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“Wait. I should like to…talk.” He took the armchair near the fireplace, beside which sat his whisky on a side table. He took a drink and gestured for her to sit too.
She perched on the settee, her expression bemused. “All right.” She tugged her gloves off and set them beside her. Then she reached up and unpinned the feather from her impressively dressed hair. “What are we to discuss?”
He shrugged. “The weather. Whatever you saw at the theatre. I care not.”
“I see. You came here to talk but haven’t a subject in mind.” She placed the feather atop her gloves. “I hope you’ll forgive my boldness—you’ve a terrible reputation for not suffering foolishness of any kind—but why ever did you employ me?”
He suppressed a scowl and took another drink of whisky. “No, I do not suffer fools.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You specifically told me that you chose me because I am blessedly bereft of the guile mysisterstypically wield. Would you also prefer I hold my tongue? If memory serves, you quite liked that appendage.”
She was referring to the night he’d taken her into his employ. They’d come back here to her small town house, the one he was now paying for, and she’d given evidence to the skills she’d claimed to possess. She was, without debate, an excellent lover. And he hadn’t touched her since.
“I’ve been busy.” She hadn’t asked why he hadn’t partaken of her services, but for some reason, he felt the need to explain. Now who was being foolish?
Isabelle smoothed her beautifully manicured hand over her skirt. “Well, I’m delighted you’re here now. I’ve been most anxious to deepen our acquaintance.” The look she gave him was seductively direct and left absolutely no room for misunderstanding. She meant to take him into her bedchamber and do whatever he wanted.
Only he didn’t want that. Not with her. He realized he’d met Nora the day after he’d taken Isabelle.
Isabelle watched him for a moment, her expression turning from one of enticement to confusion. She abruptly stood and went to the sideboard, where she poured herself a glass of whisky. “Do you need a refill?” she asked.
Titus looked at his nearly empty glass on the table. “Yes, thank you.”
She sauntered toward him with the decanter and filled the glass. When she was back at the sideboard, she turned toward him, cradling her glass. She seemed to study him intently before taking a sip. “Something’s wrong. You don’t want me, I think. And yet you did. What happened? Did you meet someone else?”
He didn’t hesitate before answering. “Yes.”
She pursed her lips. “I see. As it happens, I had other interested gentlemen. I am certain I could find another protector. Tell me, who is the hussy so I can spill my Madeira on her when next we meet?”
He nearly laughed at the venom in her tone. Courtesans could be vicious in their pursuit of a protector. “No, it isn’t like that. She’s not…like you.”
Her eyes widened briefly, and she walked back to the settee, where she sat down again. “When you hired me, you demanded absolute secrecy about our relationship, including anything we discussed. I took the vow that I gave you very seriously. Do you wish to talk about her?”
He supposed he did. He’d come here in the hope that he might frig Isabelle senseless, but he didn’t want to. No, when he thought of the woman he wanted to make love to tonight, it wasn’t his mistress.
He cleared his throat. “Her name is Nora. She has, ah, captured my attention.”
“How lovely for her. She must be over the moon to have snagged a duke.”
He frowned. “It isn’t like that. She is my stepmother’s ward.”
Isabelle’s mouth formed an O. “She’s quite young, then?”
“No, she’s actually not.” He wasn’t sure of her precise age, but thought she was probably twenty-seven or twenty-eight. “In fact, she’s older than you.”
Isabelle’s elegant blond brows climbed. “Indeed? How on earth did she come to be your mother’s ward?”
He took a long pull on his whisky. “The details do not signify. Suffice it to say there are…reasons I cannot pursue her.”
“Bah. You’re a duke.The Forbidden Duke.Perhaps the most untouchable peer in the realm. You can pursue anyone you damn well please.”
Her use of the word untouchable made him think of Nora. With that one word, she’d perfectly captured the not-so-subtle hierarchy within the ton. It was a hierarchy he despised, for it allowed him and his ilk to do what Isabelle had just said—anything they damn well pleased. While at the same time, it prevented people such as Nora from doing what they wanted. And it wasn’t just social position dictating their roles—it was, of course, their sex. In his youth, Titus had exploited all of it—his position, his masculinity, his power.
To Nora’s detriment.
“I can’t pursueher.”
Isabelle sipped her whisky. “Can’t or won’t? I still maintain you can do whatever you please. Any woman would be thrilled to have your attention.” Her gaze dipped to his groin. “Whether you had a title or not.”
