A Little Mischief (6 page)

“Then what is your explanation? I’m ready to hear something reasonable.”

“He was lying right there on the ground.” She pointed to the spot. “See the cherub. That’s where Gretchen dropped it when I found her.”

“The cherub, indeed, lies on the ground, Miss Winslowe, but not Mr. Throckmorten.” He walked over to where she pointed and bent down for a closer inspection of the ground. Twilight was descending fast, but even in the waning light of day he saw no stains.

“I don’t see any blood.”

“He wasn’t bleeding.”

Daniel gave her a questioning look. “Yet she hit him on the head with a marble statuette?”

“Yes. I know it sounds preposterous.”

Her eyes sparkled with indignation, and she showed no sign of wavering from her story.

“I’m glad we agree on something.”

She took a ragged breath. “I can’t explain his disappearance.”

“Obviously.”

“Nor do I understand his disappearance, but he was indeed here and dead. I saw him. I shook him and called his name many times.”

Daniel was beginning to think his first inclination must be right. She had to be an actress to appear so shocked that the man was no longer in her garden dead or alive.

“Then where is he?”

Her gaze held fast to his and he was impressed with her audacity. “I just admitted that I don’t know. I have no idea.”

Daniel was in no mood to relent. “Dead men do not get up and walk off, Miss Winslowe.”

She stiffened. “I know that. Someone must have stolen the body.”

Despite his efforts to control it, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he had to bite back a chuckle. She was not to be believed. A dead body stolen from her garden in the space of not more than half an hour? His shoulders shook with humor. What kind of fool did she take him for? If she wasn’t up to mischief, he’d consider her downright charming.

Sparks of fire shot from her gleaming eyes, making her all the more attractive. For a brief moment his thoughts strayed to what she would look like with her golden hair spilling down her shoulders.

“This is not funny, Lord Colebrooke.”

He cleared his throat and did his best to wipe the smile from his lips, difficult as it was. “I quite agree—in some respects.”

“Then why are you smiling like Saint Peter on Judgment Day?”

“Perhaps because I don’t know what kind of madcap game you’re playing, Miss Winslowe. If it weren’t so cruel a joke, it might be fascinating.”

“This is no game, sir.”

“I believe it is, and this one involving my sister is over here and now.”

Her gloved hands made fists at her sides, and her eyes blazed with indignation.

“You are the most thickheaded man I have ever met. You heard your sister admit she struck Mr. Throckmorten and killed him. I don’t know what happened to him after we left him. I only know he was here. I know a dead man when I see one, and he was dead.”

Daniel hid a smile behind the pretext of clearing of his throat. “How many dead bodies have you seen, Miss Winslowe?”

She blinked rapidly and seemed to study his question a moment. “I’m not sure. I had an uncle who passed on, and then there was a neighbor a few years ago. Sweet mercies, I don’t know how many. But Mr. Throckmorten was lifeless. There wasn’t even the flutter of an eyelash.”

“Well, it appears that if Mr. Throckmorten was here, he’s gone now and that is all that matters.”

“If?” she said imperiously. “There is no
if
.”

“But there is.
If
he was here, I suggest he wasn’t dead but had merely passed out. I’ve seen Throckmorten so smashed he had to crawl out of White’s or be carried out by his friends.”

“That doesn’t mean he was overindulging in drink today.”

“It just so happens only a short while ago a good friend of mine said he saw Throckmorten today at White’s and he was already well into his cups. No doubt he was wandering around foxed and found your back gate unlocked as it is now. He stumbled in and passed out from too much wine. When he woke, he left the garden.”

“Very well. How would you explain your sister standing over his body holding a statue, saying she had struck him?”

“It’s simple really. She walked into your garden where she had every right to believe she would be safe and saw Mr. Throckmorten. She assumed he would accost her so she picked up the statue ready to defend herself when he approached her. Since there were no marks on him, I assume she missed when she struck out at him. He passed out and fell to the ground.”

“Even if the situation happened as you stated, do you think one of our servants would leave our back gate unlocked where anyone could wander in? That wouldn’t happen.”

“I don’t know what you would allow, Miss Winslowe, because I don’t know you.”

“Quite true, sir, and with your attitude, you are not someone I want to get to know.”

“That statement pleases me. You could have lured me into your garden with this false story in hopes of someone finding us together in a compromising position so that you could catch me in parson’s mousetrap.”

The fire of righteous anger burned brightly in her eyes, and she advanced on him in anger. “Dupe you into marriage? That is a contemptible suggestion, sir. You flatter yourself. I would rather spend my life in chains at Newgate than with you!”

Her fury was undeniable but not daunting, and for some reason Daniel found that strangely appealing. He met her challenge by taking a step toward her. They stood so close he could have easily touched her simply by lifting his hand. And for one startling moment he thought he wanted to caress her creamy-soft cheek with the backs of his fingers.

He had a bewildering desire to pull her to his chest and kiss her. He wanted to feel her rosy lips soft and pliant beneath his.

Daniel shook off his straying, astonishing thoughts. “Fancy you should mention Newgate, Miss Winslowe, because that is exactly where you will find yourself if I hear of you concocting any more tales such as this. I’ll personally see to it that your chicanery is stopped.”

“You, sir, are the most disagreeable man I have ever met.”

A slow confident smile spread across Daniel’s lips. He expected her to move away from him, but she remained so close he heard her labored breathing, saw the rise and fall of her chest, and caught a wisp of the clean scent of a lady’s perfumed soap. She was provoking, and in so many ways that wasn’t bad.

“I wouldn’t have you think of me any other way, Miss Winslowe.”

She continued to stare boldly into his eyes, refusing to back down on her story or back away from his nearness. Her courage was impressive, her beauty undeniable, and her mischief troublesome.

She kept her hot gaze on his. “I believe it’s time you took your leave,” she said.

He nodded once. “Something else we agree on. I trust I can rely on you not to breathe a word of this outlandish story to your group or to anyone.”

“If I had the forethought to send my aunt and servants away so they wouldn’t see the body, do you really think I would tell this to a roomful of impressionable young ladies?”

“As I said, I don’t know you. But hear me on this, Miss Winslowe, and hear me well.” He moved in closer to her and caught the appealing scent of freshly washed hair and new cloth. “Stay away from my sister.”

“You cannot intimidate me, Lord Colebrooke. I do not fear you. And I will not tell your sister she cannot come to our Reading Society.”

“Then I will. Good day, Miss Winslowe, and good riddance.”

Four

It took all of Isabella’s willpower not to slam the door behind the insufferable earl.

“Good riddance, indeed!” she muttered aloud. “I heartily agree, Lord Colebrooke.”

Isabella was far too sensible a woman to stomp her foot in frustration, but, oh, how she could see the value in it right now.

She untied her bonnet with cold fingers and removed it as she continued talking to herself. “I shall be happy to never look upon your handsome face again.

“Handsome?” Isabella stopped and breathed in a heavy sigh of surprise. “Sweet mercies, where did that word come from? And how could such a man as he be favored with such captivating appeal?”

She took off her gloves, one finger at a time, as she mumbled to herself with each pull on the tip, “He is positively arrogant, scornful, impatient, judgmental, and formidable.” She threw her gloves on a small table and took off her cloak, tossing it on top of the gloves and bonnet.

“I forgot
infuriating
,” she continued her conversation with herself. “Yes, he’s most infuriating. How could that man possibly be the most eligible bachelor in London? Piffle!”

Having reached the ground floor parlor, she took a deep calming breath as she walked over to the window. She brushed aside the dark green drapery panel and watched as Lord Colebrooke climbed effortlessly into his phaeton and took the reins.

It was widely known that the earl was only looking for a wife to give him a child, not love and devotion from an intelligent young lady who would be his partner for life. What woman would want a man who thought like that?

There were other words to describe him that she’d forgotten. He was impressive with his tall, powerful-looking frame and she’d been oddly attracted to him when he’d stood so close to her she heard his breathing and smelled the clean scent of shaving soap. She’d felt a strange quaking in her lower stomach and her knees had suddenly felt watery.

That he was loyal to his sister and protective of her was thoroughly commendable. Maybe that was the part of him that appealed to Isabella. For surely something about him had. It certainly wasn’t his overbearing self-confidence or his uncompromising and ill-mannered behavior toward her.

Yes, he was much too commanding for her taste. If she were to ever be interested in a man, it wouldn’t be someone as disagreeable as Lord Colebrooke. He certainly wasn’t the kind of beau she should get starry-eyed over.

She didn’t plan to marry, but if she were ever to reconsider, she wanted a husband who would love her and allow her to love him. She certainly couldn’t be interested in a man who had openly admitted that he was only looking for a wife to bear his children.

A husband would be an impediment to what she wanted. Freedom to do as she pleased—within reason. No doubt a husband would want her to be as silent as her father had. A husband would restrict her and take away the liberty she’d enjoyed since coming to London.

Isabella sighed as the phaeton disappeared around the corner. It was no wonder Lord Colebrooke thought her up to some kind of trickery. And he probably thought her a lunatic, too. What on earth could have happened to Mr. Throckmorten? She had never been so shocked in her life as when she found the garden empty.

She supposed she was going to have to accept Lord Colebrooke’s explanation about what happened. His assumption as to how the story worked out is the only one that made sense. Not that she would ever admit that to him. Surely no one came into her garden and stole Mr. Throckmorten’s body while she was away.

Had she really suggested that possibility to the earl? And to think he had smiled at her. Smiled! Oh, what he must have been thinking. No doubt he thought her a madwoman in need of chains at Bedlam.

“Oh, good heavens!” Isabella almost groaned aloud as the drapery panel slipped from her fingers. She turned away from the window.

No wonder he didn’t want his sister attending any more of her readings. He thought her a mischievous prankster up to no good.

But, now that Isabella thought about it, perhaps it was best for Gretchen to sacrifice their meetings. After all, the girl had admitted that she had made secret arrangements to meet Mr. Throckmorten in the garden. That was completely unacceptable behavior. Both she and Gretchen would be outcasts in Society if this story was repeated.

Certainly, Isabella wouldn’t tell anyone about today’s unsettling affair, having gone to such great lengths to keep it quiet from all her household. Lord Colebrooke made it clear he wouldn’t breathe a word of this incident to anyone, either.

Nor did she have any fear that Mr. Throckmorten would say a word. Whether Gretchen struck him or he passed out cold from drinking too much, he wouldn’t want anyone knowing he met Gretchen in the garden. Unless he wanted to find himself married to her.

“Well, it’s over,” she said to herself, reaching for her shawl that lay over the back of the wing chair. “I will dismiss the entire incident from my mind. Obviously Mr. Throckmorten was not dead and that is all that’s important. It would have been tragic for him and Gretchen if that had been the case.”

Wrapping the paisley silk around her arms, Isabella decided she would do a better job of watching after the young ladies at her home from now on. It had never occurred to her that one of the girls might use their meetings for a private assignation.

“Should I ever find myself in Lord Colebrooke’s presence again, I shall ignore him.” She sighed softly. “And if I tell myself that often enough, maybe I will be able to do it.”

Isabella walked into the kitchen, hoping to find the kettle warm enough to make tea. She looked around her aunt’s quiet, well-appointed house. Her aunt was such a dear sweetheart to have taken Isabella in when her father had all but abandoned her three years ago. An unusual pang of longing floated through her. It was unlike her to miss her father.