Page 39 of The Beast’s Unwanted Duchess (Icy Dukes #1)
“I know a sly weasel when I see one,” the rescuer replied. “I thought it best to keep an eye on you. And I will be keeping an eye on you, Lord Fenton, so remember to watch your back. You never know where I might be next, and I might feel less generous on that day.”
Colin did not need to be told a third time. Whirling around, he took off up the shadowed pathway, sprinting as if Isolde’s masked savior were chasing him, leaving the scene of his crime without so much as an apology to the woman he had tried to kiss without permission.
But I shall have an apology, she vowed, glaring after the cretin.
“Thank you,” she said, turning toward the tall, unseasonably dressed gentleman who had likely saved her reputation, though there could be no denying that the night was truly ruined now. And, surprisingly, not at Edmund’s hand.
The man released her slowly, and she had to resist the urge to cling on a while longer, embarrassed that she would even have such a notion.
But he did not respond to her thanks, simply bowing his head.
Perhaps, he might have said something eventually, if the sound of ladies’ voices had not drifted on the breeze to their ears at that moment.
Passing by the torchlight, he turned and left her with one lingering, gleaming glance before he disappeared through the gap in the hedges, melting back into the shadows from whence he came.
Stung as she was by her rescuer’s silence, Isolde wasted no time breaking into a run of her own, eager to find her mother and return to her brother as quickly as possible. In truth, she had had quite enough of the palace gardens, and society in general, for one evening.
Her debut, it seemed, had no choice but to be cut short.
“And you never heard his name?” Prudence hugged the pillow she had snatched out from under Isolde’s head to wake her up, desperate to hear all of the events of the night before.
At three-and-ten, the youngest of the Wilds sisters had a greater thirst for gossip than even the most seasoned of society’s scandalmongers.
Isolde shook her head, glancing at Teresa, who perched daintily on the end of the bed, pretending to read a book.
But she had not turned the page in at least twenty minutes, not while Isolde had told the thrilling tale of a mysterious stranger who had emerged from the shadows to save her from the clutches of the dastardly Marquess of Fenton.
It was rare that Teresa’s attention could be dragged away from her books, so Isolde had made the story somewhat more dramatic in order to hold Teresa’s interest.
“Was he really so handsome?” Prudence urged.
“The most handsome gentleman I have ever seen,” Isolde fibbed, for all she had seen of the man were his gleaming eyes and a fleeting glimpse of full, enticing lips.
Of course, she could have spoken at great length about the strength of his arms and the hard muscle of his chest and the broadness of his shoulders, but she did not think that was appropriate for such young ears.
She was not even certain it was appropriate for her mind, though it had not stopped her from dreaming of the stranger ever since her hurried return to Mayfair the previous evening.
“Tell us everything again,” Prudence said, leaning back against the post of the four-poster bed in Isolde’s chambers.
Isolde chuckled. “Again? Surely, it would bore you now that you know everything.”
“I would not mind hearing it again,” Teresa said quietly, closing her book altogether. “Particularly the part where he spoke for the first time.”
Isolde shrugged. “Very well.”
Secretly pleased to have the full concentration of both of her sisters, she began the story again from the start, where she had danced with Colin, and how that had led to what might have been the most exciting moment of her eight-and-ten years.
“His touch lingered,” she concluded with a sigh, bending the truth a little, “as if he did not wish to let me go, but with the gaggle of ladies approaching, I fear he had no choice or we would have been?—”
“Scandalized!” a grim voice rumbled from the bedchamber doorway.
All three sisters whipped around, gasping at the sight of their brother. How long has he been standing there? Isolde flushed with embarrassment, wishing she had not been quite so creative with the truth.
“How could you be so careless?” Vincent snapped as he stalked further into the room, arms crossed.
“Do you realize what could have happened if you had been seen? I should have known better than to think you were entirely reformed. You will always cause trouble, Isolde. Always. I do not know why I thought any differently.”
Isolde blinked, hurt and furious all at once. “Mama was with me in the gardens. I cannot be blamed if she forgot her duty as chaperone.”
“Yes, well, evidently she cannot be trusted either,” Vincent muttered. “This is poor timing, Isolde. I am supposed to be venturing to Bath soon. How am I to do that now?”
Isolde glared at him. “You get into your carriage and instruct the driver to take you to Bath. It is rather simple, I should think.”
“Do not test me, Isolde.” Vincent grimaced, sweeping a stressed hand through his hair. “As you have proven that you cannot be left to your own devices without risking our entire family’s reputation, more supervision will be required. Yes, a lot more supervision.”
He walked back out of the room without further explanation, and as Isolde watched him go, a lump of dread hardened in her chest, reflected on the faces of her sisters. Whatever he meant by “supervision,” he had left her in no doubt that it could not be good.