Regency Rumours

He must have done—and acted without hesitation—or neither of them would be here now. He might be a rake, and an arrogant one at that, but he had been brave and effective. And kind in just the right way: brisk and bracing enough to keep them both focused.

Isobel bit her lip as Anne helped her out of the tub and into the embrace of a vast warm towel. She was going to have to thank Mr Harker, however hard that would be. ‘Sit by the fire and let me rub your hair dry,’ Anne said as she and the maid enveloped Isobel in a thick robe.

Finally Lizzie was bundled off to bed. Her mother stopped by Isobel’s chair and stooped to kiss her cheek. ‘Thank you, my dear, from the bottom of my heart. Will you go to bed now?’

‘No. No, I want to move around, I think.’ She was filled with panic at the thought of falling asleep and dreaming of that black, choking water, the weed like the tentacles of a sea monster, her fear for the child. As Lizzie had slid through her hands she had thought she had lost her. She shuddered. To lose a child was too cruel and yet they were so vulnerable. No, stop thinking like that.

‘If you are sure.’ The countess regarded her with concern. ‘You are so pale, Isobel. But very well, if you insist. Perhaps you could do something for me—I know my husband will have said all that is proper, but will you ask Tompkins to tell Mr Harker that I will thank him myself tomorrow? For now I must stay with Lizzie.’

‘Yes, of course. As soon as I am dressed,’ Isobel promised. Anne pressed a cup of tea into her hands and stood behind her to comb out her hair.

‘Mr Harker is very handsome, don’t you think?’ the younger girl remarked as soon as they were alone.

‘Oh, extraordinarily so,’ Isobel agreed. To deny it would be positively suspicious. ‘Although I find such perfection not particularly attractive—quite the opposite, in fact. Do you not find his appearance almost chilly? I cannot help but wonder what lies behind the mask.’ What was he hiding behind that handsome face? Puzzling over his motives kept drawing her eyes, her thoughts, to him. He had courage and decision, he was beautiful, like a predatory animal, but he was also rude, immoral…

‘How exciting to have your come-out in Dublin,’ she said, veering off the dangerous subject of rakish architects. ‘And with your papa representing his Majesty, you will be invited to all the very best functions.’

The diversion worked. Anne chatted happily about her plans and hopes while Isobel let the strength and courage seep slowly back into her as the warmth gradually banished the shivers.

Mr Harker’s rooms would be on the north side of the house, judging by his appearance en route to the plunge bath. There were three suites on the northern side and the westernmost one of those belonged to the earl. So by deduction Harker must be in either the centre or the eastern one. Isobel hesitated at her sitting-room door and was caught by Dorothy as her maid bustled past with an armful of dry towels.

‘Lady Isobel! How did you get yourself dressed again? You should be in your own bed and wrapped up warm. Come along, now, I’ll tuck you up and fetch some nice hot milk.’

‘I would prefer to warm myself by exploring the house a little and for you to see what can be done with my walking dress. I fear it must be ruined, but I suppose it might be salvageable.’

There was a moment when Isobel thought Dorothy was going to argue, then she bobbed a curtsy and retreated to the dressing room with pursed lips, emanating disapproval.

Isobel’s footsteps were muffled as she crossed the landing. Somehow that made the nerves knotting her stomach worse, as though she was creeping about on some clandestine mission. But she had to thank Mr Harker for saving her life and she had to do that face-to-face or she would be uncomfortable around him for her entire stay at Wimpole. It did not mean that she forgave him for that kiss, or for his assumptions about her.

It occurred to Isobel as she lifted her hand to knock on the door of the central suite that this visit might reinforce those assumptions, but she was not turning back now.

She rapped briskly. A voice within, somewhat smothered, called ‘Come!’ Isobel rapped again. The door opened with a impatient jerk and Mr Harker stood on the threshold, a towel in his hand, his damp-darkened hair standing on end. He was in his shirt sleeves, without his neckcloth. Like this he seemed inches bigger in both height and breadth.

‘Isobel?’

‘Do not call me—’ She took a breath, inhaled the scent of sandalwood and soap and moderated her tone. She was here to make peace, she reminded herself, not to lash out to prove to herself just how indifferent she was to him. ‘I have a message from the countess and something I wish to say on my own account. Lady Hardwicke wants very much to thank you herself, but she feels she must be with Lizzie today and she hopes you will understand if she does not speak with you until tomorrow. I think you may imagine her emotions and will therefore forgive her sending a message.’

He tossed the towel away towards the corner of the room without taking his eyes from her face. ‘I do not need thanking and certainly do not expect her to leave the child in order to do so. How is Lady Lizzie?’

‘Much better than one might expect, after that experience. She will be perfectly all right, I believe.’ She could turn tail and go now. Isobel took a deep breath instead. ‘And I, too, must thank you, Mr Harker, on my own account. I owe you my life.’

‘I was in the right place to hear you, that is all. Anyone would have done the same.’ He frowned at her. ‘You should not be here.’

For him to be preaching the proprieties was intolerable! ‘Please, do not be afraid I have come with any improper purpose, Mr Harker. Surely even your elevated sense of self-esteem would not delude you into thinking that after this morning’s experiences I have either the desire or the energy to attempt to seduce you.’

The acid in her tone made him blink and the sweep of those thick dark lashes did nothing to moderate her irritation with him. ‘Rest assured,’ she added rather desperately, ‘I have no intention of crossing the threshold. Your…virtue is perfectly safe.’

He studied her in silence for a moment. Isobel pressed her lips together to control the other things she would very much like to say on the subject of men who made assumptions about ladies with no evidence and then discussed them with their friends and then ravished them in wet shrubberies and made them feel…made them…

‘What a relief,’ he said finally. ‘I was about to scream for help.’ She glared at him. ‘However, I believe I have an apology to make.’

‘Oh? So you are sorry for that outrage in the shrubbery, are you?’ It was very hard to hang on to a sense of gratitude when the wretch stood there, the gleam in his eyes giving the lie to any hint of penitence in his voice.

‘I am sorry for coming to an incorrect conclusion about your intentions. I cannot be sorry for the kiss, for I enjoyed it too much.’

‘If that is intended to flatter, Mr Harker, it failed. I imagine you enjoy virtually any kisses you can snatch.’ She should turn on her heel and walk away, but it was impossible to leave him before she had made her indifference to him clear beyond any possible doubt. It was very strange—the last time she had felt this stubborn and light-headed had been after an incautious second glass of champagne on an empty stomach.

‘I do not find you in the slightest bit attractive and, even if I did, my upbringing and my personal standards would prevent me acting in any way that might hint at such foolishness,’ she stated, crossing her fingers tightly in the folds of her skirt. ‘If your delusions about your personal charms have suffered a correction, I can only be glad of it for the sake of other females you may encounter.’ It must be the effect of expressing her irritation so freely, but she was feeling positively feverish. Isobel shivered.

Instead of taking offence at her lecture, or even laughing at her, Harker took a step closer, his face serious. ‘Why are you not in your bed, Isobel?’

‘Because I do not need to mollycoddle myself. And grateful as I am to you for rescuing me, I did not give you the use of my name.’

‘If you desire to thank me for getting wet on your behalf, I wish you will let me use it. My name is Giles and I make you free of that,’ he said as he lifted one hand and laid the back of it against her cheek. ‘You are barely warm enough, Isobel. I am sorry for this morning, and last night. I have become…defensive about single ladies. I was wrong to include you with the flirts and, worse, upon no more evidence than a very frank stare and a willingness to stand up to me.’

Somehow his hand was still against her cheek, warm and strangely comforting, for all the quiver of awareness it sent through her. If her limbs felt so leaden that she could not move, or brush away his hand, then at least she could speak up for herself. ‘Surely you are not so vain as to believe that good looks make you somehow superior and irresistible to women? That every lady who studies your profile or the width of your shoulders desires you?’ Oh, why had she mentioned his shoulders? Now he knew she had been looking.

He did not take her up on that revealing slip. ‘Unfortunately there are many who confuse the outer form, over which I have no control, and for which I can claim no credit, for the inner character. And, it seems, there are many ladies who would welcome a certain amount of…adventure in their lives.’ He shrugged. ‘Men are just as foolish over a pretty face, uncaring whether it hides a vacuous mind or fine intelligence. You must have observed it. But the pretty young ladies are chaperoned,’ he added with a rueful smile.

‘And no one protects the handsome men?’ Isobel enquired. She had managed to lift her hand to his, but it stayed there instead of obeying her and pushing his fingers away. She felt very strange now, not quite in her own body. There was a singing in her ears. She forced herself to focus. ‘You are telling me that you are the victim here?’