“We have inherited a considerable fortune,” Vincent explained. “I did not know the man well—a distant second cousin of some kind—but he has left all of his worldly wealth to me. I must go toBath to collect the inheritance, and do not know how longthatshall take.”
“Can you not take the ladies to Bath with you?”
Vincent hesitated, swirling his glass, transfixed by the movement of the amber liquid. “I could, but I fear it would jeopardize Isolde’s prospects. She has only just debuted, and though there is society aplenty in Bath, the true elite are here. I need her to be well-stationed in marriage, and she will insist on being wherever her sisters are, so I cannot take them and leave her behind. Moreover, I cannottrusther to stay behind, not even with our mother present.”
“There was no one of interest for her last night?” Edmund asked, his brow creasing as he heard a somewhat familiar voice weaving through the smoke. A reedy, pathetic voice that reminded him of a certain wretch he had encountered the previous evening.
Vincent downed the contents of his glass, summoning the waiter for another measure. “I had hoped so, but it was not to be.”
“Is that why you left early?” Edmund searched the fog of the parlor, trying to find the owner of that voice.
“In part,” Vincent admitted. “What of you? Did you encounter any young ladies charming enough to make you relinquish your bachelorhood?”
Edmund glanced at his friend as the waiter came by to replenish their drinks. Hehadencountered someone last night; a rather fierce lady who had needed his help before an opportunistic coward could force a kiss upon her. A lady he had not ceased thinking about since, wondering if she was well after her unpleasant experience.
If he thought about her too intently, he could almost feel the firm press of her palms against his chest and see the grateful gleam of her eyes through her elegant mask. He opened his mouth to tell Vincent about the woman he rescued, but halted himself before a single word could slip out.
If Vincent knew the woman, Edmund might very well ruin her by accident, by speaking of the events in the gardens of Kensington Palace. And as much as he wanted to talk about it, he realized that only silence would keep her truly safe—indeed, what was the point in rescuing her last night, if a scandal destroyed her tomorrow?
“I doubt such a lady exists,” he said to Vincent instead.
Vincent nodded, tugging at his collar. “Then, you will not have any other prior engagements to attend to this coming week?”
“Nothing too pressing,” Edmund replied, realizing a moment too late where his friend’s question was heading.
Vincent jumped right in, a sly glint in his eyes. “So, you would not be averse to taking care of my dear, feral sisters and my mother while I am away? I am certain they would not mindaiding you in your readjustment to the ways of polite English society.”
“No,” Edmund said abruptly, unsettled by the request.
“No, you arenotaverse to taking care of them?” Vincent grinned. “Thatisa relief. I shall be forever in your debt, Edmund. Truly, I cannot thank you enough for doing this favor for me.”
Edmund tried to protest, tried to get out any possible reason why he could not do such a thing for his friend, but the excuses would not come. He had never been a particularly good liar, preferring omission over outright untruths, and Vincent would see right through him either way.
And I owe him. I owe him a great deal. My life, probably.Perhaps,thatwas why he could not find a worthy excuse. In his younger years, cast adrift in a lonely world with no family and no idea what he was supposed to do in his new position as Duke, Vincent had been his anchor, holding him steady through every storm, guiding him safely back to calmer waters. The least Edmund could do in return was keep an eye on the Wilds girls for a short while.
“If you are gone for more than a week, I will withdraw and leave them to run amok,” Edmund grumbled, while a look of genuine relief passed across Vincent’s face and relaxed his posture.
“Thank you, Edmund,” Vincent said. “Truly, thank you.”
Raising his hand, Edmund summoned the waiter and asked him to bring over what was left of the bottle of port. He would need more than a meager measure of the stuff if he was to share a residence, and the lion’s share of his time, with Isolde Wilds—otherwise known as the bane of his existence. Even after three years of absence, she had not lost that title, and he doubted she ever would.
Isolde hummed her way down the stairs of the family’s Mayfair townhouse, daydreaming of tall, masked gentlemen in beautiful gardens, and contemplating what she might have for her breakfast.
As it was still rather early in the morning, the sun barely high enough to cast a glow through the townhouse windows, she had not bothered to dress for the day yet. Instead, she wore her nightgown and housecoat, determined to irritate Vincent if they happened to cross paths. If he truly believed that she had not changed in six years, then she figured she ought to remind him of who she used to be—then, he would take back his unkind words.
“I think I might have breakfast in the garden,” she mumbled aloud, ceasing her humming. “Yes, that would be a fine thing.”
Turning right and heading for the kitchens, resuming her jaunty tune, she did not hear the study door open nor see the lumbering figure lurch out until it was too late. A hefty weight knocked into her, and she stumbled backward, saved from a fall by bouncingoff the opposite wall. Her shoulder collided with mahogany, a sharp pain shooting down her left arm.
“Have your eyes not yet opened? Are you half asleep?” she blurted out, shocked into rudeness by the impact and the smarting sting of her arm.
Indeed, considering where the figure had emerged from, she suspected it was her brother… until the morning glow illuminated the man’s face. A horrified gasp slipped from Isolde’s throat as she looked upon one of the most handsome, infuriating men in all of England, her irritation liquefying into molten anger.
“Had you not been humming that awful song like a common sailor, you might have had the wherewithal to step out of the way,” Edmund’s hoarse voice replied, eyes narrowing.
Isolde clenched her jaw, her hands balling into fists, wishing he was not so tall and imposing. Wishing he was as ugly outside as he was inside.
“Meget out of the way?” she retorted. “I see you learned no manners during your grand tour. Maybe, you ought to return to the Continent and stay there until youhavelearned some.”
