But he did. Damn his soul. He did.
Chapter Ten
Isabella arrived home, though she had no idea how. She stripped and bathed without knowledge of her movements. She dressed and wandered to her mother’s sitting room in a fog thicker than the one rolling through the streets. She sat on the floor, her brain sparking for the first time since… since…
She swallowed and followed the spark of a thought out of the haze Mr. Rowan Trent had left behind, clouding her brain, buzzing through her body. Her legs collapsed in front of the large, old wardrobe at the side of the room, and she sank to sitting, folding them beneath her skirts. Such an unassuming bit of furniture. She’d never paid it much mind until her sisters had told her what it hid.
Books. Of the naughtiest nature.
A tingling type of secret, a purpose. The books gave her that and made her feel closer to her mother, too. She’d only been fifteen when she’d heard the maids gossiping in the hallway outside her door, worried about what would happen when the younger children were told they’d never see their parents smiling, breathing again. They’d known before she’d known. Who knew how many others had known before her? How small it had made her feel, how inconsequential.
Information, rumors, gossip—they powered the wheel of thespinning world. And if you were not in the whispering loop, you might fall off.
Or find yourself manipulated as Samuel was discovering.
The door behind her creaked open.
“Issy?” Imogen said, “Did you find it?”
“No.”
Imogen sat beside her, studying the wardrobe with a blank expression.
Felicity appeared on the other side, sinking to the floor as well. “Andromeda plans to conveniently lose the engagement announcement when one is finally produced.” Their sister’s husband owned several newspapers. “And Lottie says Quinton can manufacture some emergency at Clearford Castle that demands Samuel’s attention. We can remove him from London for a bit, delay the wedding even more.” Lottie’s husband owned the property next to the Merriweather family’s country seat. He could very well figure out some problem that needed the duke’s attention. Or create one.
“Temporary delays only,” Imogen said.
“If I had found the letter already, none of that would be necessary.” Isabella had stayed away from the Hestia for two days, attempting to find the right approach, one out of the keen eyesight of the Hestia’s owner. Because he was watching her.
Even when she thought he wasn’t. That she now knew. And he’d do anything to stop her. Including kissing her into a haze from which she might never escape.
Yet… he’d also told her to return, told her she could take what gossip she wished from his hallways and parlors, from his coffee-scented sitting rooms and kitchens. Because they were alike in providing homes for others. Such an odd thing to share with such a cold man.
Cold?
Ha! An inferno. The fire he’d set inside her still raged. Partly why she sat looking at the old wardrobe, thinking of the books inside. The fires they described between a man and woman were consuming Samuel’s life. They were consuming Isabella, too. She knew what happened between a man and a woman because she’d read more booksthan she could count about it. But now she knew what it felt like. Not the dispassionate, curious kisses she’d shared with suitors in the past.
No. Something else. Something more. Something quite… altering.
“I can still find it.” It was a black hole in the universe. The sharp teeth of the unknown snapping at her. Where was it? Where was it? The world would not be firm and still again until she had that letter in hand. “I know I can find it. I must. It’s the only real way. I simply need more time.”
“Another delay might be needed.” Imogen wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on top of her knees. “Breaking the engagement after the announcement, after banns have begun to be read, that would be difficult. But we can survive anything as long as he doesn’t marry her. We must do everything we can to keep it from happening.”
Felicity nodded, a sharp militaristic thing rather reminiscent of Mrs. Garrison. “I have begun to befriend Miss Haws as I promised. She is younger than me and appears grateful to have one of us taking her side, but I do not think I’ll have much luck influencing her away from Samuel.” Her nose wrinkled. “I feel a bit bad for her. For several reasons, not the least of which is that she seems to need a friend, and I am onlypretendingto be one. But I’m not quite sure she wishes to marry Samuel either. She wishes to marry a duke, generally speaking. But she seems frightened by Samuel in particular.”
“Surprising,” Imogen said. “After her attempts to touch him in the park.”
“I think she was trying to be brave. For her father. He seems to be the driving force behind her every action and thought. No mother, you know.”
They did know. They knew, as well, what that felt like.
So, too, did Rowan Trent.
Isabella shook him right out of her head.
“I have another idea.” Imogen stood and wandered toward the window, settling a flat palm against the glass. “For another delay that might offer us even more time.”
Something in Imogen’s tone finally ripped Isabella’s attention away from the wardrobe. “What is it?”
