LITMIR.BIZ

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female form as it should be.”

      “A gown can hardly compare to a medieval artifact, my lord.”

      “It can when worn by you, Miss Fairmont.”

      Butterflies circled like mad in her belly. Wendell had never said anything that caused this mad fluttering. Fighting the urge to fan herself with her hand, Isabella said, “Well, I do hope you will stop by the museum, it is a must-see for anyone who visits London, as I’m certain you are already aware, my lord.”

      “And will you be there, Miss Fairmont?”

      “Oh, yes. Mr. Knighton has promised that when the boat docks, which he believes will be tomorrow, I shall have an exclusive peek into the crates.”

      “It is not my place to tell you what you should do, but I feel very strongly that you should allow Mr. Knighton to carry on about his business—without you. The docks are no place for a lady.” She felt his hand squeeze tightly around hers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I would be most angry if anything happened to you, Miss Fairmont.”

      “What could possibly—”

      “Not all treasure is glowing and pure. Remember that.”

      Black pulled her to a stop, and she saw that his gaze followed that of a young lord whose name escaped her. She had seen him before, recalled that he was an acquaintance of the Duke of Sussex. Black’s gaze seemed to darken, and his pupils dilated to large, black spheres.

      “You will forgive me, Miss Fairmont, but I see someone I am expected to meet.”

      He pulled away, and Isabella’s hand caught in his. As well, her purse tangled with the button of his jacket, opening the reticule. Before she could right it, her journal fell to the floor, opened to her writing. Blast! She always kept her journal locked—it contained her secrets and dreams, not to mention the outline for her book. She never wanted anyone to glimpse inside, but tonight she’d been distracted by Lucy’s glowing compliments for her story, not to mention their discussion of Black.

      Had she had her wits about her, she would have locked the journal, or better yet not put it in her reticule and carried it down to the ball in the first place.

      Both of them bent to retrieve the book. Black was quicker, and reached for it. She knew without a doubt that he was reading what was there, despite how rude it was for him to be reading her private words.

      A gentleman would have closed the cover immediately and handed it to her. But Black continued to gaze at it as he reached for her hand and raised her up. The book snapped closed, and Isabella jumped at the sound, and the queer intensity she saw in Black’s gaze.

      “Thank you for the waltz, Miss Fairmont.”

      And then he left, leaving her with the distinct impression that she had offended him.

      “GRACIOUS,” LUCY EXCLAIMED as she hauled Isabella off to the ladies’ retreating room. “Tell me all about it. Was it divine, dancing with the earl?”

      Isabella could hardly think as she dashed off with Lucy to the privacy of the room that had been set up for the ladies to see to their personal needs. Instead of going inside, Lucy hauled her into another room that was lit with only one gas lamp. They were alone, but still, Isabella felt a presence. Her gaze danced to every corner, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she realized they were devoid of any disturbing shadows. But then, she felt a familiar tremor snake its way down her spine, and she rubbed her arms with her palms in an attempt to stave off the sudden chill. She hated the dark—and the shadows.

      “Well?” Lucy demanded.

      Isabella nodded. “It was indeed divine.”

      “I knew it,” Lucy gushed. “From the very second he found you, he kept his eyes on you. Oh, it was so romantic the way he looked at you. And the picture the two of you made, dancing around the ballroom—”

      “You make too much of it, Luce.”

      “I certainly do not,” Lucy grunted. “An earl! Issy, this is a coup for you!”

      “I know nothing about him.”

      “That’s what a courtship is for.”

      “I am already being courted by Mr. Knighton.”

      Lucy’s pretty face puckered into a frown. “Issy, be reasonable. I saw the way Lord Black looked at you, and furthermore, I saw the way you looked at him.”

      “I did no such thing,” she shrieked, mortified by the thought her emotions had been so transparent. She had been taken by him, but to discover that everyone knew it as well was beyond humiliating.

      “Admit it, Issy, there’s something about the earl that intrigues you.”

      Of course there was. What woman wouldn’t be intrigued by his mysteriousness, or lured to his handsome face? There was an air of danger about Black that was impossible to ignore—or not be drawn to. It was only natural, wasn’t it, for a woman to be fascinated by a man as commanding as Lord Black? He was older than her. Experienced. A man of the world. It was expected that his worldly aura called to her. For heaven’s sake, until last year she had been nothing but a rag-taggle country girl in Yorkshire.

      This … attraction to Black. It was nothing but innocent female curiosity, that was all. And nothing more would come of it. She had experienced her moment of exhilaration and danger, and that would be all. She would not allow her overly imaginative, impulsive nature to be her ruination.

      “Issy,” Lucy warned, “you aren’t going to deny that you find the earl charming?”

      “If I did, we would both know it for a lie. The truth is, I find him very charismatic.”

      “And handsome.”

      “Yes.”

      “And rich.” Isabella inclined her head in acknowledgment. “And clearly besotted with you.”

      “I do not believe the earl capable of being besotted, that is for young men. The earl is a man, Lucy.”

      “And that scares you, doesn’t it?”

      Heavens, when had Lucy become so bold? Isabella refused to answer that question despite the truth of it. The earl did frighten her. She had never felt her body respond in such a way. It was terrifying yet exciting. Every cell tingled with awareness, and it made her want to run and hide. Her father had been a charmer. Her mother had told her the stories. She did not want to wind up like her mother, she reminded herself, ruined and alone, barely able to scrape out a living. Passion had its place, and for Isabella, that place was one of control and moderation. Imprudent recklessness was the kiss of death.

      “Do you know what I think? You’ve realized that it is rather easy to keep Mr. Knighton at bay. But in one dance, you’ve discovered that it would be quite impossible to sway Lord Black. Black would take what he wanted, not by force, of course, but just the same, he would find a way to obtain what he desired. He wouldn’t be deterred like Knighton.”

      “I do not keep Mr. Knighton at bay, Lucy.”

      “No, you do not have to. Knighton does that for himself, and you find relief in that because it makes it easier for you to keep your vow of not making the same mistakes your mother did.”

      Isabella didn’t know what to say. Lucy was right. Knighton was not an ardent suitor. He was kind and his affection was all very proper. But Black … Isabella shivered. Black would not be chaste or proper in his pursuit of anything if he wanted it enough. Of that she was certain.

      “Mr. Knighton is the sort of life companion I desire, Lucy. I do not require a town house in Mayfair, or a title, or heaps of money. What I wish for is constancy, security and perhaps a little affection.”

      Squeezing her hands, Lucy smiled. “Dearest Isabella, when will you see that Mr. Knighton’s first love is work?”

      “I will see it when you finally decide that the Duke of Sussex is worthy

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