She lifted her chin. “I don’t believe he did any such thing, uncle. There has never been any evidence about the night Angelica died except that it was a terrible accident.”
His jaw set. “He killed her and you fell into his arms like it was nothing.”
She huffed out a breath of frustration and pain and fear, mixed together in the worst possible combination. She stared at him, trying to find the man she’d known all her life beneath this thing he had become after years of festering grief.
“Are you saying you hatched this plan of yours that night?” she asked.
He jerked out a nod. “The seed of it was planted, yes. And it grew as I realized you two were more connected than even I realized.”
She shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“That day at the bookshop. I followed you. I know you met with him. I saw you talking, heads so close, through the window.”
Her stomach turned. “You were following me?”
He shrugged. “You have very little call for outrage, my dear. After all, I was only a concerned chaperone, wasn’t I? Looking out for my dear charge as I should. At least that is how the world will see it.”
“You look out for me by exposing me to the gossip that will follow. By revealing me in the worst light possible.”
“It is what I must do. In fact, I will encourage the worst of the rumors, remind people of my old suspicions that have been dismissed all this time. I will make that man a pariah, I will make him a scandal.”
He looked so pleased, he looked so satisfied, and Isabel couldn’t keep the tears from her eyes this time. One slid down her cheek as she stepped up closer to him.
“And me,” she whispered. “You would destroy me to hurt him. You would put me in the path of a man who you truly believe killed your daughter.”
His face fell a fraction and he turned it away from her. “Sacrifices must be made, my dear. But don’t worry. This won’t go on for long.”
He turned away and she stared at his retreating back, horror gripping her at his last declaration. “What does that mean?”
“Come, there is much for us to do. A wedding to plan,” he said over his shoulder.
“Uncle!” she called out, but he ignored her, too driven by his plan to pause or consider her. “Uncle!”
He was gone, down the hall, heading back to the ballroom where he would say God knew what in order to stir the pot of rumor and scandal.
With a shudder, she sat down in the nearest chair and covered her face. When she was a girl, she had pictured getting married. Books had given her the fantasy that she could find true love and happily ever after. Reality had been very different. She’d accepted it once, she’d been ready to accept it again after this brief period where passion had reigned.
But now…now she would marry again. This time to a man who not only stoked a fire deep within her, but one who did not trust her. Probably didn’t even like her.
A man who was being forced to the church at the tip of a spear.
Thiswas how she’d marry. And she would have to protect him against all the attacks her uncle was about to launch. Even though he didn’t want her.
Matthew sat in Ewan and Charlotte’s parlor, a drink in his hand. He could hear voices in the hall, murmuring his name. Hissing Isabel’s. And he sighed as the door opened and his friends and their spouses marched in.
“This is ridiculous,” he said, setting the drink aside as he rose to greet them. “It’s the middle of the night—no one needed to be pulled from their bed to deal with me, Hugh.”
He looked at the faces of his friends, drawn and concerned, and rolled his eyes. This was going to be a longer night than it already had been, and his head was throbbing.
“Are you going to tell them what happened or am I?” Hugh asked, his tone as dark and angry as it had been since the moment he had dragged Matthew from the party and back to Ewan and Charlotte’s home.
“I’m tired of explaining everything,” Matthew said, waving his hand at Hugh. “You might as well tell the story this time.”
“Fenton Winter has enacted some kind of revenge plot on Matthew at last,” Hugh spat. “And he arranged for him to be caught in a compromising position with that niece of his, Isabel Hayes. The two of them have hatched a plot for Matthew to wed her. And he has agreed to it.”
There was a collective gasp that moved through his friends, and Matthew flinched at the sound. Flinched as all of them started talking at once, shouting out questions. He let it go on for a moment, then raised a hand.
“Enough,” he said, and the cacophony didn’t grow quieter. “Stop!” he said louder, more firmly.
