She nodded. “And that’s only Thurston.”
“You Crewes are a secretive lot, aren’t you?”
Imogen’s brows knitted together, and Thurston resembled a puzzled puppy as he muttered, “Crewe?”
Rowan hid a smirk. He knew Isabella wasn’t a Crewe. “Tell me, Imogen, where—”
The door to the hallway creaked open, wider, wider, until Isabella stood within its frame. First, her pale brows lowered, descended toward one another like two carriages on a path of collision. Then her lips parted slightly on a silent O, and the roses in her cheeks fled. “I… came for… my… gloves. What are you… Imogen, Thurston, why are youhere?”
“You were gone too long. We came to check on you. He”—Imogen thrust an indignant digit Rowan’s way—“ordered his henchman to drag us up here.”
Isabella’s gaze flew wide, that slightly parted mouth now curling into an expression that did not bode well for him. “You dragged my sister here?”
Rowan strode forward. “I asked Poppins to return your gloves to you. When he found these two in the alley, he brought them here. Thought she was you. Wanted me to know my… employee was kissing strange men.”
“Heknew right away, though,” Thurston said, admiration bouncing through him, “that Im wasn’t you.”
“Wait.” Isabella’s hand flew to her temple, fingertips pressing into the delicate skin there. “Kissing?”
Rowan almost slumped against the nearest bit of furniture. Thank God, she’d found another target for her ire.
“I can kiss whomever I please.” Imogen pulled herself up tall, lifted her chin. “And we are betrothed.”
“You didn’t tell me you werekissinghim,” Isabella hissed. “Justmarryinghim. I was under the impression the connection was purely a practical one.”
“I see no reason not to make use of it in whatever way I can. As you appear to be doing. He’s youremployer? But I’m certain I heard the other man say his lips have often been attached to yours.”
“Why didn’t I know,” Isabella said almost to herself, then louder, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Thurston took one long, sliding step toward Rowan. Then another. And one more, so they stood side by side. “What’s old Issy do for you, anyway? If you’re her employer.”
“I’m not her employer. Not really.”
“What haven’tyoubeen tellingme?” Imogen demanded. “You’ve left your gloves in his… what is this? His private rooms? What are you doing here with him?”
“I would like to know that, too.” Thurston tugged at this cravat. “I’d hate to have to call out anyone, but I will, you know. She’ll be my sister soon, and—”
“Thurston,” Isabella said. “Take Imogen home, please.”
Imogen stood, her entire body stiff as a perfectly starched cravat. “You will come, too.”
Isabella shook her head. “I will return on my own power and when I am ready. Do you not trust me?”
One pair of blue eyes stared into another as a clock in the hallway ticked down the time.
Imogen ripped away. “Of course. Of course.” Her last two words were mumbled, muffled by hers and Thurston’s footsteps across the room and then by the click of a closing door.
Isabella dropped onto the small sofa where just half an hour earlier, she’d melted into a brief and happy rest. He braved a step toward her.
She shoved out a hand, keeping him away. “What were you thinking? You cannot grab my sister, my family, from off the street and drag them up to your lair and terrify them!”
“Poppins, not me. He thought it was you.”
“That, Rowan Trent, does not make it better.” The color was rushing back into her cheeks. “I am not your possession to be dragged about as you please. When I am at the Hestia, I am only yourpretendwife, and once I leave the Hestia, once I walk beyond its doors, I am nothing to you.Nothing.”
Nothing to him? Ha.
Rowan closed the curtains, each movement calm, precise, cutting off the gaslamp-lit world beyond the glass. “What about our kisses?”
