Lady Isabella's Scandalous Marriage
Page 9
You aren’t trying hard enough to get her back, Ian had told him not long ago. I never thought you were this bloody stupid.
But Mac knew he had to go slowly. If he pushed Isabella too quickly, she’d slip out of his reach, like a sunbeam he tried to capture in his hands.
“Actually, if you’ll allow me a few precious moments,” Mac said, clearing his throat, “I brought you out here for a reason.”
She smiled. “To let me cool from our rather arduous dance?”
“No.” Damn it, let me do this. “To ask you for your help.”
Chapter 3
The lofty Lord of Mount Street, so recently a Groom, has not, we have been assured, ceased his hobby of painting in the manner of the Parisians, and in fact, has been painting with renewed vigor since his marriage.
—May 1875
Isabella’s eyes flickered in genuine surprise. “My help? What on earth could I do for a lofty lord like you?”
“Nothing very difficult,” Mac said. “I simply need some advice.”
A faint smile touched her mouth, and his blood started to burn. “Good heavens, Mac Mackenzie seeking advice?”
“Not for me. For a friend.” This suddenly seemed like a bloody stupid idea, but Mac hadn’t been able to think of a better one. “I know a gentleman who wishes to court a lady,” he said in a rush. “I’ve come to ask you how to go about it.”
Isabella’s brows climbed high, her eyes so close in the darkness. “Truly? Why should you need my advice about that?”
“Because I don’t know much about courting, do I? Our own courtship lasted, what was it, about an hour and a half? Besides, this is a delicate matter. The lady in question loathes him. Once, years ago, this man hurt her. Deeply.” Mac shifted, every muscle aching. “She will need coaxing. A vast amount of coaxing.”
“But ladies do not like to be coaxed,” Isabella said, that half smile hovering. “They like to be admired and respected.”
Like hell. They wanted to be adored, wanted men panting in anticipation at the merest crook of a finger. A smile from the lady would cost even more.
“Very well,” Mac said in a tight voice. “What is your view about gifts?”
“Ladies do like gifts. Tokens of affection. But appropriate gifts, nothing wildly extravagant.”
“But he’s bloody rich, this friend. He likes to be extravagant.”
“That doesn’t necessarily impress a lady.”
Like hell, again. Women cooed over strands of diamonds, glittering blue sapphires, emeralds as green as their eyes. Mac had once bought Isabella a strand of emeralds to drape softly across her br**sts. The first night she’d worn them they’d been alone, her very lovely br**sts bared for him. He still remembered the taste of the emeralds against her skin.
“Then I will teach him the difference between appropriate and extravagant,” Mac said, his voice thick. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Time. The lady will need time to think and not be rushed. To decide whether the gentleman will be appropriate for her.”
Time. There’d been too damn much of that. Wasted weeks and months and years, when Mac could have been curled against her in bed, tasting her and smelling her, feeling her warmth against the length of his body.
“You mean time for the fellow to prove his devotion?” Mac couldn’t keep the impatient edge out of his voice. “Or time for the lady to drive him completely mad?”
“Time for the lady to decide whether his devotion is true or all his imagination.”
“The lady decides that, does she?”
“She does. Always.”
Mac growled. “Bloody hard luck on the gentleman isn’t it, when a lady knows his mind better than he does?”
“That is how things are in courtship,” Isabella said coolly. “You did ask for the advice.”
“What if the damned fellow is in love and he knows it?”
“In that case, he would never have hurt the lady in the past.”
The sudden flare of pain in her eyes cut him, and Mac had to look away. Yes, he’d hurt her. Mac had hurt her and kept hurting her, and he knew it. She’d hurt him back, the two of them thrusting and parrying and trying desperately to keep their footing. What a bloody stupid way to conduct a marriage.
He drew an uneven breath. “What I propose is for you to teach me what my friend should do. Give me the lessons in courting. I will then teach what I learn to my friend.”
Mac waited while she pursed her lips. She always did that while she thought, and he’d always loved leaning closer, closer, until he brushed his mouth across that gentle pucker. Then she’d laugh and say something like, Darling Mac, you are so silly.
“I suppose I could be persuaded,” Isabella said now with her soft, red mouth. “Though this is not what’s meant by courting, you know.”
Mac pulled back a hairsbreadth. “What isn’t?”
She wet her lips, making his longing spike. “You have started badly, I am afraid. You do not ask a lady to dance by tearing her away from the partner she’s just accepted, and when she’s overheated, you walk her to a chair and fetch her an ice. You don’t whisk her out to the terrace and into the shadows.”
“Why not?”
“That is seduction, not courting. You could ruin the lady.”
“Ah.” Mac returned his hand to the wall beside her, noticing that it was shaking. “Then you consider that I’ve failed that lesson.”
But Mac knew he had to go slowly. If he pushed Isabella too quickly, she’d slip out of his reach, like a sunbeam he tried to capture in his hands.
“Actually, if you’ll allow me a few precious moments,” Mac said, clearing his throat, “I brought you out here for a reason.”
She smiled. “To let me cool from our rather arduous dance?”
“No.” Damn it, let me do this. “To ask you for your help.”
Chapter 3
The lofty Lord of Mount Street, so recently a Groom, has not, we have been assured, ceased his hobby of painting in the manner of the Parisians, and in fact, has been painting with renewed vigor since his marriage.
—May 1875
Isabella’s eyes flickered in genuine surprise. “My help? What on earth could I do for a lofty lord like you?”
“Nothing very difficult,” Mac said. “I simply need some advice.”
A faint smile touched her mouth, and his blood started to burn. “Good heavens, Mac Mackenzie seeking advice?”
“Not for me. For a friend.” This suddenly seemed like a bloody stupid idea, but Mac hadn’t been able to think of a better one. “I know a gentleman who wishes to court a lady,” he said in a rush. “I’ve come to ask you how to go about it.”
Isabella’s brows climbed high, her eyes so close in the darkness. “Truly? Why should you need my advice about that?”
“Because I don’t know much about courting, do I? Our own courtship lasted, what was it, about an hour and a half? Besides, this is a delicate matter. The lady in question loathes him. Once, years ago, this man hurt her. Deeply.” Mac shifted, every muscle aching. “She will need coaxing. A vast amount of coaxing.”
“But ladies do not like to be coaxed,” Isabella said, that half smile hovering. “They like to be admired and respected.”
Like hell. They wanted to be adored, wanted men panting in anticipation at the merest crook of a finger. A smile from the lady would cost even more.
“Very well,” Mac said in a tight voice. “What is your view about gifts?”
“Ladies do like gifts. Tokens of affection. But appropriate gifts, nothing wildly extravagant.”
“But he’s bloody rich, this friend. He likes to be extravagant.”
“That doesn’t necessarily impress a lady.”
Like hell, again. Women cooed over strands of diamonds, glittering blue sapphires, emeralds as green as their eyes. Mac had once bought Isabella a strand of emeralds to drape softly across her br**sts. The first night she’d worn them they’d been alone, her very lovely br**sts bared for him. He still remembered the taste of the emeralds against her skin.
“Then I will teach him the difference between appropriate and extravagant,” Mac said, his voice thick. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Time. The lady will need time to think and not be rushed. To decide whether the gentleman will be appropriate for her.”
Time. There’d been too damn much of that. Wasted weeks and months and years, when Mac could have been curled against her in bed, tasting her and smelling her, feeling her warmth against the length of his body.
“You mean time for the fellow to prove his devotion?” Mac couldn’t keep the impatient edge out of his voice. “Or time for the lady to drive him completely mad?”
“Time for the lady to decide whether his devotion is true or all his imagination.”
“The lady decides that, does she?”
“She does. Always.”
Mac growled. “Bloody hard luck on the gentleman isn’t it, when a lady knows his mind better than he does?”
“That is how things are in courtship,” Isabella said coolly. “You did ask for the advice.”
“What if the damned fellow is in love and he knows it?”
“In that case, he would never have hurt the lady in the past.”
The sudden flare of pain in her eyes cut him, and Mac had to look away. Yes, he’d hurt her. Mac had hurt her and kept hurting her, and he knew it. She’d hurt him back, the two of them thrusting and parrying and trying desperately to keep their footing. What a bloody stupid way to conduct a marriage.
He drew an uneven breath. “What I propose is for you to teach me what my friend should do. Give me the lessons in courting. I will then teach what I learn to my friend.”
Mac waited while she pursed her lips. She always did that while she thought, and he’d always loved leaning closer, closer, until he brushed his mouth across that gentle pucker. Then she’d laugh and say something like, Darling Mac, you are so silly.
“I suppose I could be persuaded,” Isabella said now with her soft, red mouth. “Though this is not what’s meant by courting, you know.”
Mac pulled back a hairsbreadth. “What isn’t?”
She wet her lips, making his longing spike. “You have started badly, I am afraid. You do not ask a lady to dance by tearing her away from the partner she’s just accepted, and when she’s overheated, you walk her to a chair and fetch her an ice. You don’t whisk her out to the terrace and into the shadows.”
“Why not?”
“That is seduction, not courting. You could ruin the lady.”
“Ah.” Mac returned his hand to the wall beside her, noticing that it was shaking. “Then you consider that I’ve failed that lesson.”
