Such whispers were one of the many reasons why Matt never ventured into company.
“But will His Grace speak with any of us?” Miss Forsyth pressed.
“Gray is rather . . .” How to finish that sentence? Circumspect? Uninterested in marriage at the moment?
In short, Isla could scarcely imagine her brother looking at any woman in fondness or—shudder—love. Gray kept a healthy distance between himself and tenderness.
She assumed that eventually, when he decided to take a bride, he would meticulously survey the field, make a list, and conduct interviews before choosing the most eligible young woman to marry. No love or passion involved.
Fortunately, the gentlemen chose that moment to enter from the dining room.
Unfortunately, Isla met Captain Balfour’s gaze as he stepped into the drawing room.
They both looked away almost instantly, but the intensity of his gray eyes burned in her mind’s eye.
He wanted to speak with her. Alone. Isla was sure of it.
The fact discomfited her. She didn’t wish to be so attuned to his thoughts. To know with just the briefest of glances what he was thinking.
She didn’t dare look in his direction again, but it didn’t stop her from watching him in reflection—the mirror over the fireplace, the gleam of a silver vase, the panes of the large windows overlooking the back garden.
The week promised to be a long one.
As Isla intuited, she found a folded bit of foolscap slipped under her bedchamber door when she retired for the night. It gleamed a stark-white on the edge of the Aubusson carpet.
She snatched it up with trembling fingers.
Foolish man.
Captain Balfour would get them both in trouble.
Thankfully, he had the wisdom to write his message in their cipher. At least if the paper were discovered, Isla could plead ignorance.
Still.
NQ EOCV CKQYT . . .
Unlike his last message, this one encompassed several lines of text and took a minute to decode.
We must speak. There is an empty bedchamber directly above your own. Meet me there at one a.m. Be discreet.
Isla blew out an exasperated breath.
Be discreet?!
Not meeting at all would be discreet! A clandestine assignation was the very definition ofindiscreet.
She did not enjoy being treated like one of his soldiers—a green recruit who would jump to obey his commands.
Perhaps, she would write her own message in reply.
FJ!
He would understand the wordNo!well enough.
Instead, she tucked the message into her traveling desk and brooded, staring into the fire until her lady’s maid arrived to help Isla undress and prepare for bed.
She shouldn’t meet with him. It only encouraged his domineering behavior.
