To Wed A Rebel. Sophie Dash

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      Albert did not reply, his expression sulky, and so Ruth kept speaking.

      “Although I hardly have his flair for cultivation, I do like to hope the grounds looked far smarter when I left than before I arrived.”

      Albert sniffed and eyed the fruit trees warily. “Didn’t they have gardeners for all that?”

      Silence strung itself around them again and this time Ruth did not try to cast it away.

      Sleepy sunlight gave the orangery a soft glow as the tour meandered back outside, led by Lady Winston, who firmly believed in the benefits of fresh air and would not let the gathering rest until a walk had been undertaken.

      “It will aid digestion,” she had informed them all, marching off into the distance and compelling the small group to follow.

      When at last all possible topics had been visited by Ruth and even Albert had run out of things to say, Lottie found them, excusing Albert with a curt smile and grabbing her friend’s arm.

      “I spoke to Mrs Howe and she heard from Lady Frederickson that our snake charmer, Isaac Roscoe, had a minor disagreement with the Navy; a connection to a mutineer – it’s very scandalous,” said Lottie in hushed tones. “Now, I’ve the highest regard for those who’ve sailed, but you have to keep in mind Lord Nelson and his conduct. That being said, I’ve heard Mr Roscoe will be here tonight and I have to dance with him. You must make sure it happens. If you don’t, I will never forgive you.”

      “I cannot make anyone dance with anyone,” replied Ruth. “Besides, you are the one who’s good at getting people to do what they wouldn’t do otherwise.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “Nothing.”

      The redhead hummed, but let the comment slide as the tour continued and the air grew cooler.

      “I thought we came to London to avoid such excursions. Give me plays, balls and culture, not another country estate that looks exactly like all the others I’ve ever seen,” scoffed Lottie, leaning heavily against Ruth as they plodded along. “I suppose you like all this, don’t you?”

      “It is a marvellous evening to be outside,” said Ruth quietly, not eager to upset her friend.

      “And it would be equally marvellous if the ball could begin and we were dancing, rather than trekking across the wilderness. Then I could be in Mr Roscoe’s arms and make everyone else jealous of me, as they should be.”

      “It’s hardly wilderness,” said Ruth. “Can you smell the honeysuckle? I should like a house with honeysuckle growing up the side and lavender by the gate.”

      “You will be able to have whatever you want when you’re Mrs Pembroke and stolen away from me.” The self-pitying tone she took was enough to stir up guilt within Ruth. “Heaven knows the family’s rich enough to give you all you could ever want.”

      “I am certain that Albert will let you stay with us often,” said Ruth quickly, squeezing Lottie’s hand. “You needn’t worry, there will always be room for you.”

      “Wonderful.” Her friend beamed in response, spinning her parasol, morose mood entirely gone. “Perhaps I shall visit the fortnight after your wedding, you know, if I am not intruding.”

      “I will have to ask Albert.”

      “A man like him must have wealthy friends,” said Lottie. “You can find me one and write to me. It will be a hobby for you, won’t it? I know you won’t let me down; you never do. Look, there.” She sheltered her eyes with her hand, squinting into the distance, to where a late supper had been prepared for them. “I am utterly famished. If I do not eat I will faint on the spot and won’t be able to dance at all. Hold my parasol, would you?”

      “I cannot carry both and eat too—”

      “Just don’t scuff it. Hold it properly, like – yes, that’s it.” She smiled. “You are such a darling, Ruthie.”

       Chapter Two

      Isaac

      The ballroom was sweltering. Clothes stuck to skin. Perspiration drew lines in the thick powder worn by older women (and a few dandified men). Only the most determined couples danced, faces shining, cheeks rosy, palms clammy. Not a single individual here was familiar to Isaac and for that he was thankful. There had been far too many close calls in London relating to his previous ‘work’ in sabotaging engagements. In a year or less he would be too well-known to succeed, but by that point he aimed to have all the money he required to free him from this life.

      Then he would never need to do such tasteless deeds again.

      Well, unless they sounded fun.

      Eyes tracked his footsteps, there was nervous laughter from younger women – gaggled together like geese – and gossip followed, largely untrue, about heroics and sea battles and how he had wrestled a vicious beast to save two young women the night before. It was all tedious, even if it brought a smile to his face and a drink to his hands. He had barely taken a gulp before his employer was at his throat.

      “Why isn’t it done yet?”

      “It takes time,” said Isaac, scanning the assembled women with their pretty frocks and fickle dreams. “Where is the Osbourne girl? I haven’t seen her.” He hadn’t looked. “Don’t tell me you wanted me here purely because you enjoy my company? If so, the sentiment is not returned.”

      Griswell’s tone was as sour as the wine. “I thought you had done this before?”

      “I have, more times than I can count,” he replied levelly. “Didn’t you like the snake incident? Its owner was reluctant to put the creature at risk, but your money persuaded him.”

      “My daughter was on that blasted boat.”

      “No harm came to her and it made an impression.” It also kept him from getting bored. One woman was much like all the others in his profession. Why not add exotic animals and hysteria? Anything to keep his interest and get the job done.

      Isaac needed a stronger drink – several stronger drinks – consumed anywhere that wasn’t here. It had been a while since he’d mingled with polite society and he was out of practice, too rough around the edges, blunt and careless. It was easy to hate them all. The challenge was not to show it.

      “This isn’t a game, Roscoe.”

      “And yet I play it so well.” Before the merchant could lose his temper, Isaac added, “I shall make little Miss Osbourne fall. She’ll throw her life away for me. It won’t be difficult; it never is.” And then, as always, he’d vanish with little thought as to the destruction left behind. “But you cannot bully a woman into holding feelings for you. It has to be done in a way that won’t arouse suspicion. It has to seem genuine.”

      “If you don’t arouse something soon, she’ll be married to that oaf.”

      Isaac flashed a sardonic grin. “Then I guess I am doing СКАЧАТЬ