Her lips parted slightly before closing again. For a moment, she seemed almost disappointed that he had asked.
Without another word, she reached for the newspaper lying on the table. She folded it open with deliberate care before holding it out to him. “Read.”
James frowned and took it. His eyes fell on the gossip column.
Miss Caroline Pembley was observed entering the townhouse of a recently titled duke on Grosvenor Square during the late evening hours of Tuesday last, unchaperoned.
He felt the blood drain from his face. “Oh.”
His eyes skimmed over the rest of the article. By the time he reached the end, he already understood.
He looked up. “Isadora?—”
“You don’t need to explain. I wondered how long it would take before I found your name in one of the gossip columns again.”
“It isn’t what it sounds like.”
“Isn’t it?” she hissed.
“No.” He dropped the newspaper on the table. “I need to explain immediately. She arrived without?—”
“James.” Her voice was so level that it was almost frightening. “Please don’t.”
“She arrived without warning.”
She laughed quietly. It was not a pleasant sound.
“How unfortunate.”
“I did not invite her.”
“So she simply wandered into your townhouse?”
“I was staying there.”
“And she happened to call.”
“She arrived without an invitation,” he insisted. “Fenwick told me she was in the drawing room when I came home. I had not asked her to be there, and I did not want her there. I spent twenty minutes making that entirely clear, and then she left. That is everything that occurred.”
“Twenty minutes,” Isadora said.
“Yes.”
“Alone without a chaperone.”
“Yes, but?—”
“In your drawing room.” A pause. “In the evening. Do you understand how this sounds, James?”
“I understand how it appears.”
“I imagine congratulations are in order,” she scoffed.
He frowned. “For what?”
“Your freedom.” She said it lightly.
He stared at her. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
