Oh, Isabel. She closed her eyes briefly. How could you have been so foolish?
She’d been distracted and flustered, all the result of Lord Nicholas. If he hadn’t insisted on causing such complete upheaval…
Oh, no. Lord Nicholas. Surely Rock would tell him everything. Which meant it was only a matter of time before everyone in London knew about Minerva House…
Dread settled in the pit of Isabel’s stomach. If he found out, everything would be ruined.
Perhaps there was a way to keep it from him. Perhaps the man in front of them would…
“I assume you have a very good reason for such a masquerade? ”
Isabel blinked at the words, deceptively casual. “Sir? ”
Rock turned dark eyes on her. “Your stable master, my lady. And your butler. I assume that their … uniforms … they serve a purpose? ”
Isabel’s gaze narrowed. What was he getting at? “We … yes.”
He nodded once, firmly. “I did not doubt it.”
“I—” she started, not knowing what to say. “We—” She looked to the others for assistance, but none of the women seemed eager to enter the discussion. “That is …” Oh, for heaven’s sake, Isabel. Out with it. “I hope you will keep our secret, sir.”
He considered her for a long time, the steady fall of the rain on the roof of the stable the only sound. Isabel worked very hard not to fidget under his focused gaze. “You want me to keep it from St. John.”
This was it. The moment of truth. “That is precisely what I would like.”
He went silent, and Isabel felt sick at the idea that he might refuse her. Her mind began to race, cataloguing the locations and the people where she could send the girls quickly—to disperse the occupants of Minerva House before anyone from London discovered their whereabouts. She would not let her foolish outburst cause any one of them harm.
“It is done.”
She was so wrapped up in her panic that she almost missed the words. “I—I beg your pardon?”
“We all have secrets, my lady.”
“We do?”
One side of his mouth rose in a crooked smile. “I certainly do. And I would not like to think that you would give them away if you discovered them.”
“Certainly not.” She shook her head, vehement.
“While I do not understand it, I imagine you have a very serious reason for this”—he considered the other women—“unorthodox arrangement.”
She nodded. “I do.”
When it appeared that she was not planning to elaborate, he nodded once, apparently content with her answer. Perhaps Lara was right. Perhaps he was a nice man after all. “You do realize, however, that he will discover it for himself.”
Isabel’s brows snapped together. No, Lara was wrong. He wasn’t at all nice. “I see no reason why he should. Plenty of men—including you—have been inside Townsend Park and never noticed.”
“Isabel …” Lara’s voice was filled with caution.
Rock ignored it. “St. John is not like other men. He is keenly aware of his surroundings. I would venture to guess that if he were not so distracted by the other … peculiarities … of the house, he would have already discovered that which you are hiding beneath his nose.”
“There is nothing peculiar about Townsend Park!” Isabel protested.
Rock’s gaze flickered from Isabel to Kate to Jane—lingering on the masculine attire that all three wore. “Of course not.” Returning his attention to Isabel, he said, “He will not like to be the last to know.”
“He shan’t be the last to know,” she said, feeling incredibly peevish. “He shan’t ever know.”
Rock made a noncommittal sound deep in his throat before saying, “Yes. Well. In any event, we are through in the statuary for the day, so you have at least the evening to decide how you will continue your charade tomorrow.” He turned to Kate and, as though the whole situation were perfectly normal, he said, “Our mounts are required.”
A crack of thunder sounded then, loud and ominous, startling the women into action. “Of course,” Kate said, taking several steps toward the stall where Rock’s horse was stabled, before stopping short. She spun back, eyes wide, to meet Isabel’s gaze. “Oh.”
“Is there a problem?” Rock asked.
“No!” Lara, Kate, Gwen, and Jane all spoke in unison, looking from one to the other awkwardly.
“It’s simply that—” Jane started, then stopped.
“You see, sir—” Gwen tried, unsuccessfully.
“The road is flooded,” Kate blurted out.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds … quite common in a summer storm … it should be passable soon …” Lara rushed to make the situation seem better.
Of course, the situation wasn’t better.
“But, for now?” Rock looked to Isabel. Was that a glimmer of amusement in his eye?
Isabel replied, defeated. “You cannot leave.”
There was a beat as Rock processed the information. “I see. Then this will all be much more interesting than I initially thought.” There was a beat. “May I escort you ladies back to the house?” He offered Lara an arm.
Lara stilled, uncertain of how to behave, until Gwen elbowed her in the side and she jumped forward with a soft “Thank you, Mr. Durukhan.”
He settled her hand in the crook of his arm. “Rock. Please.”
She blushed and giggled.
Isabel’s brows rose. She’d actually giggled!
Of the many reasons why they kept men away from Townsend Park, giggling was top of the list.
The entire group began to exit the barn, leaving Isabel behind to consider her options. The men would have to spend the night, and Lord Nicholas would soon know all their secrets—whether told by his friend or not. The girls were not skilled at playing men. Their positions, clothing, everything was designed as a ruse in a passing moment—not in the long term. It was only a matter of time before one of them revealed her disguise.
And they would be beholden to Lord Nicholas.
And it wasn’t simply during the evenings. If he was here, working closely with them for two weeks … they’d never be able to keep the secret.
She sighed. It wouldn’t do.
Hopelessness surged. Nothing had changed. She hadn’t solved any of their problems. Instead, she had brought more down upon them. She’d invited a lord into their house. Someone who could ruin them all with a single word.
He didn’t seem the type to do so, but he could. And that was enough to set her on edge.
She had to devise a way to win him to their side. So that when he did discover the truth about them, he wouldn’t give them all up.
But how?
“Isabel?”
The sound of her name interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to meet Gwen’s curious gaze. “Is everything all right?”
No. “Yes. Perfectly fine.”
Gwen gave her a look of disbelief. “It shall be all right, Isabel.”
Isabel couldn’t help her little, panicked laugh. “He’s going to find out.” The cook nodded once. “Yes.”
Her agreement opened the floodgates, Isabel’s words coming fast and furious. “And what shall happen to us? At least with my father there was safety. No one cared enough for Townsend Park to care about Minerva House. No one came near us. No, we didn’t have money. We didn’t have protection. But we were safe nonetheless.” She paced across the floor of the barn as she spoke, unable to keep herself still. “And, as though my father had not done enough, deserting us all and setting us up for failure, then he had to die. And he couldn’t leave us anything. Not money, not safety, not even the care of someone we could trust.”
Gwen came toward her. “Isabel—it will be all right.”
The words sent Isabel over the edge. She covered her face with both hands in frustration. “Stop saying that!”
Gwen paused, and the air went heavy between them.
“Stop saying that,” Isabel said again, quietly. “You do
n’t know that.”
“I know you will find a way—”
“I have been trying, Gwen. I have been looking for a way. Since I received the news of his death, I have been trying to think of a way to make it all right.” She shook her head. “But nothing has gone right: The house is falling apart; James is no more ready to be an earl than he is to fly; we haven’t the money to pay our bills; and I’ve brought a fox into the henhouse.” There was a beat. She huffed a little, self-deprecating laugh. “Oh, how apt a metaphor that is.”
She sat heavily on a bale of hay, hopeless. “Suffice to say, I am out of ideas. And it appears that, with the arrival of this rain, our time is up.”
She could no longer keep them all safe.
She could no longer hold the house together.
She’d always known this day would come. That it was one silly mistake, one change of luck away. She’d never been strong enough to protect them all.
It was time she admitted it.
Tears pricked. “I cannot save us, Gwen.”
There was comfort in the whispered words—words she’d thought dozens, hundreds of times before, but never said. Saying them aloud helped.
There was a long stretch of silence as Gwen considered her words. Then: “Perhaps he is not such a danger to us. I have not met Lord Nicholas, but it seems that his friend is a good enough sort.”
“You couldn’t possibly know that.”
“You forget, I have known enough bad men to have formed something of an expert opinion.”
It was true, of course. Gwen had been raised the daughter of a country vicar with, from what Isabel could surmise, a penchant for fire and brimstone. While she did not speak often of her childhood, she had revealed early in her time at Minerva House that her father had always believed her to be closer to sin than her brothers—who had taken pleasure in agreeing with their sire. Gwen had escaped her house at the very first chance—marriage to a local farmer, who had been far worse than her father or brothers ever could have been. She’d borne his beatings for less than a year before defying the law and finding her way to Isabel.
On her third day at the manor, Gwen had woken and found her way to the kitchens, her bruises already beginning to fade. With the wide grin that had come to be her most recognizable characteristic, she had proclaimed the residents of the house “a battalion of Minervas … all goddesses of war and wisdom.”
Minerva House had been christened.
And Isabel was about to lose it.
“He’s a stranger. We cannot trust him.”
“I am the first to question the nature of men, Isabel. But I don’t believe they are all bad. And I don’t think you do, either.” She paused before repeating, “Perhaps this one is not out to get us.”
Oh, how she wished that were true.
“He’s very distracting,” Isabel said.
“Handsome men often are,” Gwen replied. “I have read that his eyes are impossibly blue …”
“They are.”
Gwen smiled. “Ah. You have noticed.”
Isabel blushed. “I did not notice. I merely …”
“He kissed you on the roof, didn’t he? ”
Isabel’s eyes widened. “How do you know that? ”
Gwen’s smile became a full-blown grin. “I didn’t. I do now, however.”
“Gwen! You mustn’t tell anyone!”
The cook shook her head. “I’m afraid I cannot agree to that. Did you enjoy it?”
The blush flared higher. “No.”
Gwen laughed then. “You’re a terrible liar, Isabel.”
“Oh, fine. Yes. I enjoyed it. He seems a very skilled kisser.”
“You had better be careful. If you fall for this lord, you shan’t know what has happened to you.”
Isabel considered the words, turning them over and over in her mind. Everything was tumbling out of control. She was at risk of losing everything she cared for … everything she held dear.
And she was kissing strangers on the roof.
Gwen was right.
She did not know what had happened to her.
Eight
* * *
All of her servants are female.” Inside the Townsend Park library, Nick leaned against a long, low table where he had spread his notes on the collection of marbles and subsequently forgotten them. He had tried to immerse himself in the manor’s marbles—the one thing about the house that he felt he understood—after supper, but deserted the work after mere minutes, distracted by the truth of the manor house. And of its owner.
Rock looked up from his book, unperturbed. “Yes.”
“You’ve noticed.”
“Yes.”
Nick’s brows rose. “And you did not feel that you should mention it? ”
Rock shrugged. “I was waiting to see how long it would take you to detect it.”
“Not long.”
“They don’t seem to do a very good job of hiding it.”
“No. Did you notice the footman at dinner?” “You mean did I notice the footman’s breasts at dinner?” Nick turned an amused smile on his friend.
“You shouldn’t be looking at servants that way, Rock.”
Nick stalked to the window and looked out into the darkness. He spoke to the pouring rain. “What would one need with a houseful of women? ”
Rock set his book aside, leaning back against his chair and looking up at the ceiling. “There isn’t a single reasonable answer to that question.”
“I’ve known Lady Isabel for only two days, but I can tell you that reasonable is not a word I would ascribe to her actions.” He turned back to his friend. “A school of some kind? A finishing school?”
Rock shook his head. “She would have no reason to hide it. Its secrecy makes it more likely that it’s something villainous.”
The idea put a foul taste in Nick’s mouth. “I doubt that.”
“If she’s doing something illegal, she’s dooming her brother,” Rock said. “London will never accept him if his father and his sister were involved in questionable activities.”
Nick considered the possibilities. “She hasn’t got any money. If she’s a procuress, she’s not a very good one.” He thought for a long moment. “Is it possible that it’s a bordello?”
“Not without men.”
Nick thought for a moment. “Maybe it was some kind of harem. For the earl.”
Rock gave him a look of disbelief. “You think the Wastrearl had a harem. And he never announced it to the world? ”
The idea was preposterous, of course. “No. Of course I don’t. But what the hell is this place? There aren’t any men here for a reason.”
Rock sat straight in his chair. “Unless.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a houseful of women.”
“Yes …”
“Perhaps it is a houseful of women with no interest in men. But rather … interest in women.”
Nick shook his head. “It’s not that.”
“Nick. Consider it. They could easily be—”
“Some of them, perhaps. But not Isabel.”
“You can’t be sure.”
Nick leveled his friend with a look. “Yes, Rock. I can be. Isabel is not interested in Sapphic pleasures.”
Understanding dawned. “Already?”
Already. And she was soft and stunning and he wanted more.
Nick moved back to the place where he had been working earlier. He did not speak.
“Why, St. John,” Rock drawled, “may I say well done.”
With a growl, Nick sat back at the low table, considering his notes on the statuary, ignoring his friend’s amusement. He should not have admitted it. Kissing Isabel had been an extraordinary mistake. The only solution was to put the entire event out of his mind.
Of course, he had been attempting to do just that since it had happened. To no avail.
Instead, every time he thought he might have succeeded in forgetting Isabel and their interlude in the attic, he was
snapped back to the memory of her—soft and willing in his arms.
The woman’s sigh was a weapon, for heaven’s sake. How was a reasonable man to resist her?
It was enough to drive him to drink.
Which was another problem, as there appeared to be no worthwhile alcohol in the damned house.
He and Rock had received a small carafe of wine with their supper that evening, which they had eaten alone. The ladies had sent their apologies, Isabel declaring that her state of mourning made it impossible for her to entertain, thereby making it impossible for Lara to join them in light of the breach of propriety that came from a young woman dining with two unmarried men.
One wouldn’t guess it, but apparently propriety was an issue in a house filled with women in men’s attire.
So Nick and Rock had eaten alone—a perfectly acceptable meal of cold beef and warm vegetables—and when the plates were cleared, a young, quiet footman, no, footwoman, had escorted them to the manor’s library.
Which would have suited Nick perfectly well if he were able to concentrate on anything but the mistress of the house, who was a distraction of the very worst kind.
He shuffled his papers—considering his notes on Voluptas once more. She is in the throes of climax, he had written earlier in the day about the luscious statue—before he’d begun to imagine the statue’s owner in a similar state.
After that, he hadn’t done much work at all.
It was then, preoccupied with the image of Isabel splayed before him in the height of pleasure, that he had finished his work and gone looking for her. He’d known it would be more punishment than anything else—and their interlude on the roof had only proven as much.
Nick had not wanted that kiss to end. Rather, he’d wanted nothing more than to lay her down in the musty attic and show her precisely how welcome summer storms could be. If not for the interruption of the young earl, Nick could not guarantee that he would not have done just that.
He shifted in his chair at the thought, the tightness in his breeches reminding him of his location—of his mistake.
He had never been so frustrated in his life: frustrated by his inability to understand the situation into which he had been thrust; frustrated by the compelling female who had turned him inside out earlier; and frustrated by the godforsaken rain that was trapping him in this house.