“Not well played, Hugh,” Matthew said.
Hugh dropped his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“There’s no need to explain yourself,” Baldwin said gently. “I suppose I am the best of our circle to discuss the desperation a person feels when it comes to financial need. But Mattigan does well in his business, I don’t believe he feels that pinch. Even if he did, he makes a great deal more from our little group of friends than the widow of a merchant could afford to pay. Why would he involve himself in something that would cut off his very nose to spite his face? Do you want to tell us why this subject of liars upsets you so much, Hugh?”
Hugh shook his head, his jaw going taut. “No. I’ll get drinks.”
He said nothing more, but stalked off into the crowd, leaving Baldwin and Matthew alone again. Baldwin sighed and faced him. “He might be wrong about some vast conspiracy of your lady and the book man, but he isn’t wrong to be concerned about you. You said you were torn—does that mean that part of you wants to believe in this woman, despite what she did?”
Matthew nodded slowly. “Yes. I saw truth in her shocked and horrified reaction that night at the ball. And the same when I talked to her yesterday. I have a hard time believing she’s a villain. At least not entirely so.”
Baldwin pinched his lips together and looked out over the crowd for a moment of quiet. Then he glanced at Matthew again. “You want to believe the best in those around you because you are decent. But I do want you to be careful. This woman, she clearly woke something in you that has been dormant since you lost Angelica. Don’t confuse that with a deeper connection. Or allow it to put blinders on you to any ulterior motives she may have.”
“You are determined to think the worst of her then?” Matthew asked softly, feeling a wild desire to defend Isabel.
“Not determined. Just wary. And you should be too. She just entered the ballroom.”
Matthew froze, then slowly turned toward the entrance of the chamber. There, across the wide expanse of the hall, was Isabel and her uncle. She was, as always, stunning. Tonight she wore a beautifully cut pink gown with a darker lace overlay that fell over the skirt. Her gaze darted around like a little bird, seeking out shelter in a storm.
For a brief, wild moment, he wished he could provide it. Protect her. Despite the fact that his friends seemed to think he was the one who needed to be guarded.
“I’m going to go find Helena,” Baldwin said. “For it is clear you no longer need me. But please, do be careful. If anyone has earned a long life free of trouble, it’s you. And if you go in that direction, that is not what you might find.”
Baldwin clapped Matthew’s arm and then stepped away into the crowd. Matthew found he could say nothing as he departed. His gaze was too focused on Isabel. Perhaps they were right that to avoid her was the best answer.
But he moved toward her regardless, and pushed away all the consequences he knew he might find when he reached her side.
Isabel clung to her uncle’s arm as they stepped into the crowded ballroom. Her heart pounded and her stomach fluttered with intense nervousness, something that increased every time she thought of Matthew.
She had no idea if he would be here tonight. For years, he had avoided events where her uncle came, and Fenton had done the same. But now the men were on a collision course, whether Matthew knew it or not. And it was up to her to warn him of the dangerous waters ahead.
She glanced at her uncle. He had the strangest little smirk on his face as he looked over the crowd. One that froze her very blood.
“Why don’t you circulate, my dear?” he said as he released her arm. “I have a few friends to talk to, and I’ll bring you a refreshment in a while.”
She nodded as he walked into the crowd. She had no idea if her sense of dread was a dramatic overreaction or a deep warning she had to head.
“Good evening, Isabel.”
She froze at the deep voice that came from just behind her. That voice she knew so well. The one that she wanted to hear and feared in equal measure.
She slowly turned and caught her breath. Matthew. Matthew, so beautiful and fine and perfect as he stared down over her with an impassive expression that she could not read.
“Your Grace,” she murmured.
He reached out a hand and she found herself lifting her own, watching as his gloved fingers slid into hers, how he raised her hand with impossible slowness to those lips that had once touched her in the most intimate ways.
“I should not be so pleased to see you as I am,” he said, she thought more to himself than to her.
Her heart leapt regardless. But then her mind screamed at her, reminding her about Uncle Fenton and his cruel threats. About all that she had to share with the man who was still holding her hand.
She tugged it away and stepped a fraction closer, dizzy from the warmth of his body as it curled around her. “Matthew,” she whispered. “I must talk to you right now.”
He wrinkled his brow in confusion. “Are we not talking?”
She shook her head. “Not here. We must talk in private. Please, won’t you come with me?”
She saw the hesitation. She hated it, for it was well earned by her decisions and actions. But then he seemed to surrender, his expression softening a fraction as he nodded. “Certainly. Come, we’ll find a place to be alone.”
