The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(7)

“Just there, beneath the balcony. Although he looks rather—”

“Intent?” Isabelle returned, finally spotting the man to whom Victoria was referring.

He clung to the shadows of the room, but his gaze bore into her even at this distance. His eyes weren’t bright and charming like Mr. Brice’s, nor were they warm and endearing like Mr. St. James’s. They were cold. His icy glare pierced through her, sending a shiver down her spine. Who was he? Perhaps they’d met last season and he was still at odds over not getting a place on her dance card. But wouldn’t she recall an introduction to such a tall, dark-haired, and rather ominous-looking fellow? His sharp features alone…

She couldn’t imagine forgetting him.

“If intent is the way you want to put it,” Victoria replied. “I was going to advise we move to a different part of the ballroom and hope he doesn’t follow us.”

“I don’t know,” Isabelle murmured, searching for some explanation for his stare. “Perhaps it’s only the rarity of seeing twin ladies. We do get looks of curiosity on occasion.” Yet this man’s wasn’t that sort of expression. It was a stare that fairly screamed danger. Why was he staring so intently in their direction?

“Isabelle, I don’t think he has any interest in the rarity of twin ladies,” her sister warned. “We should move.”

“Perhaps he’s some distant relation we don’t recall.” Isabelle shifted to look at Victoria. “Or he could be an old friend of Father’s. Father did have a rather different set of acquaintances before he inherited the title.”

“I suppose that could be true.”

Isabelle glanced back toward the main door to the ballroom but caught sight of only the back of the man’s dark head as he disappeared into the crowd. She’d stood staring after him for just a moment when she saw St. James dart after him, both of them disappearing into the night.

“A piratical battle in the moonlight,” she gasped.

“What?” Victoria asked.

“It could be an exchange of jewels with pistols drawn, or the retrieval of a stolen treasure map!”

“Or the thankful departure of a man looking at you with lecherous thoughts on his mind,” her sister countered.

“We should follow after them. Pirates fighting in the street, Victoria! Can you imagine it?”

“Them? To whom are you referring?” Victoria asked, ignoring the notion of pirates as she did most of Isabelle’s ideas.

“The intent man from the shadows and Mr. St. James,” Isabelle supplied.

Her sister’s eyes narrowed on her. “How do you know St. James?”

“How do you know him?” Isabelle countered.

“Everyone knows St. James…everyone with an interest in the good card games in town and wagers on race horses anyway.”

“You told me you stopped wagering with gentlemen. If Father learns—” Isabelle broke off, her fan dropping to her side in defeat.

“I’ve done nothing of any significance in ages. I learned of him last year,” Victoria said, but her gaze didn’t meet Isabelle’s.

Isabelle chose to ignore Victoria’s most unladylike inclination to gamble for the moment, her attention circling back to the man who had just slipped from the room. “You met St. James…last season. Then he’s often in London?”

“We haven’t been officially introduced, but I’m certain he has a home here. He’s a well-known gentleman around town, in certain circles anyway,” Victoria hedged, signaling a footman for another glass of champagne.

“That’s disappointing. I thought him a pirate.”

When Victoria turned back with a glass in hand, there was a look of resigned concern in her eyes. “Isabelle, someday your dreams are going to lead you into trouble.”

Isabelle didn’t want to cause her sister to worry over her, but Victoria was rather quick in her judgment of people. People in London were primarily good at heart, probably even that intent man who’d left the ball a moment ago. If she’d only spoken with him, she was certain she would have discovered the reason for his scowl. Perhaps he simply needed to practice his heartfelt smile as well. Isabelle grinned at the memory of Mr. St. James’s tense attempt at a happy face before relaxing back into what was clearly his normal look—watchful consideration.

“There’s no need to worry. If I ever find trouble, I’ll be rescued by my true love.” Isabelle smiled at her sister, knowing how such statements annoyed Victoria and enjoying every second of her torment.

Victoria raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Mr. Brice?”

Isabelle said nothing in response.

Yes, Mr. Brice.





Two


Isabelle Fairlyn’s Diary

January 1817

I spent this afternoon at the museum. When I’m within those grand walls, I can’t seem to contain my smile—of course that’s also true of when I sketch in the garden, shop on Bond, take a walk in the park, or attend a ball. Walking through the upper rooms of the British Museum, however, brings me even more happiness than usual.

The principal librarian seems to truly appreciate the pieces on loan from Grandfather’s collection. I told him of the grandness of the family’s gallery before the fire all those years ago. I wish so many pieces hadn’t been lost that awful night, but it only makes me appreciate the remainder that much more. The hillside chateau piece seems to be in fine condition. I oversaw its installation, and today I got to stand in for the under-librarian and explain the history behind the piece to a group of ladies. It was wonderful!