Kendallwouldbecome Prime Minister.
Lady Isoldewouldbe forgotten.
And the events he had set in motion with Stephen Jarvis would be another stepping stone on the path to victory.
“Why does Kendallalways stare at ye?” Mac asked. “It’s as if he be memorizing your face before painting a portrait.”
Isolde shrugged at her younger brother’s words.
Though christened Andrew Mackenzie Langston—after their father and paternal grandfather—he had been called Mac since birth.
“I cannot say.” She half rolled her eyes. “Kendall despises me and feels the need tae ensure I know it?”
She certainly could not tell her brother the more honest truth:Well, ye see, once upon a time before he knew who I was, he flirted with me and kissed my hand (and wrist) most ardently. And then, years later, he read my intensely private correspondence that I invaded his bedchamber to retrieve . . .
Mac’s eyebrows lifted, clearly doubting her. “A man does not look at a woman he despises as often as Kendall stares at yourself. Pa even asked me about it after the theater last week.”
“About Kendall’s staring?”
“Aye.”
“Truly? How odd. Well, Papa cannot be too concerned, as he has said nothing tae myself. I care nothing for Kendall.” Words that were not entirely true. Kendall inspired a great many conflicting emotions in her breast—attraction, confusion, irritation. “I’m more anxious that Mariah has an enjoyable evening.”
She nodded to where their youngest sister danced with James. At nineteen, this was Mariah’s first Season, and both Isolde and her mother intended it to be a successful one.
In the far corner of the ballroom, their other sister, Catriona, smiled shyly up at her betrothed, Lord Barnaby. Unlike Isolde and Mariah, Catriona was petite, blond, and demure—much to their mother’s long-suffering delight. Barnie returned his beloved’s look with a besotted one of his own. Nearby, Lord and Lady Hadley were speaking with Lord and Lady Alderton, Barnie’s parents. They were likely discussing the wedding, which was to be held at St. George’s in Hanover Square in seven weeks.
Truly, it was high timeoneof the five Hadley children—Isolde, Mac, James, Catriona, and Mariah—married. Lady Hadley was in alt, and Isolde rejoiced that sweet, kind Catriona had found a gentleman who matched her reserved temperament.
Best of all, Catriona’s upcoming marriage had diverted Lady Hadley’s attention away from Isolde’s own unmarried state.
Isolde had yet to convince her mother that she was unlikely to marry. At least, not within her own social class. Isolde’s height, education, creeping age, and ‘unconventional beauty’ (as Lady Hadley charitably termed it), ensured most gentlemen of thetongave her a wide berth.
“Maybe I’ll tell Ma that Kendall seems tae have taken a fancy tae ye,” Mac rocked back on his heels, a taunting smile on his lips. Tall with reddish-blond hair, her brother was a perfect blend of both their parents.
“Ye wouldn’t dare.” Isolde narrowed her gaze. “Mamma would never let ye be, asking how ye ken that, wanting proof of your theories. Ye know how she is. She operates on facts, not fantasies. And ye have no facts at the moment.”
“Aye,” Mac grinned, utterly unrepentant, “but given the outrage on your face, it would be worth it. Kendall might be the most boorishly boring gentleman in England, but he is still a duke. And Ma well understands his eligibility.”
“IfKendall stares at me, I am sure it is merely to catalog my many faults.”
“Yet it is a fact, Sis—the duke cannot tear his eyes off ye.”
Isolde fanned her face, looking away before Mac wound her up any further.
Honestly.
Brothers.
Of course, her gaze immediately collided—yet again—with Kendall’s. She gave His Grace a rather pointed lift of her eyebrows and tapped her fan against her left ear lobe. If Kendall understood the traditional language of fans, he had hopefully received her message:Please leave me be.
“Resorting tae fan conversations, I see,” Mac chortled. “I stand by my assertions.”
Kendall whipped his gaze away, presenting Isolde with his impressively handsome profile—patrician nose, forehead neither too high nor too low, soft-looking lips. With his olive complexion and sharp Mediterranean features—both courtesy of his Italian mother—he appeared an exotic panther amid pale house cats.
“And now ye be staring, too,” her brother continued.
“Nonsense. I’m merely contemplating the tragedy of Kendall.”
