“I can see it written plainly on your face. You’ll take the easy road,” she ground out, already turning away from him, toward the gallery he loved almost as much as he suspected he loved her. “Alone, suffering nobly. You’ll warn me away rather than risk anything else. After what we shared, is that still your plan?”
Confounded, he stood as well, the space between them charged with something perilously close to adoration. At least for him. Heart racing, he reached for her, then stopped himself, aware they were gathering an audience on the lawn. “Isa.”
Isabella laughed, a hollow sound. “The difference between us is, you’ll jeopardize everything for your career, maybe even for this manor, but nothing for me. Frankly, nothing foryou.”
He hesitated, a denial lodged in his throat. “You make it sound simpler than it is.”
Her answer never came, reason that might have swayed him. One tender look, frankly, and he was hers. She already owned him.
A shout rose from the lawn as the children broke free and came charging toward the steps. One seized Ever’s leg, another collided with his hip, laughter and grass-stained hands clutching at his coat. Joy—pure joy—surrounded him.
When he looked up, Isabella had slipped inside, his beloved gallery having swallowed her whole.
Chapter Fourteen
Where a love-struck man takes flight.
The missive arrived after dinner, a strained affair made worse by Isabella’s plea of a megrim and her decision to remain in her bedchamber. That left two happily married couples attempting to engage a man at odds with his intended.
The news from London wasn’t good.
The note shoved into his waistcoat pocket, Ever left the men to their billiards and brandy, the ladies to their parlor talk, and retired to his bedchamber to pack his valise.
MacLeod tried to talk him out of leaving, listing the reasons Isabella Anstruther-Colbrook was thewee lassiefor him—beautiful, spirited, courageous enough to tame him. Perfectly suited to Langley Park, taking the time to stop and speak to everyone, from scullery maid to duke alike. She’d even been keen on the idea ofraising goats.
Ever didn’t argue. In fact, he agreed with every word. Isabella would make the finest countess imaginable.
Only, his trusted valet and the woman he was falling for didn’t understand the ruthless world he had entered when he accepted a commission to work for the Crown.
There were dangers of the heart—and then there was simplydanger.
Thankfully, Ever’s instinct proved correct. He went in search of Weston Whitaker and found him in the study, hunched over the desk, his coat discarded, drafting tools spread in careful disorder around him. A single lamp cast a muted, amber pool of light, catching on the sharp angle of his concentration as Weston worked a pencil down the page.
Ever could have gone to Mercer. Instead, he chose Weston—brash, young, only a few years older than Isabella, and far easier to speak to. Less rank, less ceremony, more listening than weighing duty against action.
Likewise, Weston despised society almost as much as Ever did, meaning there would be no arguments slanted in that direction.
Weston glanced up when the door clicked shut, light skating over his spectacle lenses. He glanced to the bag in Ever’s hand, then shook his head and sighed. “Why do I feel like this conversation’s going to sour my evening? You Brits have a remarkable talent for despair.”
Ever tunneled his hand into his trouser pocket and touched Isabella’s handkerchief. “I’m afraid I’m only here to uphold that reputation.”
Weston gestured to the room, kindly inviting Ever into his own study. “I can tell this calls for a drink.”
Ever fell into the armchair, dropping his valise at his feet, his overcoat and hat atop it. By the time he dragged a hand over his face and looked up again, Weston was back, setting the brandy within reach.
Weston took a measured sip, studying Ever over the tumbler’s beveled rim. “Fleeing like a coward in the night, eh? I wouldn’t have expected this of the besotted fellow I watched fawn over Isabella this afternoon. Mercer and I were debating who ought to break it up before you kissed her in full view of the children, though there was the disagreement at the end, and her absence from dinner. Tricky business, love.”
Ever slumped low, balancing his glass on his belly. His heart had begun to pound at the thought of actually leaving her. “She won’t be surprised to wake and find I’m gone, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Weston laughed, leaving Ever to ask what in the hell he could find amusing about this situation. “At least you’re not covered in paint.”
Ever frowned. “Have you been drinking all night?”
Rumor held the man was brilliant—a self-taught engineer invited to speak before the Royal Society, which, for an American, was practically a miracle. But this was not genius speaking.
Bracing his elbows on the desk, Weston leaned closer, lowering his voice almost conspiratorially. “My wife is a skilled artist, as you may know. I blundered the courtship—dropped the ball, I’d say, if I were back in Philadelphia and not worried about pretty language. She wasn’t pleased and tossed wet brushes at my head near the end. Of the misery, that is. I’m happy to tell you we married soon after.”
Ever grunted, circling the glass on his knee. “My female concern embroiders. Am I to hope for a needle jabbed in a delicate spot to wake me up from my stupor?”
