To Love A Wicked Scoundrel

‘What do you see?’ Lily’s innocent question interrupted his considerations and it proved a good matter as he suspected Isabelle noticed he stared in her direction.

‘Does your sister have a beau?’ He smirked as he voiced the question, unaccustomed to showing concern over male competition.

‘Oh yes. She has many.’

Annoyance rippled through him at the youngling’s reply. While he didn’t know what he expected with his foolish question, the undesired words sharpened his retort. ‘Here? I thought your family just arrived a few days past?’

He glanced in Isabelle’s direction. She’d stopped to admire the primrose clusters growing beside a wrought-iron bench. Refreshing as she appeared, how could he have thought she would not have a long list of admirers?

‘Yes. She has many in Wiltshire so Mother insisted she bring a few to London. Isabelle likes them well enough, although Mother tells her she can do much better here in the city. Mother says a lady should always be pretty and never mind witty.’

Lily bent and plucked a handful of buttercups from the grass. She twirled them between her palms, unaware of the scowl that masked his face.

Could he have perceived her innocence in error? Only an experienced woman would ask her lover to escort her to London for the season. But more than one beau? The very idea clashed with everything he surmised concerning Isabelle and she all but consumed his mind since their first invigorating meeting in Lord Rochester’s study. Much to his own body’s discomfort, he’d thought about her sweet heart-shaped lips every minute they hadn’t been together. Along with other entrancing aspects of her anatomy. It was unwise for him to draw quick conclusions, as he always proved intuitive when discerning another’s true nature. This new contradiction did not sit right.

‘My sister believes herself plain, no matter how I tell her different.’

The child’s innocent confession was charming, although he failed to understand how her words could be true. Plain? Preposterous. Isabelle’s uncommon colouring and lush figure conjured images of mermaids. Her flawless ivory skin would be envied by fairies. She presented a hauntingly erotic muse before anything else.

He diverted his eyes as Isabelle met them under the tree limbs. Then, unwilling to allow her escape, he stepped closer to the lane and let out a sharp whistle. His carriage turned the corner and a coachman hopped down from the box with a small basket and blanket in slapdash fashion. Con instructed the driver to take a long ride elsewhere in the park and far from their picnic. By Isabelle’s remarks in the study, he knew she cared little for the undesired attention that followed him and he wished for her to be at ease. Let the gawkers and flirtatious widows dodge his carriage on a different lane, while he remained where he most wished to be.

Without pause he snapped the blanket open and spread it beneath the branches of the upside-down tree, much to Lily’s delight. He noted Isabelle’s smile too. The three of them settled on the blanket but Lily did not remain and soon rose to treasure hunt in the nearby field of flowers.

He watched with acute interest as Isabelle removed her bonnet and placed it on the flannel alongside her gloves. His breath caught at the outright beauty of her hair. The clouds parted and a stream of sunshine flashed through the tree branches to reveal a kaleidoscope of colour in its auburn waves. He’d always had a fancy for red. Loathe to tear his gaze away, he feared he would reach across the blanket, pull her to him and plunder her mouth with a long, searing kiss if he did not distract himself. It was a good thing she had her hair all caught up in a satin bow, otherwise he would never be able to resist tangling his fingers in the lengths.