“I did no such thing. You judged me based on my skill at grooming. I would have told you the truth had you asked,” he said evenly.
Alistair intervened, voice tight. “We need not revisit the scene, Wexford. I assume you understand the position in which your actions have placed my sister.”
Edward’s gaze shifted to him, cool and unwavering. “I carried an unconscious woman to safety. If that constitutes scandal the fault lies with the eyes that watched, not the hands that acted.”
“Nonetheless, the eyes were many,” Alistair snapped. “Her reputation, our good name, is at stake. I trust your honor compels you to make it right.”
“Indeed,” Edward said, “it is that very sense of honor which brings me here. The incident has been observed, misinterpreted, and will soon be immortalized in print. There is, unfortunately, only one course left to preserve Lady Isla’s standing.”
Isla felt the chill settle before the words formed. Alistair nodded, face tight. But Isla had caught the glint in his eyes.
He seeks to exploit the situation. To use it to make money.
“Marriage,” Edward said simply.
Her breath caught. Alistair exhaled in relief.
“Then we are agreed.”
“No,” Isla said sharply. “We are not agreed. This is absurd. You owe me nothing.”
Edward turned to her, and for the first time some trace of irritation colored his composure. “You think I welcome this?”
“I think you presume I engineered it!” she shot back. “Perhaps you imagine I flung myself at a rope in hope of catching a Duke.”
He stiffened. “My mother believes you were sent to entrap me.”
“And you?”
“I keep my own counsel and owe you no part of it. I do not appreciate being trapped, yet this feels like it.”
Isla was sitting up. She did not remember doing so. The bedsheets fell away from her underclothes. Lucy had helped her out of her dress earlier and sent it to be laundered. Alistair’s eyes bulged and he moved to cover her but Isla swatted his hands away. Edward’s eyes remain fixed on her. Not on her barely concealed bosom, the shape of her breasts clear beneath the thin cotton chemise. Not at her bare neck or shoulders. Only her eyes.
Despite that she felt her face redden. Felt the heat swelling there. She licked her lips.
“It is magnanimous,” she said, scathing, “to clear me of crimes I never conceived.”
“Enough!” Alistair barked. “You will mind your tone, Isla.”
“No, let her speak,” Edward said quietly.
There was something in his eyes, wounded pride perhaps.
“I would rather hear truth than politeness.”
“Then hear it,” she said. “I will not marry a man who thinks duty a chain and women its links. Hear it both of you. I will not live my life apologizing for a fall that was an accident.”
“You have no choice,” Alistair said.
Her brother’s words landed like blows.
Edward’s jaw clenched. “Believe me, Lady Isla, I would spare us both this conversation if I could. But gossip spreads faster than wind across the Channel. By morning half of London will have you branded my mistress. The only honorable remedy is to make you my wife.”
“Honorable,” she echoed bitterly. “A word men wield like a sword when they mean convenience.”
The thought of being Edward’s wife rose unbidden. The notion of a kiss at the altar after their vows were sealed. The evening, when the last guests had gone and thought turned to what thought turns to on wedding nights. She tried to dispel it but Edward’s sheer physicality would not let her. His smoldering eyes stripped her. She glowed scarlet and knew it. She glared back at him, daring him to show any sign that he knew it.
For a moment silence reigned. Edward’s gaze held hers, not cruel, not even cold, merely certain.