uncertainties of her future brought further disarray to a mind already in turmoil. She might be able to maintain an air of resolve concerning her circumstances in the company of Mrs. Crocker, but once alone, she wasn't sure she possessed the courage to actually see it through.
Regardless Bathurst's appeal.
Regardless he was probably her best option.
Regardless he seemed to want her.
And she him.
Such outlandish possibilities shocked her when she allowed herself to consider them, as did the strange and curious desires evoked by the beautiful young earl. But contemplation of Bathurst also generated intoxicating, thrilling tremors deep inside her, and she clasped her hands together tightly on the book lying in her lap to still her trembling emotions.
How should she deal with her feverish response, she wondered, and her only companion in life unconsciously came to mind. Silently, she spoke to her grandfather, the simple act of communicating offering her solace. As she explained her feelings, it seemed as though he were with her again, as though she weren't so alone. She even found herself describing the handsome young earl as though her grandfather might enjoy a description as much as she.
She smiled at the ludicrousness of her imaginary conversation. But a comforting ease overcame her as she offered the bits and pieces of her tremulous thoughts-until a knock on the door interrupted her reflections and a second later Mrs. Crocker bustled into the room, followed by several maids laden with colorful gowns and accessories.
'We brought some things to cheer you up,' she briskly said, indicating the items be placed on the bed. 'Have you written a reply to your lawyer yet? Dermott's man is downstairs.'
'I'll get it.' Rising from her chair, Isabella walked to the small table where her note lay and handed it to a maid.
'The earl's man is a precaution, should anyone be watching,' Molly explained.
'Thank you for your caution and your company as well. I find myself too alone with my thoughts.'
'Exactly why you need a diversion. I had Madame Duclaisse send over some frocks to amuse us.'
'I shall pay you, of course.'
'At your leisure, my dear. Come now,' she said, sitting down, 'which would you like to try on first?'
Isabella selected a morning gown, her immediate need that of replacing her robe. The pale blue gauze was embroidered with a wide row of floral designs at the hem, but the simple lines were otherwise unadorned.
Not unfamiliar with servants, although she'd preferred living without a lady's maid, Isabella allowed the girls to help her dress. Mrs. Crocker had thoughtfully provided a chemise of the finest lawn, and after quickly discarding her robe and having the chemise slipped over her head, Isabella tried on the blue day dress.
'You have an eye for size.' Isabella twirled before a cheval glass, the belled skirt billowing out around her.
'It was easy. You're the same size as Kate… one of the ladies here,' she added in explanation. 'The blue is excellent with your eyes.'
'It is rather nice.'
'Try on some of the slippers. There's some matching ones in several sizes.'
A perfect fit was selected from the array, and she could have entertained royalty in her elegant gown. 'I must say, a pretty dress always does wonders for one's disposition.'
'My feeling exactly. Do try the apple-green silk next. The cashmere shawl is a delicious contrast.'
'I don't plan on stepping out just yet,' Isabella playfully noted, although the delectable fabric was alluring. Napoleon had introduced cashmere shawls to Europe after his Egyptian campaign only a few years past, and they were the height of fashion. And very dear.
'For when you do, then. I kept two of them for myself.' Mrs. Crocker waved to have the green silk brought over. 'Humor me. That color is going to be adorable with your coloring.'
Before long, a half dozen dresses had been tried on and the room had the air of a dressmaker's salon, piles of colorful silks and gauzes scattered about the room, shoes and shawls and bonnets adding to the flower-garden effect. Mrs. Crocker had had a bottle of iced champagne brought in to add to the festivities. After having put on a rose-colored silk afternoon dress awash with ruffles they'd both agreed were overdone, Isabella and Molly were giggling over the ostentatious confection and casting on eye on the next possibility in their private fashion show.
'You're a trifle young for black lace, but try that one on anyway.'
'It has the air of seduction.'
'The point, I'm sure. Let's see it-just for fun.'
Dermott had spent the morning at Tattersall's adding to his racing stable and had taken lunch at Brooks's afterward. He'd gone home for a time, intent on discussing some business affairs with his secretary and steward. But he found himself unable to concentrate on the ledgers and correspondence, and his employees exchanged speculative glances after he said 'Would you repeat that' for the tenth time. They politely repeated their statement, only to find the earl indifferent to the crop figures he normally followed with great enthusiasm. After returning from India, he'd had the means to see to enormous improvements at Alworth. And until that day, he'd taken a detailed interest in each rick of hay and bushel of wheat, every head of cattle and sheep his acres produced.
'If you'd prefer discussing the crop projections some other time,' Shelby, his secretary, suggested.
A small silence fell.
The young man was about to repeat himself, when the earl pushed away from the desk and stood. 'Some other day would be preferable,' he said, glancing at the clock on the mantel.
Both men came to their feet.
Another awkward silence filled the large study. The earl seemed not to take notice of them, his dark eyes shadowed by his lowered lashes, his mouth pursed.
The steward cleared his throat and Dermott's lashes lifted. 'Thank you very much.' His smile was distant. 'We'll do this another day.'
He remained standing for several moments after the door closed on his employees, his large frame immobile, even his breathing difficult to perceive in the stillness of his pose. 'I shouldn't go,' he murmured into the hushed room.
He raised his hands to his fashionably windswept hair and raked his fingers through the heavy waves. Softly swearing, he held his head between his palms for a transient moment and then, exhaling, dropped his hands. 'How the hell can it matter,' he muttered, and strode toward the door.
But he resisted still, and once arriving at Molly's, he strolled into the card room and joined a game. He lost, and the rarity of the occurrence caused him to give in to his impulses. Excusing himself to the wide-eyed group of men who speculated once he'd gone that he was surely ill to have overlooked a straight flush, the earl took the stairs to the main floor in a run and walked into Molly's apartments without knocking.
He heard the giggling from the bedchamber immediately on entering the sitting room, recognizing the women's voices. He knew Molly's as well as his own. The other trilling tone was the reason he was there.
Against his better judgment.
Against every principle of disinterest he'd nurtured since his return to England.
He should have knocked, but bad tempered at his need, impelled by desires he'd tried to resist all day, he invaded the women's room like a man intent on plunder.
Molly said, 'Hello, Dermott,' her voice remarkably calm, her gaze knowing.
And the young woman who had dominated his thoughts since the night before whispered, 'Oh, no!' in the merest of breaths.
'Join us in some champagne,' Molly invited the earl.
He looked at her as though he'd not heard, his gaze immediately swinging back to Isabella, standing in the middle of the Aubusson carpet, her eyes wide with shock. She was dressed or, more aptly, undressed in black lace over flesh-colored silk mousseline, and he restrained himself from moving forward, picking her up, and throwing her on the bed.
'Do you like the dress?' Molly asked.
He forced himself to respond. 'Yes,' he said. His nostrils flared as he drew in a calming breath. 'Very
