Miss Isabella Thaws a Frosty Lord Page 5

  Isabella lowered her voice, thankful no one had yet made their way to her corner. “You’ve contrived all of this to what end? What can you expect by pairing me with—”

  “Expectations, my dear. You have the right of it—expectations.”

  “You think to gain a marriage proposal from your machinations?” Her stomach slid to her feet—actually, beneath her posterior, seated as she was—at the fanciful notion. “I fear you are destined for disappointment, then.” So was Isabella, but her friend need not know that. “You’re aware of what Father intends for me come February—”

  “Pshaw! He’s a looby if he thinks we’re going graciously along with those plans.”

  Isabella pleaded, “Stop, please. You are married now—” She placed a hand in the vicinity of her friend’s belly and felt the rounded expansion. “With a family of your own to contend with. Spinning castles for your girlhood friend—”

  “Is exactly what I will do,” Anne concluded with temerity, “and they aren’t fairy castles, dearest. You haven’t seen how he looks at you. I have.”

  Though she feared her sudden smile might give away her reluctant longing, Isabella refused to comment, firming her lips into a straight line the moment she noticed their upward tilt.

  “You’ll simply have to trust me,” Anne added. “Newly married I may be, but there are some things a woman just knows. And I daresay, if we can keep him from haring off before Epiphany, you’ll have Frost so charmed he won’t want to leave your presence. Ever.”

  That night, damn and blast, instead of another course of dancing as he’d anticipated, everyone made a great show of being judged on how well they’d gathered the items on their list. Damn and blast because he’d intended to ask Isabella to accompany him onto the floor, double damn and blast once he realized she wouldn’t be able to join him, not without keeping up appearances, thanks to his inept handling of this morning’s debacle.

  After excessive jollity and wassail drinking—he’d still yet to take a sip—Harriet and her partner, the stuffy-nosed Fairfax chit, were deemed the winners and rather than outwardly deride every ridiculous reminder of the season as he’d always done in the past, and fully meant to do today, Frost found himself grinning along with the winning team as they made a great show of displaying their bounty, which ranged the gamut from a squawking Christmas goose—neck intact and covered with an elaborately tied yet trailing red ribbon—to a hand-fashioned manger scene complete with hay and a carved baby Jesus.

  Frost’s mystifying contentment only increased when he observed how reverently Isabella inspected the Nativity with her still-bandaged hands, carefully brushing her fingertips over the pieces after the loudly honking goose made its displeasure at being petted quite clear.

  The festive atmosphere was downright infectious, and Frost was stunned to realize he was in what could be termed nothing but high spirits, especially when he directed Ed’s attention to the little morsels the goose had deposited on the rug.

  High spirits indeed, until he noticed that Isabella’s mishap was being laid firmly at his doorstep—where it rightfully belonged, but still!—judging by the hostile looks aimed his way and how she was fussed and hovered over, making it nigh impossible to reach her side, much less exchange one of the berries weighing heavily in his pocket. For her kiss.

  Ah well. Ten more nights, he had, to further his cause. Exactly what that was, he’d yet to admit to himself.

  Perhaps more importantly than the number of nights—especially considering he hadn’t decided how long to stay—was determining how soon an evening of dancing would once again grace the schedule and how soon Isabella’s phantom sprain might heal.

  Damn and blast again! At being told to herd the damn blasting goose straight to the kitchens, the usually laughing Harriet sprite looked as though she’d come down with the mulligrubs.

  “Thank you, sir, for your exceptional escort,” Isabella told Mr. Gregory when he informed her they’d reached her bedchamber door. She’d pleaded fatigue after such an eventful day though in truth she was simply desirous of some time alone. “It is most gallant of you to leave your card game for the chore.”

  In actuality, he’d tripped over himself—and the squawking goose Harriet refused to relinquish to a servant—in his effort to be the one to carry Isabella to the guest wing. She felt a total fraud. But more than that, a disappointed total fraud, for Mr. Gregory was certainly not the man she’d hoped would volunteer for the task.

  “Think nothing of it. I’ve had you in my arms through a good many twists and turns of Redford’s monstrous abode, the least you can do is call me Simon.” And if he knew what monstrous dowry she didn’t have, Isabella was certain he wouldn’t be so eager to pursue such familiarity.

  After settling her carefully upon her feet and ensuring she could make it the rest of the way on her own—Isabella insisted she could—he lifted her hand and pressed it upon his chest.

  Isabella tugged on her arm, which only caused him to hold it more firmly.

  “Good night, my lovely.”

  Though flattered by his focused attention, she squirmed inside at the unwanted endearment. He was a pleasant man, but she had no desire to further their acquaintance into more intimate realms.

  Only because it was expected—and so he’d leave sooner, she hoped—she repeated, “Simon.”

  Isabella breathed easier when he moved to relinquish her hand. But rather than place it upon the doorknob, he brought it to his lips and blew a kiss over her fingertips. “Unless the term good night is precipitous? Would you care to extend the evening with additional conversation? I could ring for a maid to act as chaperone or carry you back to—”

  “Ah, Isabella, the very person I was looking for,” another voice called down the hallway, causing both relief at the welcome interruption and rapid respiration over who it was. Better still, the smooth voice prompted her erstwhile suitor to finally release her hand. “Lady Redford bid me to consult with you on a matter of great import, if I may,” Lord Frostwood finished just as he reached her side. “Gregory.”

  “Frost,” Mr. Gregory returned in a chilly tone she couldn’t help but notice. Upset at having his overture thwarted?

  Regardless of his feelings on the matter, she was delighted. Though the tension thickened once the three of them stood there.

  “Certainly, my lord,” she said diffidently then nodded in the direction she sensed Mr. Gregory remained, whether reluctant to leave her in Lord Frostwood’s safekeeping or simply reluctant to leave she knew not which and didn’t care. Be gone with you and quickly, she urged in her mind while saying aloud in what she hoped was a properly reserved manner, “Thank you again for your kindness this evening.”

  “Yes, well, ahem,” Mr. Gregory stammered a moment. “Good night then.”

  Spaced footfalls told of his hesitant retreat. When the sound disappeared altogether, Lord Frostwood blew out a loud breath. “Was beginning to think the bounder would never find the end of the hallway.”

  She bit her lip to subdue the smile that threatened. “For shame. He was being all that was gentlemanly, I assure you.”

  “What’s shameful is watching the jolter head’s lame attempts at pawing over your injuries. How goes the last one, Issybelle?”

  As he accompanied this perplexing question with a light caress across several fingers on her right hand, all coherent thoughts flew mightily from her mind. “Last one? Attempts?”

  “Last injury. I saw Harriet’s ghastly behaving goose peck at your fingers.”

  He’d been close enough to see that? And he’d taken to calling her Issybelle? Heat blossomed through her; only her dear mama had ever called her that. “I find it interesting that you would inquire about that now yet show no interest when the goose decided my fingertips were for nibbling.”

  “Mayhap not all interest can be shown.”

  What was that supposed to mean? “Well then, I thank you for your query and am most pleased to impart that I suffer no ill effects fr
om attempting to befriend a misbehaving goose. Although how a newly leashed goose put upon display in a boisterous drawing room is supposed to behave if not ghastly, I haven’t an inkling.”

  “And your interest in Gregory? Have you an inkling as to that?” Lord Frostwood fired the words at her. “He was showing his in you plainly enough all evening. What is yours for him?”

  “Simon? I only just met him.”

  “You only just met me.”

  “Then should you not be inquiring about my interest in you?”

  “Undeniably I should, but that would require a measure of bravery I do not yet possess concerning our brief association.” He stroked a finger across the back of her hand again. “Especially after such an imperfect beginning. Shall I tell you instead of my interest in you?”

  She pressed her lips tightly together to keep from shouting, But of course I am curious about your interest in me, you clunch! Think you I do not notice and am not baffled by it? Showing such exuberance wouldn’t do. Not at all.

  “I see the words you refuse to loose flitting across your face. I shall assume your silence equates to curiosity then, hmm?” He took a firmer hold of the pecked-upon fingers and brought her arm up between them, caressing his thumb lightly over her skin.

  Her hand trembled within his. “Please do.”

  Yet before he did, he released her completely. Dratted gnats! “Ah, but how can one answer aloud that which one has yet to admit to themselves?”

  The breath she hadn’t realized she held whooshed out on a groan. “You are the most perplexing fellow.”

  “Perplexing in an intriguing way, might I hope? Or perplexing in an annoying way? I would hate to find I cause you any manner of annoyance especially since I seem to find myself in remarkably high spirits any time you’re near.”

  “An intriguing way, you scoundrel, for forcing such a confession from me.” For releasing my hand when I’d just come to long for more.

  “Scoundrel? You wound me mightily!”

  “Yes, scoundrel, and I daresay one with such experience could not be wounded by anything I might utter.”

  “Then perchance you overestimate my experience or do not honor your own opinion sufficiently.”

  Had she possibly distressed him? She laughed at the absurdity of such a thought. “Nay. One as strong and sure as you is not to be affected by anything I might say.”

  “Hmm. Strong?” He sounded pleased.

  “So you’ll take that over scoundrel? Of course strong! You did carry me across a significant portion of the outer estate today and up a number of stairs without once showing any manner of undue exertion, did you not?”

  “Aye, and Gregory carried you to your door.” The last was growled.

  Could that be jealousy she heard? What a wondrous thought—however implausible. Not jealousy, surely. More in line with rakish bravado. “Then mayhap you should’ve been closer when I expressed the desire to retire.”

  He leaned in. She knew because the heady scent of sandalwood and man suddenly surrounded her more intently than before. “Much as I am now?”

  It was hard to breathe when one feared the act would bring their bosom into direct contact with another’s chest. Especially a male chest. Especially this particular male chest. Be that as it may, Isabella couldn’t stop inhaling him, taking him in down to her toes and learning his scent…memorizing everything about this wickedly wonderful encounter.

  Wicked? Should she be thinking such a thing?

  How could she think anything else when it was all that swirled within her—wicked, wanton thoughts no maiden should ever entertain, but entertain them she did, which prompted her to ask, “Um…what if someone comes along and sees me standing here with you?” Sees you standing so close we’re practically sharing my slippers? “Would that not put lie to our injured-ankle claim?”

  “They will not.” His words contained every bit the caress his fingers delivered upon her cheek. “I took it upon myself to induce Harriet to stand sentry at the entrance to the guest wing.”

  A picture of Harriet and her beribboned goose guarding the way flashed in Isabella’s mind…honking and flapping wings and pecking at potential intruders—only with Harriet flapping arms in lieu of wings and abstaining from any pecking. The fanciful image didn’t lessen the sensations streaking across her cheek one iota. “But her goose?”

  “That’s where I was earlier. Outside with Harriet, finding a secure spot for her new pet to bed down in a corner of the stables. Ed refused, saying the only place that goose was going was in his gullet and I couldn’t stand by and suffer the look of woe on her face when she realized her find was ultimately meant for the dinner table.” He left off stroking her cheek and settled one broad, heavy hand upon her shoulder. “Promised her I’d find a home for the wretched thing tomorrow—that was the inducement—if she helped ensure an empty hallway and moment of privacy once we returned and found you gone.”

  “It’s been vastly longer than a moment, my lord.”

  “And you weren’t the only one nipped by that dam— Ah, pardon me, that deuced goose.”

  “Deuced goose,” she managed with a smile, in spite of the amazing tingly warmth his hand caused to trickle down her whole body. “I may need to add that one to my repertory.”

  “You refer to your earlier exclamation of ‘dratted gnats’?”

  “Heard that, did you?”

  “I did indeed. Care to share what others you’ve coined for your own?”

  “No I do not, for they aren’t suited for genteel conversation.” What would he think of her should he overhear damned lamb or poxed fox? Not that she ever said them out loud, not ordinarily. “But there is something I would appreciate immensely should you share it with me.”

  “You have but to name it.”

  “Can you…” His scrutiny warmed her face and she looked off toward the Harriet-ensured empty hallway. Oh, would that she could see him too!

  “Can I what?” His husky tones made her vibrate inside.

  “Can you explain why you would choose to sequester yourself entertaining me when such a vast array of amusements proceed elsewhere? Do you not long to be with your friends?”

  “Sooo…” Easily could she hear the smile in his voice. One finger edged beneath her chin and directed her face back toward his. “You find me entertaining, do you?”

  “Lord Frostwood!” She’d never been a sauce box before, couldn’t believe she was being so bold now. Isabella knew their enthralling association would go nowhere once Twelfth Night signaled the end to this wondrous, magical holiday. And while part of her was loath to surrender even a second of his company, the more sedate, demure part—the stifled self she typically portrayed at home—thought it best to shoo him away before she became any more enchanted. “I am used to solitude, I assure you, my lord. You need not sacrifice your holiday attempting to engage and amuse the quiet wallflower in the corner.”

  “How can you describe yourself thusly?”

  “I only give voice to the facts.” A new thought occurred, one that threatened to put a pall over their entire exchange. “Did Lord Redford persuade you to—”

  “Nay, he did not!” Frost said with such vehemence she could do naught but believe. “I spend time at your side only because I choose to. It is not some dull swift’s errand I’m on! You are a most confounding wench to broach such a dismal topic, particularly when I had substantially different things in mind.”

  “Oh! That’s right. You searched me out at Anne’s behest. Pray, what is her message?” Though it didn’t matter. Truly, she suspected nothing could elevate her mood any more than it was now. He liked spending time with her!

  “Eh?”

  Even his grunts sounded smooth and inviting, any noise he made or tone he chose to employ swirling into her ears, sliding down her spine and causing her toes to fair dance in her slippers. Pished fish, but he made her equilibrium go all higgledy piggledy. Isabella scooted one foot backward until her heel touched the door. Feeling
more secure, she prompted, “Matter of great importance, my lord? I believe that’s what you claimed.”

  “I lied,” he said promptly. “Rotten thing to do, but there you have it. Dare I hope you have no great aversion to liars?”

  How did one answer a question like that? Of course she had an aversion to liars! Didn’t everyone? “Mmm…I’m certain liars, much like sinners, deserve our charity and forgiveness especially at this time of year.”

  She thought she heard a snort of laughter. “Well said. Did you enjoy your trip to nod?”

  “My trip to nod?” She breathed deeply, intentionally inhaling him again.

  “Your nap. This afternoon, remember? You needed to rest, if I recall correctly. Directly amidst our conversation.”

  Where were you seated earlier? she wanted to ask, having wondered all through the merriment after dinner. It was excessively strange, thinking she felt his gaze upon her person but being in no position to ask anyone for confirmation. Nor was she in a position to ask now. She blushed, recalling how intently she’d listened for his voice among all the others, blushed more fiercely, realizing he’d sought out this private moment with her. And blatantly admitted it, along with his interest in her—at least she thought he had—which only made her burn hotter.

  He stepped closer. She heard the rustle of his clothing, sensed him along every inch of her being.

  Instinctively, she retreated. Her back bumped into the door.

  “Your face reddens, dear Isabella. Does your conscience perhaps trouble you?”

  Her conscience? Nay, but his nearness…

  “Ah well, mayhap now isn’t the time for confessions, eh?”

  “That’s a peculiar thing to say.”

  “At least it’s not a command,” he quipped then, before she could respond, he ordered, “Close your eyes.”

  “What?” Why were they whispering?

  “Close your eyes.”

  She did, just as he placed something against her bandaged palm, curled her fingers around it and brought her hand to his chest. “Push me away if I be too bold.”