of course. Lady Honoria. Had it not been obvious? Yet he'd give her up, for his ward's sake? Isabella's momentary joy at the prospect of being Lord Hartleigh's wife was quickly swamped by a wave of despair. To marry her, out of a completely selfless sense of duty...No, he was not so indulgent a guardian as all that.

Basil felt the tiniest tweak of conscience as he watched the play of emotions on her face. Her confidence was crumbling, and the colour had drained from her cheeks. He sighed. "I suppose it must all come about right in the end. I hope so, for your sake. Imagine what it must be like to be married to the man you love, knowing he gave up the one he loved, out of too-acute notions of responsibility. Wondering," he went on, as though talking to himself, "as Lucy grows into adulthood, marries, goes away—wondering whether he'll come to love you in time. Or whether he'll come more and more to resent you."

It was cruel of him to say it, it was cruel to paint that bleak picture—yet wasn't it true? She couldn't deny how precious Lucy was to her guardian, how much her happiness meant to him. Hadn't Isabella seen ample evidence, time and time again?

She forced herself to respond. "You presume a great deal," she told Basil, her voice flat and tired. "That Duty would lead your cousin to such a step; or that I would accept. I have no wish, no need, to marry anyone."

"But your family?"

"What of them?"

"Let's be business-like about this," he said briskly. "In marrying me—or my cousin—you're firmly established in society. With Edward or myself to smooth matters with his family, there will be no difficulties in Freddie's marrying Alicia—if she'll have him. And then, when your other little cousins are ready to join society..." Rebellion gleamed in her eye; abruptly, he changed his tack. "Pray don't look at me as though I were an ogre. I was trying to be practical, pointing out the assets and liabilities—and it doesn't suit me, I'm afraid. But the fact is, I care deeply for you, Isabella—"

"In spite of my fortune," she noted sarcastically.

"I'm cursed with an extravagant nature and little income of my own. I have no choice but to marry a wealthy wife. But that doesn't mean I have no feeling for you. The truth is, I've never cared for anyone so much in my life; except myself," he finished, with a rueful smile.

"Surely you realise I don't return those feelings."

"Not now. But maybe in time. If you'd but give me the chance, I might earn your affection."

Looking down at her hands resting on her saddle, she heard the sincerity of his voice, but missed the flicker of amusement in his eyes. "My uncle has taught me to steer clear of speculation," she answered, softly.

"I promise it is no gamble. I can prove it, but you must give me the chance. Will you at least think on what I've said?"

Oh, indeed she would. No doubt through many long, sleepless nights. She nodded.

"And perhaps we will talk again—soon?"

"Yes."

"And perhaps you'll save me a dance at your cousins' ball?"

"Perhaps." She started to urge her mount away. "I must go home now."

As he watched her leave, Basil shook his head. Pity the girl took it so hard. Well, at least he hadn't needed to bring out the heavy artillery. His recent investigations were all beginning to point in the same direction, but he needed another few days to be sure. And desperate though he was, even he must shrink at blackmail. Fortunately, there were other forms of persuasion: It had been well worth losing half a night's sleep to rehearse and perfect his "sincere" speech. Tonight he would compensate for the exertion with a visit to the talented, and very expensive, Celestine.

Henry Latham folded up the letter he'd just finished reading. He removed his spectacles and, taking out a handkerchief, began polishing them, a thoughtful look on his genial countenance.

"News from Alicia?" asked his wife, entering his den with a cup of coffee. She tried to get a glimpse of the letter, which he casually slipped into his pocket.

"No, my love. Business. Appears I'll have to go into town."

Pamela Latham's plump features were eloquent with astonishment. In recent years, her husband had avoided the city at all costs, preferring to send a representative to handle any problems which arose there.

"This matter calls for more than the usual discretion," he explained. "And though I'd trust William with my life, I'll feel more comfortable seeing to it myself."

The cup was placed at his elbow with rather more noise than was absolutely necessary. "You'll not attempt to see Alicia, I hope." Her tone indicated that this was not so much a wish as a command.

"Of course not, my love. Wouldn't dream of it. I'll be there and back in a week—two at most—and they'll never know I stirred from here."

"I fervently hope not, for you know it was a condition—"

"Of course." There was a cold edge to his voice which told her that the matter was not to be discussed further. So, though she wished for another glimpse of that handwriting, she held her tongue and, like the dutiful wife she was, offered to help her husband pack.

Chapter Ten

While Henry Latham was preparing for his pilgrimage, Lord Hartleigh was already embarked upon one of his own. Like a restless ghost, he wandered from Boodles to Brooks to White's; managed, despite his best efforts, to lose less than a hundred pounds; and failed utterly in his attempts to get drunk. Defeated, he returned to his house shortly after two in the morning, called for his favourite brandy, and retired to his library with a growled command that he was not to be disturbed unless the house caught fire.