Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

T he weather was glorious, the midday sun high and hazy in the sky, and Isolde's mood soared with it. She walked rather proudly on the arm of Lord Spofforth, enjoying the astonished glances and sudden bursts of whispered gossip that were cast in their direction by the gentry of Mayfair. All because she had taken matters of potential courtship into her own fair hands.

Of course, the pair were not permitted to be alone. Isolde's mother and Edmund walked behind at a polite distance, making it quite clear that they were performing their chaperone duties without being invasive.

"That is better, is it not?" Lord Spofforth asked Isolde, as they strolled along the well-kept pathways, underneath the full-leafed branches of the old oak trees. "You have a charming townhouse, of course, but I would much rather be in the fresh air than in a stuffy drawing room. Would you not agree?"

Isolde peered up at him, smiling. "On a day such as today, I entirely agree. If it was teeming down with rain, I might be less inclined to."

"I would never be that brazen," Lord Spofforth replied with a wink. "Although, without hesitation, I would offer my services to ensure you were warm and dry quickly enough, should you ever feel a desire to run in the summer rain with me."

Despite what Edmund had said about her romantic notions, Isolde could not help but sigh dreamily at such a thrilling possibility. She could picture it, like something from one of her most beloved novels, or a poem perhaps. The warm downpour soaking her to the skin, and her not caring a jot as she turned around and around, relishing every rebellious moment.

Vincent would send me to a convent immediately. She chuckled, trying to imagine her brother's horrified face. As she did, it made her more keenly aware of his replacement, forever glowering at her. Even now, at a distance, she could feel Edmund's disdain for her, which made it all the stranger that he had insisted that he was just trying to help her.

"Goodness, be careful!" Lord Spofforth said suddenly, his hand briefly moving to the small of her back to steer her out of the way of an unknown danger.

She gasped at the unexpected touch, looking to Lord Spofforth in surprise. "What was it?"

His hand returned to where it had been, slightly extended with her gloved hand on top of it. "A rather large stone on the path," he explained. "I thought you might stumble on it and injure yourself. Apologies. I should have warned you sooner, then I would not have had to move you to safety."

Isolde's cheeks heated up as she noted his concerned expression and the undivided attention he showed to her— had been showing to her, ever since his arrival. When she spoke, he listened: A rarity, or so she had come to learn over the past two days of accepting callers to the townhouse. And he seemed to know what would make her smile, even before she knew it, for taking a walk had been the exact remedy she needed for the otherwise terrible morning.

Edmund would not have bothered to make her smile. He would have reprimanded her for stumbling and ignored her when she spoke about the things that pleased her. Either that, or he would have mocked her, thumbing through her favorite books just to tease her about the content. Indeed, the only thing about Edmund that was superior to Lord Spofforth was his appearance. It could not be denied, to Isolde's dismay, that Edmund was exceptionally handsome.

"Thank you," she said softly to Lord Spofforth, as they resumed their promenade.

"It was my pleasure," he replied, leaning in a little closer than was perhaps appropriate, his arm flush against hers. Not that she minded too much. In truth, it made her feel… secure, much like another man had, not so long ago.

Mustering her courage, she cast him a shy glance. "I do not suppose you wandered like this in the gardens of Kensington Palace at my debut ball, did you?"

"When one has the opportunity to investigate royal gardens, one does not miss it," Lord Spofforth replied, raising up her hopes.

She held tighter to his hand. "Did you… happen to see anything of interest in those gardens?"

"That depends on what you consider to be interesting," he replied silkily. "I saw many interesting things."

"Did you, perchance, see me in those gardens?" Isolde held her breath, hardly daring to believe that her rescuer might be the very man walking at her side.

He was not quite what she had imagined beneath the mask of coiling bronze roses and thorns, with his russet-toned hair and exceedingly dark eyes, like two perfectly polished pieces of jet, but she doubted she would have had any complaints if he was her savior.

"I dreamed I did," Lord Spofforth replied, his vague reply more frustrating than enchanting.

"You imagined that you saw me?" she pressed.

Lord Spofforth turned to face her, sweeping away a wayward lock of hair that had sprung loose from her bonnet. A gesture that should have made her heart beat faster and make her skin tingle, but she was more interested in his words than his actions in that moment.

Are you my champion or not? It infuriated Isolde that she could not simply ask him, for that would expose her to scandal, and all interest that Lord Spofforth might have toward her would evaporate.

"I imagined it and then it came true," he told her. "I saw Aphrodite herself in the Elysian Fields. Mask or not, I knew she was you."

Isolde frowned and Lord Spofforth seemed to falter, as if his compliments were not quite having the effect that he had anticipated.

"So, you did see me?" she urged.

He nodded slowly. "I did. I had no choice but to seek you out again, in daylight, where I could look upon your beautiful face and admire it in all its glory."

Isolde expelled a breath, jittering with an excitement she could barely contain. She was not yet entirely certain that the gentleman standing before her was the gentleman she sought, but it looked promising. And she supposed she did not have to rush her investigation, for Lord Spofforth was pleasant company and she did not want to scare him away… or dash her hopes earlier than necessary.

"Are you attending Lord and Lady Montrose's garden party this week?" she asked brightly, beginning to walk with him again in the gorgeous afternoon sunlight.

He visibly relaxed, his easy smile returning to his lips. "I was not intending to, but if there was a tempting reason to be there, I would assuredly reconsider."

"I do not know that I can offer a "tempting" reason, but I shall be there, and I would very much like to speak with you again," Isolde replied, chuckling.

He is amusing too, with plenty of witty things to say. It would certainly make the garden party more exciting, for she had been dreading it since Vincent told her that he was going away, and Edmund would be watching over her. If Lord Spofforth was attending, she would have something to look forward to.

Lord Spofforth flashed a grin. "I should like that too, Lady Isolde. Indeed, I have just this moment decided that I will be going to the party. I cannot think of anything more stimulating." He turned to face her once more, and keeping his gaze upon her, he lifted her hand and kissed it. "Until then, my sweet Aphrodite."

"Until then," Isolde murmured, suddenly flustered.

Slowly, he released her hand. "I am afraid I must take my leave of you, but I have heard that absence only makes the heart grow fonder." He clasped his own hand to his chest and, with a wink, made his way out of the private park, leaving Isolde reeling and altogether more determined to find out if he was her mysterious champion.

"Shall we have some tea?" Isolde's mother asked as the small group of three returned to the townhouse across the road. "I cannot begin to dissect that lovely outing without a cup of tea in my hand. Perhaps a cake too, Edmund?"

He should get nothing but a wedge of lemon to match his sour face. Isolde smiled secretly at her jest, still thinking about Lord Spofforth and the bold manner in which he had kissed her hand. She did not doubt that most of the other walkers had seen the moment, but she hoped it would not become fodder for the scandal sheets.

Edmund bowed his head politely. "That would be delightful, Lady Grayling."

"Julianna, please," Isolde's mother urged. "We have known one another long enough that you are practically one of us."

Edmund seemed to hesitate. "Nevertheless, I would prefer to be courteous to a lady of your esteem."

"Such exemplary manners." Isolde's mother sighed, patting Edmund lightly on the shoulder.

Isolde leaned against the banister of the curving staircase in a rather unladylike fashion, exhausted by keeping up appearances. "Am I not permitted a cake too, Mama?"

"I think not," her mother replied. "With so many callers, and likely more to come, you ought to be cautious of how many sweet treats you indulge in. A lady ought to maintain her figure, always."

With that, Julianna wandered off up the black-and-white tiled hallway to the kitchens, to request the offered tea tray. Isolde had no doubt that her mother would indulge in a cake herself, while Isolde would be left with a growling stomach until luncheon.

I did not have a crumb of anything in Lord Spofforth's company… Isolde did not know if that was a promising sign or not, though she tended to resort to nibbling the cakes and tarts when a caller was exceedingly dull or made her feel awkward. But with Lord Spofforth, she had been more interested in him than what was arranged on the tea tray. That had to be a good sign.

"And you claim not to need my assistance," Edmund muttered, drawing Isolde out of her thoughts.

She shot him a look. "Evidently, I do not."

"You thought that went well?" His eyebrow rose, his expression blank.

"I thought it went very well, actually," she replied a note too quickly. "He is handsome, he is charming, he is witty, he is everything a young lady might hope to meet during her debut Season."

Edmund laughed coldly. "He is the last gentleman a young lady should hope to meet during their debut Season, unless they wish to find themselves cast out of the marriage market altogether, their names strewn across the scandal sheets, their reputations in tatters."

"Nonsense. He was a perfect gentleman," Isolde insisted, folding her hand over the one that Lord Spofforth had kissed so daringly.

Edmund stepped closer to her, where she continued to lean against the banister. As he closed the gap between them, her breath caught in her chest, her throat tightening again as she tried to glare up at him. That feverish prickle swept across her skin once more, her back pressing harder into the banister as if she feared he might not stop until he was practically flush against her. If he were to be that close, she did not know what she would do.

Shove him, perhaps. Or kick him in the shin. That would be the only reasonable response.

So, why was her mind conjuring very un reasonable responses? Notions that made the feverish prickle run hotter, her heart thudding faster, her hands not instinctively rising up to push him in the chest. If anything, they felt more inclined to fall onto his shoulders, to hold her steady, despite being the cause of her unsteadiness.

Edmund paused a step away and jabbed a finger toward the townhouse door. "Lord Spofforth is no perfect gentleman, Lady Isolde. He was trying to take advantage of you. He was trying to lure you, and you fell for it like a doe wandering obliviously toward a hunter's pit." His sudden anger seemed to propel him forward another half step. "I know what a lust-filled man looks like, and that man is a well-established rake who likely spends more of his meager fortune paying for other people's silence than on anything else."

"I am no dolt, Edmund," Isolde retorted, too annoyed to use sarcastic honorifics. "If he were an… improper man, I would know it in his words and his actions. He did nothing inappropriate, and I suspect that you are just trying to thwart my marriage prospects out of spite. So, with regret, I must inform you that your assistance and your presence are still not wanted."

Ordinarily, that would have been enough to send Edmund to another room at least, believing himself to be the better party for excusing himself from a quarrel. So, it came as something of a surprise when he did not stride away, but stayed exactly where he was, breathing hard.

His eyes were bright with anger as he gazed down at Isolde, his pointed finger slowly lowering to his side. "You might not believe me now," he said, his voice raspy and gruff, "but I made a promise to your brother, and I mean to fulfil it. As long as I am here, as long as this duty is mine, no man will lay a finger on you. And, most assuredly, no man will ever get close enough to kiss your hand again."

Isolde stared at him, bewildered by the peculiar heat that began to course through her veins, making her feel as if she had stepped into a humid greenhouse on a chilly day. Edmund had spoken with such intent, such furious determination, and she could not understand why when he was supposed to hate her. Surely, he should have been cheering for her to make a mistake, not offering advice.

"Are you not standing a little too close?" she managed to whisper out, for his bold declaration of his duty had brought him even nearer.

He stepped back as if he had been shoved, shaking his head like an insect had landed on his mane of umber locks. "I just wanted to ensure that you listened for once," he said in haste. "That you would not amble off, thinking you know better than I do what dangers lurk for a young lady in society."

"Does that mean you are done?" she said, more discreetly shaking off the weird, tingly feeling that sparked through her. "I have no desire to hear any more of your unkind, evidently dishonest lectures about a fine gentleman who has captured my attention."

His eyes narrowed, a muscle clenching in his jaw. "If it were not for your brother, I would stand back and let you see how far your stubbornness and naivety gets you."

"Yes, please do stand back," Isolde said, pushing away from the banister. "You are in my way."

She rounded the newel post and headed up the staircase, praying with every step that Edmund would not see the blush in her cheeks, nor misunderstand why they had pinkened. Then again, even she could not understand why her face had warmed at his words and his closeness.

It was the latent heat of the sunshine, nothing more, she told herself and hurried the rest of the way to her bedchamber, silently insisting that she should be more concerned that she might have gained a freckle from her afternoon promenade.