“You are seen as such a paragon of virtue, aren’t you, Tyndale?” Fenton hissed, spittle flying from his lips as he sneered in contempt. “Well, they see you for what you are now. They’re talking about it in that hall. How the great, good, decent Duke of Tyndale just flattened a girl half his status against the wall and nearly fucked her. Without benefit of marriage. Without thought to how it would destroy her reputation. No matter what you do now, that will follow you, won’t it?”
Matthew wrinkled his brow. “And her. It will follow her—does that not matter to you?”
Isabel stared at him, the uncle she had loved all her life. A man she had mourned with and trusted. A man she had tried to save from his darkest impulses.
And walked into a trap where she was bait.
“He doesn’t care,” she whispered, and frowned as a tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away and turned her back on all three men. She could not face them. Not when they all thought so little of her.
The room was silent, heavy, and then Matthew let out a sigh. “You must have known more than what you say.”
Brighthollow stepped forward. “Matthew,” he began.
Matthew held up a hand to silence him, his gaze still fully focused on her uncle. “Being caught in such a compromising position would tarnish my reputation, of course,” he said. “You win on that score. But you must have also known what I would be forced to do next.”
“What’s that?” Fenton’s tone was sing-song. Mocking. Isabel gripped her fists against her legs, leaning over slightly as she was overcome by dizziness and nausea.
“I’ll arrange a special license,” Matthew said, his voice flat and dark.
She spun around, her eyes wide, her heart throbbing so hard she feared it could be heard by all in the room.
“Tyndale!” Brighthollow shouted, crossing the distance between them in a few long strides. He caught Matthew’s lapels and shook him. “What the hell are you doing?”
Matthew shrugged away, smoothing his coat as he looked not as his friend, but at her. His expression was utterly blank. Utterly distant, like she was someone he didn’t know.
“What I must,” Matthew said softly. “You saw their looks, Brighthollow. By the time we leave this room, this story will have spread to every corner of that chamber and out into the world. It will multiply and change until what we were caught doing was far worse than the truth. There’s no other choice but to do what is honorable.”
Brighthollow lifted a finger in her direction. He did not look at her, but he pointed, his hand shaking. “Shedoes not deserve to be saved by you. She was likely part of his plot from the first moment it was hatched.”
Isabel turned her face, but she didn’t respond to the accusation. At this point, there was no reason to do so. Matthew would believe what he did. Thanks to her uncle’s deception, why would he think anything but exactly what his friend accused?
And if that kept him from making a mistake she knew full well he would regret, then so be it.
“You are looking out for my best interests,” Matthew said at last. “And I love you for that. But I will not base the level of my behavior on the wrongs of someone else. That is not how a man of honor behaves.”
“As if you would know anything about honor,” Fenton muttered.
Matthew glared at him, and then he said, “The special license will be arranged. I will tell you when it is done and we will choose a date right away for the wedding. Come, Hugh, I’ll need your help.”
Isabel stared as the two men moved toward the door. He was saying he would…marryher. Marry her as soon as possible. For honor, if nothing else. For honor, even though he suspected her of a betrayal far deeper than when she’d merely kept the truth of her identity from him.
Brighthollow stepped from the room, but at the door, Matthew stopped. He looked over his shoulder, his gaze meeting hers. Then he shook his head and walked out without so much as another word for her.
As soon as he was gone, she buckled against the back of the closest chair. Fenton had the gall to look pleased.
“You knew?” she whispered. “You knew, or else why would you arrange for us to be found in such a manner?”
He glanced at her and some of his glee faded. Under it was now at least a flash of guilt. But also anger. Directed at her.
“I knew you were sneaking out,” he said. “Doing something I guessed you ought not. But you were a widow, not an innocent, and I had no energy to chase after you and force you to guard what you would not protect of your own volition. But it was not until the night of the Callis ball that I understood the depth of your secrets.”
Her lips parted. “The Callis ball.”
He nodded and took a step toward her. “I didn’t know that bastard was there. I avoid his company whenever I can, but he must have been a late addition to the party.”
She folded her arms, trying not to go back to that night when Matthew had uncovered the truth and confronted her. And kissed her. And made her want him all the more. Just like he had tonight.
“I turned and there he was, lurking around. Pretending to be the saint that he is not.” Fenton’s eyes went cold and blank, and it struck utter fear into the very heart of her. “I saw him approach you and I was ready to call him out. I saw him haul you from the room and I raced to your rescue. But by the time I found the parlor you were in, you were already in his arms. Kissing him like a wanton. The man who murdered your own cousin.”
