Temporary Mistress

charged.

'No offense, Bathurst, but your answer matters more than mine.'

'Why, when you've been with her every day for weeks.'

'Because she loves you.'

Had Mrs. Notkins been less informative, Dermott might have been able to speak without cynicism. 'What else do you know about Isabella, Thurlow, when you know such personal things as who she loves?'

'What the hell are you implying?'

'I'm implying you're a lot closer to her than I am.'

'Christ, Bathurst,' Joe resentfully muttered. 'Do you think I'd bother talking to you if I thought I had a chance with her? I'd knock you flat, step over you, and forget I'd ever seen you. So answer me. Do you love her?'

'Until recently, I was under that assumption,' Dermott growled.

'I'm going to need more than that.' Joe's tone was brusque.

'Are you her vetting agent?'

'I am.' Two words backed up by eight years of heavyweight championships. 'Are your intentions honorable?'

'A bold question, unless you're her guardian.'

'At the moment I am, and I require a suitable answer if you wish to see her with your pretty face in one piece.'

Dermott brows rose. 'So we are rivals.'

Joe's eyes held Dermott's for a tense moment, and then he shook his head. 'She turned me down, Bathurst-for you, so believe me, I don't have any friendly feelings toward you. But I care about her and I won't have you play fast and loose with her again. She's been miserable since you left, more miserable after this morning on the island.'

Where Dermott may not have completely believed him before, Joe's words about Wight were so unusual, his sincerity couldn't be questioned. 'I don't know anything about your trip to the island, but I assure you, I'm here with the most honorable intentions.' His voice was as grave as his expression. 'I have a ring for Isabella, along with the offer of my hand and heart. Will that do?'

'It's enough for me. I can't speak for her.' Joe suddenly smiled. 'She may prefer your heart on a skewer.'

Dermott returned Joe's smile with a tentative one of his own. 'I'm not unaware of her possible outrage. If she throws me out, will you throw me back in? I intend to persist in this suit.'

'I'd be pleased to throw you anywhere at all, Bathurst.' Joe grinned. 'But, unfortunately, she wants you, not me, so-that's what I want too.'

'She's very easy to love, isn't she?'

'Damn right she is. You don't know how much I envy you. Now, don't fuck up again.' His voice was brusque.

Dermott's mouth quirked into a grin. 'Would you like to come along and advise me?'

'I think you can handle the charming of a woman with the best of them, Bathurst. You don't need any advice from me.'

His gaze turned serious. 'Thank you for taking care of her.'

'I didn't do it for you.'

'I know.' Nervous, Dermott touched the ring in his pocket, uncertain of his reception despite Joe's assurances, not at all sure he wasn't too late. He drew in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. 'Wish me luck.'

'I suppose if someone has to have her, I'm glad it's you,' Joe replied. He winked. 'Although, looking like you do, you're going to need some luck.'

Chapter Twenty-two

SECOND DOOR AT THE TOP of the stairs, Joe had said.

He'd also said Isabella loved him. Hopefully, he was right.

Dermott rapped twice, then winced. A little overzealous, he thought, shaking his stinging fingers.

But she called out, 'Come in, Joe!' and he forgot his pain and jealously decided she sounded much too friendly. Why was she letting Joe into her bedroom anyway? He looked more grim than he intended when he entered the room.

Although, as it turned out, Isabella didn't notice because she was nowhere in sight. He surveyed the small bedchamber.

'Just leave my bag anywhere, Joe!' Isabella's voice came from behind a screen set before the fireplace, as did the sudden sound of splashing water.

What if he had been Joe? Dermott moodily thought. What if Joe weren't so damned polite and honorable? What if he'd taken advantage of the fact she was obviously taking a bath… or-green demons whispered-maybe Joe had already taken advantage.

With a loud thud Dermott dropped the satchel Joe had given him.

'Thank you!'

He didn't respond, and a moment later she hesitantly said, 'Joe?'

'It's not Joe.'

He heard her gasp, heard the slap of water hitting the floor, a spreading puddle appearing soon after under the linen screen.

'What do you want?'

No words of love in the harsh question, although he was realistic. Instead, the sound of wet feet striking the floor and brisk toweling-off reached his ears-an activity that momentarily stopped when he said, 'I'd like to talk to you.'

She didn't answer for so long, he found himself holding his breath.

He was alive! An unguarded happiness transiently disregarded her saner judgment-those more lucid thoughts surfacing seconds later, the ones that reminded her of all he was and all he'd done to her or not done to her. And all the conscious resentments that she thought she'd consigned to the past came flooding back.

She walked from behind the screen, her coarse robe obviously borrowed, a too-small robe. 'I'll give you two minutes.' Her voice was cool. 'Where's Joe?' Dermott had to have come through him.

Her hair was dripping water onto the floor, and he was reminded of the first time he'd seen her at Molly's. But his brief nostalgia was almost instantly supplanted by umbrage at her concern for Joe. 'He can take care of himself. Are you worried?'

'Of course I'm worried. You're not very trustworthy-among other things,' she pointedly added.

'How much are you worried?'

She surveyed him, her chin slightly lifted. 'I don't think that's any concern of yours. Actually, nothing about me is any concern of yours. You made that quite plain. Why are you here?'

She was angry, although he'd expected as much. What he'd not expected was his inability to control his jealousy. His voice was mild only with effort. 'Joe tells me you were at the Isle of Wight.'

She colored furiously.

'Did my mother write to you?'

'It doesn't matter if she did.'

'I didn't know. I'm sorry I wasn't there.'

'I'm sorry I went,' she crisply noted, humiliated afresh at the memory.

A hush descended on the room.

'I owe you a great number of apologies,' he finally said.

'Yes, you do.'

He took a small breath because he wasn't in the habit of apologizing. 'One of the reasons I'm here,' he added, 'is to offer atonement for everything and anything I may have done to hurt you. There's no excuse, but I want you to know I'm deeply sorry.'