Page 46 of Lady Controversial
‘Since the alternative is to throw myself upon Lord Brooke’s mercy…well, there really is no alternative. Besides, it is only until Jane has made her curtsey.’
Isolda’s vision had cleared and she was now fully awake and aware of her surroundings. What Ellery described as a cottage was more like a palace to her. The room she was in was large, tastefully furnished and mercifully warm. She wondered who lived here or whether he was keeping the place in readiness for a mistress? Did he expect her to fulfil that role in return for being rescued?
Not that she’d needed rescuing, but she decided not to make that point too obvious. She had never been looked upon as mistress material before, at least as far as she was aware, and she found the prospect oddly appealing rather than being insulted by it. She managed a smile, thinking of Jane’s outrage were she to be aware of Isolda’s current whereabouts. Mercifully, she would be sound asleep by now, blissfully unaware of Isolda’s absence.
‘You are a reckless fool!’
‘You seem determined to insult me at every turn,’ Isolda replied, sitting fully upright and swinging her legs over the side of the daybed. She recalled her unorthodox attire, which left little to the imagination insofar as her thighs were concerned, but stubbornly refused to cover herself. If he did not like what he saw, he was free to leave her to her own devices. But far from seeming outraged, he allowed a significant glance to rest upon her legs and an amused smile played about his lips. Clearly, he was ready to rise to Isolda’s unspoken challenge, which did not entirely surprise her. ‘Have the goodness to arrange a carriage to return me home. If that presents you with a difficulty then you only have yourself to blame. My arrangements in that regard have been inconvenienced by your insistence that you know what is best for me.’
‘You cannot go home. It isn’t safe.’
‘Of course it’s safe!’ she snapped, a feeling of dread working its way into her system.
‘I have sent my man to inform Mrs Compton where you are.’ He paused. ‘I assume that she at least knows what you get up to.’ Isolda reluctantly nodded, feeling the situation slipping steadily from her control. Not that she had ever been in control of it, she conceded, but at least she had been able to persuade herself otherwise. At first. ‘Someone will watch over the cottage tonight and bring your sister and servants here in the morning.’
‘Just a minute!’ she cried. ‘There is absolutely no need to—’
‘Don’t fight me on this, Isolda.’ His tone turned decisive. ‘Trust me when I say there is every need.’
‘Why?’ she demanded to know. ‘What game are you playing at my expense?’
‘It’s no game. It is a deadly serious matter. Brooke was at the melee tonight and I am absolutely sure that if I recognised you then he will have done so too.’
Isolda’s jaw fell open. ‘Oh!’ she gasped.
Chapter Fifteen
Marcus had assumed that the glowing reports reaching his ears regarding the masked swordsman had to be grossly exaggerated. But they had grown to the point that he could no longer ignore them and so he had come to see the young man perform for himself. Barker had extolled his skills during the course of their negotiations, and given his popularity Marcus had offered to purchase the lad from Barker.
Actually, he’d left Barker with little choice.
Now he had come to see his latest acquisition in action. The moment the boy walked into the arena, modest and clearly uncomfortable at being the centre of attention, he was assured of Marcus’s undivided interest. There was something exceptional about the command of his swordplay, about the instincts in one so young and slight.
‘Well, well,’ he muttered, scratching his chin, realising that his own instincts had served him well. The boy would indeed prove to be a lucrative attraction that would entice the well-heeled curious into the clutches of his new venture. The child’s skill was wasted on thehoi polloi.
Marcus never lost a chance to increase his fortune, and always had an eye open for the latest opportunity. He knew immediately he entered the clearing and sensed the buzz of anticipation that he’d done the right thing in showing his face. Better yet, he remained to be convinced that Barker knew what he had in this most remarkable of lads. His movements were mesmerising, his reactions lightning fast and intuitive.
They had not agreed final terms, Barker insisting that the lad must have a say in his own future. Ridiculous! Marcus shook his head, thinking that would explain why Barker remained so insignificant; he was unable to attract men with real money to wager. It took men like Marcus with influence and vision to get the best out of people, and that did not involve allowing them any say at all. In all probability Marcus would be able to intimidate Barker into giving the lad up for a fraction of his value, given that he didn’t really know what he had. Provided he won this bout and his identity remained shrouded in mystery.
Everything hinged on that.
Annoyingly, it looked as though the one-sided contest would be ended quickly and brutally. The lad’s opponent was no slouch and outweighed him substantially. What the devil had Barker been thinking, putting him up against such a formidable foe? He was fast and agile in his own right, surprisingly so for such a big man. Even so, the lad didn’t appear to be intimidated and danced around him more gracefully than some of the lasses Marcus had seen performing quadrilles in elegant ballrooms.
In short, Marcus was as fascinated as the rest of the crowd and could not have looked away if his life had depended upon it.
He was definitely onto a winner that would ensure the success of his planned venture. The fact that the boy’s identity had been kept secret was inspired. Marcus’s associates had heard that identity speculated upon in a dozen different taverns in the region and Marcus now had a burning desire to learn who he was and tell him what his future would entail. He would get nowhere with Barker and would inevitably be eventually beaten. Marcus could ensure that didn’t happen.
Marcus winced, groaning along with the rest of the audience when the lad stared into the crowd and momentarily lost concentration. It cost him dear. His opponent seized the moment and struck, causing blood to gush from a gash on the lad’s forearm. He glanced down at it, looking faintly surprised, as though he hadn’t felt his opponent’s rapier slice into his flesh.
Damn it, Marcus thought, thumping his thigh with a clenched fist in frustration, he was too late! The boy would never recover from such a debilitating injury and his opponent obviously knew it. He was grinning as he went in for the kill. What in heaven’s name had made Barker put him up against such a strong opponent, Marcus wondered once more. Someone had mentioned that there was dissatisfaction amongst thehoi polloi, who seemed to think the fights were rigged.
‘Bugger it!’
‘Just watch,’ the man beside Marcus said calmly. ‘The lad ain’t done for yet.’
Marcus didn’t believe it and turned away. There was no point in staying on to witness the boy’s humiliation.
A hush descended, followed by a raucous cheer that had Marcus turning back to the action in spite of himself. He blinked to clear his vision, scarcely able to believe what he saw. The lad had found a second wind from somewhere and was dancing around his opponent like a gazelle. He ignored the blood dripping from his arm as he feinted and dodged and then chose exactly the right time to leap forward and strike the killer blow.
