“No, you asked me to take them riding from time to time. Which I did—and before you say another thing, think, hothead. How the devil do you imagine I could have stopped this affair if the first thing I knew about it was when I—along with half of London—received my invitation? It was far too late.”
“Not too late to inform me.”
“No, not too late for that,” Race agreed. “And what would you have done if I had managed to get a message to you, buried as you were in your rural wilds?”
Leo opened his mouth, then shut it, realizing that he would probably have done exactly what he was doing now—nothing. To rush back to London and cancel it at the last minute would have caused a great deal of unwelcome speculation. And the kind of attention he was hoping to avoid.
“Besides, you give a most delightful party.” It wasdeliberate provocation. Leo glowered at him, and Race laughed. “Oh, cut line, Leo. You’re not angry because I didn’t warn you; you’re angry because the girls tricked you. And because the party is a splendid success. You laid down the rules and they broke them in splendid fashion, and now they’re out in the world and you don’t know what to do.”
“Damn you, Race.” His friend knew him too well.
His friend laughed again. “You know I’m right.”
“Smugness is most unattractive in a man.”
“And in a woman?” Race’s eyes wandered to where Isobel was standing. Leo followed his gaze.
She turned, saw Leo watching, and again stepped deliberately in between him and her sister, shielding Clarissa from his gaze. Her message was clear. She was taking responsibility for this event, shouldering the blame, protecting Clarissa from his wrath.
It was infuriating. And, a small, reluctant part of him had to admit, admirable.
Race laughed softly, patted him on the arm and drifted off to join another group. For a moment Leo watched Isobel, laughing and chatting, a dozen gentlemen admirers hanging off her every word. And looking more beautiful in the lamplight than any woman had a right to be.
The urge to confront her chafed at him. But he didn’t trust himself to do it in public.
A large matron trailing a wispy-looking daughter eyed him acquisitively and altered course, bearing down on him like a gunship in full sail towing a muslin-clad jolly boat. That decided him. He would speak to the girls in the morning. It was too late to do anything about this wretched party, and he didn’t trust himself to hang on to his temper.
Leo turned and marched purposefully in the opposite direction—almost into the arms of a third woman with another unmarried daughter. She brightened, drew her daughter forward and gave him a welcoming smile. He scowledand veered off along a narrow pathway and lurked in the shadows behind a bush, waiting for them to pass.
The indignity of it only added to his temper.
This,thiswas why he wanted nothing to do with society. All these females hunting for a wedding ring with a title attached. Regardless of whathewanted.
And where were all the other unmarried gentlemen, dammit? Hanging around Isobel Burton, no doubt, like bees round a honeypot. Curse them!
Well, he wasn’t going to add to her vanity by joining them, particularly knowing he would be forced to play the gracious host when actually he itched to shake the little minx until she rattled. Or kiss her until—no, he wouldn’t even think of that!
As for staying here to be hunted by matchmaking mamas—in his own blasted back garden! He slipped quietly away and took himself back to his house, where he collected the brandy decanter and took it up to his bedchamber. He poured himself a large brandy and stood at the window in the dark, glowering down at the moving figures lit so romantically by the glowing lanterns.
It was his duty, he told himself, to keep a protective eye on Clarissa, his ward. And to see what mischief her half sister was up to.
Dammit, what was he going to do now that society believed the two girls to be Studley’s legitimate daughters? Too late now to try to separate Isobel from her sister. Too late to hide Studley’s baseborn daughter from the ton.
What a fool he’d been to believe they’d obey his instructions about not mixing in society. An even bigger fool to leave them to it. And to assume his aunt would continue to live in the isolation he thought she preferred.
How had they done it? Half of society was here tonight.
He watched as Matteo wove through the crowd, distributing refreshments and managing the footmen. The girlshad even managed to suborn his own blasted majordomo, curse them.
***
Several hours later, Leo jerked awake, startled by the sound of a book hitting the floor beside him. He’d been reading and must have dozed off. He rose from the armchair, stretched and removed his coat and neckcloth. He was about to pull off his shirt and boots when he noticed there was no sound coming from the garden below. The clock on the overmantel chimed softly. Two in the morning.
He looked out of the window. The garden was deserted, not a soul remained—no, wait, a moving shadow caught his eye. A slender feminine figure was moving from lantern to lantern, using a long pole to lift each one down, then extinguishing it.
It was a job for a servant, but that was no servant. She was just a shadowy silhouette flitting about the garden, but Leo would know her anywhere: Isobel Burton. What the devil was she doing down there? Alone?
It was the opportunity he’d been waiting for, the chance to tell her exactly what he thought of her deception and duplicity. And her barefaced disobedience. The anger that had been simmering inside him all evening came boiling back up again.
