“Read them the riot act, did you?”
Leo nodded. “And warned them what would happen when their deception—Isobel’s birth—came out, as it inevitably will.”
“And?”
“It didn’t bother them at all. They know it will happen—they actually expect it.”
Race’s brows rose. “So what’s the plan? Bundle them out of town? Banish Miss Isobel to the country somewhere?”
Leo shook his head. “Can’t be done—they refuse to be separated and, short of kidnapping, there’s not a lot I can do. They’re determined to continue as they’ve started.”
“Bold words. So what will you do?”
“Wait and see what happens and then manage the situation as best I can.”
Race whistled. “No wonder you’re frustrated.”
Leo sighed. “That’s not the only reason.” He called for a fresh pot of coffee to be brought to the library, where a fire was burning, and when they’d settled themselves—Matteo having also brought a plate of what he called biscotti in case they perished of hunger in the meantime—Leo told Race what had happened the previous night, concentrating on the stupid chit who’d interrupted them, not somuch on what had taken place before that. Then he explained how he’d interpreted the interruption, and what he’d said to Isobel this morning. And how she’d reacted.
When he finished, there was a long silence.
“What the devil were you thinking of?”
“I wasn’t thinking at all,” Leo said gloomily.
“Clearly not.”
“I know. I couldn’t understand why she. . ?”
“Kissed you?” Race poured himself another cup of coffee and crunched through a biscuit. “Possibly for some unknown, completely inconceivable reason, she was attracted to you. You’re not completely hideous, you know. It is possible for a female—misguided or not—to fancy you. Though I can’t see it myself.”
Leo groaned. “She’s never going to talk to me again.”
There was another long silence broken only by the sound of the crackling fire and the crunching of biscotti. Then Race said, “You know, you really need to get over your mistrust of women.”
“I don’t mistrust women,” Leo growled.
His friend made a scornful sound. “Yes, you do. Oh, I know you have reason, what with the way your mother behaved, and then Lavinia What’s-her-name—that female you were almost betrothed to?
“Ledbetter,” Leo said heavily.
“You made a lucky escape there. The number of grooms and footmen her husband has had to sack.” Race shook his head. “And I hear his firstborn is looking more and more like the family coachman each day.”
Leo didn’t reply. He’d been utterly besotted with the beauteous Lavinia until he’d discovered her in the stables that time, bare as an egg, writhing happily between two equally naked grooms.
“Not all women are like your mother and Lavinia the Lustful,” Race said.
“I know that.”
“Yes, but do you? Your mother didn’t just betray your father—she betrayed you as well.”
“Me?” His mother had made no vows to him.
“Yes, you,” Race said. “I haven’t forgotten the way you used to defend her reputation at school, all those bloody noses and bruises, not to mention the canings afterward for fighting. And all in a lost cause. I wanted to tell you then that the rumors were true, and that her behavior was even worse than our schoolfellows claimed. But would you have believed me?”
Leo scowled. He didn’t want to think about his mother. All those years he’d believed she was an angel—his own pure and lovely angel mother. Instead she’d been rutting with anyone and everyone. Her immorality had been a byword among the ton, but Leo hadn’t discovered the truth until he was sixteen and abruptly summoned home.
His mother hadn’t died when he was seven as he’d been told. She’d run off with an Italian painter hired to paint her portrait. In Italy, she’d left the painter for a Hungarian count. Then left him for a French sculptor. And moved on to a Polish baron, and after him... who knew?
