Perhaps no one else had cared to look deeper.
When she walked into the billiards room, unaware the Earl of Merevale had come to call, Isabella found him on the verge of collapse. His skin had blanched to a shade closer to parchment than flesh, and he leaned against the sideboard as though it alone kept him upright. As for her brothers, they wore identical expressions of muted surprise, telling her all she needed to know.
Ever had asked for permission to court her.
The sizzle of annoyance was easily contained, for what was a woman if not someone expected to absorb minor affronts? The arrogant toad had presumed he must alert her brothers before she bungled the assignment. Let something slip, say something inappropriate.
Well—she sighed and crossed to him—shewasknown for it.
“Darling, Everard,” Isabella said when she reached him, “you were supposed to wait for me to speak to them.”
The endearment caught him off guard. His eyes widened, seizing the pale sunlight piercing the windowpane, turning them the color of sea-glass. Like hers, his irises shifted in an instant. She did not wish her thoughts to linger on the wonderof it—or on the quiet curiosity of what she might do to change them again—but they lingered all the same.
His lids lowered, shutting her from his gaze. “Stop looking at me as though one of those kisses were imminent, or they’ll assume we know one another far more intimately than we do,” he whispered, low enough for her ears alone.
“Come, you’re about to drop,” she whispered back, easing the glass from his hand. Heat flared where his ungloved fingers brushed hers. “Your medical modiste would not be pleased.”
They shared a smile that conveyed far more than intended—at least to her brothers-in-law.
Slipping her arm through the earl’s, she adjusted her pace to spare his injury. When he leaned into her, she knew she’d made the right call in rescuing the stubborn fool. “I was just on my way to deliver my embroidery samples. Would you care to accompany me?”
The Duke of Mercer started to object—she had clearly flouted some rule by asking a man to dance attendance on her—before Weston intervened. “My wife has my carriage, something about a new gown. Merevale, would you mind assisting Lady Isabella with her delivery, then seeing her safely home?” He lifted a hand in her direction, his grin equal parts amused and fond. “Take your maid along, will you? Or, hell, the butler for all I care. Marcus, even. A chaperone of any breathing kind will do.”
The men laughed—allthreeof them—and Isabella, seething, dragged the one she was attached to through the parlor door and into the hallway.
“Hold up,” Ever gasped, his voice choked by pain and delight. “I can’t move this quickly. And you know why.”
Isabella released him once they were out of sight, but his warmth lingered, trailing down her spine. Annoyed with all beautiful creatures, she turned her back, yet every breath he drew pressed against her nape.
Everfollowed her to the entranceway, wisely reserving comment, and helped her gather her spencer and bonnet. She jerked her leather gloves on under his gaze, his eyes darkening to a dusky forest green. The piquant note from yesterday rose from him again, layered with shaving soap—he’d prepared for this undertaking—and the slender aroma of brandy.
By sheer force of will, she kept herself from pushing him against the wall and wiping his smile away with a kiss. That should show him.
She’d been told she could banish thought with hers.
Isabella crouched, one knee to the marble, and snapped her fingers. “Marcus, come.” The hound grunted from his bed in the front parlor, then trotted into the corridor. He fixed her with a bland, watery stare, as if to say,well?
The Earl of Merevale stunned her by lowering himself beside her, slower for his injury, and holding out his hand. “I had a mutt like this when I was a boy. His name was Biscuit. My work hasn’t allowed for another in the house—the long hours—but in Derbyshire, I’ll have ten. Cats, too. And goats.”
She and Marcus clearly shared similar tastes; the dog was there at once, licking Ever’s outstretched fingers and attempting to climb into his lap.
“Mongrels like me,” the earl whispered, his lips pressed tight against a smile. Of course, he had a delicate, irresistible dimple that flashed at her. Winked, really.
Isabella let out a tight breath, charmed and cross. He read her too easily. She fooled him about as well as he fooled her—meaning, not at all.
She rose while they frolicked and grabbed the leash her sister kept for Marcus’s walks. When she clipped it to the metal ring on the dog’s kidskin collar, Ever gazed up at her, his expression a mix of emotions she couldn’t begin to define. His eyes were deep green pools, the outer edgespaler than the center, something she’d never seen before. “You truly mean to take this beast as your chaperone?”
“He was one of the offered choices.”
If Isabella had been teetering on the edge, his next action moved her from merely charmed to smitten in seconds. Gingerly, holding his side, Ever pushed himself to his feet. An easy smile in place, he held out his arm, gesturing to the door.
She started to speak, thought better of it, stunned. “You mean to allow this? That is—” She shook the leash, and Marcus barked. “You’re not going to argue? List a thousand reasons why I shouldn’t get into a carriage with you and ahound?”
He rocked back, his gaze narrowing. Fine creases fanned from the corners of his eyes, marks of age and thought. He wasn’t offering her some nonsensical answer, as men did as a matter of course. “I’m very good at selecting the undertakings worth my time. Quarreling with you about this isn’t one.” He drew his gloves from his coat pocket and pulled them on with controlled force. “And the woman who handled last evening’s turmoil with such remarkable aplomb doesn’t need my opinion on how to run her life.”
“You don’t find me silly?” she whispered.
You don’t want to control me?went unspoken.
