Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
W hen they stepped out of the hotel arm in arm, the sun hit him like a runaway coach. He sneezed. He didn’t care. She may be a lady, but she was still Isabella. In her straw bonnet and her blue gown with her little brown walking boots flashing out from under her skirts with each step. She was still practical and brave and efficient, his Isabella, Mrs. Trent soon. No matter the title standing like an iron gate before her name. Lady .
He pulled her more closely to his side as they crossed the street and headed toward Mayfair. Mayfair . And each step that brought them closer to their destination echoed an almost desperate reminder in his mind—lady or no, she fit quite well into his life; lady or no, he was quite well-off and could afford a nice townhouse and good clothes; lady or no, she made him smile, and he wanted to be the home she came to when weary.
She chatted as they walked beneath the trees, weaving between other couples hurrying about their way, happiness radiating from her like heat from a winter fire.
He could make her happy. He would die trying, at least.
“My brother will like you, I think,” she said. “He likes my other brothers-in-law, but they were fast friends before they married into the family.”
“And who are they?”
“Viscount Noble, Mr. Benjamin Bailey, and Mr. Tristan Kingston.”
“Kingston. Did you know he used to own Hestia? I managed it under his admittedly uninterested direction. I think he was glad to be rid of it when I offered to buy it from him.”
“Really? How tiny the world is.”
“Hm.” Less interesting than one other detail. “Only one title among all your brothers-in-law?”
“Yes and no. Tristan is an earl’s bastard, but Ben will one day be a baron.”
“Ah.” Still miles above himself, then. Of course the duke liked those men. They shared more with him than Rowan ever would.
She patted his arm. “Do not worry. Samuel can be intimidating, but as Mrs. Garrison would say, have courage, dear Rowan.”
Dear Rowan. He liked that.
“Your brother doesn’t scare me.” Almost the truth. Mostly the truth. Damn it all, he didn’t want a duke to scare him.
“Of course not. And he’ll positively adore you once we figure out a way to retrieve my mother’s letter.” Her fingers drummed a nervous rhythm where they rested on his forearm. “If only we could rob Mr. Haws without robbing you.”
“I’m delighted you are not currently planning any criminal activities against me.” The letter. He’d forgotten about it. Damn. How to tell her he had it but could not give it to her? How to ask her brother for her hand, knowing he had the key to that man’s freedom?
“As I have previously suggested, if we can find a way for him to leave our hotel for another, I can—”
“You will not.”
“I’m quite capable.”
“I’m quite aware. But I am, apparently, terribly anxious concerning your well-being, and if you attempt robbery someplace I cannot intervene, I might very well swoon.”
She snorted. “You? Swoon? I’m sure you didn’t even swoon when you acquired that.” She tilted his hat back and traced the curve of his scar with the tip of her gloved finger.
“I didn’t. I spent the entire first minute—someone counted, I’m told—after acquiring the scar, making sure I left a reminder of the encounter on my opponent’s nose.”
“Broke it?”
“There’s still a bump.”
“You’ve seen him since then? The boy, man now, I suppose, who attacked you? Who is he?” Beneath the brim of her bonnet, she was all pursed lips and narrowed eyes. That lovely hand on his forearm had become a fist.
He jiggled her arm until that fist loosened. “Will you poke him in the eye for me? You’d have to poke an entire fleet of gentlemen to have a proper revenge. One fellow did the cutting, but even more gathered round to keep his actions hidden from the adults, intent on teaching me my place.”
“I’ll discover every bit of bad talk about him, all of them, around Town and implement it—”
“As Mr. Haws is implementing your mother’s letter against your brother?”
She sighed, her head dropping back on her neck with a groan. “Why must you be a voice of reason when I was cooking up such a delightful scheme?”
“I am successful.” And with her, he was happier than he ever knew possible. “No need for revenge. Unless, of course, you find my scar objectionable, then I’ll be hunting down the Marquess of Elkington and making him pay.”
“Elkington. I know him. We danced once. Oh, do not growl. He is easy to read.”
“And how does he read?”
“Like a treatise on proper womanly behavior. Quite boring and in many ways offensive.”
That put a bounce in his step.
“Oh, up there! See?” She broke away from him, running ahead down the path and around the corner. His pulse spiked when she disappeared, and he jogged to catch up, found her pointing up at a large row of townhouses.
Not a row of multiple houses. One house the size of many.
Bloody hell. Was that where she—
“This is it. Our London home.” She grinned, waiting for him.
He walked as if through molasses. Our London home . Which meant she had another home somewhere else. Perhaps more than one.
When he reached her, he pulled her back around the corner, out of sight of that Mayfair mansion. He couldn’t go in there.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“The admiral’s townhome is not quite so large.”
“It’s lovely. I’ve been many times. Of course I am mostly there to discuss books, but the admiral possesses a fascinating collection of star maps. Oh and Mrs. Garrison is so very good at embroidery. Quite the artist.”
“I'm aware. Here. Look.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, handed it to her. The edges of the pristine white cloth were embroidered with stars and moons and suns in the same color. “She gifts me a whole box of them on every birthday. I have so many I do not need to send out for them.”
She ran her fingers lovingly over the white, threaded shapes. “Perfect.” She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a good glare. “I’m quite put out with you. To think, I could have met you so much sooner.”
“You would have liked that, would you?” He wasn’t sure he would like it. “Had we met before now, we would not have met as equals but as a duke’s sister and an orphan.”
She waved his concerns away. “As a duke’s sister and her dear friend’s adopted son, the ward of a man much revered throughout the nation. My interest would have been as aroused as it is now.”
“Aroused, hm?”
She rested her head against his arm.
He took the handkerchief back, folded it carefully, trying to wrap his discomfort up with it. “Even if you had not been trespassing on my premises, I would have met you soon enough. Aunt Lavinia made me promise to attend a ball given by her good friend the Viscountess Noble. That is your sister, I assume?”
“Do you think we would have danced?”
“I have the distinct impression my aunt was going to make me dance with every unmarried lady. And that includes you.”
“And what would you have thought about me? Beneath the candles of a crowded ballroom, dressed in my best finery. I might have worn a feather in my hair.”
“I’d have plucked the feather from your hair and kept it for myself.” Because he’d know he could not have her, and he’d want something to remember her by. He peeked around the corner, spied the mansion where she’d grown up. Bloody hell.
“Now you will attend with me and have at least two dances. Let the tongues wag. And I will give you my feather so you may trace it all over me the next time you have me undressed and beneath you.”
He stumbled, his feet tripping over air.
She noticed just enough to steady him. “You will meet all my sisters at the ball. And the Haws will be there, too. I have considered sneaking into the Hestia to search again. They’ll be gone for hours and—”
“No.”
“I’m aware I cannot,” she grumbled. “Stealing from your guests is like stealing from you, and I have put enough work into expanding the Hestia these last weeks that it would frankly feel like stealing from me .”
“I’ll continue thinking on it.” He needed to give her this because that hulking house… what else could he ever give her? Townhouse, good-enough gowns? His heart. Would it ever be enough for a woman born with the world at her fingertips?
Isabella peered down the street both ways, then she popped up on toe, and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
She pulled away, but his arms decided not to let her go. Not yet. Because a giant house with a duke inside loomed behind her, and right now, when he couldn’t see the architectural evidence of who she really was, she was simply Isabella—sweet and bold. And his .
And he was going to solve her most pressing problem, give her what no one else could—that cursed letter.
She lingered not at all, wiggling out of his embrace and tugging him around the corner. Toward the mansion. No longer his fairy Isabella, unknown force of power, but Lady Isabella.
He stayed in the shadows as she rushed toward the light.
“Rowan?” Her head tilted, one leg extended toward the street she would soon cross. It seemed like a roaring river over which he could not pass. But she possessed the golden boat that would glide her across with ease.
“We should solve your brother’s problem before we announce anything.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Don’t you think?”
Her mouth screwed to the side. “Yes, yes, I do. Imogen’s engagement, the letter… it’s a bit much. Perhaps you should speak with Samuel after… after everything. We cannot wait too long, though.” For a brief instant, her hands fluttered at her belly.
She could be carrying his child.
He wanted to scream his jubilation to the skies, and he wanted to find the nearest crack in the earth and walk straight down to the bowels of Hell. Legs feeling like mud, he walked to her side and placed a kiss on her forehead.
“Hopefully, all will be over after the ball. Then, yes?”
“Yes.”
He allowed his hand to settle at her waist. “And when… when will you know if…” He swallowed a knot in his throat and swallowed the words if you are with child, too.
“Soon, actually, I should think. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”
“Good.”
The door across the street opened, and a head very much like Isabella’s poked out. “We can all see you,” the head cried out. “But don’t worry, Samuel’s not here, and Aunt Millie is dozing on the settee.”
Isabella laughed and pecked his cheek. “I’ll tell you. I won’t be able to come much to the Hestia. The ball is so soon, and we’ll be helping Lottie and finalizing our gowns and—”
“Do as you must. I’ll be busy with the Blue Sheep. ”
“I’ll find time to slip away.”
He tried to smile, nodded. Then she darted away, and soon that great big bloody house swallowed her up.
This was the beginning of them.
Why did it feel like the end?