Free After the Kiss by Suzanne Enoch Page A

the knowledge would certainly have saved her at least one of the shocks of the day. And now she couldn’t ask any of the additional questions that kept popping into her mind, because Oliver was with them, and he would likely have an apoplexy.
    All the same, she wondered what he would say if she informed him that the culprit who had stolen the painting he’d given her family was none other than his own half-brother. She glanced at him from her seat squeezed between him and Phillip. Not once since they’d left the stable yard for the house had he even glanced in its direction. He’d given no sign at all, in fact, that he had any idea his half-brother was just outside. Or that he even had a half-brother.
    “You’ll have to come stay with us at Burling after the Season,” her brother was saying, leaning around her to talk to Oliver. “I can’t wait to ride my new hunter after a fox.”
    Lady Darshear sighed. “Phillip, you talk about that animal more than you do about…ladies. I’m going to have to declare you on the shelf if you don’t begin courting someone very soon.” She sent an exasperated grin at Oliver. “Apparently Mr. Waring breeds very fine horses.”
    “So I hear,” Oliver said, the muscles of his jaw flexing.
    Oh, dear. “Barbara was telling me today,” Isabel interjected hurriedly, “that Lord Aysling is going to propose to Lady Harriet Reed tonight.”
    “Tonight?” her mother echoed, sitting forward. “At theEdlington soiree? Harry, we must find a seat close by her mother.”
    “Yes, dear.” Lord Darshear patted her on the hand, then turned his attention to Oliver. “Your house hasn’t been burglarized, has it?”
    Oliver’s expression became very still. “No. Why do you ask?”
    “Ours was. Just two nights ago. Tibby here surprised the blackguard and frightened him away.”
    “But not before he managed to make off with two paintings, a porcelain dove, and a very pretty crystal bowl,” Isabel’s mother continued. “And one of the paintings was the Francesca Perris you gave to us at the beginning of the Season, I’m sorry to say.”
    Isabel watched Oliver as closely as she could without being terribly obvious about it. And she realized something else almost immediately. As soon as he’d heard the news, he’d known instantly who’d stolen the painting from them. How and why, she wasn’t certain, but he knew it had been Sullivan Waring. Which meant that he knew the identity of the Mayfair Marauder, and he’d done nothing about it.
    Given his obvious dislike for Mr. Waring, she had no idea why he hadn’t gone to the authorities with his information. Of course, she had the same information and had done nothing about it, but that was different. She wanted to discover his motives. And yes, despite her growing sense that this was more than a game for all concerned, she liked having Mr. Waring at her beck and call. She could always report him later when—if—it came to that. Oliver had no motive for keeping his half-brother’s secret that she could see. They hated one another. Another mystery for her to uncover, apparently. They seemed to surround Sullivan Waring on every side.
    They were mobbed as soon as they entered the ballroom at the Edlingtons’, and it was twenty minutes before Isabel found a space to breathe. As she waved her fan in front of her face, half listening to several of her friends speculating on the impending surprise marriage proposal that apparently everyone knew about, she spied Lord Minster. The earl stood with his usual group of peers, his shock of gray hair standing straight out from his head like a hedgehog’s quills.
    Glancing over to see her mother occupied with pretending not to congratulate Lady Reed on her daughter’s impending betrothal, Isabel slipped away from her friends and approached the earl. “My lord?” she said quietly, when the conversation about war finance slowed for the moment. “Lord Minster?”
    “Eh?” He turned around, gray