For no gentleman would look at a woman as he had looked at her. The man must be a libertine. A man of his stamp would doubtless prefer to gaze on women with more opulent, and visible, charms. Isabella told herself she was glad of her dowdy appearance if it protected her from a handsome ladykiller. Isabella Winstanley would never have truck with such a man.
She forced herself to assume her normal outward calm, but her wayward thoughts continued to whirl. Her heart was still racing. And the strangest feelings assailed her.
She was still trying to recover her inner composure when the tall gentleman began addressing his friend. ‘I had not pictured you in the role of knight errant, Lewiston, I must admit—but I am sure your offer will be appreciated.’
Isabella felt the colour rising in her cheeks at the slight but unmistakable emphasis in his words. Her would-be rescuer was clearly determined to make her feel thoroughly ashamed of her earlier behaviour. And he was succeeding.
He did not so much as glance in her direction as he continued, ‘I imagine you were about to offer the ladies one of our chambers and our private parlour. And without so much as a “by-your-leave”, either,’ he added wryly. ‘If I were introduced to this lady, I might be more amenable on that subject, you know.’
Isabella was hard put to hide her astonishment. The man now spoke as if he had never set eyes on her before.
Mr Lewiston’s relative youth was evident in his response, for he coloured and stammered a little, before admitting that he himself had not yet been introduced to this particular lady.
The tall gentleman immediately took charge of the discussion, turning a sudden and devastating smile on Isabella that did the strangest things to her knees, much as she steeled herself to resist. ‘I hope you will forgive my friend’s shocking want of manners, ma’am. I gather he very much desires to be of service to your party in your present difficulties…though I do not fully understand what they might be. Perhaps you could explain a little more, Miss…?’
A number of unflattering descriptions arose in Isabella’s mind, of which ‘dissembler’ was probably the least insulting. Unable to voice her opinion of him without lapsing into impropriety, she swallowed her wrath before explaining, in her best poor-relation manner, that she was Miss Winstanley, en route for London with her young cousin, Miss Sophia Winstanley. But she could not resist adding, with a touch of asperity, ‘You are, I fancy, already well acquainted with the details of our predicament, sir. The landlord’s views on our arrival must have been heard by every one of the gentlemen in the coffee-room.’
She knew she was yielding to her worst impulses by saying such a thing, but she felt so strange in the presence of this man. Somehow, she felt impelled to provoke a reaction from him.
It did not come, because the landlord could no longer contain himself. He burst into vehement self-justification. ‘My lord,’ he began, ‘you knows that this b’aint no place for ladies just now, with so many sporting gen’lemen staying here. I only—’
Isabella cringed inwardly. Good God—not merely a libertine, but a peer as well. It was worse and worse.
The landlord’s excuses were cut short by the unnamed lord. ‘However well-meant your concern, landlord, the fact remains that rooms were bespoke for this lady and you have let them elsewhere. Furthermore, it is already too late for any of your guests, male or female, to journey on in search of accommodation elsewhere.’ With a sidelong glance at Isabella which confirmed that he had indeed heard all of her discussions with the landlord, he concluded, ‘Since this lady’s instructions predate those of the sporting gentlemen, it is clear that the gentlemen must make way for the ladies. So, what do you propose, landlord?’
In truth, the landlord had nothing much to offer, since all his rooms were taken and it was not in his interest to offend the free-spending sporting guests. At length he ventured, ‘If some of the gen’lemen might be willing to share, summat might be done, p’rhaps. But I don’t know…’
‘We have already offered the ladies the use of our sitting room and one of our bedchambers.’ He looked blandly across at his friend. ‘And since Lewiston would not really enjoy sleeping in the stables, he may share my room. That leaves, I think, only one more chamber to find. You can do that, surely, landlord?’
Isabella’s senses were reeling. Why should a rake put himself to so much trouble for someone he obviously considered beneath his touch? And someone who had spurned his help once already that day. Perhaps… But no. Doubtless he had caught sight of Sophia—who looked, for all the world, like a pretty young heiress. Just the sort of prey that such a man would seek to fasten on. Pity the hapless female who was unwise enough to fall into his clutches. He was charming, too, no doubt about that. She would not easily forget that devastating smile and its effect on her. She was feeling it still.
Isabella straightened her spine, waiting until she felt sufficiently in control of her emotions to speak. ‘You are most kind, gentlemen,’ she said, carefully addressing her remarks to the space between the tall unknown and Mr Lewiston. ‘I am sure my cousin will agree that she and I share a chamber also. There will be no need for further inconvenience to the guests on that score. I take it the landlord can find accommodation for the servants?’
The landlord readily agreed that he could. Then he fled from the scene, ostensibly to see to the readying of the rooms.
Isabella, now relieved of the immediate worry, felt some sympathy for him. It could not be easy dealing with a forceful lady and an arrogant lord at one and the same time. Arrogant? No, it would be unjust to call him so, however much she might detest his libertine ways. He was simply very firm about what was to be done. His manner was certainly daunting, but he was self-assured rather than arrogant, a man who was used to issuing commands and who expected them to be obeyed. It would probably be unwise to cross him, too, for there was something in his demeanour that suggested ruthlessness as well as strength. He… Enough! What on earth was she about, letting her mind wander so in the hallway of a posting house?
Isabella’s tumbling thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Sophia in her usual tempestuous fashion. ‘Winny, dear,’ she began, and Isabella’s heart sank as she recognised a gleam of sardonic amusement in the tall gentleman’s eye, ‘Mr Lewiston has so kindly offered to resolve all our problems for us. I have—’
Clearly, Sophia must be stopped before Isabella was even further embarrassed. Her predicament was already wretched enough. ‘Yes, I know, Sophia. Thanks to the kind offices of these two gentlemen, we have somewhere to sleep tonight, even if we are constrained to share a bedchamber. My lord,’ she added pointedly, ‘you must let me make you known to my cousin, Miss Sophia Winstanley. Sophia, this is Lord…’
‘Amburley, at your service, Miss Sophia Winstanley,’ he continued coolly, as if Isabella had known the name all along. He favoured Sophia with a brief, hard smile and bowed over her hand. Then, turning to Isabella, he took her hand also, adding, with another bow, ‘And at yours, Miss Winstanley, of course. The burdens of a companion on a journey such as this are not lightly borne. I hope I may have helped to relieve them in some small way. If there is any other service you require of me, ma’am, please do not hesitate to ask. And now we will leave you. I am sure you will wish to assure yourselves that your accommodation is adequate.’ With a further bow, he released Isabella’s hand and left them to return to the coffee-room, followed by a rather reluctant Mr Lewiston.
Isabella looked dazedly at her hand. It felt as if it were burning, yet there was no outward sign of heat. Her face, too, felt as if it were on fire. Was this an example of how a rake’s practised charm was exercised? She shook her head, vainly trying to clear her disordered thoughts. She longed for solitude so that she might attempt to make sense of what had happened. But, of course, sharing a room with the effervescent Sophia would prevent any opportunity for calm reflection. It was hopeless.
Isabella now wished with all her heart that she had never succumbed to the urge to visit that rural orphanage. It had led her into two encounters with a man who affected her composure as no other had ever done. Not that it mattered, for he clearly regarded her as a poor, used, spinster companion, put upon by all and an object