Isabella Read Online Free PDF Page A

presence. She was dismayed to find herself attracted to the...creature. Never in her life had she been so showered with poetic compliments, and she had begun to think that his "wicked charm" might indeed turn her head, for there was something so tempting about wickedness, wasn't there? Rakish young men were rather like forbidden sweets: You knew they weren't good for you and you'd suffer for trying them, but they were so very...seductive. What a monstrously improper train of thought! Gladly, she put it aside as Lord Hartleigh's arm encircled her waist.
    This, too, was a waltz, but her response to this cousin was very different. Wasn't it odd that the one who had responded so warmly to her had frightened her, while this one, towering over her, who had insulted her and then dismissed her with cool arrogance, did not intimidate her in the least?
    They were alike in some ways. There was a family resemblance in the high cheekbones, the clear strong angles of the face, the long aristocratic nose. But there was nothing feline about Lord Hartleigh. His deep brown eyes, though betraying no emotion, appeared to gaze frankly at the world. His was not the cat-like grace of his cousin but, instead, the assertive grace of the athlete. And the strong arm around her waist made her feel protected, rather than threatened.
    Stiffly, they conversed about the weather, the temperature of the room, the attractive decorations. Then, quite abruptly (and to his own surprise), the earl changed the subject.
    "Miss Latham," he observed, "I do believe we got off on the wrong foot." Her startled eyes met his for a second, then looked away—into his neckcloth. However had he managed the perfect creases of that complicated arrangement? "I was rude to you once," he went on, "and compounded it with an equally rude apology. May we close the curtain on that unfortunate scene and begin fresh? My behaviour was inexcusable, but I ask that you dismiss it—as an unaccountable aberration."
    "You were concerned about your ward," she replied.
    "That is no excuse—"
    "It is forgotten," she interrupted, smiling up at him.
    It was Lord Hartleigh's turn to feel relieved, but his feelings were complicated by a new sensation: As he watched her face change with that smile, he felt a rather uncomfortable constriction in the general vicinity of his chest. Her eyes had softened to a deeper, smokier blue, and the curve of her lips was deliriously sensual. Several mute seconds passed as he gazed down into this suddenly very appealing face; seconds in which some unexpected notions drifted into his head. But he managed to recall himself in time. Clearing his throat, he told her that she was very... kind.
    "And how is Lucy?" she asked.
    This led to a discussion of various domestic details which Hartleigh had never previously considered. His bewilderment was plain—though he seemed to speak of it with humour—and when he quoted Aunt Clem's declaration that "the poor child was bored to tears in that stuffy house," Isabella laughed. The notion of this handsome, sophisticated, perfectly mannered, perfectly dressed Peer rendered helpless by a seven-year-old was highly diverting. As soon as she had shown her amusement, however, she regretted it; he would not like to be laughed at. Several couples dancing nearby were staring at them, and her face flushed crimson.
    "I beg your pardon, Lord Hartleigh," she apologised hastily. "I am not used to being in such fine company, and fear I have a case of the nervous giggles."
    He barely heard her, having become preoccupied with the constriction that was making it so difficult to breathe. Surely that deliciously wicked sound had not come from her. A host of even odder notions crowded into his brain, and he was very hard put to squash them. At length he managed to mutter something about a "perfectly absurd situation," and the dance, mercifully, ended.
    It was a greatly unsettled Earl of Hartleigh who returned to his home that evening. He had gone to