When the violins began, she counted the measures, then misstepped deliberately, just once, heel to boot to ensure the unfortunate man would not ask again. The gasp from the surrounding ladies gave her a perverse flicker of satisfaction. By the fourth dance she had succeeded in reducing her brother to a glowering, silent stare. Even when her meandering path through the crowd brought her close to him, he barely acknowledged her.
A hollow victory. I have escaped attachment but have earned the enmity of my brother.
Isla looked away from him, pretending to be blithely unaware. Alistair was the closest thing she had to a friend in London, hundreds of miles from the country she was accustomed to and comfortable in.
If only he did not insist on … on trying to manage me. I would be much better behaved.
The air inside Ravenscroft House had grown dense with powder and perfume. Conversation clattered like hailstones and jewels winked cruelly in candlelight. The room smelled of wealth and wilted roses. Another dance ensued and was endured. Isla found herself distracted enough to make a good job of the steps.
Suddenly, Isla felt trapped. The room, with its high ceiling and distant walls, seemed to be shrinking. The crowd pressed close and from all around she felt curious eyes and sharp whispers.Every eye she met was yanked away from her gaze to return once her back was turned, she was sure. Alistair was making his way towards her, a man his own age, with black hair and a Roman nose above a square jaw following behind him.
“Isla. A commendable job at a waltz, finally. I’m glad you found your feet and did not put our family to shame,” Alistair said with joviality and barely a hint of his native accent.
“I was distracted,” Isla said. “I will do better next time.”
“I do not see how that could be possible,” said the dark-haired man with an obsequious smile, choosing the most obvious meaning for Isla’s words. Alistair barely held onto his smile, reading the secret meaning and not liking it.
“Allow me to introduce the Earl of Coventry …” Alistair said, turning to the man and holding out his arm towards Isla. “Coventry this is —”
“Would you both excuse me,” Isla said, putting her hands to her stomach. “I am feeling rather unwell.”
Alistair winced as though struck.
“I’m sure some deep breaths and polite conversation would do you the world of good,” Alistair said, “rather than discussing breeding horses.”
“Breeding horses? Good Lord!” Coventry said.
“I thought it highly appropriate given that we are all here to discuss breeding thoroughbreds,” Isla retorted.
“Are we?” Alistair replied with a dangerous look.
“Yes, who will marry whom and provide an heir to whom,” Isla said.
Coventry’s chin lifted so that he looked down his nose from a great height. He looked as though he had smelled something he did not care for.
“That is a rather … unique perspective,” he said. “I say, Your Grace, I would you excuse me for just a moment …”
Alistair smiled politely and tried to persuade the Earl of Coventry not to run away without appearing to suggest he was doing any such thing.
Sorry, Alistair, but I will not let you arrange a marriage for me.
Isla had spotted a side door, tucked away behind a fluted column on which stood a spray of carnations. While her brother wasdistracted she made a dash for it, hauling it open and throwing herself into the quiet coolness beyond. The corridor in which she found herself was mercifully dim.
Her slippered steps echoed on marble, then flagstone. The music of the ballroom faded to a distant pulse. The scent changed from wax and lavender to hay and leather. She followed it as though it were a promise. Outside, night had settled soft over the stable yard.
The lamps cast long bars of gold across the cobbles. Within the nearest stall, a horse shifted and snorted. It was a dappled mare, ears twitching in Isla’s direction. Isla drew a deep breath of the warm, animal air and felt herself begin, finally, to breathe.
“Easy, lass,” she murmured, running a gloved hand down the mare’s neck. “We’ll both survive this London madness yet.”
The animal calmed, stretching its nose towards her as she stroked its neck. A voice answered from the shadows.
“She minds you well, my lady.”
Isla started. A tall man emerged from the far stall. He was in his shirtsleeves, lacking coat or vest. His hair was a dark mane that fell straight from his temples. A lantern set into the recess of a window, next to the stall, revealed an angular face with high cheekbones that gave his eyes a tilted appearance. He mighthave been an eastern prince except that he held a currying brush in his hand and his shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbow.
The face of a barbarian lord and the dress of a working man. How curious.
His manner, however, was unhurried, sure, and entirely unbothered by her intrusion. There was none of the bowing and hurried obsequiousness of a servant.
