Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Isabella did not sleep a wink that night and nerves fluttered in her stomach the entire day.
Lord Whitmore thankfully had not attended the ball last evening after his bee sting, and although she hoped he was well, she was also relieved he did not attend.
She wasn’t sure she was ready to face him again.
Not after what he’d said to her in the guest room at her home the day before.
Kiss him?
The man had no shame…
Not that she’d not woken up in the middle of the night, her skin clammy, her body on fire from the wicked things Lord Whitmore was doing to her in her slumber. She had ached and barely was able to rest after the dream and even now, all these hours later, her body still thrummed from his touch.
The reaction wasn’t to be borne. She wasn’t fooled by him, nor did she wish to marry a man who had slept with most of London. To imagine holding a conversation with a woman, to become friends with them, only to find out that at one point in time she had been intimate with one’s spouse.
She shuddered at the thought.
Not that Whitmore was looking for a bride. He was far too busy rutting about town like a mangy dog, and happily so.
She climbed up on her mount with the help of her groom before they started for the park and Rotten Row. She needed to go for a run, to clear her head, to enjoy some peace and quiet in the cool morning air before the city awoke and her duties to society commenced.
As she rode toward the park, the roads quiet bar for a few coal carts and market sellers making their way to work for the day’s trade, she allowed her mind to wander.
Particularly towards the Earl of Cust who had danced with her the night before and had made several attempts since the beginning of the Season to seek her out.
He was certainly making an effort, and seemed more genuine than anyone else who had tried and failed to win her heart these past two years.
Mayhap this Season she too would find love, although so far she’d not felt anything but mild curiosity and friendship toward the earl, that didn’t mean they could not have a future together.
Maybe the connection her sisters spoke highly of regarding their husbands would happen in time, not immediately upon meeting who she eventually married.
Isabella entered Hyde Park and started toward the Row, only noting one other rider farther ahead. “I’ll stay within view, Thomas,” she called out to her groom, who pulled his mount to the side of the Row to wait for her.
Isabella pushed her horse into a trot and took a deep, calming breath of crisp morning air. Her dark-blue riding gown kept her warm in the frigid conditions and today for the first time since being in London, the hint of the change of season was noticeable.
“Lady Isabella.”
Thinking of frigid.
She inwardly sighed and pasted on a smile as she turned toward Lord Whitmore.
He sat atop a large bay mare, a good hand higher than her own.
She fought not to ogle the man. After touching his chest the day before, her hand still tingled at the memory of it, his hard corded muscles that flexed when she caressed him.
And now, sitting on his horse, posture perfect, a wicked, teasing grin on his lips, she couldn’t help but admire how very striking he was.
How very aware of that fact he was…
“Lord Whitmore. I’m surprised to see you up at this hour.
Surely you should not have swung those long legs out of whatever bed you graced last evening this early in the morning.
” Her words were wicked, and far from proper, but then, when had Whitmore ever been any of those things?
Surely he would not take offense, and even if he did, she wasn’t the least perturbed.
“I swung my legs, for your information, my lady, from my own bed this morning.” He leaned toward her, his attention dipping scandalously to her chest before meeting her eyes.
“But I must say, I do like you speaking of my bed. It brings to mind a certain unmarried prickly spinster who would look utterly at home within the comfortable sheets, if I may be so bold.”
“Oh really,” she managed to murmur, hoping he did not mean to reference her, but having a sneaking suspicion he was. She didn’t need to think of herself in his bed. Not by his own admission. She did enough of that herself these days.
Silly fool.
“Yes,” he sighed. “But she’s playing hard to get and I do believe it will take me several weeks to seduce her.”
“I should imagine it’ll take longer than that.” She ought not be so cold or bold, but if he did indeed mean her, and by the laugher in his vibrant green eyes he did, she needed him to know that his courting of her was foppery.
She would never succumb to his charms.
Never.
He chuckled and moved his mount to come alongside hers.
She pushed on, wanting to walk, to not be still and next to him.
Annoyingly he followed and was soon back at her side.
The tap of his whip against her leg startled her and she jumped.
“What are you doing?” she asked, rubbing where her skin stung.
“Do not ride off and ignore me. We were having a conversation…about seduction and surrender.”
“You were having a conversation about seduction and the lady’s ultimate surrender. I was merely trying to survive it without casting up my accounts.”
He cleared his throat, and she refused to look in his direction.
Did not need to see his handsome face nor allow him to see or consider how much she was enjoying his company, despite herself.
Even though she stated the opposite to him, being the object of his flirtatious manner was particularly agreeable.
“Then if you do not wish to talk of the women I’m courting, tell me who you have set your heart on. Surely the third Season is the charm.”
She threw him a withering glare. “Thank you for reminding me of my failures, my lord. So gentlemanly of you.”
He smirked before looking ahead, once again too pleased with himself. “I cannot help but think you waited for me, Bells. That first Season we met, you cannot tell me that you didn’t instantly fall in lust with me.”
“I believe I thought you a pompous ass. From when I checked last, that did not equal lust.”
“There is a fine line between love and hate. Admit it, as much as I aggravate you, there is a small part of your person who wonders what it would be like if we kissed. I know I have wondered about it a great deal. I cannot help but think we’d get along very well.”
The feel of the whip, sliding along her arm sent goosebumps to rise on her skin and she slapped him away. “If you do not stop touching me with that whip, I shall rip it from your hands and whack you with it myself.”
“I wish you would.”
The deep baritone of his shocking response made her gape. “You have no shame, truly, my lord. Sometimes I wonder if you’re a gentleman at all.”
“Oh, I’m a gentleman and know how to play pretty with the ladies, but we’ve never had that kind of relationship.
We’ve always been a little teasing and prickly toward one another, but I know a ripe, juicy apple that’s in need of picking when I see one, and I see one now.
Right in front of me that I’d enjoy nothing more than to eat. ”
Isabella swallowed and turned her mount about. “Your time would be better spent in Covert Garden than flirting with me, my lord. I fear your words are wasted.”
“Nothing would be wasted on you. I can assure you of that.”
She shook her head and, ignoring the rules of the park, pushed her horse into a canter and then galloped back toward her steward.
Lord Whitmore was scandalous and acting far too forward.
She ought to take him up on his offer, tease him with her wiles and watch him run for the hills when she did so.
The man was all talk, all teasing just to rile her up.
He would rue the day he teased her if she did take him up on his scandalous offer that had no truth behind it.
Perhaps tonight she would push back, see how far he’d take his teasing before he splintered and backed away. For he would of course. The idea that he meant anything of what he was saying was too preposterous to believe.