To Love A Wicked Scoundrel. Anabelle Bryant

strange reason, the realisation made her feel a trifle ill.

      Lily pulled on her arm again, anxious to continue their stroll and Isabelle set her feet into motion. She dared a quick glance to the second-floor windows of Lord Highborough’s townhouse to discover him peering at her from above. How long has she lingered? Good heavens, did he believe her to be one of the bird-witted ninnies who stood on the corner outside his residence hoping to catch a glimpse of His Royal Handsomeness? She turned and scurried after Lily as fast as her slippers could carry her.

      ***

      Constantine completed his change of clothes and hurried to the window to see if the chaos in the street had dissipated. A few people milled about but with the excitement over, the square would soon return to normalcy. About to turn away, a flash of red under the white lace of an onlooker’s parasol caught his eye. It took less than a minute to recognise the lady below as the lovely stranger who verbally sparred with him last night in Lord Rochester’s study.

       Isabelle.

      Her image had taunted him throughout the remainder of the evening, and when he awoke this morning, the remembrance of her sultry grey eyes, vibrant hair and lush figure tightened his body with yearning. He regretted not capturing her tempting heart-shaped lips in a long, heated kiss when he had had the chance.

      He chuckled aloud, assured he would have earned himself a set down. Isabelle appeared unlike the many ladies willing to offer him their casual favours. He learned her first name, but the minx distracted him so thoroughly, he never discovered her last. That problem wanted a remedy.

      He caught up to her and the bewitching child he met during the poppy incident at a narrow turn in the path, near the bodkin bench under a flowering bergamot tree. The child was consumed by a bird’s nest and she refused to proceed further down the path no matter what type of inducement Isabelle offered. A wry smile quirked his lips at her thwarted hasty retreat. He had believed her to possess a bit more spunk. True, it likely proved awkward to be caught staring up at his second-storey window.

      He remained a good distance from them and wished to enjoy Isabelle’s pleading tone a bit longer, but the child spotted him and with a squeal of delight pointed in his direction and raced forward with excitement. He smiled upon discovery, as he had committed the same crime as she, shamelessly watching from afar.

      ‘Hello, good sir.’ The child fell into a polished curtsy and then thrust out her palm, over which a delicate feather lay, the thinnest plume, a gentle shade of grey with hints of gold near the edges. He looked up to see the same soft hues in Isabelle’s eyes.

      ‘Lily, how many times have I warned you never to talk to strangers? We are not in Wiltshire. This is a very large city. All types of libertines and blackguards may be lurking in the shadows. Dangerous men who lack morals and tempt disaster are hiding everywhere ready to deceive any trusting young lady.’

      He bit the inside of his cheek to stifle a smile at the dreadful picture Isabelle drew with her words. While the underlying message was one worth championing, he doubted it necessary to portray him as the worst kind of threat.

      Lily glanced from one adult to the other with a perplexed look on her face. ‘This is my friend,’ the child said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘He gave me a button simply because I admired it.’

      Isabelle arched a narrow brow in his direction and challenged him with her eyes. Lord, he’d rather challenge her with his body.

      The child continued rightfully unaware of the sparks that danced between the two adults above her head. ‘My name is Lily and this is my sister, Isabelle.’

      ‘I am very pleased to meet you. I am Lord Highborough. I live over there on the corner.’ He waved in the general direction of Park Lane as he glanced from child to the adult. ‘But I believe you know that already.’ Isabelle’s skin warmed to a lovely shade of pink. He crouched down to Lily’s height and questioned her in a discreet tone. ‘I thought I saw your sister with you two days past. How many sisters do you have, little one?’

      Lily giggled and offered him another sweet smile. ‘Just one.’ She raised her palm beneath his nose. ‘Do you like my feather? Do you think it is from a wagtail? There is a nest in the tree. Won’t you come and see?’ She grasped his hand and he followed obediently.

      The three of them stood under the bergamot tree in silence as Lily stood on her toes in an effort to see inside the bird nest buried in the V of two low-lying branches. Meanwhile Isabelle looked utterly fetching in a simple ivory gown with chocolate brown trim and short puffed sleeves. The close-fitted bodice outlined her enticing curves and he took in her delicious profile with pleasure.

      Grosvenor Square was a fashionable place. It made sense anyone visiting on holiday would choose to spend the day strolling the flower gardens. Con knew without a doubt that her viewing him in the window was a chance coincidence, but he would not waste the opportunity handed to him. He still did not know her full name, where she lived, or how she planned to spend her time while in London. And he wanted to know all of it, anything concerning Isabelle.

      With little effort, he clasped Lily beneath the arms and hoisted her up to allow her to peer curiously into the nest on the bergamot branch.

      ‘There are eggs, Isabelle! Three little green eggs!’

      He held the child securely, but his eyes never left the woman before him. A graceful smile curved her lips and her head tilted the smallest degree as she viewed her sister. Her beautiful hair, left unbound, fell in rippling auburn waves behind her. In that quiet moment, Con wished he could paint her portrait. He would always remember how she appeared in the waning sunlight that filtered through the branches.

      ‘Have you visited Hyde Park to see the upside-down tree?’ A brief flash of excitement lit Isabelle’s grey eyes then, almost as if she forgot herself. Quickly she re-established an expression of extreme patience. He gently placed Lily on the grass and continued as though he had received an answer to his original question. ‘Hyde Park is filled with all sorts of wonderful sites, but the weeping beech is a botanical oddity everyone should view at least once in their lifetime. It appears as if the tree grows from the ground upside down.’

      Intrigued, Lily clasped her hands together and a wistful smile graced her face. Con suspected Isabelle shared the same excitement but he doubted she would ever confess the feeling. No matter. He had laid the bait, now he needed only to lure his prey forward. ‘I propose we go there tomorrow for a picnic, and I shall accompany both of you on your very first viewing of the upside-down tree – ’

      Isabelle’s refusal overrode the end of his sentence. ‘Oh, no thank you, milord. We could never impose upon you.’

      ‘Oh, please.’ Lily’s soft plea would be hard to resist, but Isabelle would have none of it.

      ‘Perhaps another time. Now we really must be going. If you will excuse us, I am sure Lily’s mother is wondering what has happened to us. We merely intended to take the air.’

      He watched as Isabelle grasped Lily’s hand in a firm hold and led her back to the pathway with brisk steps. Would she gift him with a glance over her shoulder, her fiery locks trailing behind her, the ends lifting in her wake? To his disappointment, she slipped out of sight as soon as the path curved. They could never hear his chuckle and that was more the reason he allowed a hearty laugh as he turned to make his way back.