she hadn’t argued with him. It wasn’t proper for her to ride in his carriage, alone or otherwise, but she’d abandoned propriety many months ago. She was in no position to be so fastidious.
‘You will at least let me pay your fare.’
‘No, I won’t,’ he said irritably, his gentleman’s honour obviously insulted that she would offer.
She blushed again, embarrassed by her gaucheness. But she had to acknowledge his generosity somehow.
‘I really am grateful for your kindness. I’m sorry if I’ve seemed impolite. What I mean to say is, well, thank you, my lord.’
‘You don’t have to be so formal.’
But she did. Formality was all that was keeping her from melting on the spot. His eyes had warmed with her apology, and his tone had dropped subtly: deeper, richer, entreating. She couldn’t look away, and in the heavy silence, he reached out to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. She found herself staring at his lips. She thought he was going to kiss her, and stopping him was far from her mind. He was so close, and all he’d have to do was tilt his head…
‘Do you know what I think?’
‘What?’ she asked, feeling rather mesmerised.
‘I think you need more help than you’ll admit.’
She blinked and looked away, realising that any kissing was merely the product of her overheated imagination.
Will glanced in the direction of his carriage, where the argument had recommenced. ‘You’d better wait here while I sort this out. I don’t trust McGrath to mind his tongue when he’s riled. And pay attention this time.’
He gave her a stern look and deposited the bag at her feet before walking purposely towards the carriage, just on the other side of the road. She watched him go, feeling rather dizzy. That morning she’d been penniless, friendless and scared. Through sheer happenstance she now had the promise of money and a most unlikely champion.
She allowed herself to look at him, safe in the knowledge that for the moment he wasn’t paying attention to her. She liked the way his hair fell over his temples as he lowered his head to listen to the greengrocer. After a few seconds, he pushed it back, looking frustrated. He seemed—quite valiantly, she thought—to be holding his temper in check. He started patting his pockets, and she assumed the man was demanding money for his damaged potatoes. She couldn’t suppress her smile. Pity she’d taken his last sixpence, but she was certain he’d think of something. What with all that credit. There’d be a small parade of beggars, all with hands held out, following him home before the day was through.
She looked at the sky, watching the clouds drift past and wondering how late it was. She’d been enjoying herself, in an odd sort of way, and she suspected more time had passed than she was aware of.
Mrs William Stanton. She rather liked the sound of that. No, no—Isabelle, Lady Lennox. Or the Countess of Lennox, perhaps. How terribly grand. If only her father’d been a duke instead of a criminal.
She rolled her eyes at her folly and returned her gaze to the street. Right, he’d instructed her to pay attention…
But then the second her mind drifted back to earth she saw the man again. The one who’d followed her. She blinked, not quite believing her eyes, but it was definitely him. Dark hair, medium height. He didn’t seem to have seen her, but he appeared to be searching the crowd. She didn’t know who he was, but she had an awful idea who might have sent him.
She immediately stooped to pick up her bag, gripping it tightly. She gave William Stanton one last glance, but he was still occupied with his driver. So much for riding in his carriage.
She turned her body slowly in the other direction, hoping not to attract any attention as she eased deeper into the crowd. She looked over her shoulder, hoping the man still hadn’t noticed her.
But now he was heading in her direction.
She turned her head and started walking faster, not caring if it looked odd. He hadn’t necessarily seen her; perhaps it was chance that he’d seemed to be closer. After a few long strides, she turned again. This time, there was no sign of the man. She hoped she’d lost him. Or, perhaps, he’d merely blended in with the crowd. He could be as close as ever.
She started to run.
Isabelle arrived at her boarding house an hour later with a swiftly beating heart. She’d taken a circuitous route, hoping the man wouldn’t reappear. And, as far as she was aware, he hadn’t. She’d run much of the way, stopping to catch her breath only a few times; after a mere ten minutes she’d abandoned the marble heads on the side of the road. Worthless anyway, and they slowed her down.
Now, she stood at the top of her front steps, facing a slightly shabby door. She wondered if the man knew where she lived, and she supposed he probably did.
She wouldn’t think about it. She began fishing around her pocket, hoping that she hadn’t lost her key in the rush. She’d already forgotten it once, and Miss Standish, the house’s temperamental proprietor, had been remarkably put out about having to answer the door.
Isabelle located the key easily, and the door opened without so much as a sigh to notify Miss Standish that she’d returned. In the four days she’d been staying there, she’d learned it was best to avoid her.
Isabelle quietly closed the door behind her and returned the key to her pocket. But then…what was that? The key had clinked against another heavy, brass object. She removed it, frowning.
It wasn’t brass, actually. It was William Stanton’s gold watch.
Good God, she’d stolen it after all.
Chapter Three
It was a typical, damp English afternoon. Will was in his drawing room, weighing the effort of walking to his club against the gloomy pleasure of perusing his paper in search of bad news. He turned the page, allowing inertia to win. A portly tabby cat curled in the carved giltwood chair across from him, shooting aggrieved looks every time he rustled the paper. He appeared to be in as bad a temper as his owner.
Will’s bad mood could be blamed entirely on the female sex. His mood had soured soon after he’d turned his back on Isabelle Thomas the previous afternoon. At first, he’d actually felt rather pleased with himself as he’d crossed the road, leaving her to wait. His mind had only been half on the argument between his driver and the greengrocer, so much so that he hadn’t even balked when the man insisted he be compensated for his entire cart of vegetables when most still seemed perfectly saleable. Instead, he’d been thinking about the intelligent, beautiful, mysterious girl who would unexpectedly be visiting his house—a prospect that suggested many interesting possibilities.
He didn’t mind buying her necklace, or even paying over the odds for it; it was a small price to pay to keep her off the street. And he’d hoped that once he’d taken care of that small matter, he might convince her to have supper with him, or perhaps go to the opera. He wondered how she’d react to that sort of invitation. Her blushes suggested she wasn’t terribly experienced, but she appeared to be old enough and independent enough to make up her own mind. He’d felt inordinately satisfied when he’d finally succeeded in making her smile. He usually charmed women with ease, but her…well, it felt like a real achievement. Her adorable smile had more than made up for her prickliness.
Of course, he’d changed his mind once he realised that she was a thief, and a thief so skilled she hadn’t even had to steal. She’d so beguiled him with her charms that he’d simply given her his watch—and sixpence, for good measure. The whole thing was gallingly ironic since he’d accused her of lacking common sense.
After he’d realised that she’d fled, he’d spent two angry hours searching the slums before finally giving up and returning home. He’d been damned fond of that watch; it had belonged to his grandfather.
Only once he’d reached his house,