“You are serious about marrying her?” she asked.
“As serious as I am about taking my next breath,” he answered honestly. Because Isabella was as necessary to him as air. “I have already asked her, and she has denied me.”
Callie nodded then, as if something in her mind had at last clicked into place. “She is staying with the Duke and Duchess of Bainbridge. The duchess helped to start the Lady’s Suffrage Society, which is how Isabella first met her. Anyway, the duchess offered her hospitality after learning about her being taken away by those fiends, mere footsteps from her own home. That is where Isabella told me she was going when she left this morning.”
Relief hit him, along with a fresh wave of worry. The duke and duchess were likely ill-prepared for the nature of protection Isabella would need. The bombings yesterday had proven, without a doubt, that this war against the dynamitards was far from being won.
“Thank you, Callie,” he told his sister. “You will not regret this confidence, I vow it.”
His sister’s lips pursed. “I had better not, Benny.”
As much as she loved him, she did not have much faith in him, it was clear.
“I promise you,” he said solemnly. “All I want is to make Isabella Hilgrove my wife.”
And to fuck her into next century.
But that was decidedly not the sort of thing one said to one’s sister about one’s future wife. Supposing one’s future wife would cease being so bloody stubborn and actually agree to the marriage at all…
“Does she make you happy, Benny?” his sister asked next.
He grinned, for this was a question he could answer without prevarication. “She completes me, Callie.”
Callie smiled. “If you had told me that when you first entered the room, you would have known where she went at once. You deserve to be happy, Benny, and so does Isabella.”
“As do you,” he returned. Callie had suffered a great loss, but the time had come for her to forge a new path.
“I am happy when you are,” she said simply. “And when Alfred’s death is avenged.”
“Our brother’s death was an accident,” he reminded her sternly.
“It was not, and you know it.” Callie flashed him a forced smile. “But that is an argument for another day. You know where Isabella has gone. The next move is yours.”
Yes, bloody hell, it was.
If only he had an inkling of what the devil it should be. Before he could go chasing after her, however, he had duty to attend to. And a band of ruthless dynamitards to catch.
Throwing herself upon the mercies of the Duke and Duchess of Bainbridge had not been an easy decision for Isabella to reach, but it had been a necessary one. She sat opposite the duchess now, attempting to enjoy afternoon tea as her heart lay in shattered wreckage. Leaving Benedict’s bed had been agony. But fleeing Westmorland House before he woke had been nigh impossible.
“You are dreadfully Friday-faced, my dear Isabella,” said the duchess then.
She had no doubt she was. Isabella attempted a smile for her friend’s benefit. “Forgive me. I cannot thank you and His Grace enough for your generosity in allowing me to be your guest.”
When Bo had made the offer the day before in the midst of Benedict’s absence, Isabella had readily accepted, knowing she could not remain at Westmorland House. And that had been before the exquisitely passionate lovemaking of last night, which rendered it more imperative that she go.
He presented far too much temptation. The longer she stayed there, the more difficult it would be to resist his offer of marriage. Even if he had asked only out of a sense of obligation. A union between them was impossible. Distance, however, was necessary.
“You have already thanked us quite profusely.” Bo paused to take a sip of her tea, raising her brows. “You are a friend, and we are more than happy to have you here with us in the wake of what happened to you. There is no earthly way we would dream of allowing you to return to your home until those dreadful fiends are arrested. I am certain Westmorland will see to it that they are captured with all haste.”
Benedict would do everything in his power to bring them to justice. That Isabella knew. Being a protector was in his nature.
“Yes, His Grace will,” she offered noncommittally, trying and failing to force all thoughts of him from her mind.
“I am surprised Westmorland did not want to keep a closer watch upon you.” Bo’s gaze was assessing. Intelligent.
Isabella’s cheeks warmed. “The duke has enough to fret over after yesterday’s bombs. I did not want to give him anything else about which to worry.”
“That is selfless of you, my dear.” Bo paused. “Forgive me, Isabella, but I thought perhaps there was more between the two of you.”
“There is nothing,” she lied. Nothing which could continue, anyway. Her love for him was doomed. Their worlds were too disparate. “His Grace is my employer, and that is all.”
But last night, he had been her lover.
She could not shake the memory of his touch, his kisses. He had made love to her with such agonizing reverence. And she would remember every moment for as long as she lived.
“I do beg your pardon,” Bo said, smiling then. “Since I have found myself in my delicate condition, I cannot seem to quell my insatiable urge to see romance all around me. Bainbridge had been indulging this by providing me with an endless supply of reading material. Perhaps it has caused my imagination to go wild.”
The duke and duchess were madly in love. Isabella could not help but to feel envy as she watched their ease with each other, the open fondness with which they spoke of one another. It was little wonder they were expecting a child. They wore the perpetually besotted looks of true lovers whenever they were within the
