Oh dear God!
Surely he wouldn’t. Gripping her seat with her hands, Isabella waited with bated breath for him to continue. She was powerless to stop him.
“I know,” he went on with steel in his voice, “because I was the man whom she was with at the barn. It wasn’t one of my stable boys or fieldworkers as some would like to believe, but me, the Duke of Kingsborough.”
A cumulative gasp went up from the crowd and Isabella just sat there, stunned and unwilling to turn and look at her parents for fear of the shame she’d undoubtedly see in their eyes.
“But,” he was now saying, “contrary to what you may think, nothing untoward occurred between us while we were there. I merely wished to speak with her privately so we could discuss the matter of her becoming my wife.”
Another gasp and Isabella’s heart was galloping away with her. Some of the people present started to speak, to ask questions, but Anthony raised a staying hand. Good God, it looked as if he had more to say.
“Now, I know that Mr. Roberts has had designs on Miss Chilcott for some time, but he is not in love with her, whereas I am.” Were some of the women who’d only moments earlier been willing to toss Isabella to the dogs actually sighing? Isabella blinked, and his words began to sink in. He loved her. Heaven above if he hadn’t just said as much to everyone present. Isabella sat in a daze while her heart thumped with delight and her stomach fluttered with anticipation. Anthony loved her, and nothing had ever felt more wonderful. “Now that Mr. Roberts has retracted his interest in Miss Chilcott, she is free from all responsibility toward him, and I am finally able to ask her the one question that I’ve been so desperate to ask.” Meeting her gaze, he finally allowed a smile as he extended his hand toward her, beckoning for her to join him.
Isabella couldn’t move. Her mouth had grown dry, and she just sat there staring at him as if he’d just dropped from the sky. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She no longer had an obligation toward Mr. Roberts, not just because he’d cried off but also because her parents had accepted her right to choose the man she wished to spend her life with herself.
Her mother had realized how wrong it was to keep Isabella from Anthony on the basis of her own terrible experience. Since then, Lady Margaret had warmed toward the duke, going so far as to tell Isabella how kind she thought him to be. And then of course there were Isabella’s own feelings to consider. She loved Anthony and had longed for them to find a way to be together since she’d first seen him striding across the ballroom toward her that evening they’d first met.
It all seemed so long ago now, with everything that had happened in between. The fairy tale she’d always wished for was about to be hers, so although this wasn’t the private, romantic moment she’d been hoping for, with every gossipmonger in Moxley staring wide-eyed upon her instead, she felt a surge of happiness bubbling inside her. It spread rapidly to every inch of her body until she felt herself growing warm and giddy from it. And when her mother gave her a gentle nudge, reminding her that Anthony was still standing there waiting for her to join him, she knew she must have looked a fool with the loopy grin that captured her lips.
Somehow, he’d done it—he’d discredited the rumor, saving her reputation and offering her his name and protection in one clean sweep. Of course, if anyone ever discovered the truth, his honor would take a severe blow indeed. She knew that Lady Harriett was sitting diagonally to her right, and she fought the urge to look at her, keeping her gaze trained on Anthony instead. Lady Harriett deserved nothing from her, not even the acknowledgement of her presence, but the fact that she had witnessed enough of Isabella’s rendezvous with Anthony to base a rumor upon it was most disturbing, to say the least.
Pushing the vile thought aside, Isabella smiled up at Anthony as he took her hand in his and dropped to one knee. Silence filled the air as everyone present trained their ears and listened.
“Isabella, you know that I love you, and I believe I have proven myself willing to do almost anything to secure your hand in marriage. Would you please do me the honor of becoming my wife, my duchess, and in so doing, of making me the happiest man in the entire world?”
As she stood there, gazing down at that handsome face of his, so full of hope and happiness, her eyes misted, and her throat closed against the yes she so desperately wanted to give him, so she nodded her enthusiasm instead as the first tear trickled down her cheek. It was kissed away a moment later by Anthony, who’d leapt to his feet and was presently hugging her against him while the whole room erupted with applause.
Finding her voice, she quietly whispered against his ear, “I love you too, Anthony, so terribly much.”
Chapter 24
With Isabella on his arm, Anthony started leading her toward the exit, only too happy to get away from these people who had been so eager to pass judgment on her only moments earlier. As they drew up to where Lady Harriett was standing with her parents, however, Anthony turned a dangerous glare on Lord Crooning. “I did not wish to publically humiliate you, my lord,” he said in a muffled tone. “But I think it prudent to tell you that your daughter is to be found at the core of all this spiteful gossip. Had she been a man, I would have called her out. Do whatever you must to keep her under control and out of my sight, or so help me God I’ll see her shunned and ostracized to such a degree that her only option will be to leave the country. Do I make myself clear?”
Lord Crooning gave a curt nod of response, his eyes flickering with something akin to fear, and as Anthony’s gaze went to Mrs. Crooning and Lady Harriett herself, both kept their faces downcast, the arrogance they’d both displayed in his parlor only a week earlier completely gone. “I hope you’ll forgive me for bringing you into all of this,” Anthony said as they passed Mr. Roberts in the doorway.
“You did the right thing,” Mr. Roberts said, taking Isabella’s hand and bowing over it to show his regard. He might have had his ulterior motives for wishing to marry her, but Isabella had had hers too—theirs had not been a love match but one from which both parties stood to gain, and however much Anthony had disliked Mr. Roberts’s intentions toward her, he’d proven himself a gentleman in the end.
Thanking him, Anthony led Isabella outside to join her parents, who stood waiting for them.
“Congratulations,” Lady Margaret crooned, embracing her daughter while Mr. Chilcott shook Anthony’s hand. “And welcome to the family, Your Grace,” she added, releasing Isabella, whose face was beaming with unabashed joy.
“I should say the same to you,” Anthony grinned. For the first time since his father’s death, everything in his life felt good and right. Now, if he could only get Isabella off to the altar as quickly as possible, he’d be most content. Of course, there was also his mother to consider. He would have to send word to her immediately, and once she heard the news, a quick marriage by special license would be out of the question.
Not that he minded too much—she deserved the joy of helping Isabella arrange all of those little details that women were so fond of. The only problem this presented was that he’d probably have to wait a couple of months before taking his lovely bride to his bed. He groaned. Somehow, he’d have to find a solution to this unless he wished to subject himself to a constant state of discomfort. Needless to say, he did not. Of course, she’d snuck out of her home before on the night of the ball, so perhaps . . . ?
He escorted them all back to the Chilcott residence, but as soon as Isabella’s mother and father had alit from the carriage, he waited a moment before helping Isabella down, affording them a bit of privacy, since her parents had now almost reached the front door. With her hand tucked snuggly against the crook of his elbow, he leaned close to her as he whispered, “Any chance I might convince you to have another midnight escapade?”
Her head turned sharply toward his, and though her eyes were initially filled with surprise, they quickly started to sparkle with mischief. “Why, Your Grace, I do believe you’re hoping to seduce me.” There was a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, suggesting that she was struggling to keep a straight face.
“Meet me at the garden gate tonight at eleven?” he pressed, determined to come to an agreement before they arrived at the front door, where her parents stood smiling and waiting for them to join them.
“I’ll be there,” she promised just as a lovely pink hue flared in her cheeks. And then their moment of privacy was gone and they were being ushered inside for tea while Lady Margaret prattled on about how happy she was for her daughter and how they must sit down together with Anthony’s mother and discuss the wedding gown, the flowers and whatever else would be required to make the big day perfect. Anthony, on the other hand, said nothing, his thoughts straying to the promise of what that night would bring.
With a thick, woolen shawl draped about her shoulders, Isabella quietly opened her bedroom window at precisely five minutes before eleven and climbed out, careful not to wake Jamie, who’d fallen peacefully asleep an hour earlier.
Easing herself down from the ledge, Isabella closed the window, jamming a wad of fabric between the two frames to hold them in place while she was away. She then walked brusquely around to the front of the house and down the garden path to where Anthony stood waiting. “My horse is this way,” he whispered as he placed his arm about her shoulders and hurried her along. “I thought it best to leave him tethered a short distance from here so his whinnying wouldn’t arouse suspicion.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Isabella said beneath the strong weight of his arm. Heat coursed through her, and for the first time that day, she considered what she was actually getting herself into by agreeing to meet him like this. Her heart’s pace quickened with anticipation, for there was no question about it—Anthony would not wish to get her alone like this for a mere chat.
“Where are we going?” she asked as soon as they’d located his horse and were riding along the dirt road, increasing the distance between themselves and Moxley.
“Why, to Kingsborough Hall, of course,” he said with distinct amusement in his voice as he urged the horse onward.
Good Lord!
“But that’s . . . that’s . . .”
“Outrageous?” he offered, his voice still ringing with mirth.
“Well, yes,” she said. She attempted to look back over her shoulder at him, but her position made that impossible. “What if someone sees me? The last thing I wish is to incite more gossip.”
“We’ll just have to be extra careful,” he said as he angled his head to place a kiss against her neck, which in turn made her skin sizzle. “And besides, my mother is out of town, and I have sent all the servants to bed.”
Isabella actually gulped. The consequence of her actions had suddenly become very real, and for a fleeting second she considered asking him to turn the horse about and take her home.
But then she recalled their time together in the barn—how sensual it had been and how utterly incredible. She loved this man and he loved her; they would be married soon, though probably not soon enough. Did she really wish to wait until her wedding night to be with him? The answer rang loud and clear inside her head, and she shook off whatever misgivings remained. In another month or two (depending most likely on how good she would be at convincing their respective mothers to hasten things along) he would be her husband, but for tonight, he would be Anthony, the Duke of Kingsborough—her lover.