Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
T his was nothing like music.
The constant melody that sang in the background of Isobel’s every waking hour stopped the instant Lucius’s lips touched hers. Suddenly, for the first time she could remember, she knew… Silence.
And in the wake of sound, the sense of touch that she had so often neglected expanded to fill her entire awareness. Simply by pressing his mouth to hers, Lucius sent sensation through every nerve of her body.
So many new sensations. Warmth. Urgency. The strong, sweet scent and taste of him. And more than that, stronger and sweeter yet, the understanding of him. He wanted to kiss her . It wasn’t wise, it wasn’t planned, it wasn’t necessarily honourable, but he wanted it – wanted her – so much he didn’t care.
Nothing like music. Better .
And then it was over, just as she realised what it meant and how much she wanted it to continue. She fell back to earth with a thump, still frozen in the same pose she had been in moments before, and Lucius was jerking back from her with an expression of sheer horror.
“I should not have done that,” he said.
“Don’t…”
“I am sorry. I must be out of my mind. But hang it all, Isobel… Isobel .” He ran his hand through his hair, inadvertently brushing tiny particles of fresh soil through the dark mop of curls. “Do you understand now? I don’t know how to explain it to you any better. This is the nature of the game you are playing. This is the sort of danger you are in.”
“Don’t….” She did not intend to smile, but an inner demon had taken control of her mouth.
And even her smile felt new. It was the complete opposite of the polite, obliging expression she was always so careful to wear in public. It was nothing like the seductive pout she’d attempted on her first day at the manor. It was truly… wicked . When Lucius saw it, he let out a strangled noise something between a groan and a sigh.
“Don’t you want to do it again?” she asked. Lucius’s horror only made that new, wicked smile grow wider.
“I did it to frighten some sense into you. I see now that I should not have bothered. Perhaps you are past help.” He flung up his arms in exasperation and began to pace back and forth across the tiled floor. “Perhaps we both are.”
“Do you mean you don’t want to do it again?”
Lucius fired her a scalding look. Isobel supposed that, if she had been one of his younger siblings, she would be quaking in her slippers.
But she was not one of the errant young Whitbys. And there was something delicious about seeing Lucius so overwhelmed. Especially about knowing she was the one who had sent him into this state of consternation.
“There are several very good reasons why I should not do it again,” he said gruffly.
“That isn’t the same thing as saying you do not want to.”
Lucius thrust his hands into his pockets. There was something much more real and intimate about him now, a little ruffled, a little dirty and dishevelled, than Isobel had ever seen in any drawing room or dinner party. “What is it you want from me?” he demanded. “Some reassurance that when Randall comes crawling to you on his knees he will not be put off by the touch of your lips? Well, you may rest assured on that count. That was…” He raised his eyes to the glass-paned ceiling, as though an appeal to divinity could erase what had just happened between them. But no divine intervention was forthcoming, and he let out a defeated little laugh. “That was an exquisite kiss.” He brought his eyes back to hers, the storm-tossed grey full of a dreadful warning. “And no. I do not wish to do it again.”
Isobel supposed she should have felt rejected. She was no stranger to cold humiliation. To the awful conviction that she was not – would never be – desirable enough for anything more than a single hasty kiss, stolen in secret and never admitted to again.
But she did not feel any sense of rejection now. Rather, as Lucius warned her off with wary, unsmiling eyes, she was filled with the exhilarating sense of her own power.
“Don’t worry, Mr Whitby,” she said. “I have no intention of kissing somebody who does not want it. No matter how exquisite it might be.”
With the intoxication of the kiss fading, the music crept back in. Lucius’s discomfort was a mournful solo played on the lowest strings of a cello. He grimaced and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, proffering it to her with his head turned away, as though he feared what would happen if he looked at her at such close quarters.
“There’s a smear of dirt on your cheek,” he said.
Isobel took the handkerchief and folded it over her fingers, dabbing at the place just beneath her cheekbone which his hand had caressed. She did not need a looking glass to know where he’d left his mark. His touch still tingled in her skin. “Now that you have failed to frighten me off, what do you say to my proposal?”
The warm air in the orangery turned several degrees cooler. Lucius’s jaw tightened. If Isobel did not know better, she might have thought he was angry. But she’d spent enough time at his side over the past weeks to recognise when he was in pain.
He folded his arms across his chest. “I say that you are a lonely young woman whose siblings have all recently married and who is desperately trying to stir up some romantic intrigue of her own.”
That knocked the breath out of her. “Oh. Well. Ouch.”
But Lucius wasn’t finished. “I’ve been willing to go along with it this far, but I’m growing bored of the whole affair. How far off do you suppose Randall is from declaring his love? I’d hate to waste my entire summer on this childish game.”
Isobel blinked. More than half of Lucius’s scorn was put on, and the rest was directed at himself rather than her. She wasn’t hurt by his words as much as by his need to say them. He was hiding something from her – something important, something painful – and he was pushing her away to throw her off the scent. And making an utter hash of it. A child could have seen through his display.
But she had made it a point of pride that she would not ask about his personal reasons for going along with her scheme, and she could hardly use his moment of weakness as an opportunity to break her word. He wanted to pretend this was about Randall? Fine. She’d play along.
“I cannot say whether or not Lord Randall has remembered his old feelings,” she answered coolly. “He is interested, yes, but not enough to suffer. And that, as I told you, is my aim.”
“Somehow, I find that hard to believe,” said Lucius, with a grim, mirthless smile. “But whether his feelings run deep or not, I know the way to hasten things along to their natural end. And it doesn’t involve anything so foolish as an engagement .” He unfolded his arms, set his hands on his hips, then folded them again, his jaw working as though there were words trying to escape from him which he had to fight to keep back. “Will you promise me something?”
“Of course,” she said, without stopping to think whether it was wise.
“You must trust me and follow along exactly as I lead you. I will deliver you Randall. But there must be no more suggestions from you – no more seeking me out in the hothouse – no more surprises. Simply do as I tell you, and pretend you feel what I instruct you to feel. Can I rely on you to do that?”
“You want to continue the deception?” asked Isobel, unable to resist needling him. “This same deception which has grown so boring and distasteful to you that you were forced to kiss me in order to maintain your interest in it?”
Lucius grimaced. “I am not pretending that I have behaved well. On the contrary, I think I shall spend some sleepless nights wishing I had handled things differently. I wish that I could release you from our agreement now and send you off to Randall with open arms. And I will. I will cheer and throw rice on your wedding day, or I will wave a handkerchief from Plymouth harbour as Randall sets off to the Americas to forget the way you jilted him. Whichever outcome suits you best. But in return I must ask you to do exactly as I say – and nothing more . Is that acceptable to you?”
Isobel hesitated. There was a dreadful finality in Lucius’s tone. He’d pulled back the curtain on his easy charm, and there was grim darkness beyond. She’d thought – perhaps na?vely – that her own motive was sinister enough, but she realised now that the force driving Lucius was something of an entirely different nature.
He looked as though his soul were in torment, and she was not vain enough to imagine that it was all the effect of one simple kiss. No matter how exquisite.
“Yes,” she said softly. She’d hoped it would soothe him, but he flinched from her acquiescence as though her trust caused him physical pain. “Yes, I will do as you ask. I will do everything you ask. You have promised me Randall’s scalp – in a manner of speaking.” Lucius did not smile – she wondered whether he even realised she was speaking in jest. “That prize is worth a little obedience.”
He mustered a hint of his usual sparkle and gave her a wry grin. “Obedience does not come naturally to you. I think that’s the true reason you’ve been a wallflower. Nothing has ever compelled you to please others over yourself.”
He gave her a brisk nod and left her sitting alone in the orangery, with only the smear of rich soil on a handkerchief remaining to prove that he had been there at all.