Clarissa peered out of the window. “Oh dear, look who’s waiting for us.”
Izzy glanced out and her heart sank. What did he want? Surely tonight there’d been enough drama?
But there he stood on Lady Scattergood’s front steps, waiting, arms folded, feet braced apart, looking grim and heartbreakingly handsome: Lord Salcott.
He stepped forward and helped them down the carriagesteps. He didn’t say a word. Nobody did. In silence they entered the house.
Izzy knew why he was here. The very thing he’d predicted had come to pass, and he was here to say I told you so. Which she didn’t need to hear. She still felt sick at the very thought of the risk he’d taken on her behalf.
“I wish to speak to Miss Isobel—alone,” he told Mrs. Price-Jones firmly. It was not a request.
The lady tilted her head and regarded him thoughtfully.
“I will not take no for an answer.” He looked very stern.
Izzy watched wearily, dreading the argument that was bound to follow. When would this night end?
“Well, and about time, too,” the chaperone said. Izzy looked at her. What?
Mrs. Price-Jones linked arms with Clarissa. “Come along, dear, let’s leave them to it.” Clarissa hesitated, but Mrs. Price-Jones swept her along. As they rounded the stairs at the landing, Izzy heard her say, “Let that be a lesson to you, my dear. Nothing focuses a man so much as denial of what he most wants.”
Izzy frowned. She had no idea what was going on.
Lord Salcott opened the door to the sitting room, and waited. Izzy entered. The sooner this was over, the better. She braced herself and met his eyes.
He gestured for her to sit. “You look exhausted.” She took the sofa.
She shrugged. “It’s been a long day.” And it had. A rejected proposal, a quarrel, a long and vigorous horse ride, a ball and a public scandal, all in one day. And it wasn’t over yet.
He remained standing, looking down at her, his expression somber. “You were magnificent tonight.”
She blinked.Magnificent?
“I was so proud of you. Your sister, too, of course, but you, most of all.”
Proud?Izzy didn’t know what to say.
“Lord Randall is of the opinion that the majority have dismissed Lord Pomphret’s claim. There will be some gossip, of course, and possibly the shadow will always overhang—”
“Howcouldyou?” she burst out.
He stared at her. “How could I what?”
“Risk yourself like that! You were that far”—she held up thumb and finger—“from facing that dreadful man in a duel. And he’s a crack shot. And has no gallantry at all, so he would have killed you.”
“Nonsense.”
She jumped up and prodded him in the chest. “It’s not nonsenseat all. You could have beenkilled, and all to defend a lie—a lie aboutme! And I’m not worth dying for.” She stared at him a moment, then her face crumpled. “And even if he didn’t... didn’t k-kill you,” she sobbed, “you would have had to... to f-flee the country, because d-duels are il-illegal.”
“Hush now.” He drew her against him and she subsided onto his chest. “There was no chance of a duel—though I would have been glad of the opportunity.”
“No! How can you say such a thing?”
He produced a handkerchief and started wiping her cheeks with it. “Pomphret is a bully, and bullies are invariably cowards. He certainly is one. The way he behaved tonight, even some of his cronies were obviously disgusted. It did his reputation—such as it was—no good. But I didn’t bring you in here to talk about Pomphret, or even the events of tonight’s ball. Apart from telling you that you were magnificent.”
There was that word again. Izzy took his handkerchief, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, playing for time as she fought to master herself again. She despised tears, and was cross with herself for giving into them.
“What did you want to speak to me about, then?” she said in as calm a voice as she could manage. Which wasn’t very.
