The duke’s glower turned thunderous. Tavish could practically see the man biting back a ranting tirade—enumerating Tavish’s base behavior towards Isla in the past, His Grace’s surety of a repetition of said behavior, and how he would enact retribution. However, propriety stilled Grayburn’s tongue. His Grace couldn’t disclose Tavish’s past behavior without implicating his sister and damaging her reputation.
And so he clenched his jaw and seethed in silence.
Tavish was petty enough to revel in Grayburn’s discomfort, particularly after Isla’s revelations just minutes ago.
Fletch stopped in front of Tavish, peering around his shoulder to Isla still standing out of the rain. Grayburn walked past the two of them to his sister.
“Grayburn was convinced you were ravishing Lady Isla in the woods.” Fletch gave an abbreviated eye roll, as if the very notion were absurd in the extreme.
Guilt wrapped around Tavish’s ribcage and squeezed. Had the gentlemen taken another five minutes to arrive, he very well may have been ravishing Isla in the woods.
Bloody hell.
This was a debacle.
“I have assured His Grace in no uncertain terms that you are not that sort of gentleman.” Fletch looked to where Grayburn was speaking quietly to Isla. “But he simply refuses to believe me.”
Tavish experienced a surge of affection. Isla deserved a husband like Fletch—loyal and good. He would worship her until the day he died.
So would Tavish, for that matter, but probably with less reverence and more passion.
“The history between our families is deeply unpleasant, as well ye know,” Tavish said. “I do not fault Grayburn for his concerns.”
“Yet another reason why we all admire you so, Balfour. You spare kind words for your enemies. You always have.”
Grayburn and Isla approached them, her hand threaded through her brother’s elbow.
“The rain has cleared. Archer, would you be so kind as to accompany Lady Isla back to the house?” Grayburn extended Isla’s hand toward Fletch. “I shall join you both momentarily. I merely wish a brief word with Captain Balfour.”
The murderous look Grayburn gave Tavish didn’t instill confidence that the brief word would be a pleasant one.
Fletch glanced at Tavish in concern, silently asking if he needed assistance. Tavish gave a faint shake of his head. Grayburn would bluster, but if it came to fisticuffs, Tavish knew he could hold his own.
Fletch and Isla had scarcely gone thirty feet before Grayburn whirled on Tavish.
“I don’t know what game you are playing at here, Balfour, but you will not win.”
Tavish couldn’t stop a snort. “No game, Grayburn.”
“Spare me your prevarication. Why else were you out in this forest alone with Lady Isla?”
“Och, I could scarcely leave your sister unaccompanied in the woods. As Fletch said, I am an honorable man, despite your lowering opinion.”
“We both know that to be a lie. Your past actions have been anything but honorable in regards to my sister.”
“Hah! Like your actions toward my own sister and brother?”
Grayburn reared back. “As I suspected, you are panting after Isla in some unwarranted bid for revenge. There isn’t a thimbleful of honorbetween all you Balfours. Lady Isla is not for the likes of you. Do not think for one minute that you can sniff around her skirts, reclaim her affections, and receive one farthing of her dowry. I will see her cast out of our family first.”
Deep, long-buried rage swelled Tavish’s chest.
“Unlike yourself, Grayburn, I don’t ruin gently-bred ladies for sport.”
The duke went icily still. “What, precisely, are you accusing me of, Balfour? I have never—and would never—ruin alady.”
The implication being that Mariah was no lady.
Tavish pinched his lips to stem a tirade of anger.
