Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord by Sara MacLean (8)

Rain did not come lightly to the summers of Yorkshire—it came with a vengeance, as though the entire county had done something to deserve it. But in the case of this particular afternoon, Nick knew precisely who had brought the wrath of the heavens down upon them.

He had.

When, like an utter cad, he had seriously considered kissing Lady Isabel Townsend on her roof, on the heels of her rather raw confession of poverty.

She had looked at him with those enormous brown eyes, and he had known that she would let him kiss her. But not for any reason other than her obvious gratitude for his help.

And gratitude was not a viable reason for a rooftop liaison.

So, when the skies opened above them, for every ounce of him that wanted to shout his frustration to the heavens, there was an equal amount that was thankful for the interruption.

Until the lightning flashed, wicked and green, and he realized that if they remained atop the manor house, they were not only going to be soaked, but they would also very likely be killed.

The thought spurred him into action, and he wrapped an arm around Isabel’s shoulders, shepherding her up and through the downpour, toward the attic window. Just as they reached the entryway, she turned, ducking under his arm with alarming speed and heading across the roof to the spot where she had been working earlier.

“Our roof paste!”

Between the wet tile roof and the torrential rain and the real risk of a lightning strike, the last of his patience evaporated. “Isabel!” Her name carried across the roof, as ominous as the thunder that crashed around them, and she froze, turning back, eyes wide and uncertain. “Leave it!”

“I cannot!” She shook her head and turned away, down the slope of the roof, her words carrying back to him on the wind that stung his face. “It took us hours to make it!”

“You can and you will!” He said.

She looked over her shoulder at the demand, eyes flashing. “You are not my keeper, my lord.”

She did not check her footing as she continued on her path.

Which was a mistake.

Her slipper dislodged a loose clay tile, sending it skidding down the pitched roof and over the edge, the movement knocking Isabel off balance. He registered the fear in her eyes as she began to fall, and he was already moving toward her.

She reached out to catch herself, the force of the impact dislodging more tiles and sending them crashing to the ground far below. She scrambled then, fear making her desperate, the movement only serving to increase her instability.

He was there, capturing her hand in a firm grasp, staying her movement. He said nothing when their eyes met, the anger in his gaze chasing away the desperation in hers.

He said nothing as she steadied herself and regained her footing, allowing him to help her up and hold her steady, as she took deep, calming breaths to settle her racing pulse.

He said nothing as he lifted her into his arms and carried her the several feet to the attic window.

Only when he set her down at the open entrance did he speak. “I may not be your keeper, Isabel, but if you cannot take responsibility for your own safety, someone must do it for you.” He pointed to the attic window. “Inside. Now.”

Whether because of his tone or the rain or some innate sense of self-preservation, she did as she was told. Miraculously.

Nick watched as she climbed into the attic, ensured that she was safely inside, and went back to fetch the damned roof paste she so valued.

Pail in hand, he looked out across the lands to the stables, where the boy he’d met earlier in the day was closing the door to the stables, using his entire weight to do so. He ran toward the manor house then, wind and rain pelting his young face. The boy put his head down, protecting his face from the wind, and the movement took the cap from his head, releasing his hair to the elements.

His very long hair.

Nick stiffened, watching as the stable boy turned to fetch the cap as it rolled over the ground, spun on the invisible fingers of the Yorkshire wind. His hair flew out behind him in long red ribbons, immediately soaked with rain. And when the boy turned back, facing the house once more, there was no question of what the secret of Townsend Park was.

He played over the servants in his mind: the stable boy; the effeminate butler; the motley collection of diminutive, unmatched footmen.

She had a houseful of women.

That was why she was on the roof, nearly killing herself.

Because there was no one else to do it for her.

He swore harshly at the thought, the word lost in the howl of the wind whipping over the edge of the roof. Houseful of women or no, there was no excuse for her complete and utter carelessness. She should be locked in a room for sanity’s sake. His sanity.

Thunder cracked high above him, sending him back to the entrance to the attic, where she peered out at him, rivulets of water coursing down her face. He thrust the pail of muck at her.

She took it and backed away from the window as he followed her inside.

He took a long moment to close the window behind him, latching it tight against the sheets of rain that pounded the glass before he turned back to her, soaked to the bone and not at all happy.

Setting the pail down carefully, she hesitated, then spoke in an agitated whisper. “I would have been perfectly fine—”

He thrust both his hands through his wet hair in frustration, and the movement stayed her words. Thank God. Because he might well have strangled her if she had continued.

She was the single most infuriating female he had ever met. She was a danger to herself and others. She could have gotten them both killed, for heaven’s sake.

He’d had enough.

“You are not to go on the roof again.” His words were quiet, but spoken in a tone that had stopped killers in their tracks.

And seemed only to incense Isabel. “I beg your pardon? ”

“Evidently, years of being trapped in Yorkshire with the run of the estate failed to teach you an ounce of sense. You will stay off the roof from now on.”

“Of all the imperious, condescending, arrogant things—”

“You may call it whatever you like. I call it ensuring your safety. And the safety of those around you.” He paused briefly, tamping down the urge to shake her. “Did it even cross your mind that I might have been killed right along with you? ”

“I didn’t ask to be rescued, Lord Nicholas,” she said, her voice rising.

“Yes, well, considering I have saved your life twice in the two days that I have known you, I might suggest that next time, you do ask.”

She pulled herself up to her full height and let loose, apparently unconcerned with the fact that anyone near the entrance to the attic might hear them. “I was perfectly safe on the roof until you arrived! And did you even consider the idea that I was only on the roof because I was hiding from you? ”

The confession was out before she could stop it, surprising them both. “Hiding from me? ”

She did not reply, deliberately looking away from him with a huff. “You invited me here!”

“Well, suffice to say that I am beginning to regret it,” she muttered.

“Why were you hiding from me?”

“I should think that would be rather clear.” When he did not respond, she continued, eager to fill the silence. “I was surprised by our … moment … in the statuary. I had not expected …”

He tracked the nervous movements of her hands, smoothing over her breeches before she crossed her arms, and the white cambric of her shirt pulled tightly across her breasts, torturing him with their weight—with their lovely, shadowed peaks. He was suddenly aware of their location, in the darkened attic of her home, the rain outside muffling all sounds, the warm, small space closing in around them. It was the perfect place for a clandestine tryst.

She took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling for a long moment. A raindrop moved slowly down her neck; he watched as it turned down the slope of her breast to disappear inside the collar of her shirt.

He was seriously contemplating becoming jealous of a droplet of water. Yorkshire was obviously damaging to his sanity.

“I had not expected to be so …” she tried again, meeting his gaze before her words trailed off.

He took a step closer; they were scant inches from each other. “So … ?” He knew he should not push her, but he could not help himself.

She sighed, resigned. “So … drawn to you.”

Another step. “You are drawn to me? ”

He’d never known a lady to admit such a thing. There was something overwhelming in the honesty of her confession.

She backed up then, and he watched embarrassment flood her cheeks, fierce and red. She spoke, the words coming fast. “I am sure it is just a passing phase. I think it best for you to leave. I shall find another way to sell the collection—”

Her nervousness was intoxicating.

He reached out, his fingertips brushing the soft skin at her temple, stemming the flow of her words. He pushed one long, wet lock back from her face, tucking it behind her ear before running the backs of his fingers down her cheek, soothing the heated flesh they left with his thumb.

Her eyes went wide at the touch, and he smiled, briefly, at her surprise. His free hand lifted, and his hands were cupping her face, tilting it upward to afford him a better look at her in the quiet, dimly lit space.

He should not kiss her. He knew it.

But she was like no woman he had ever known—and he wanted to know her secrets. More than that, he wanted her.

He settled his lips to hers, and she was his.

As was the case with the rest of the man, there was nothing tentative about Nicholas St. John’s kisses. One moment, Isabel was battling a series of strange, unsettling emotions about the arrogant man, and the next, he had claimed her mouth in a searing kiss, robbing her of breath and thought and sanity.

She froze for a moment, savoring the feel of his lips on hers, of his hands cradling her face, of his fingers trailing down to her neck as his thumbs stroked the skin of her cheeks, setting her aflame. He held her firmly against him, his mouth playing over hers, sending wave after wave of sensation rocketing through her. The caress gentled. He lifted his mouth until it was just barely touching hers and licked her bottom lip, his tongue warm and rough against the soft skin there, and she gasped at the sensation, so foreign, so wicked.

So magnificent.

He captured her mouth once more, stroking until she opened for him, uncertain. She wasn’t sure what to do—she was afraid to touch him, to move, to do anything that might end the caress and the pleasure that it brought.

He seemed to read her thoughts, and with a soft slide, his lips chased the path of one thumb across her cheek to her ear, where he caught the lobe between his teeth, sending a shiver of pleasure through her. “Touch me, Isabel.”

This was why women turned silly for men. This heady mix of power … and powerlessness.

She shouldn’t touch him. She knew that. But the words, combined with the sensual caress at the curve of her ear, unlocked her, and she set her hands to his chest, running them up and over his shoulders. The movement spurred him on, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to his firmness, his heat. He pulled back, met her heavy-lidded gaze as if to confirm that she wanted it as much as he, and claimed her mouth once more.

Isabel was overwhelmed with sensation, with the stroke of his tongue, the press of his body, the scent of him. She met his caresses with her own, returning the kiss with an innocent passion that only encouraged him. She tangled her fingers in the damp hair at his neck and stood up on her toes to gain better access to his mouth. He let her explore, increasing the intensity of the kiss, then pulling back to allow her to take the lead. She ran the tip of her tongue over his full bottom lip tentatively, and his groan gave her a sense of satisfaction like nothing she’d ever felt.

He broke off the kiss then, regaining control, trailing his lips down the column of her throat and inhaling deeply at the place where her neck and shoulder met before he nipped lightly at the skin there, sending another ripple of pleasure through her. She gasped at the sensation and felt the curve of his lips against her skin in a smile that she did not have to see to know was filled with wicked promise.

He lifted his head, his blue eyes dark with heat. His mouth opened slightly and she was transfixed by it, waiting for his next move.

“Isabel?”

The sound of her name was foreign to her, and for a fleeting moment, she was not certain from where it had come. She was too focused on the fact that Nick had released her and stepped back, away from her, putting as much distance between them as he could. She felt cold all of a sudden, the missing heat of him an intense loss. One hand flew to her lips as if to confirm that they had, in fact, been in an embrace mere seconds earlier.

“Isabel!”

The second time James called her name, realization came crashing down around her. She became acutely aware of their location, their situation, their actions, and she was overcome with an intense desire to escape back out the window to the roof. And to live there. For some time.

At least until Lord Nicholas left.

Instead, she looked to him, wide-eyed, and whispered, “It’s my brother!”

“I gathered as much,” he said dryly. “Don’t you think you should answer?”

“I …” He was right, of course. “James!” she called, hurrying to the top of the stairs. “I am up here!”

“Izzy! Kate is looking for you!”

The mention of the stable master—who was entirely the wrong gender for a stable master—set Isabel on edge. She looked back at Nick, keenly aware of everything that had just transpired between them, and of the secrets that she had no choice but to keep from him.

Everything had just become infinitely more complicated.

Uncertain of what to say, of how one ended such an assignation, she said the first thing that came to her mind … the only thing that would make their situation easier. “You must leave.”

“And how do you suggest I do that? Over the edge of the roof?”

She took a deep breath, desperate to regain some of the calm that she so prided herself upon. “Of course not. You may use the front door.”

“How very magnanimous of you,” he said, and she ignored his teasing, starting down the stairs. She had not even reached the second step when his words stopped her. “You cannot go down there looking as you do.”

She waved off his words. “They’ve all seen me in men’s clothing. It shall be fine.”

“It is not your clothing to which I refer, Isabel.”

She looked back at the words, meeting the glittering blue gaze that seemed to see so much. Too much. “What, then?”

“It is the look of you.”

She raised one hand to her hair in a nervous gesture. “What do you mean? How do I look?”

“Like someone who has been thoroughly kissed.”

She blushed then, the heat coming high and fast. She pressed a hand to her face, willing it away before she straightened and in her very coolest tone said, “You must leave. Immediately.”

And, with that, she hurried down the stairs to deal with whatever new challenge was to be thrust in her direction.

“What do you mean, ‘They cannot leave'?!”

Kate made a show of wringing out her long wet hair and leaned against the stall door of one of the two remaining horses in the Townsend Park stables. “Just what I’ve said. They cannot leave. The rain has flooded the post road. There is no route into town.”

“They haven’t a choice! They’ve got to leave!”

Kate’s brow furrowed at Isabel’s high-pitched squeak. “Isabel. I’m not sure what you would like me to do about it. I cannot direct the weather.”

“We shall just have to keep the girls hidden,” Jane, ever practical, said from her place just inside the stables. “We’ve done it before.”

Isabel turned away in a fit of frustration, placing her fisted hands against her forehead and taking several deep breaths.

Turning back, she leveled the women with a stern look. “Lord Nicholas is no fool. He shall know immediately that something about Townsend Park is not what it seems. His friend shall do the same. They shall notice the lack of men.”

“Not if they are too busy noticing the lack of servants,” Gwen pointed out, running one finger along the curve of a saddle that had been slung over an unused stable door. “They’ve not seen many of us … we could just hide the girls and … well, hope for the best!” She punctuated the sentence with a grin that did nothing to comfort Isabel.

“Seven years of protecting you girls and the existence of Minerva House, and your solution is to hope for the best? “ Gwen nodded happily, and Isabel’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What has you so pleased?”

Gwen opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, Kate let out a mighty—and obviously false—cough, and Gwen’s mouth closed. She shook her head and looked away. Jane moved to stroke the long muzzle of the horse nearest to her. Lara seemed transfixed by the edge of one of her kidskin gloves. Kate considered the ceiling of the stables.

Something was amiss.

Isabel looked from one woman to the next. “What is it? ”

When no one answered, she tried again. “The four of you have never been able to keep something from me in your lives. What is it? ”

Gwen could not keep the words in any longer. “Only that the universe appears to support our plan.”

“Gwen …” Jane said, warning in her tone.

“Your plan? ”

“Quite. You see,” the cook said, looking to Lara for support, “Pearls and Pelisses—”

“Of course,” Isabel said. “I should have known this would have something to do with that ridiculous magazine.”

“Pearls and Pelisses,” Gwen repeated emphatically, “tells us that the very best way to secure the interest of a lord is to keep him near! And what better way to keep him near than a rainstorm that does not look as though it is letting up any time soon? Why, we do not even have to fabricate a reason to keep you in his thoughts! Nature has done it for us!”

Isabel’s brows shot up. “You assume that I have a desire to secure the man’s interest! The only thing I want him taking an interest in is the statuary!” Returning her attention to Kate, she said, “There really is no way to get them back to Dunscroft?”

Kate shook her head. “None whatsoever. I expect the road will be passable in the morning, assuming the rain stops sometime during the night, but I would not send horses into this weather—nor strangers to the area.”

“I assume that you are telling me the truth and not fabricating some issue to aid in Gwen’s lunacy?”

Kate looked at Isabel as though she’d grown a second head. “Do you really think I would support anything related to that magazine?”

Isabel threw her hands up and looked to Lara. “What am I to do?”

“We shall have to soldier on and consider this cloud’s silver lining.” Lara paused, entertained by her pun.

“There is no silver lining in this cloud, Lara. Only a flooded road and a man who is far too observant for his own good.”

“Nonsense!” Lara said. “This means he will have additional time to work in the statuary! Perhaps this turn of events will speed his process!”

Isabel doubted it.

“And you forget the most important part,” Jane added.

“Which is?”

“As long as the road is flooded, we are free of Viscount Densmore.”

Isabel considered the words. Jane wasn’t incorrect. There were not many worse things than Lord Nicholas being trapped at Townsend Park … but Densmore’s arrival was one of them.

“Perhaps Lord Nicholas can provide us with information on the viscount?” Gwen’s whisper echoed through the stables.

“I would rather Lord Nicholas not have any further insight into our troubles,” Isabel said. “It is bad enough that we are stuck with him for the evening.”

Particularly bad for her.

“They seem to be good men,” Lara said, drawing the attention of the rest of the group.

Gwen said, “Do they? ”

“Well, I have not spent any length of time with Lord Nicholas …” Lara hedged, “but Mr. Durukhan … seems charming.”

“Charming,” Kate repeated.

“Yes. Charming. Well, nice. Nice enough, at least.”

They all studied Lara for a long moment, until she turned away to give her attention to one of the large horses that had arrived with the objects of their discussion. The movement betrayed her, and the women looked to one another, each confirming the others’ suspicions.

“Lara,” Isabel teased, happy for the distraction from her own troubles, “has the giant captured your attention? ”

Lara looked back at them, wide-eyed. “I did not say that!”

“You did not have to,” Kate said. “It’s clear from the rose in your cheeks.”

And it was. Isabel watched as Lara opened her mouth then closed it, and immediately understood her cousin’s struggle. She knew precisely what it was to be so turned around by a man she had met merely a day earlier.

“I heard Lord Nicholas call him Rock yesterday,” Kate said. “It seems an apt name for such a massive creature.”

Lara thought for a while before responding, simply, “He has kind eyes.”

Isabel grinned at the description of the enormous Turk, wondering how long it would be before her guests had ensorcelled every woman in the house. After all, these were not the same kind of men that the residents of Minerva House were accustomed to—they were charming and handsome and intelligent…

And superior at kissing.

No. She would not consider the positive aspects of the man. In order to retain any semblance of sanity while he was in her house, risking everything for which she had worked, she must remember his overpowering arrogance, his flippant challenges, his absolutely unacceptable behavior in the attic.

Of course, she’d had no trouble accepting it at the time.

Her experiences with men were spare; aside from the shopkeepers in town and the vicar, there was little reason for her to interact with the opposite sex—particularly unmarried, eligible Londoners with wide shoulders and arms like steel and eyes bluer than any should be.

No.

She had spent her life eschewing wealthy, charming men-about-town who captured the eye of every female in the vicinity with their perfectly tied cravats and quick, easy smiles. Men who delighted in robbing others of their happiness.

Men like her father.

Men who ultimately ruined everything. Who made mockeries of their marriages, who turned starry-eyed women who had once loved them into desperate, self-loathing females who would do anything to find a reason for the loss of their husbands.

And then Lord Nicholas St. John had arrived, all handsome face and imperious arrogance, and she had expected him to be one of them. And, instead, he had agreed to help her, he had put himself in harm’s way to ensure her safety, had assured her that her problems could be overcome—all in the span of a few hours.

No wonder he made her so nervous. There was nothing about this man that was normal. Nothing that even came close to what normal meant to Isabel.

Now he was stuck in her house. A guest. Among two dozen women, hiding from any number of evils that might come down around them.

And, to make matters worse, he’d kissed her.

Not that she had stopped him from kissing her. Or even considered doing so.

For years, she had dreamed of what her first kiss would be like. She had considered it in countless places, with any number of faceless, nameless men, each one a hero in his own right, as part of professions of love, proposals of marriage, and other fantasies that plagued young, innocent girls.

And all the while, she’d known there was no point in the dreams. Because heroes did not exist. And there was no truth to the idea that love completed women. Indeed, in her experience, love only lessened women—made them pained and desolate and weak.

She did not want that.

And yet, in Lord Nicholas’s arms, she had glimpsed that ephemeral promise—that temptation—that came with being the focus of all his attention. And in that moment, she had been a girl again, dreaming of her first kiss.

She had never imagined, however, that her first kiss would be with a virtual stranger, in the musty attic of her ancestral home, after nearly toppling off a roof.

To be fair, she also hadn’t imagined her first kiss would be quite so very wonderful.

And she was certain that in all her fantasies, no matter how secret, she’d never imagined her first kiss would be with a man who was so … well … male.

She gave a little sigh, drawing the attention of the other women. Jane’s eyes narrowed on her. “Isabel? Is there something you would like to share?”

Isabel looked down, making a show of adjusting the cuffs of her breeches, drenched in rain. “No, why should there be?”

“What happened after I left you on the roof with Lord Nicholas? ”

“You were alone with him? How wonderful! Pearls and Pelisses tells us that you must remain in his mind … and in his eye!” Gwen was thrilled.

One side of Isabel’s mouth kicked up. “Yes, well, since we’ve trapped the poor man here, I think he’s about to have more than enough of me in his mind and in his eye. Whatever that is supposed to mean.”

“Well, either way, leaving them alone on the roof was a capital idea, Jane! Well done!”

Jane rolled her eyes. “It was not entirely my idea. Had I stayed, I think he might well have noticed that I am not a man. I was saved by the fact that he could barely tear his gaze from Isabel.”

Isabel snapped her head up to meet Jane’s gaze. “That is not true!”

Was it?

“Really?” Kate said. “That would explain his strange reaction to you on the roof yesterday.”

“It was not a strange reaction!” Isabel protested. “It isn’t every day that a lady is on the roof of her home, Kate.”

“I noticed it, too,” Lara chimed in, apparently past her discomfort with the women’s earlier line of questioning. “In the statuary yesterday. He is intrigued by her.”

“He is not!”

She was not at all intriguing. Was she?

“What happened after I left the roof?” Jane asked, her tone deceptively casual.

“Nothing happened. It started to rain and we came in.” Isabel bit her tongue. Perhaps the others had not noticed the nervousness in her words, which had come too fast.

They noticed. Four sets of eyes were upon her, so intent that she had to remind herself that kisses did not leave a mark. “We were wet.”

Kate’s gaze narrowed. “Were you?”

“And then what? “ Gwen’s words were breathless with excitement.

Their rapt attention was disconcerting. She looked up and spoke to the ceiling, frustration in her words, her voice an octave higher than usual. “And then nothing! Then James called and said Kate needed me, and I rushed out of the room because I was terrified he would reference the stables or something else that would give away the fact that the entire house is populated with a motley crew of nearly-servants who only appear to be men! ”

A heavy silence fell, and Isabel looked back to the other women, registering their identical, wide-eyed looks, focused on a point beyond her left shoulder. An immediate sense of dread came over her as she turned to look in the direction of their singular gaze.

Of course.

Standing in the doorway of the stables was Mr. Durukhan, mouth slightly ajar, looking from Jane to Kate, taking in their masculine attire, the tightly fitted cap that hid Kate’s hair from view, the stark, old-fashioned queue that Jane preferred. His gaze took in every little feature that they could not hide: unstubbled chins; Kate’s high, arching brow and long neck; Jane’s stunning cheekbones and wide mouth.

They were caught.

He cleared his throat and gave a little mock bow in their general direction. “Lady Isabel, Miss Lara,” he said, ignoring Isabel’s breeches quite well, “I had come to speak with your … stable master to discuss our departure.”

There was a beat of silence, punctuated only by Rock’s horse, stomping in his stall at the sound of his master’s voice. The women had been rendered mute. If she were not so horrified, Isabel would have been amused.

None of them was willing to be the first to speak—to acknowledge what he had so obviously overheard.

Isabel swallowed nervously. She was the mistress of the house. It was her responsibility to speak. To manage this. To do what she could to protect their secrets … the ones that she had not carelessly revealed. “Mr. Durukhan—”

“Please,” he interrupted, a half smile slicing across his bronzed skin, “Rock will do.”

“Oh … I … we couldn’t.”

The smile became a full-blown grin then. “Prior to this particular moment, my lady, I would have agreed. However, it appears that we all have a much more … familiar … relationship now, do you not agree? ”

Gwen snickered and received one of Kate’s elbows in the ribs for her trouble. Isabel ignored the cry of pain and the furious whisper that came from their direction, instead watching with a looming panic as the enormous man’s dark, knowing gaze returned to Kate and Jane, tracing first one, then the other’s body from cap to boot—as if again confirming the information he had overheard.

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 don’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.