Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

“ I ought to thrash you within an inch of your life.”

Arthur’s cold declaration as he dropped into the leather chair across from Augustus caused several gentlemen to pause their conversations, their glasses halfway to their lips.

“Now, now.” Augustus held up his hands in mock surrender. “It was primarily Jane’s idea.”

“And you, being the devoted husband you are, couldn’t refuse her?” Arthur’s glare could have melted steel. “How convenient.”

White’s hummed with the quiet conversations of London’s elite, the air thick with tobacco smoke and centuries of masculine privilege.

Arthur grabbed the brandy Augustus had already ordered for him, draining half the glass in one swallow.

“Of all the women in London,” Arthur growled, “that matchmaker arranged a meeting with your former fiancée.”

“Ah, Lady Isolde.” Augustus’s expression softened. “She did me a great favor, you know. Had she not sent that letter begging me to disappear at the same time she fled, I might never have met my Jane.”

“How fortunate for you both.” Arthur’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “And now you wish to share that good fortune?”

“She’s not what you think, Arthur. From what I’ve heard, Isolde has a brilliant mind—she loves reading and discussing poetry and philosophy. And she’s kind. Did you know she regularly visits the tenant families when they’re ill? My sister-in-law Octavia told me so.”

“Charming. Perhaps she can read poetry to my steward while discussing estate matters.”

Augustus ignored his friend’s tone. “According to that matchmaker, she also has an excellent eye for art. Her watercolors?—”

“Spare me the list of her accomplishments. I’ve seen enough to know that she’s a stubborn girl who thinks nothing of breaking contracts and shirking duty.”

“Rather like someone else I know.” Augustus raised an eyebrow. “As I recall, you escaped the marriage your father arranged for you by deliberately causing a scandal with that Italian opera singer.”

Arthur’s fingers tightened around his glass. “That was different.”

“Was it? Lady Isolde had the courage to choose her own path, consequences be damned. Sounds remarkably familiar.”

“She’s naive and impulsive.”

“She’s spirited and brave. And from what I have heard of your meeting today, she’s one of the few women who can match you wit for wit.”

“Match me?” Arthur scoffed. “She’s a chit barely out of the schoolroom, who thinks she can reform a rake with her sharp tongue and disapproving glances.”

“And yet,” Augustus leaned forward, grinning, “you haven’t stopped thinking about that sharp tongue since you left the tea rooms, have you?”

Arthur’s glare should have reduced his friend to ashes. “What I’m thinking about is how to make you pay for this little scheme.”

“Come now, she’s perfect for you. Intelligence to challenge you, spirit to match you, beauty to tempt you?—”

“Beauty that belongs in a painting, not my bed.”

“So, you’ve noticed her beauty?”

Before Arthur could appropriately refute that dangerous observation, Lord Rutland approached them. “Your Grace! Just the man I wanted to see.”

Arthur straightened, the usual mask of aristocratic indifference slipping over his face. “Lord Rutland.”

“Heard about that business with Morton,” Rutland continued, clearly pleased with himself for knowing the latest gossip. “Quite right, quite right. Bad apples must be dealt with swiftly.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened, but he merely inclined his head.

“I’m holding a ball next week,” Rutland continued. “You must come. There’s a business venture I’d like to discuss with you—some rather promising investments in the West Indies.”

Finally something worth his attention. “Indeed?”

“Several other peers are involved. Could be quite profitable with the right partners.” Rutland was practically bouncing on his heels. “So, we will see you there?”

“You will.”

After Rutland departed, Augustus leaned close, his voice low. “The Earl of Winthorpe will be attending, you know, as well as his daughter. Perhaps you will find Lady Isolde less na?ve when you see how gracefully she handles the ton’s cruelty.”

“The ton’s cruelty?”

“They’ve been merciless since her return to London. Yet, she holds her head high, refuses to hide away in shame.” Augustus’s voice grew serious. “It takes considerable strength to face Society’s censure day after day.”

Arthur remembered his own battles with the ton’s judgment, though his position and gender had afforded him more protection than Lady Isolde.

“She should have considered that before she ran.”

“Should she? Like you considered it before dallying with the opera singer?” Augustus shook his head. “At least admit that Lady Isolde intrigues you.”

“The only thing that intrigues me is how much satisfaction I will get from throwing you out of that window.”

But even as Arthur signaled for another brandy, unbidden images of Isolde flooded his mind. The way her hazel eyes had flashed with indignation at the tea rooms, her cheeks flushing that becoming shade of pink. The elegant curve of her neck as she’d jutted her chin in defiance. The soft fullness of her lips as she pressed them together in frustration…

“Besides,” Augustus continued, clearly enjoying his friend’s discomfort, “Jane says that Lady Isolde has quite the musical talent. She plays the pianoforte beautifully, I’m told.”

Arthur’s hand stilled on his glass, an unwelcome memory of his mother at her piano surfacing briefly before he shoved it aside.

“And I suppose you think that makes her suitable for a duke?”

“I think it makes her far more interesting than the vapid socialites you usually dally with,” Augustus responded. “When was the last time you met a woman who actually challenged you? Made you think about something beyond your next conquest?”

“I don’t need a challenge. I need a duchess who understands her duties and won’t cause scandals.”

“Like running away from an unwanted marriage?” Augustus smiled knowingly. “Rather reminds me of your youthful methods of avoiding your father’s plans for you.”

Arthur’s head snapped up. “That was different.”

“It seems that Lady Isolde’s reputation for impulsivity might align rather well with your… rebellious nature.”

“There is nothing rebellious about performing my duties.”

“No? Then why do you look like you want to strangle me every time I mention her name?” Augustus leaned back, supremely satisfied with himself. “Face it, old friend. She’s gotten under your skin.”

Damn him .

But Augustus was right. Even now, Arthur could recall with perfect clarity the way Lady Isolde’s eyes had flashed with defiance, how her breath had caught when he’d leaned close. The subtle fragrance of lavender that had teased his senses when she’d whispered her parting words.

“She’s utterly unsuitable,” Arthur growled, more to convince himself than his friend.

“On the contrary. She’s exactly what you need—someone who won’t simper and bow to your every whim. Someone who might actually make you feel something beyond mere desire.”

“I don’t want to feel anything.”

“And therein lies your problem, my friend.” Augustus signaled for a refill.

Arthur stood up abruptly, slamming his half-empty glass down with such force that the crystal nearly shattered.

The nearby waiter, who had been approaching with a fresh bottle, took an involuntary step backward at the sudden display of temper.

“This conversation is over. And if you or Jane attempt another matchmaking scheme, I will personally ensure you regret it.”

“See you at Rutland’s ball!” Augustus called after him, thoroughly unperturbed. “Do try not to spend the entire evening staring at Lady Isolde’s lips!”

Arthur stalked out of White’s, his mood as black as a thundercloud. The worst part was that he knew he would be attending that damn ball, and not for Rutland’s business venture. The mere possibility of seeing Lady Isolde again made his blood simmer and made his muscles tense up with anticipation.

He needed a hard ride to clear his head, or perhaps a few rounds with his boxing instructor. Anything to banish the memory of innocent hazel eyes and a spirit that called to the darkness in his soul.

Anything to forget how much he wanted to be the one to teach her all the wicked pleasures her proper upbringing had denied her.

“Will this knot suffice, Your Grace?” Fields, his valet of fifteen years, adjusted Arthur’s cravat for the third time.

Arthur stared at his reflection in the mirror, Isolde’s words echoing in his mind.

“… a man who treats women’s hearts as carelessly as you treat your cravats.”

He growled low in his throat.

“My deepest apologies, Your Grace!” Fields’s usually steady hands fumbled with the fine lawn fabric. “Perhaps the mercury knot instead? Or shall we try the mathematical knot again?”

“The knot is perfectly adequate, Fields.”

Arthur forced himself to soften his tone. After all, it wasn’t his valet’s fault that a certain lady’s sharp tongue had taken up permanent residence in his thoughts.

“But Your Grace, for Lord Rutland’s ball?—”

“I said it’s adequate.” Arthur shrugged into the evening coat Fields held out, the fine black wool setting off his broad shoulders to perfection. “Though I’m beginning to question the wisdom of attending at all.”

“Oh no, Your Grace.” Fields fussed with an invisible speck of lint. “Lord Rutland would be most disappointed. And if I may be so bold, you look particularly elegant this evening—you will certainly catch the attention of many ladies.”

Arthur’s lips twitched. Fields had been with him since his wild days at Cambridge, and had dressed him for countless conquests and social triumphs. The man probably thought his master was in pursuit of yet another lovely creature.

If only he knew how one particular creature had turned the tables, becoming the hunter rather than the hunted—not that she realized it. No, Lady Isolde probably thought she’d dismissed Arthur thoroughly with her cutting remarks and disdainful departure.

“Will you require the carriage returned at any particular hour?” Fields’s voice cut through his musings.

“No.” Arthur checked his pocket watch. “Though I doubt I will stay long. Just enough to hear Rutland’s business proposition.”

And perhaps catch a glimpse of a certain hazel eyes , a traitorous voice added in his head.

The ducal carriage, polished to mirror brightness, waited in the gathering dusk. Arthur settled into its plush interior, noting absently that Fields had thought to have a lap robe placed inside to ward off the spring evening’s chill.

Not that Arthur felt cold. No, the heat that had been simmering in his blood since that encounter at the tea rooms showed no signs of cooling.

As his carriage joined the line of vehicles approaching Rutland House, Arthur could already hear the strains of the orchestra floating on the night air.

The ton would be out in full force tonight, preening and plotting, matching fortunes to titles with surgical precision.

The footman opened his carriage door, and Arthur emerged to the expected flutter of fans and whispers from the ladies gathered on the steps.

“The Duke of Meadowell…”

“So handsome…”

“They say he’s finally looking to settle down…”

“I heard he evicted a tenant just last week…”

“So forceful…”

Their twittering washed over him like tepid bathwater, neither heating nor cooling his mood.

There had been a time when such obvious admiration would have amused him, when he might have selected one of these eager young ladies for an evening’s entertainment.

Now, they all seemed insipid, colorless. None of them would challenge him, match his wit with clever ripostes, or look at him with such magnificent disdain while their pulse fluttered visibly in their throat.

As he handed his coat to a waiting footman, Arthur found himself scanning the assembled crowd.

Would she be here already? Would those proper kid gloves be white tonight, or perhaps a delicate ivory? Would her hair be arranged in those soft curves that made his fingers itch to play with them?

“Your Grace!” Lord Rutland appeared at his elbow. “So glad you could attend. There are several gentlemen most eager to discuss the West Indies venture.”

Arthur nodded distractedly, his eyes still scanning the crowd. Somewhere in this glittering assembly, Lady Isolde Townshend might be waiting, perhaps even dreading the possibility of encountering him again.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a predatory smile.

The evening had suddenly become far more interesting than any business venture could be.