Isolde hesitated. “Yes.”
“Did he… hurt you?”
Isolde’s heart truly broke at that. “No, my dearest Tess. He did not hurt me. I am unharmed.” She paused. “He is not that sort of gentleman. He is…”
Her mind wandered to the gardens of Kensington Palace, and the relief she had experienced when her masked champion had emerged from the shadows to save her. She remembered how swiftly he had leaped to her aid, how tightly he had held her against him, how soundly he had scared Colin into running off, how heroic her savior had seemed.
“You heard the lady. Take your hands off her. As for staking your claim, think again. And never again touch what is not yours. I do not tolerateanyonetouching what is mine.”She could recall every detail of the words the masked man had spoken, and the effect they had had upon her. Her stomach still fluttered, even though she now knew who had spoken them.
Why did you say that, Edmund?Back then, they had not tolerated one another at all. So why had he called her his? Wasit part of his act, or was there some… secret meaning in it that had been revealed in the library—a desire of his that he had kept wrapped up in enmity?
He had also mentioned that he had been keeping an eye on Isolde, which was how he came to be there in the gardens at the very moment she needed him. But that could not be true, could it? He would have had no reason to follow her, to keep her safe. That was before Vincent had charged Edmund with watching out for her.
“He is not someone I want to discuss anymore,” Isolde said with finality.
It was too painful and too bewildering to dwell on the events that had led to that moment. The more she thought about the man in the mask, the more her head throbbed, bringing on a sharp ache. All the time she had spent hoping to bump into her rescuer, and he had been right there, under her nose.
Wait… Does he know that the lady he saved is me?If not, then his words that nightwerejust part of a heroic act. If he did, then it felt like a rather mean trick. As unkind as stealing her first kiss.
“Come on, then,” Teresa urged, taking hold of Isolde’s hand. “Let us clear all trace of him out of this house.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Apity there’s no Duchess to bring back with us,” Mr. Phipps said, his frail frame swaying to the jolting rhythm of the carriage as it bounced along the uneven countryside roads. “Are you quite sure you don’t want me to go back and open up the house again? It’s too early in the Season for you to be at your estate, isn’t it?”
Out of kindness, Edmund did not mention that the butler had said the same thing five times already.
“I never intended to stay very long,” he said, repeating the same thing thathehad said five times. “I have decided to take inspiration from my friend Lionel. He spends the majority of his year at his country estate, and I have been away from mine for long enough. I cannot leave it all to Sinclair or he might stage a coup.”
Mr. Phipps raised a bushy gray eyebrow. “Do you want me to keep an eye on him when we return?”
“It was a jest, Mr. Phipps,” Edmund replied gently. “I am well aware that my estate is in capable hands with Sinclair, but I really do think I ought to dedicate more of my time to the running of it. I do not want to be a Duke who does not actually do anything for his estate and dukedom.”
Of course, he could not tell the old butler the real reason they were departing London in haste. Edmund’s country estate of Davenport Towers was a four-hour journey from the Capital, and even then, he was not certain it was far enough away from Isolde to keep her out of his thoughts. Maybe, there was nowhere far enough, but at least he would not be tempted to call in to her residence to see how she was faring.
If there is news of her, I shall read it in the papers like everyone else.
Just then, the carriage turned off the winding road and passed through a vast set of entrance gates. They were crafted from bronze, but Edmund had never seen their original color. For as long as he could remember, they had been green with age, which happened to suit the intricate metalwork, designed to resemble the blooms and thorns of rose bushes: his inspiration for the mask he had had made in Venice.
I doubt I shall ever see that mask again,he lamented in silence, thinking of all the things he had left behind at the Grayling townhouse. He would have to write to Vincent to request their return, though the only item he would truly miss was his father’s signet ring. Everything else could be replaced if necessary.
Almost everything.
He pushed the heel of his palm into his chest, trying to relax the tight sensation that had held his lungs in a vise since last night. It did not help. Nothing did. Not even packing his belongings onto the carriage to depart for the countryside had eased the guilt that hounded him.
“Are you quite well, Your Grace?” Mr. Phipps asked.
Edmund turned his gaze out of the window to watch the oak trees that lined the driveway pass by. “Yes, thank you. Perfectly well.”
Who would not be after they had just kissed the most… beautiful, ferocious, astounding woman in the world?
For a brief few minutes, holding Isolde in his arms, savoring the returned passion of her kiss, he had known absolute peace. If that book had not fallen when it did, he might have been permitted to stay in that glorious paradise for a few minutes more, though he had no doubt that his vow and his sense would have kicked in eventually.
But he would not forget that kiss, regardless of where he went or how many years passed by. Indeed, like the most exquisite art or the most wonderful performance of a play or the most heartrending piece of music, no one could forget perfection, no matter how much they might have wanted to.
Clearing the townhouse of all traces of Edmund had not had the desired effect upon Isolde.
There had been a temporary relief that had lasted until the morning after the ball, but it had been four days since then, and her devastation had wormed deep into her soul like a contagion: she could not sleep, barely ate, had no desire to attend any of the events she had been invited to, and rejected all visitors in favor of staying in her chambers.
