And yet . . .
“Before I bear the dishonor and ignominy of having ruined an earl’s daughter, I would like to hear from her own lips that she will not have me. As I said, I do not harm women, and it pains me that Lady Isolde will suffer for an innocent mistake,” Kendall all but growled. “As the brunt of this disgrace will fall unfairly on her, I want to ensure that this is, indeed, her choice.”
Silence reigned for a long moment.
Sir Rafe looked between Hadley and Kendall, a grudging sort of respect on his face.
“I will fetch Lady Isolde.” Sir Rafe crossed to the door.
The clock on the mantel ticked away the seconds.
It felt rather like the countdown to a firing squad.
Kendall clenched and unclenched his fists.
Finally, the door reopened, admitting Sir Rafe and Lady Isolde.
Her blue gaze flew instantly to Kendall’s.
I should loathe the very sight of her, he mused.
And yet . . .
He couldn’t help but notice how the cream muslin of her dress contrasted with the pale softness of her skin and the gleam of her hair.
The purple smudges atop her cheekbones indicated a night as sleepless as his own. Worse, she had been weeping. The red rimming her eyes could mean nothing else.
But weeping . . . why? Over the prospect of ruination? Or having to become his wife?
It was nearly unfathomable at this juncture—at the point his life disintegrated into a pile of dust—that hestillfound her beautiful. That an infinitesimal part of his soul sighed in relief that finally—finally—she might be his wife.
“Ye called for me, Papa?” Lady Isolde said to Hadley.
The earl turned, and the look of love and desperation he gave his daughter hitched Kendall’s breath.
Hadley pointed at the duke. “I need ye tae tell this man tae go to the devil, Izzy.”
Kendall’s mind snagged on the nickname.
Izzy.
It spoke of late-night cuddles and firelit giggles. Of love given and received.
Of a reality he had never experienced.
Isolde pressed ahand to her midriff, willing her stomach not to rebel.
She had been sitting on the edge of the sofa in the drawing-room, her mother’s hand tight in her own, listening to the raised male voices in her father’s study.
Kendall had arrived promptly on their doorstep this morning. All of them understood the purpose of his visit.
HowIsolde detested this—her sisters’ weeping, her brothers’ ranting, the sorrow in her mother’s eyes.
And now, standing in Hadley’s study, the anguish etched on her father’s expression.
“P-pardon?” she asked her father.
“I need ye tae send Kendall away with a flea in his ear.” Hadley pointed again at the duke.
