“I have no objection,” she said.
“I do,” Marcus snapped.
“An informal statement will eliminate the need to call the constable. I’m certain the Lloyd’s investigator will find the information useful to eliminate Mr. Hawksley as a suspect. Unless of course, Lady Isabel has changed her mind.”
“I have not,” she said.
Dante’s eyes narrowed, and again she was struck by his anger. “Please follow me then, Lady Isabel,” he said, turning to leave.
It was a demand more than a request. The two burly guards escorted Marcus as they followed Dante out of the room.
Isabel averted her gaze from the erotic art as she hurried past. It seemed odd that the obscene nature of the statues hadn’t disturbed her when she had been alone with Marcus, but now that she was in the presence of Dante and his men, the artwork made her skin crawl.
They were led to the parlor of the Westley mansion, which was now empty after the auction.
Marcus gave her a penetrating look. “Don’t do anything until I get back.”
He then turned on his heel and followed Dante and the guards out of the room, leaving her alone.
She looked about the parlor. Remaining pieces of artwork that had not sold were sprawled around the perimeter of the room. Canvases rested against the wall, a copy of a Greek bust sat in a corner, and bronze bowls and crystal figurines were spread out on a table. Dust mites swirled in a stream of light from a nearby window. Isabel sneezed and rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled.
She sat in an armchair by the empty fireplace and waited for what seemed like a long time. A majestic long-case clock in a dark corner ticked by the seconds, and the sound echoed throughout the room. Her anxiety built with the passage of time, and she experienced a sudden, inexplicable urge to flee. It was as if the solitude in the strange room exposed the impulsiveness in her plan. To escape a loveless match by sullying her reputation now felt recklessly foolish. There had to be another way to ensure her freedom, to convince her father that Lord Walling was ill suited for her, and most importantly, that her fascination with art was not a woman’s passing hobby.
She stood, ready to flee the room, the mansion, and return home.
Footsteps echoed down the hall.
The door swung open, and Isabel lurched in surprise. Not only did Lord and Lady Yarmouth enter, but so did her father and Lord Walling.
Chapter 4
Face ruddy and eyes wide behind round spectacles, Edward Cameron rushed to Isabel’s side and clasped her upper arms.
“Isabel, we have been fraught with worry. The entire household has been looking for you.”
Isabel looked at her father in surprise and said the first thing that came to mind. “How did you find me?”
Edward frowned. “Lord Walling arrived for you this afternoon, and when you were nowhere to be found, we started to worry. Mr. Dante Black”—her father jerked his head to the door—“came to the house and informed us that you were at the estate sale of the late Lord Westley, and that you needed my aid.”
Isabel looked behind her father to see that Dante had entered the room to stand beside Lord and Lady Yarmouth.
Marcus Hawksley was nowhere in sight.
“What would possess you to come here, Isabel?” Edward asked.
“I, ah—”
Dante Black stepped forward. “Perhaps if everyone will be seated, I will attempt to explain matters.”
Isabel’s heart hammered as the occupants in the parlor followed Dante’s directions. The Yarmouths took the only settee in the room, and everyone else chose chairs.
Isabel glanced at the Yarmouths. Lord Yarmouth was quite ordinary looking, a middle-aged man of average height with a receding hairline. Lady Yarmouth, the illegitimate daughter of the fourth Duke of Queensbury, was rotund with an ample bosom and shrewd brown eyes. After receiving a sizable inheritance from the deceased duke, she spent most of her time in Paris, but was currently visiting England. Isabel was well aware that Lady Yarmouth was a close acquaintance of Charlotte’s mother and a vicious gossipmonger. Anything that was said today would be speedily spread to all the female members of the ton by sunset.
Dante spoke first. “I’ve summoned you here today because we all have one thing in common. The missing Gainsborough painting.”
“Whatever are you speaking about?” Isabel’s father asked.
“The Thomas Gainsborough painting is missing?” Lord Yarmouth sat forward, an intense look replacing his previously drab expression.
Dante held up a hand. “The painting was scheduled to be auctioned off early this afternoon. When I sent my man to bring the painting to this parlor, he was attacked and the painting stolen.”
“Attacked?” Isabel cried out. Dante had previously failed to mention an attack. “Is your man dead?”
“No,” Dante said. “He sustained a nasty knock on the head, but he will survive. But as for the painting, it is worth a small fortune and is missing. The only man that had expressed interest in the painting, other than Lord Yarmouth on behalf of the Prince Regent, was Mr. Marcus Hawksley.”
“Marcus Hawksley?” Lord Walling spoke up, the nostrils in his bulbous nose flaring in his florid face.
“Yes.” Dante nodded. “As I was saying, Mr. Hawksley was the only other person that had viewed the work”—Dante stopped to look at Isabel—“or so I had believed. When I found Mr. Hawksley to question him, Lady Isabel came to his defense and said that he could not have taken the painting. Isn’t that correct, Lady Isabel?”
“Isabel?” her father asked, a look of confusion on his face.
All eyes turned to her, and she felt light-headed.
Here is the moment of my ruin, she thought. The price I have to pay for my freedom.
Her prior misgivings increased a hundredfold. Her breathing became ragged; her blood rushed through her ears like an avalanche.
Save yourself! Her inner voice cried out.
She looked at Dante Black, and was taken aback by the cold, calculating glint on his pinched face. She could almost hear his sinister thoughts: This is what I told you would happen if you defended Marcus Hawksley, but there’s still time to change your story.
Perhaps she should seize the opportunity Dante offered. Cry confusion. Female hysterics. Loss of memory. Claim she had attended the auction to view quality watercolors. Knowing her interest in the arts, that was a story her father would believe. After all, there was even more at stake than a stolen painting; a man had been assaulted.
She glanced again at Dante, and her blood chilled at the victorious gleam in his eye. A thought struck her, and she froze.
What about Marcus?
He needed her as an alibi. For whatever reason, Dante wanted to prove Marcus guilty for crimes that she knew for a fact he did not commit.
Could she abandon an innocent man? A good man?
And Marcus was a good man, she was certain, despite the “black cloud,” as he had called it, which hovered over his head. He had refused her blatant offer when she was certain most men would not have. Others would have taken her virtue without a second thought, knowing that society would smear the woman’s reputation all the while praising the man for his sexual prowess.
But not Marcus. He had thought of her father, had even said she deserved better than him. No, she had to stay. She couldn’t throw an innocent man to a bloodthirsty wolf like Dante Black.
She