He had paused before speaking Isla’s name as though to emphasize that he had recognized her. Edward gritted his teeth, glancing at Isla who had tilted her head to examine the stranger.
“I do not know you,” she said.
“My father was an … acquaintance of your mother. He is Blackwood of Glenmore, Laird of Glenmore. I am the Marquis of Morlich.”
“Ah,” Isla said with a sigh.
“Did you not think to run into a Blackwood here in London, Lady Isla? Did you and your brother think yourselves far enough away from the old trouble to escape us?” Morlich said, as much heat in his voice as polite Hyde Park society would allow.
“Hold fast, Morlich,” Edward warned. “Lady Isla is my fiancée.”
Damnation! It is too soon to be allowing that word to spread. Before contracts are even agreed and signed. I am committed now, the Rubicon is crossed!
Edward berated himself but there had been no alternative. He had sensed Isla being attacked and could not stand by and let ithappen. Morlich had the impudence to look him up and down before looking away. Edward kept his free arm behind his back, fist clenched.
Hold hard, Lieutenant Ravenscroft. Keep your discipline.
“My brother has business in London. We will return to Strathmore by and by, I’m sure. We certainly are not running,” Isla said.
“Aye, I’ve heard the Duke is setting a trend in home decoration. The empty house-look,” Morlich scoffed, his Scottish accent coming through even as the fire in his eyes burned hotter.
Isla stepped forward. “I bow to your superior knowledge of such feminine arts as that. And you can bow to mine about horses.”
Edward felt a surge of pride which he quickly quashed. It was a razored riposte and it put Morlich on the backfoot.
She certainly is magnificent. A ferocious warrior … but what man wants a ferocious wife. Entirely unsuitable.
A laugh soared up from the circle. “Perhaps you’ll take a mount and instruct us.”
“I might,” Isla said coolly. “If I were not already in the habit of winning my arguments.”
The fellow’s grin sharpened. “Bold words. Shall we give you the Row to prove it?”
Edward stepped in, seeing the attention being drawn to the argument, the curious eyes settling on them like flies on a midden.
“The lady is not your entertainment.”
“Nor yours,” Isla said under her breath.
“You are creating a scene that will get back to your brother,” Edward whispered.
“Let it,” Isla responded, taking her hand from his arm. “You are not yet my master and will not be even when we are married.”
She addressed Morlich. “I will ride your best into the Serpentine and back.”
“Side-saddle?” Edward asked pointedly.
“If necessary, I manage.” Isla said with insouciance.
A little crowd had begun to thicken much to Edward’s disgust. Idlers scenting sport, matrons already frowning. Edward felt the trap spring open. A few minutes more and there would be a dozen mouths to carry the story to a hundred ears.
“Lady Isla,” he said, pitched low. “No.”
She looked at him with a spark that could have lit the powder magazine on a frigate.
“Are you my jailer or my intended?”
“Both, on alternate hours.”
