Edmund was suddenly aware of Lionel at his side. “Do not do anything that might seeyourname in the scandal sheets,” his friend whispered perceptively. “You are justifiably anger, but it is our duty to be calm in the face of conflict. It is our duty to set an example. Moreover, Lord Spofforth is unlikely to remember much of this tomorrow.”
As if to prove Lionel’s point, Lord Spofforth squinted at Edmund, his eyes glassy, his face ruddy with liquor.
Biting down his rage, Edmund closed the gap between himself and the inebriate and seized him roughly by the lapels. All the while, Lionel stayed at Edmund’s side, as if he did not trust what his friend might do.
“I will permit you to return home to sleep away your stupor,” Edmund hissed, close to Lord Spofforth’s ear. “But it is the only generosity you will receive from me. If I see Isolde’s name in the papers or the scandal sheets, if I hear a soul mention her in an unsavory fashion, I will reveal every secret you have crowed about at the gentlemen’s club. No lady of any kind will go near you again. Am I understood?”
Lord Spofforth pulled back, a sudden shine of clarity in his formerly glazed eyes. Fear could be very sobering. “She will… come to no harm of any sort,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “I will see to it. Just… do not speak of my secrets; I beg of you. I have… been told that I must be married by the end of this Season… or I shall be disinherited.”
“Then, I trust you really will be wise. But make no mistake, this threat is not empty; Iwilllook for her name every morning,” Edmund warned, gripping Lord Spofforth’s lapels a little tighter. “A single unseemly mention, and the floodgates of your degeneracy will be opened. I do not like to repeat myself, but I want to be sure you have heard me.”
Lord Spofforth nodded like a scolded schoolboy who was desperate for the punishment to end. “I have heard you, Your Grace. Her reputation will not receive a single smear.” He gulped. “Please, be merciful.”
Edmund let him go with a light shove, but the clarity in Lord Spofforth’s mind had not reached his legs. The awful man crumpled to the ground, landing with a thud on his backside, peering up in bewilderment like he did not know how he had ended up on the floor.
But Edmund did not doubt that Lord Spofforth would do as he had been told, for Edmund had also heard the rumor that the renowned rake had finally been brought to heel. His father had had enough of his eldest son’s antics, and as Lord Spofforth’s title was only a courtesy title, he stood to lose an earldom to his younger brother if he did not obey at last.
“Whoever is responsible for this fool, take him home,” Edmund snapped, before turning on his heel and striding toward the manor to see how the ladies were faring.
Crossing the terrace, he had just flung open the doors that led into the drawing room when a second, but no less jarring, scream cut through the air. But there was one stark difference; the scream was not one of terror but of panic, accompanied by the hurried rush of footsteps across the parquet floor.
Edmund realized the cause a second too late, his eyes flying wide as he caught a glimpse of a bare, slender ankle, speckled with a few tiny cuts. His gaze shot up to find Isolde staring back at him, equally mortified.
“Forgive me,” Edmund mumbled, whirling around and heading straight back onto the terrace as embarrassed heat threatened to overwhelm his face.
Lionel, who had sagely been waiting outside, cracked an uncharacteristically mischievous smile. “I was about to warn you that the ladies might not be in any state to receive well-meaning visitors,” he said, “but you had already stepped inside.”
“You should have grabbed me and hauled me away,” Edmund groaned, knowing without a doubt that Isolde would not let him forget that mistake any time soon. His good deeds for the day would not matter a jot.
The relatively short journey back to London could not have felt longer, the air within the carriage thicker than the center of the city on the hottest, most humid day of the year. It was still daylight outside the windows, for the garden party had tried its best to resume, but everyone had lost their taste for revelries after Lord Spofforth’s bad behavior, choosing to return home early.
Edmund kept waiting for Isolde to make a sharp or witty remark at his expense, the anticipation as unbearable as the warmth inside the carriage. He had not looked at her since he had stepped into the drawing room and seen her exposed ankle, and she had not said a word.
Julianna, however, had no such trouble. “I feel simply awful for poor Lord and Lady Montrose. I know they were so looking forward to that garden party.”
“You have said that several times already,” Isolde mumbled, speaking at last.
The sound of her voice pulled at Edmund’s willpower, urging him to look at her, to ask if she was well, but he stared out of the window instead and watched the hedgerows and fields transforming into the stone and civilization of London.
“Yes, well, no one has responded to me,” Julianna replied sullenly. “I do not appreciate being made to feel invisible. Youknowthat my favorite part of all gatherings is the discussion in the carriage afterward, Isolde.”
Isolde rolled her eyes. “I have had a lot to think about, Mama. I apologize for not responding to you—yes, it is a shame that Lord and Lady Montrose’s party had to end so abruptly. Perhaps, you ought to write a stern letter to Lord Spofforth to gain your justice.”
“Oh, there will be no need. He will be ashamed enough as it is,” Julianna said. “There are always gentlemen who cannot resist some mischief, but I am certain he is sorry. Perhaps, he might call upon you again one day soon to apologize, and maybe he will continue his suit.”
Edmund’s head whipped around, staring at Julianna as if she had taken leave of her senses. She could not in good conscience think that Lord Spofforth was still a good match for Isolde, could she? No one could be so oblivious.
He noticed that Isolde’s expression matched his own—a strange irony that they had finally agreed upon something, especially after that ‘something’ had previously been a point of contention.
“I would accept an apology,” Isolde said flatly, “but I will not accept any pursuit from that gentleman again. My search continues.”
Julianna shrugged. “As you prefer.”
But whodoesshe prefer?Edmund returned his gaze to the windowpane, watching the cramped terraced houses and alleyways and streetlamps that passed by on their return to Mayfair.
The moment the carriage came to a halt outside the townhouse, Isolde flung open the door and stepped out of her own accord, not bothering to wait for the footman. Edmund paused to help Julianna down before following his charge up the porch steps and into the entrance hall.
There, almost against his will, he grabbed Isolde by the arm before she could vanish upstairs. Her bare skin was warm against his fingertips, the heat and softness making his heart jolt. He should not have touched her, it was dangerous to touch her so boldly, but he could not let her leave without saying what needed to be said.
