To Wed A Rebel. Sophie Dash
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and she straightened up, alert.
All those clever, practised lines he had hoped to offer vanished. It made no sense. He was good at this; he was a professional. And yet there was nothing. No suave remarks, no quick wit. It had to be the wine. It had knocked him off kilter – that was all.
“Forgive me,” he finally said, feeling foolish, striding forwards. “I did not mean to frighten you – or the little one.”
“I’m not scared,” called the boy, receiving a gentle shush from Ruth. “I’m not, I swear.”
“Glad to hear it,” answered Isaac, analysing the situation, his target’s expression, and hoping that his head would provide any answer as to how to proceed. His mind was uncooperative, packed tight with cotton. All words left him, as though he’d never had them at all. Isaac fumbled, “We met yesterday.”
“I know.”
“I – your friend, she was worried about you – out here, by yourself.”
Ruth blinked heavily. “Lottie sent you?”
“You seem surprised.”
“I don’t have any other friends and Lottie won’t remember I exist until the ball draws to a close.”
“Ah,” said Isaac, swallowing thickly. “You don’t like talking much, do you?”
“Not – not when there’s nothing to say.”
“Then do you prefer dancing?” It was another attempt to rouse the brief flicker he’d seen by the canal bank, the more open, less wary and awkward woman.
“As much as anyone does.”
“That’s not the answer I was after.”
“Oh,” she said, cheeks colouring, gloved hands smoothing down her dress. “I am sorry, I did not – I am not very—”
“No, don’t apologise.” Isaac pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth. “I am asking you to dance with me – and badly at that.”
“Isn’t it too hot in the ballroom?”
“Then why not here? The music can still reach us.” He knew the second he asked, that he had pushed too far. Although every woman was trained to please those around her, this one was too cautious, book-smart and unaffected.
Good for you, he thought. Although it’s bad for me…
“I do not think that would be appropriate.”
“Do you always do what’s appropriate?” The challenge was an attempt to cajole her into a rash decision, but she saw through it.
Quiet, steady, she observed him and he knew she was too sensible for her own good. In fact, he knew what she’d say before she said it.
“Good evening, Mr Roscoe.” She bobbed her head, eager to leave, face growing redder by the second. Yes, she liked him, or liked the look of him, but she didn’t trust him. “I have to get this little one back to bed without his grandmother, Lady Winston, finding him. He’s told me there will be terrible consequences if he’s caught and I – I cannot have that on my conscience. Please don’t think me rude, but I have to go.”
“I could help you.” Before the refusal could find him, Isaac added, “I did a little exploring. I know a way upstairs where he won’t be spotted.” Or rather, he had searched half the house trying to track the woman down and knew several possible routes. “You’ll fare better at keeping the boy from trouble with my help.”
A delay, one second, two, before Ruth nodded and placed the little boy’s hand within her own. “Then I will accept your help.”
“And you’ll dance with me afterwards?” Isaac knew he was trying his luck, but if he didn’t, he wouldn’t get anywhere. He needed something to show for tonight, if only to squeeze more money from the merchant. A dance would secure further finances and if the girl proved too frigid for even his charms, he could cut and run. “I am the child’s best chance.”
Just when Isaac thought she would refuse, Ruth pursed her lips, eyes meeting his, holding the contact though every social convention should have warned her otherwise. Instinct should have told her he was bad for her. Common sense should have prevailed.
But Isaac knew he was handsome, he knew he was charming, he knew he could choose any woman and have her in his bed within hours.
“Lead the way,” said Ruth.
And he knew he had her now.
Ruth
Just as Isaac promised, the three moved undetected. Windows and doors had been left wide open to coax in the sluggish breeze and it made their journey easier. A side entrance from the greenhouse took them to a drawing room, a narrow hall and then a small study. A servant passed them, but she had been trained to keep her eyes averted from guests and walked on, a tray in her hands, not daring to take in their faces or the little boy hiding behind Ruth’s skirts. The child had been close to tears when Ruth first found him and proposed locating his mother – or even grandmother – in the dancing crowds. Worry lodged in Ruth’s mind all too easily. She remembered how severe her own education had been and how often the girls from the academy were punished and humiliated for minor misdemeanours. It was possible that the boy, Joshua, carried on because he simply wished to avoid going back to sleep. Doubt and anxiety clouded her thoughts. If Ruth could help him, she would. Even if that did mean using Mr Roscoe.
And he was a man who didn’t seem to mind being used. In fact, he invited it. Had she been a weaker woman, she would have taken him up on the offer. There was a way about him, an ease of movement, a knowing look that sent her pulse racing.
If anyone caught them, there would be trouble. At Miss Lamont’s Academy the rules about men had been clear and simple. She knew them back to front. Knew how to please, what social conventions to obey and how get by without any notice taken of her. Now, every step she took seemed to be the wrong one and took her closer to him.
Worse still, a sinful part of her welcomed it.
Ahead was the staircase, rising up from the main entranceway, with polished wood and ornate carvings. There were far too many people nearby, chatting loudly and clinking glasses. Their movements would be seen if they risked venturing from cover now – and so they waited in shadow.
Isaac’s arm was against Ruth’s. A small connection that made her mouth dry. She observed his profile, her frown growing heavier. There was a half-grin on Isaac’s face, as though this were some adventure – and he treated it as such, talking to Joshua in a low voice about how they had to be quiet. It was a game to them both and the little boy loved it, fists bunched into his nightclothes, eyes wide with a rebellious joy. The pair were two peas in a pod: naughty, mischievous and yet somehow making both traits seem endearing. Roscoe was far less alarming in this environment and she let herself admire his well-built form that echoed those heroes from classic mythology. He didn’t notice; he was distracted – and she could risk it, only for tonight.
“They’re leaving,” whispered Isaac. “Be ready.”
Ruth strengthened her grip on Joshua’s hand, only to find Isaac offered his own to her, seemingly without thought. He wasn’t looking her way, eyes on their escape. Ruth hesitated, fingers half-outstretched to his, hovering at a midpoint between them. It wouldn’t mean anything. Practicality told her to take it, as she would have taken Lottie’s hand. But he wasn’t Lottie and such behaviour between a man and a woman was different and surely if she placed her hand in his then—
“Now,” said Isaac quickly, grasping Ruth’s wrist and pulling her and Joshua free from their hiding place. Music brushed against them. The hallway and far ballroom were visible for a flash, before their feet were on the stairs. Ruth adjusted her grip, gloved palm against Isaac’s, holding on tightly.