“He needs to hear it from your lips,” Isabella said. “So do I, I’m afraid. My hopes are quite high. You must dash them now or not dash them at all.” She sounded authentically excited. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hands in her lap had turned to rigid fists stacked one atop the other like little stones.
Mrs. Barlow patted her husband’s hand where it rested on the cushion between them. “Do not torture them any longer, Mr. Barlow. Tell them or I will.”
Mr. Barlow pulled up tall, straightened his jacket, and seemed totake every remaining second before he finally said, “The Blue Sheep is yours. We are in complete agreement. You are the best pair to have it, to continue its legacy.”
“Oh!” Isabella jumped to her feet, covering her gasp with her bare hands before flinging herself at Rowan. “Oh, Rowan, you did it. You did it.”
He stood, pulling her up with him, holding her tight. Victory. Sweet victory. “Wedid it,a chuisle,” he whispered in her ear. And if they could do this, they could do anything. Isabella still clinging tightly to his neck, grinning wildly—the most kissable grin in the world, in history—he shook Mr. Barlow’s hand. “Thank you. You will not regret this.”
Isabella flung herself at Mrs. Barlow, and they hugged like old friends. “You will still be in Stevenage, yes? Or nearby? You must let me write to you to inquire about some things.”
“Certainly, certainly. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you without a guiding hand, though after seeing the Hestia, I doubt your husband needs any guidance at all.”
“Come, love,” Mr. Barlow said, stealing her away from Isabella. “It’s time we leave and let them celebrate.” He winked at Rowan, and Mrs. Barlow waved until the door closed behind them.
He’d done it. “It’s mine.”
“It is. I knew you would do it.”
He captured her hands in his. “I could not have done it without you.”
“Of course not.” She preened, but then she wrapped her arms around his waist and set her cheek on his chest. “We can do anything together.”
Could they? Even overcome the vast ocean between them?
“You’ve gone all hard, and not in a good way,” she said, setting her pointy chin on his chest. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m of two minds right now. One is telling me to send you away and get to work on the Blue Sheep. The other is telling me to toss you over my shoulder, take you into my bedchamber, and celebrate in a much less laborious way.”
“That one. I agree with that one.”
He drew a knuckle down the line of her face. “We should not. Youshould not even be here. How is it that you escape the ducal clutches so well and so often?”
“My Great-Aunt Millicent is in charge of our day-to-day comings and goings, but she is often distracted. She likes to stay out all night gambling and to sleep all day. My sisters are just as… unconventional as I, and we quite do as we please. The naughty books I told you about… we used to loan them out to other ladies of theton.”
Other ladies of theton. “You speak so easily of the upper echelons of society. Because you belong to them. I do not. You are a fish, Isabella, thetonyour water. I am a bird or a dog or some other creature that would drown where you thrive.”
“That is what you took away from my confession? Youarea different sort of creature, Rowan. Most would be sputtering about the illicit enterprise of distributing naughty books to seemingly innocent ladies.”
“That rather impresses me. I knew you were intrepid. What baffles me is how. Your brother does not keep you locked up? Aren’t you supposed to be married or betrothed to some fellow who can further the duke’s financial or social standing?”
“My mother always said my sisters and I would choose our own husbands. My brother has maintained that stance in her honor.”
“He’s unconventional, too, then.”
She tilted her head. “Perhaps. Not so much as his sisters, though. It’s our fault he’s in trouble, our fault he may have to marry a woman he does not love. The letter Mr. Haws has is about our little lending library.”
“Hell.” Everything she’d ever told him clicked into place with the truth of her title. A duke’s sisters lending out naughty books—what a scandal. And the man was willing to marry to keep his sisters’ reputations intact. He couldn’t help but admire that. “You have just as much to lose with this letter, Isabella. It’s not simply your brother. You say you have seven sisters, three of them married, one engaged. That means three more are unattached, and with your social standing, such a scandal could make that an impossibility. If your brother does not wed Mr. Haws’s daughter, you will suffer.”
“Love finds a way past scandal.”
“You believe that?”
She nodded. “My sisters do, too. We have our parents to thank for that belief.”
“Such a scandal would pain you more than you let on.”
“Me? Do not worry about me. I already have a suitor.” She grinned. The imp. But then her grin flickered like a dying candle. “Don’t I?”
