And much good it did him, Leo thought bitterly.
Race continued. “That boy’s romantic little heart is still beating in the chest of the man—”
“Nonsense!”
“Bruised, bloodied but still beating,” Race insisted. “And waiting for the right woman.”
“To crush it beneath her heel? Not bloody likely.”
Race waved a knowing finger at him. “You’ll see. In fact, if you ask me, you’ve already met her.”
“I have not,” Leo denied it hotly. Possibly too hotly, he realized.
Race smirked. “Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much.”
***
Again? He wants to speak to me in private again?” Izzy looked up from her book.
Treadwell, Lady Scattergood’s butler, inclined his head graciously. “As I said, miss.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Clarissa asked.
“No, I’ll be fine,” Izzy assured her. If Lord Salcott thought he was going to rake her over the coals again, she’d happily give him another piece of her mind. Since she’d stormed out the day before, she’d been brooding up a whole list of things to say to him to put him in his place. To utterlyshrivelhim.
She glanced at her reflection in the cheval mirror and tidied her hair, then ran lightly downstairs. He awaited her in the blue saloon, standing in front of the fireplace,looking elegant, serious and annoyingly handsome. His thick dark hair was freshly trimmed and brushed à la Brutus. Buff doeskin breeches hugged his narrow hips and hard muscular thighs. His boots were elegant and highly polished; his neckcloth was tied in a no-nonsense style that wasn’t fashionable, but somehow suited him. His slate-blue coat exactly matched his eyes.
He’d dressed for the occasion, then. She couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad.
He cleared his throat. “Good morning, Miss Isobel.”
Miss Isobel, not Miss Burton. A small concession. She returned the greeting and waited. He waved her to a chair, then seated himself opposite. He looked at her a moment, then cleared his throat again.
Obviously, he had something unpleasant to say to her. As if he hadn’t already said enough. Izzy braced herself.
He cleared his throat a third time, then said, “I owe you an apology.”
She looked at him in surprise. He did, of course, but it was the last thing she’d expected. She waited. Was that it? How did he expect her to react?
He ran a finger around his collar as if it was too tight, and continued. “I was wrong to accuse you of trying to trick me the other night.”
Izzy raised a brow. “ ‘Trick’?”
“Entrap. I was wrong and I was offensive. I apologize. Unreservedly.”
It was a handsome apology, Izzy had to admit. Men in general were not prone to apologizing for anything. Nevertheless... She still smarted that he’d taken one of the most moving experiences of her life—her first real kiss, and it had been magic—and decided it was a grubby little plot.
“So, will you accept my apology?”
His prompt annoyed her. Was she just supposed to rollover like a grateful puppy, accept it and make everything better—for him? So that he could feel better about himself? While she still smarted with hurt and disillusionment?
“I’m not sure,” she began. He frowned, and she continued, “It’s been my experience that when people expect the worst of others, it is a reflection of the kind of person they are.”
His frown deepened.
“When we first met,” she reminded him, “your first act was to offer me a bribe to abandon my sister.” He opened his mouth, but she swept on. “And then the other night, your instant reaction to Milly Harrington’s interruption was to decide I was trying to entrap you into marriage.”
He didn’t say anything. He looked a little pale.
