‘Not any more, at least.’
She flushed with anger. She’d always been intimidated by him, by his wealth, and power and handsome face. But she felt less impressed now. Compared to Lord Lennox, Mr Cowes seemed completely second-rate.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked, gaining confidence.
He put his hands nonchalantly in his pockets. ‘I was worried when you disappeared so suddenly—visited your house one day and found it occupied by perfect strangers.’
‘Yes, I sold it to pay you. And I did pay you.’
‘Not in full. You do realise that if you fail to uphold your side of our agreement, then I’ll have to approach the authorities.’
‘I’d hardly call blackmail an agreement.’
‘You’ve paid me only half of what you owe me, and you seem dangerously close to breaking your word. Since you’ve nothing left to sell, I can’t fathom how you’ll acquire the other half.’
‘I’ll use my imagination,’ she said sarcastically.
‘Even your imagination can’t be that good,’ he said, pausing to look at her face. ‘But then, perhaps you do have something to sell?’
She was going to ignore that insinuating remark. He was too insignificant to fluster her. She could handle him.
She could.
She just wished her audible voice sounded as robust as the one in her head. Instead it quivered slightly. ‘I…I did not come to London to hide from you as you suggest, you know.’
He looked amused. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes. I knew I needed further funds, so I came to find employment.’ Feeling surer, she added, ‘And I have.’ As she spoke, she was eternally grateful that she’d accepted Will’s offer.
‘You’ll be that well paid, will you? And what is it you’re doing?’
‘It is none of your affair.’
‘I can think of only one position in which a woman could earn enough. Shall I tell you what it is?’ He leaned in closer as he spoke, grabbing her tightly by the arm. Her stomach listed dangerously, and she thought she might be sick. This was the bit where he pushed her in a waiting carriage. Why had she been so impertinent?
‘Do you not want to know?’ he asked.
She shook her head. Softly, she pleaded, ‘Let me go. I will be late.’
He released her. She was so surprised that for two seconds she just stood there, waiting for him to grab her again. But he didn’t.
She took two steps backwards without taking her eyes from his face before turning to run. She didn’t care if she drew attention to herself, and she didn’t stop until she reached the end of the road. At the corner she paused, to see if he had followed, but he still stood where she’d left him, watching her smugly. She kept running.
Even though Isabelle had been to Will’s house once before, she still managed to lose her way. It didn’t help that she’d gone down an unfamiliar road in order to distance herself from Sebastian Cowes. Only after winding down a series of unfamiliar streets had she regained her bearings.
Then it began to rain in earnest.
She was sponge-wet when she finally reached the house, her hair dripping at the ends and her shoes squelching with every step she took.
She was also almost an hour late.
She knocked, consoling herself with the fact that at least her day couldn’t get much worse. Rogers, the footman, opened the door, looking annoyed with her yet again. ‘We were expecting you at ten, Miss Thomas.’
Oh, what an awful way to begin. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Haven’t you an umbrella?’
It was a stupid question, with an answer so obvious she didn’t bother to reply. She stepped inside, trailing water behind her. She dropped her bag on the polished marble floor. ‘I accidentally went down the wrong road. I got lost.’
He harrumphed. ‘His lordship wished to see you when you arrived.’ He walked to the study door and knocked, looking over his shoulder at her as he did so. ‘Do not move, Miss Thomas. You are dripping.’
A few seconds later, Will emerged from the study. If it were possible, he looked even more handsome today. His attire possessed none of the fussiness of Mr Cowes’s ludicrous cravat—his own was simply tied, and his jacket and breeches were again a sober blue and buff. Normally, the austerity of his dress was tempered by the playful spark in his eyes, but today he seemed merely irritated.
That is, until he looked at her. Then he just seemed confused. ‘Good God, did you swim here?’
She glared at him. She knew she was late and that she’d annoyed him, but she didn’t want to be the butt of his sarcasm. ‘You may have noticed the rain.’
‘It didn’t rain that hard here.’He turned to Rogers. ‘Tell Mrs Wright to come.’ And, to Isabelle as the footman walked off, ‘I have rather a busy morning.’
He still sounded peeved, and an awful sense of dread settled around her shoulders. Would she ever learn to control her temper and hold her tongue? For all that she might have protested yesterday, she truly needed this position—particularly in light of what had just happened. At least she’d be safe in his house.
Some humility was in order. ‘I am sorry. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.’
He sighed and actually sounded a bit contrite. ‘No, no, I’m sorry. It’s obviously been something of an ordeal getting here this morning. Uh…perhaps you should…’ He held out his handkerchief.
She took it gratefully. A mirror hung on the wall a few paces away and she walked towards it, dabbing her face. But the reflection she saw…heavens, for the first time she realised just how dishevelled she looked. Positively amphibious. Her cheeks were flushed and most of her hair had slipped from her chignon to hang wetly around her shoulders. She immediately began smoothing it back, but then she noticed her dress. Thick, chaste cotton most of the time, but right now it clung to her in a positively…
‘Oh, dear.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Even though he’d apologised for his abruptness, his voice sounded gruff and irritable.
She raised her gaze from her suddenly conspicuous breasts and realised that he was watching her in the mirror. She turned around immediately, slouching her shoulders forwards in an attempt at modesty. ‘Nothing.’
His gaze lingered on her face for just a second longer than was proper, but before she had a chance to turn an even more intense red, a matronly, middle-aged woman walked purposefully into the hall.
He dragged his attention away from Isabelle and cleared his throat. ‘Ah, Mrs Wright. This is Miss Thomas.’
The woman—obviously his housekeeper—smiled warmly, her manners too good to reveal any surprise at her appearance.
He turned to Isabelle, assiduously keeping his gaze above her neck. ‘I thought Mrs Wright could show you around the house this morning. Perhaps you would prefer to…uh, go to your room directly to change?’
She nodded silently, and with a nod of his own, directed at both her and Mrs Wright, he returned to his study.
‘Well, then,’the housekeeper said cheerily, clapping her hands together, ‘shall we begin?’
Before setting off, Isabelle restored her modesty by fishing a shawl from her bag and wrapping it around her shoulders.
‘You poor duck. I’ll lead you straight to your room, although I think we can see most of the house on the