The cool breeze did nothing to clear his head, but at least did something to lessen the heat in his face.
He contemplated ushering her out into the gardens, but doing such a thing would undoubtedly cause a scandal. At least in theballroom, Isolde was still technically chaperoned, her mother being within sight, though utterly distracted by a group of likeminded older women.
“Edmund?” Isolde’s sharp voice snapped him out of his confusion.
“What?”
“What?” she parroted, brow furrowing. “Why did you take me away from Lord Mentrow? He was just about to ask me to dance. I do not think you understand the enormity of what you have just done.”
Edmund cleared his throat. “Your mother was not there to grant permission for a dance. His name was not on your dance card.”
“How do you know?” she shot back, her chest rising and falling frantically. “You were not there to escort me. You were not there when I arrived. I did not think you would be here at all, in truth, so how could you possibly know whose name is on my dance card or not?”
The bristle of anger in her voice surprised him, for it was not the usual, sarcastic anger that he had grown accustomed to over the years. It was… more poignant than that, striking him right in the chest. A different vibration of fury that carried the thrum of pain with it.
Why does she sound like I have hurt her?
He frowned. “Why would you think I would not be in attendance? I promised your brother.”
“Because… because you were not where you were supposed to be!” she replied fervently, her cheeks pinkening, her eyes blazing. “If you cared so much about the duty my brother gave you, you would have been waiting in the entrance hall.”
Her voice caught in her throat, that subtle falter hitting him in the chest for a second time.
“It is more appropriate this way,” he said firmly, though he knew there was nothing appropriate about the manner in which he had just removed Isolde from Noah’s company.
Even now, he had no explanation, other than the fact that he had seen her listening intently to something Noah had been saying, and had been so overcome with a feeling he could not describe that he had marched on over. A feeling akin to irritation, that had prickled across his skin and would have driven him to restless agitation if he had not acted when he did.
“Appropriate?” Isolde scoffed. “I am beginning to wonder if you know the meaning of the word.”
Edmund folded his arms behind his back, his hands itching to take hold of hers, to soothe her ire into the same softness she showed everyone but him. She was right to be angry with him, after all; he had acted poorly, but he would not admit it, for that would mean trying to explain why he had behaved like that.
“Lord Mentrow was just telling me that his sister is in trouble, and I suspect the only way to get her out of trouble is for him to marry well,” Isolde continued, prompting a rock of alarm to drop into his stomach. “He is pleasant, he is charming, he is amusing, he cares deeply for his family, and I could do much worse than a nice Viscount who, I believe, would make an excellent companion.”
The rock in Edmund’s belly began to roil, as visions of a wedding day popped into his head: Isolde walking down the aisle to the Viscount of Mentrow, with that radiant smile on her face, looking forward to a future with him.
It should not have bothered Edmund. He should have been celebrating it, knowing he would have good news to impart to Vincent, but that was not the feeling that pulled to the fore of his mind.
“Yetyouhave just tried to intervene,” she ranted on, in a low, discreet voice, “and I cannot help but wonder what your complaint is, this time. Yes, you were right about Lord Spofforth, and I do not deny you were right about many others, but what is wrong with Lord Mentrow?”
Edmund stared at her, his mind completely devoid of suitable answers. Hehadno complaint against Noah. The Viscount was as excellent a match as any young lady could want. Unlike other gentlemen who had come to call upon Isolde, Edmund did not believe that Noah was a fortune hunter or a deceiver or someone with sly motives; he obviously cared for Isolde, and helping out his sister at the same time was likely just an additional boon.Indeed, Noah telling Isolde about his sister’s predicament only proved that he was an honest, reasonable, honorable man.
“I thought so,” Isolde muttered. “Is it the power you enjoy?”
Edmund narrowed his eyes at her. “That is an insult, Isolde, and you know it.”
“Yet, I find it can be the only explanation for your actions,” she replied, glancing around, probably to make sure that no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. “Unless you can think of another that would satisfy me?”
His throat tightened as he gazed into her fierce blue eyes, hearing the soft whisper of her ragged breaths, admiring the flush of pink in her alabaster cheeks, and the slight parting of her plump lips. He was glad he had folded his arms behind his back, or he might not have been able to stop himself from cradling her face, brushing his thumb across her rosy cheek, watching her anger turn to starry-eyed longing.
I could never satisfy you,he realized with a jolt.You want love of the highest order. You want the romance of your favorite books. You want what you have always dreamed of, and I cannot even offer an engagement.
“It appears I saved you from making a mistake,” he said gruffly. “You should not trust a gentleman who cannot give you what you want. The Viscount has made himself clear—he is seeking a marriage of convenience to spare his sister. I cannot tell you what to do, but I would be wary of that.”
She squared up, her eyes flinching as if he had wounded her a second time. “No, Edmund, you cannot tell me what to do.” She paused, as if uncertain of whether or not she should say what was on her mind. “And I regret letting you dictate what I should wear, too.”
A breathy gasp slipped involuntarily from his throat, his eyes widening at her bold words. How could she know that the gown had come from him? He had not put his name on the note, and, to his recollection, there was nothing in what he had had inscribed that could lead her suspicions back to him.
I should not have let Madame Versailles write a note at all.He cursed himself for letting the dressmaker persuade him, and he cursed himself all the more for indulging in a little poeticism.
