Page 145
He lifts himself slightly from the sofa, knitting his brows.
“What is it about, Isobel?”
She takes a step forward, rocking on her toes, clutching the envelope to her chest.
“Dorian—” she corrects herself instantly, noting Nathaniel’s cold gaze, “Lord Vasiliev Ashford has invited us to his estate to show us the latest sculptures he has made.”
So much for having no interest in her.
Richard reaches out to take the letter, but she holds it back, pressing it against her chest.
“Do not be ridiculous, sister. Give me that letter, it isn’t exactly a marriage proposal.”
She barely shrugs. “He has invited us, do you understand, brother?”
“Only you two?” Nathaniel asks, observing his sister’s performance.
Isobel’s enthusiasm fades slightly, her shoulders dropping just a bit. “No... The Viscount as well,” she says, indicating me with a brief gesture.
Surprised, I lift myself from the damask fabric.
“Beg pardon?”
Richard laughs softly, shaking his head with a smile curving his mouth.
“Does he perhaps wish to provoke further gossip? I admire that man.”
“It is an excellent strategy, instead.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, tilting my head toward Nathaniel.
He taps his fingers on the table.
“It is a demonstration that those rumors are nothing more than hearsay,” the timbre of his low voice measuring out each word without haste. “And, to avoid any further gossip, he extended the invitation to Richard and Isobel as well. Hiding or distancing himself would have only fueled suspicion.”
Richard stares at him, eyebrows raised, his mouth slightly agape in astonishment.
“What? I said I appreciate his acumen.”
So that was the content of the letter he sent me... an invitation.
“See you soon. Evander.”
His damned voice is piercing, even within my thoughts.
Isobel, with her arms crossed and lips pressed into a thin line, turns to Nathaniel.
“Brother, I really appreciate your pragmatism, but you are wrong.”
He raises an eyebrow, the gray in his irides taking precedence over the green.
“How so?”
“He invited me because he wants to see me, nothing more.”
Richard stifles a laugh, his shoulders shaking beneath the fabric. She glares at him.
“Apologies, sister,” he interjects, raising his hands in an innocent gesture, “but perhaps you are deluding yourself a bit too much.”
