That was how he knew he’d lost this argument, but won the fight.
Striding to the armchair, he reached into his overcoat, fingers brushing paper softened by too much handling. “I wrote her a note.”
Weston grunted and finished his brandy. “Couldn’t slip it under her door? Damnit, man, I’m doing all the work here.”
“If I got that close—” Ever set the folded vellum on the desk. “She won’t let me leave, and you know I won’t be able to.” He gave the scripted plea a last glance, half his heart going with it. He wished he’d been able to say more. “For her eyes only, please.”
Crossing to the desk, Weston slid the note into his pocket. “I’ll see that she gets it. The bearer of dreadful tidings, thank you very much. Every woman in my family is going to detest me until you straighten this tangle out. I’ll likely be sleeping alone.”
Not trusting himself to say more than a murmured thank you, Ever shrugged into his coat and hat, grabbed his valise, and turned for the door. Before doubt could find purchase—before the memory of Isabella whispering his name as she crested could pull him apart.
Behind him, Weston repeated his directive. “Seven days, Trentham.” The protective older brother, something Ever was thankful for.
“Keep her safe for me,” Ever whispered as a rain-laden gust raced across the lawn and slid down his collar. He would miss her and this place, things he cherished to the depths of his soul.
And he was determined tohave them both.
Then he was gone, leaving Langley—and Isabella Anstruther-Colbrook—in better hands than his own.
For now.
Chapter Fifteen
Where a vexed woman receives an apology.
(And several discreet gifts.)
Isabella started the week with Ever’s note clutched in her hand, more cross than she’d been in her life. Her vision blackened at the edges with rage.
Sprite,
I have to return to London. It’s urgent. Don’t come to me.
I’ll find you.
Ever
Find her, would he? She would see about that.
The adorable lout had dared to abandon her in Derbyshire with a family who felt compelled to hawk her every move, fearing she would fling herself from her bedchamber window or beneath the carriage wheels on the ride home.
Which she had, in a low moment, considered.
After the joy of the initial trip, the journey back to the city had been misery, pure and unrelieved. Humid,grimy, filled with tight smiles and heartache. Isabella didn’t like being pitied. Fretted over like an ailing maiden aunt. Which is what she’d wanted before that blasted masquerade ball and Everard Trentham’s kisses. She’d longed to be forgotten, unseen.
But Ever’s touch had awakened her, shown her a world she’d not imagined.
It wasn’t fiction to believe he’d been shown it, too.
So she filled her days with meaningless drivel, saving her tears for the nights. Ten sets of garters completed, her fingers cramping as she stitched. A ghastly musicale in Regent’s Park, where an overly ardent Baron Nesby had to be led away by Weston—a co-conspirator, she suspected, in Ever’s disappearance. (He hadn’t looked her full in the face since handing over that bloody letter.) A tea at Countess Crandall-Grant’s, where she explained to the old biddy that she was not, in fact, betrothed to anyone.
Still her family hovered, the Duke of Mercer included. And his footmen, those hard-looking thugs he employed. When she told him she was fine and not in need of supervision, he mentioned recent burglaries in the city, rising crime, theft.
The only reason she agreed to follow the plan Ever had put in place—she wasn’t silly enough to imagine he hadn’t designed the entire production—was the gifts. He’d understood she would rebel without a word from him—heavens, she was renowned for it. She knew where his clandestine office was, and she wasn’t above arriving unannounced. The same for his residence. His ‘surgeon’ paid a visit, should it come to that.
What stopped her on the second day of exile, impatience mounting, was the flower.
After dinner, she slid beneath her counterpane and opened her copy ofPersuasionto find a pressed harebell between the pages, its blue faded to a pale, silvery wash, thebell flattened thin as paper. Isabella startled, and the book slipped from her hands to the carpeted floor. With a gasp, she went to her knees beside the bed to retrieve it.
