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“Because,” she said, with a feigned smile, “the scandal we’ve created shall haunt every female under your care into their debut. That girl in the house shall not have a chance at a respectable marriage. Your title will be a laughingstock, and all respectable matrons will hide their daughters from you. As much as you might dislike me, marrying me shall solve most of your problems.”
The marquess’s brows twitched. Was that a reaction?
“All except for finding the damned dog,” he said.
He looked away, distracted. He was too concerned with searching for his blasted dog and was not paying her any heed.
Isabel inwardly prayed for patience. “Very well,” she said at last. “What if I find the dratted dog for you? Will you marry me then?”
The marquess turned to her, startled. He looked her up and down again with an unflattering gaze, and something of a smirk appeared on his face. “Find the dog first, then we shall talk.”
* * *
“What an arrogant cad!” Isabel muttered to herself as she walked through the park, looking for the massive dog that had nearly killed her. Very well, perhaps she was exaggerating. That dog had been trying to be friendly when it tackled her. Or rather, whenhetackled her, she corrected herself, mimicking marquess’s self-important grimace.
As a result, she was walking alone around the park, like a lunatic. She’d been seen in front of a bachelor’s lodgings. She’d probably been observed arguing with Vane. Her already ruined reputation would be in tatters if he didn’t marry her. And she’d better hide out in the remotest of estates or even commit to a nunnery.
And she didn’t evenwantto marry the righteous marquess! What had she done to deserve such a fate?
Anything was better than becoming Stanhope’s mistress, she supposed.
Isabel heaved a sigh and leaned against a tree. Tears burned at the back of her eyes.
What had become of her life? She had been a diamond of thetonwhen she made her come out. Every eligible gentleman bowed at her feet at the mere opportunity to escort her on a walk or to bring her a cup of ratafia.
Now she was fighting to marry a man she didn’t like, so she could avoid becoming the mistress of a man she’d once loved.
Her gown was rumpled, her half-boots muddied, her hair disheveled, and she was looking for an enormous dog that had the power to knock her over with a flick of its paw.
And once she found it, what was she to do then?
Isabel flicked a lock of hair away from her face and pushed off the tree. She was not a simpering debutante. She would not be caught crying in the park alone. She was a strong, confident woman who had been taking care of her four siblings after the death of her parents. She’d single-handedly hosted balls and soirees for stuffy old lords and pretentious old matrons when her brother became a viscount.
She could handle one bloody dog!
Isabel put two fingers to her lips and whistled loudly. Whistling was not something ladies did. But nobody would expect ladylike behavior from her anymore. Her reputation was already in shreds. The least she could do was secure herself a husband.
She whistled again, although she doubted the dog would even respond.
Either fate had finally smiled upon her, or the dratted dog actually paid some heed to the whistle, for at that moment, the monstrous animal galloped toward her. Isabel positioned herself in front of the tree so if the dog attacked her again, she would catch him and not tumble down in the process.
The dog ran full speed toward her, his ears flapping in the wind, his tail wagging happily, his tongue sticking out and slobbering everything on his way. Isabel fisted her hands at her sides and dug her heels into the ground so as not to take off running.
Once the dog was just a foot away, he stood on his back paws and planted his muddy, heavy front paws onto Isabel’s chest.
Isabel screamed and covered her face with her hands. Forget being a strong, confident woman! She was not an animal handler. She had never seen such a large animal up close except for a horse, and if she were to die right then and there, she’d make certain to let everybody know that the Marquess of Vane was to blame.
But just as her tumultuous thoughts took on a dark turn, somebody dragged the dog away from her. Isabel opened her eyes to see Vane put a leash on the dog’s collar.
“Sit!” he commanded sternly, and the dog obeyed.
Hell, Isabel was tempted to obey too. Her legs barely held her, and she would enjoy sitting down immensely.
But now, as the dog sat quietly, she could see him clearly. He was truly large, although he didn’t seem so sitting next to the tall marquess. He had white—albeit dirty—fur with black spots on his back, his rear, and his head. His dark eyes shone with kindness, and his tongue still stuck out as he studied Isabel.
“Rogers! Gerald!” the marquess shouted.
A few moments later, two liveried footmen appeared by his side.
