“My coachman and footmen will let no one near me, and I don’t intend to walk through any dark, deserted passages by myself. I’m not a ninny, and this isn’t a gothic novel.”

“No, I believe we are in a comedy of errors, my love, but that doesn’t mean the man isn’t damned dangerous.”

“Then why not send Bellamy with me? He is plenty dangerous himself.”

“Because I need him to guard the house, in case our friend Payne decides to try his trick of wandering in pretending to be me. Even you mistook him for me at first glance.”

“Yes, very well, I take your point.” Isabella huffed out her breath, which made her bosom move in an agreeable way. “We should be careful. But the separation? Why are you allowed to decide when we will end it? Why did you not consult me before sending for Mr. Gordon? The poor man was most embarrassed.”

Mac heard the growl emerge from his throat. She was right that he shouldn’t have presumed, but bloody hell, he was tired of everything on earth being his fault.

“Did you consult me when you decided we would have a separation in the first place? Did you consult me when you wanted to leave me? No, you disappeared and sent me a damned note. No, wait. You didn’t even send it to me; you sent it to Ian.”

Isabella’s voice rose. “Because I knew that if I sent it to you, you’d never take it seriously. I trusted Ian to make certain you read it, to make certain you understood. I feared that if I sent it directly to you, you’d simply laugh and toss it on the fire.”

“Laugh?” What the hell was she talking about? “Laugh that my beloved wife had decided to leave me? That she told me she couldn’t bear living with me? I read that bloody letter over and over until I couldn’t see the words anymore. Your idea of what makes me laugh is damned peculiar.”

“I tried to tell you myself. Believe me, I tried. But I knew that if I faced you, you would only talk me ’round, convince me to stay with you against my better judgment.”

“Of course I would have,” Mac shouted. “I love you. I’d have done anything to get you to stay, if you’d only given me the chance.”

Chapter 17

Both the Scottish Lord and his Lady appeared at the opera house in Covent Garden this past evening, but they might have been in two different opera houses altogether. The Lord lounged in the box of the Marquis of Dunstan while the Lady appeared across the house with the Duke of K—, the Lord’s brother. Observers say the Lord and Lady passed each other in the mezzanine but never spoke to, or even seemed to notice, one another.

—February 1879

Isabella’s green eyes snapped in fury. Even raging, she managed to be beautiful. “I gave you three years of chances, Mac. Very well, perhaps you would have talked me into staying, but what then? You’d have downed a bottle of champagne to celebrate, and I’d have woken the next morning to find you gone off somewhere in the world, with a note—maybe—to tell me not to worry. I decided to give you a taste of what you had given me for the three years of our marriage.”

“I know. I know. I was an idiot. But damn it, I’m trying to make it right, now. I’m willing to try, but you are determined not to let me.”

“Because I am tired of being a fool about you. Look at us—I give you an inch, and you jump a mile. I go to you for comfort, and you decide we are reconciled and send for our solicitor.”

Mac’s chest burned. “Comfort? Is that what last night was?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you like. You have a lofty opinion of yourself.”

“A lofty opinion, is it?” As happened when he got angry enough, Mac’s Scots accent banished years of English veneer. “I believe you were the one cryin’ out in climax four or five times last night. I remember. I was quite close to ye at the time.”

“One’s bodily reactions are not always under one’s control. That is a medical fact.”

“I did no’ couple with ‘one.’ I was with you, Isabella.”

Isabella’s face flamed. “You know you were taking advantage of my loneliness. I should have kept my door locked.”

Mac hauled himself across the landau into the seat next to her. She didn’t cringe away; Isabella would never show fear, especially not to him. “If ye say ye came to me for comfort, then you were taking advantage of me. I’m not blameless in this.”

“You’ve been following me about. You admitted it. Somehow you finagled yourself into my house and back into my life. I think I should have a say in that.”

“If ye think it through, ye live in my house. ’Tis my money that pays for the house and servants and pretty frocks. Because ye are still my wife.”

Isabella rounded on him. “Do you think I am not aware of that every day of my life? Do you know how weak it makes me feel that I live entirely on your charity? I could beg Miss Pringle to give me a job teaching younger students, but I have no experience, and I’d be living on her charity. So my pride remains in tatters while you pay all my bills.”

“Bloody hell.” Mac cast a glance out the window, but he found no help in the clogged traffic of Oxford Street. “I don’t give ye charity. Paying for your living is the least I can do for anyone fool enough to marry me.”

“Ah, so now I am foolish as well as weak.”

“You enjoy putting words in my mouth, do ye? Your method of arguing is to decide what I say as well as what you say. I might as well go fishing while you finish. Send me word when the argument is over.”