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‘I am.’
‘Then you are the little hussy responsible for the damage to my son’s face.’
‘I shall ignore your insulting words, ma’am,’ Isobel said, clasping her hands together tightly so they could not shake. ‘But Mr Harker was injured in the course of assisting Lord James Albright to deal with his sister’s errant fiancé who had assaulted me.’
‘You got your claws into him, you convinced him that he must defend your honour and look what happened!’ The Widow leaned closer, the magnificent green eyes so like Giles’s that a stab of longing for him lanced through Isobel. ‘He was beautiful and you have scarred him. You foolish little virgin—you are playing with fire and I’ll not have him embroiled in some scandal because of you.’
No, I do not want to feel, I do not want to remember …‘I should imagine that Mr Harker has far more likelihood of encountering scandal in your company than in mine, ma’am,’ Isobel said, putting up her chin. ‘If a gentleman obeys an honourable impulse on my behalf I am very grateful, but as I did not request that he act for me, I fail to see how I am responsible.’
‘You scheming jade—’
‘The pot calling the kettle black,’ Isobel murmured. Her knees were knocking, but at least her voice was steady. She had never been so rude to anyone in her entire life.
‘I am warning you—keep your hands off my son.’ By a miracle the Widow was still hissing her insults; except for Pamela beside her, no one else could hear what they were talking about.
‘I have no intention of so much as setting eyes on your son, ma’am, let alone laying a finger on him,’ Isobel retorted.
‘See that is the truth or I can assure you, you will suffer for it.’ Lady Faversham swept round and out of the room, leaving a stunned silence behind her.
‘What dramatics,’ Isobel said with a light laugh. ‘I have never met Lady Faversham before and I cannot say I wish to keep up the acquaintance!’
That produced a ripple of amusement from the handful of ladies who had been staring agog from the other end of the room. ‘What on earth is the matter with her?’ Lady Mountstead demanded as she came across to join them.
‘Her son was injured assisting Lord James Albright to put right an unpleasant situation—I am sure you know to what I refer. The Dowager blames me for some reason.’ But not as much as she blamed herself.
Isobel lingered, working to dampen down the speculation, turn it towards gossip about the scandalous Widow and away from her own affairs. She felt reasonably confident she had succeeded when she left the retiring room, but her mother would be aghast, she knew it.
‘I had best go and find Mama and warn her of that little incident,’ she said to Pamela. ‘If we do not see each other again tonight, you must call, very soon.’
‘I will most certainly do that.’ Pamela was still wide-eyed with speculation. ‘And I expect to hear all about the shocking Mr Harker. But now I suppose I had better go and rejoin my party in the supper room.’ She hurried off.
Thoroughly flustered, Isobel took the other right-hand corridor. It was deserted, badly lit, but she thought it might lead to the end of the ballroom where she had last seen her mother. The temptation to tell her nothing at all was strong, but the gossip would be certain to reach her ears, so she had no choice but to warn her.
She hurried on, head down, trying to think of a way to break the news that she had been accosted, in public, by the Scarlet Widow. ‘Ough!’ The man she had walked right into caught her by both arms to steady her, then, as she looked up, the grip tightened. ‘You!’
‘Me,’ Giles agreed. He did not release her and she stood still in his grasp, not knowing whether that was because she wanted to have his hands on her or because struggling would be undignified.
‘Your face is healing well.’ It was the first thing that came into her head that she dared say out loud. I love you or You abandoned me or Take me away with you or I hate you were all impossible. ‘How long have the stitches been out?’ The scars were still red, but the swelling and bruising had gone—soon they would begin to fade.
‘Two weeks.’
‘You look…it makes you look dangerous.’
‘So I have been told.’ Something in his tone suggested that whoever had said so had been female. ‘You appear to be enjoying yourself, Isobel.’
‘Do I? You have been watching me?’
‘You are hard to miss in that gown and when you are so ubiquitous. Dancing every dance, flirting with so many gentlemen. Your heart has quite recovered, I see.’
‘And also whatever of yours was engaged.’ Isobel twisted her right hand out of his light grip and flicked at the trace of face powder on his lapel. ‘The lady favours Attar of Roses, I think.’
‘One of them, as I recall, yes.’ He sounded bored, like a tomcat who could hardly be bothered with the hunt. With his newly broken nose and the scars above the immaculate white linen and complicated neckcloth, he looked like a pirate playing at being a gentleman.
‘Such a bore for you, all these women throwing themselves at you,’ Isobel said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. ‘Still, I suppose you can hardly afford to neglect your admirers—who knows, one of them might be about to persuade her complaisant spouse that she needs her boudoir remodelled.’
‘The lady with the Attar of Roses wants a new library as a present for her husband.’
‘And I am sure she will be at home the entire time to supervise.’
