Free Lady Isabella's Scandalous Marriage by Jennifer Ashley

being bad didn’t pay,” Isabella said.
    Daniel snorted. “Not bloody likely. He’s still as bad, and now there’s no one to stop him.” His look turned pleading. “Can I stay here with you, Auntie? Please? Just until the races? If I stay with Uncle Mac, Da’ will find me and give me a thrashing. You won’t tell on me, will you?”
    Though it was practiced, Daniel’s pleading touched Isabella’s heart. Cameron carelessly shuttled the lad between school and the Mackenzie brothers’ houses, not always having time for his son. Daniel was a lonely young man. But that did not mean that Daniel should be allowed to run wild, that Isabella should condone him disobeying his father. “I ought to say no.”
    “That’s all right,” Daniel said cheerfully. “If ye turn me out, I can always sleep in the gutter, or in a bawdy house.”
    Mac chuckled softly, and Isabella threw him a glare. “You’ll sleep in my back bedroom at the top of these stairs,” she said severely. “Go on up, and I’ll have one of the footmen make up the bed for you.” As Daniel started a happy jig, she went on. “Only until we go to Doncaster, mind, where I will turn you over to your father. And only if you behave. Any mischief, and I’ll send for him right away.”
    “I’ll be good, Auntie. I don’t care if Da’ locks me up with monks afterward as long as I don’t miss the St. Leger.”
    “And no cigars.”
    Daniel removed the cigar from his mouth and dropped it into an antique porcelain bowl on a side table. “Say, Aunt Isabella, can a pretty maid come up and make my bed rather than a footman?”
    “No,” Mac said at the same time as Isabella.
    Isabella continued, “I’ll give my maids permission to slap you if you pester them. They work too hard to be annoyed by you.”
    “Aw, I was only teasing.” Daniel seized Isabella’s hands and kissed her cheek. “Good night, Auntie. You’re my favorite aunt, you know.”
    “I heard you say the same to Beth not more than a week ago.”
    “Her too.” Daniel laughed as he charged up the stairs and into the room at the top. He slammed the door behind him so hard the stairs trembled.
    Isabella let out a sigh. “He runs more wild each year.”
    Mac fished the cheroot from her priceless antique bowl and laid the two cigars on the edge of the table, positioned so they wouldn’t burn the wood. “You’re good for the lad.”
    “I’m too soft on him. He needs a firm hand.”
    “He needs a gentle one as well,” Mac pointed out.
    “I remember the morning after you married me, Daniel came charging into our house in Mount Street and mistook me for one of your models.”
    “Aye, I remember boxing his ears for his impertinence.”
    “The poor mite. He didn’t know.” Isabella turned to the railing, watching her guests talking and laughing below, wondering why she didn’t want to go back down to them. “He was all of nine years old, seeking refuge because he’d been sent home from school again and was afraid to tell Cam.”
    “Spare him your sympathy. The ‘poor mite’ dropped a mouse down my coat to get back at me for the ear boxing.”
    “I think perhaps none of you ever grew up.”
    “Oh, but we did.”
    Mac’s hands came around Isabella’s waist. His warmth covered her back, her bustle bent under his weight, and his lips burned the curve of her neck.

Chapter 6
    A most lavish soiree held by the Lady of Mount Street Saturday last was marred somewhat by the failure of her Lord to make an appearance. The Lady assured her guests that his Lordship would be only a little late, but it was discovered in the small hours of the morning that he had gone to Rome instead. Perhaps he took a wrong turning?
    —February 1876
    Isabella closed her eyes, gripping the railing until her fingers ached. “I should go down.”
    Mac’s teeth grazed her skin. “They are enjoying themselves on their own. Your task is finished.”
    He was right. The crowd had a new focus point—the soprano.