Eloping with the Princess (Brotherhood of the Sword #3)(25)

She was beautiful, and it stole his breath. Would that his circumstances were different, so that he could take her in this very room upon that old leather sofa.

“What?” she asked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “You are looking at me strangely.”

“Sorry. Merely tired, I suppose.” He leaned against the doorframe.

“You put everyone in an awkward position tonight, surprising them with our marriage,” she said.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I find it often best to beg for forgiveness than seek permission.”

“You do things your own way, on your terms,” she said. “Without much of a care to how anyone will see it.”

“I do. Do you think that foolish?”

She smiled. “Brave, actually. I fear I have never done so before.”

“Not true. You stood on that table in that inn and boldly declared yourself available for marriage.”

Blush stained her cheeks. “That was foolish.”

“Yes, but brave also. You sought a solution to your problem.”

“And in doing so, put you in danger.”

“Not any more danger than I’ve been in before. It comes with my position in the Brotherhood.”

“Yes, your duty.” There was a hint of sadness in her tone.

He almost inquired about it, but thought better of it. “I thought tonight went well.”

“I’m glad. I feel rather out of my element. I feel as if I don’t know how to talk to people. It is as if I learned nothing at St. Bart’s,” she said.

“Nonsense. You were perfectly charming.”

She laughed, but it came out as more of a snort. “See. I’m a disaster. More than likely your mother and Suzanne believe me one as well. They kept asking me questions about food and decorations and people to invite, and I merely sat there staring at them. Perhaps they believe me a simpleton.”

He felt a pull toward her, but kept himself firmly against the doorframe. He would not risk being too close to her. Sitting next to her at dinner had been tempting enough. “Isabel, no one thinks that.”

“You could tell everyone that, then I wouldn’t have to speak.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “How did I ever think I could be a governess? Jason, I don’t know how to be in this world.”

The tears glistening in her eyes beckoned to him, but he locked his frame against the doorjamb. He could not console her. That would require him to be close, to touch her, and he feared once he started, he’d never be able to stop.

“I don’t particularly belong in this world, either,” he told her. It was an honesty so raw that he wanted to go on, tell her the rest, why he didn’t belong. “The truth is that most people will see what they want, believe what they want, no matter if you tell them differently. All will be well, you’ll see.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”

“Fair enough. Well, I’ll tell you what, if the ball is a disaster and you make a wreck of everything, you have my permission to select any book off these shelves and whack me in the head with it.”

“Truly?” she asked. Then a giggle bubbled over.

He placed his hand over his heart. “It is on my oath.”

“I shall hold you to that,” she said.

“Try to get some sleep, Isabel.” Then, against the desires of his own body, he turned away from her.



Jason had arisen early the following day and gone to see his mother at his brother’s townhome. Contrary to most women in London, she’d always been an early riser. It was the perfect time for them to have a private conversation. Jason knew he’d have questions to answer, especially if he was to expect her to help Isabel settle into life in Society.

She was already seated in the front parlor working on some embroidery when he arrived. She immediately set it aside when he entered the room.

“What a nice surprise,” she said.

“I didn’t think I had much time to get here before you paid a call upon me,” he said.

She smiled. “I am pleased we are seeing things the same. You knew I would have questions.”

“Of course. And,” he paused, searching for the right words, “I have a favor to ask.”

Her brows rose. “You surprise me with a marriage and now you want a favor? If you were a loving son, you’d have more mercy on my health.” She feigned a weak heart by patting herself on the chest.

“Mother, you and I both know you are the very picture of health.”

She waved her hand and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Who is this girl? Aside from the fabled princess of Saldania?”

Jason lowered himself into a chair adjacent to his mother’s settee. He poured himself a cup of tea and idly stirred sugar into it, perhaps just so that he had something to do with his hands. He never had been very accomplished at these sorts of conversations. He was far more comfortable in the thick of the action.

“She is the princess,” he said. “She was raised predominantly here, in London, or the outer reaches of London, rather, at a school called St. Bartholomew’s.”

“That school has a bit of a reputation, although not as bad as the one adjacent to it for boys,” his mother said.

“Yes, I have gathered. In any case, we believe she was hidden there, whether to protect her or for other, nefarious, reasons, we are not certain,” he said.