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 br**sts 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.