The hansom jolted to a stop. The driver appeared at the door and opened it, his sleepy face still blank of curiosity.
“Here we are, ma’am.”
The square, like so many of its kind, was gated to keep public carriages from its hallowed streets. The driver had gone as far as he could. She paid him, smoothed her skirt, and started along the pavement. She kept her gaze straight ahead, ignoring the magnificent facades of the houses on all sides of the square, until she reached her destination.
A young, liveried footman, far more inquisitive than the hansom driver, answered her knock. She’d no sooner finished giving her name than the startled footman pressed back against the door to make way for the denim-clad figure who skidded to a stop at the threshold.
“Isabelle!” Cassidy said, grinning from ear to ear. “I found him!”
Isabelle swallowed her shock. Why should she be surprised? She assumed a practiced smile and held Cassidy’s offered hands.
“I see that you have,” she said. “But I do wish you had told me—”
The sound of masculine throat-clearing echoed in the hall. A tall, neatly dressed man, presumably the butler, arrived on the scene, too late to prevent the disruption to his household. The footman sidled up to the butler and whispered in his ear.
“Mrs. Smith?” the butler said, his voice prim with disapproval. “If you will wait in the hall, I shall inquire to see if Lord Greyburn—”
“You may go, Aynsley.”
The man who interrupted walked into the hall, tall and dark as he stepped from the shadows. Isabelle knew immediately who he must be.
And she was definitely not prepared for the earl of Greyburn. She had dreaded this moment, but she hadn’t counted on the stunning impact of the earl’s inhuman nature.
The man who stared at her was tall, muscular in his tailored evening clothes, compelling in his simple presence. He would draw all eyes wherever he went; he would be obeyed without question. Isabelle felt as if she were in the lair of a hungry predator who was duly considering whether or not she would make a satisfying meal.
No, indeed. He was not even as interested as that. He regarded her as he might an inferior creature, hardly worth the bother.
And she had helped Cassidy find… this. But Cassidy was not afraid, and met Greyburn’s gaze with steady candor. Whatever had passed here in the previous hour had done her no harm.
Yet.
“I beg your pardon. Lord Greyburn,” Isabelle said, inclining her head slightly. “I am Mrs. Isabelle Smith. I accompanied Miss Holt to England, and only a short time ago discovered that she had left our hotel. I had come so late in hope of obtaining your help in finding her, but I see that my concern was unnecessary. We had intended to call at an appropriate hour tomorrow, to make Miss Holt known to—”
He raised his hand in a dismissive gesture. “My cousin has told me of you,” he said. “She has explained how she came to be here. As it happens, we had believed our American relations lost to us. Her arrival was most fortuitous.”
So Cassidy was not unwelcome, at least. That put one of her worries to rest. But the earl’s face was without expression, handsome as it was, and his slanted green eyes were curiously opaque, as if he were preoccupied by his own thoughts.
“It seems I owe you thanks for escorting my cousin to England,” he said. He walked toward Isabelle, each motion impeccably smooth and graceful, and stopped before she could become alarmed at his proximity. “I shall see that you are properly compensated for your inconvenience and expenses on her behalf. Now that she is with us, she shall have no further need of your services.”
Isabelle had been prepared to swallow her defiance and hatred for Cassidy’s sake, no matter how provoked. She would be worse than a fool to provoke this man. But even as Cassidy stepped forward to speak, Isabelle pushed her back and met the earl’s icy gaze.
“You will forgive my blunt speaking, Lord Greyburn, but Miss Holt knows nothing of England or English ways. Her mother was a dear friend—”