Page 15 of The Baron’s Halo

Tonight, it was torture.

“I am sorry.” Isabelle fought to smile brightly. “It has been an exceptional day.”

“I cannot imagine.” His brow furrowed. “I find I am surprised you are here at all. I’d have thought you’d remain at home in a private celebration.”

Isabelle had to grit her teeth and concentrate on the steps of the polka before she could form an answer that wouldn’t reveal her true feelings. “Mama and Ambrose very kindly did not wish for me to lose the opportunity of dancing this evening.” She stared meaningfully into his eyes. “I did not wish to give up the chance to dance with you.”

Sandy cocked his head. “You call your stepfather by his given name? Not Father?”

“No, not since I was a child.” Not precisely the truth, but close enough. “I think also they wish to share their happiness with the ton.” She nodded to the thinning throng and caught Ambrose staring at her.

A dark, assessing stare.

Isabelle gasped and squeezed Sandy’s hand. Oh, this was what she’d feared. Another glance back at her stepfather caught him nodding to her mother, then starting for the dance floor just as the music ended.

“Take me outside, quickly,” she whispered in his ear. “We mustn’t let anyone see us.” The desperation in her voice obviously galvanized him to act without thought.

He swung her around and headed for a group of laughing couples, just quitting the dance floor. They wove between them, then sped around the room to the first set of doors leading to the verandah. He checked over his shoulder, was satisfied they weren’t watched, then slipped outside.

The cool autumn air made Isabelle shiver, but its crispness allowed her to draw a deep breath for the first time since the reappearance of her stepfather. Her head cleared and she pulled the dance card from her wrist and thrust it into Sandy’s hands. “For the love of God, fill this completely with your name, Sandy.”

*

Startled to his soul by her use of his first name—the nickname of his first name at that—Sandy could only gape at Miss Devereaux while his mind tried to sort out her scandalous request. To fill a young lady’s dance card with one gentleman’s name alone was unheard of. No young lady gave all her dances to a single man unless they were affianced. And much as he might like to think it, he didn’t believe Miss Devereaux intended to use this unorthodox method to propose to him. What he did know was that she had been distraught the entire time they had been together this evening. Now he had to find out why.

The resurrection of her stepfather could be to blame, however his miraculous appearance should have made the lady distracted in a good way. When in doubt, best be direct. “Miss Devereaux, can you please tell me what is the matter?” After several moments, when she only stood there looking miserable, he decided drastic measures must be taken. “Isabelle, please. You can tell me what is wrong. You must know I will help you in any way I can.”

The use of her given name—which he’d been savoring in his mind for weeks now—must have struck a chord within her. She stared at him for a moment, almost as if coming to herself from far away, then burst into tears.

“Oh, God, Sandy. I don’t know what to do.” She panted as though she’d never catch her breath again. “I saw him looking at us…staring at me when we were dancing, and…when the dance was ending, he started toward us. And I knew…I just knew he was going to ask me to dance with him and I can’t, Sandy. I cannot do it.”

“Who, Isabelle?” This was madness. Who could she be so afraid of? “Who has frightened you so badly?”

“Ambrose.” The word was barely a whisper. “My stepfather.”

“Captain Grey?” Sandy stumbled back a step. That was the last name he’d expected to hear. “You’re afraid of your stepfather?”

“Yes, oh Sandy, yes.” She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in an abandonment he’d never believed of her. Trembling like a leaf in a high wind, she clung to him. Her tears soaked the breast of his jacket, making a dark spot on the wool. Not that he cared a fig. Gingerly, he lifted her away. He needed to see her face. “What did he do?”

The misery in her face was pitiful to see and sent a sinking feeling to the pit of his stomach. Sobs shook her again and he pulled her back to him, cradling her. She could tell him when she was ready. Of course, if Captain Grey was searching for her, they didn’t have much time at all. “Can you tell me, my dear?”

The endearment caught her off guard, as he’d hoped, and she drew back, her eyes shiny with tears. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “He…he hurt us. Both my mother and me.” Her eyes flew open, her gaze darting around fearfully, as though she expected the man to materialize before her. “He’d done it for years. So much so, I’d become used to it. But before he left that last time, something came over him. He changed for the worse and I can’t tell you why.” She shrugged. “Perhaps money was the problem, but I really don’t know. I was still in the schoolroom, but I’d overhear things. Arguments between him and my mother. Afterward, Mama would appear in tight, high-necked, long-sleeved gowns. Sometimes she’d have the shadow of a bruise on her cheek.”

The longer Isabelle spoke, the tighter Sandy gripped her hands until he had to release them or break her bones. “You said he struck you as well?”

She hesitated so long, Sandy began to doubt she’d answer, but finally she nodded. “Before he sailed that last time, he beat us so badly, we couldn’t go out for weeks afterward. Until long after he was gone.” Isabelle hung her head. “I was so glad, so thankful when he was reported dead. I tried to feel some remorse, but I couldn’t. I know that’s wrong, but I couldn’t help it. It was true. Now…” She stood staring at nothing, her face drained of all color by the pale moonlight, “I don’t know what to do. I can’t let him do that again, Sandy. I simply can’t.”

Staring at her distress, watching it mount by the moment, Sandy’s first inclination was to call the man out and put a bullet through his black heart. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t do at all if they wanted to avoid a scandal of epic proportions, even by ton standards. He supposed he could hire a bunch of miscreants to ambush the man and thrash him within an inch of his life. But of course, then the wretched man wouldn’t know why he’d been set upon and so not know to desist with his foul treatment of Isabelle and her mother. It was a conundrum that could at least wait for a day or two, giving him time to ponder the form of retribution that would follow. The moment’s pressing business was helping Isabelle stay out of the man’s clutches on the ballroom floor. That dilemma Sandy could solve forthwith.

“Much as I would love to fill your dance card with no name but my own—” he tapped the little card against his other hand, “—I fear that would be too scandalous. Allow me, instead, to fill it for you. Can you allow me to escort you to the ladies’ retiring area?”

Isabelle nodded, eyes downcast.

“Good.” He lifted her face to his, transfixed once more by its beauty, even though its lines were etched with fear. “I’m afraid I have been quite cavalier in using your given name this evening, Miss Devereaux. You caught me off guard by using mine earlier.”

“I must confess I’ve been using yours in my mind for some time, my lord.” Isabelle’s cheeks blushed faintly. “I would like very much to continue using it, if I may. And I invite you to use mine as well.”

“That is a privilege I will be forever grateful to accept…Isabelle.” He raised her hand and kissed it. “Now let me take you to the retiring room until I can manage your dance card.”