Forbidden in February by Suzanna Medeiros Page B

because he was scowling. Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to him that she might approach someone else with the same request, and that thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. He managed to smooth his frown before taking his leave. She didn’t follow him out into the hallway, where he gathered his outerwear from the wardrobe.
    Instead of hiring a hackney to take him to Mayfair, he decided to walk for a bit. The rain had stopped while he and Isabel had been talking, but darkness had descended. A bitter wind swirled around him, a reflection of his inner turmoil—was it his imagination, or did the weather seem colder that year?
    Isabel was definitely a threat to his resolve not to become involved with any woman. He wasn’t in any danger of falling in love with her, of course, but he already felt more for her than for any he’d been with. He couldn’t explain why, but he couldn’t deny the urge to help her.
    It occurred to him that, while she hadn’t asked for money, he should have offered to increase the amount his mother had left her. Surely then she could move forward with her life and in so doing no longer be a danger to his peace of mind. He wasn’t going to keep his mother’s money, after all. He’d take the money he’d earned over the years and that he’d sent to her, but he wanted nothing to do with the rest of it. Not the house—the house his father had purchased for his mother when he’d established her as his mistress—and certainly not the money his father had given her.
    He’d thought about donating it all, including the proceeds from the sale of the house, to the various charities that had sprung up after Waterloo. Many soldiers had returned home with injuries so serious they could no longer support their families. And then there were the widows who’d lost their husbands and couldn’t care for their children. He knew what it was to grow up without a father, but at least he’d always had a roof over his head and no fear of going hungry. The same wasn’t true for countless others.
    Yes, that’s what he would do. He’d ensure Isabel could care for herself… maybe he’d give her the house. Or perhaps lease it to her. He’d be able to visit her then whenever he was in Town.
    He froze as soon as the thought entered his mind, realizing the direction in which his thoughts were headed. Someone bumped into him—he hadn’t even been aware that there were others out on the street—and he mumbled an apology as the harried man brushed past him. He changed direction and hailed the hackney he’d spotted going the other way.
    During the short ride to the Beckworth town house, he tried to erase his previous thought from his mind. He was not his father. He wouldn’t set up a woman just so he could visit her whenever he was in London. Good lord, what if he got her with child? He’d be dooming another innocent to live the same life he’d had, always wondering why he wasn’t good enough for his father to acknowledge.
    No, he’d increase the bequest his mother had left Miss Durham—no doubt his mother would have done the same if presented with all the facts related to Isabel’s attempts to gain her independence—and then be done with her. At that point, it was up to her to make her own way in the world.
    He paid the driver after reaching the town house and made his way to the servants’ entrance. Absently, his thoughts still in turmoil, he smiled and greeted the maids and footmen he passed on the way to his room. It was smaller than the one he used at Beckworth Park, but not as small as Isabel’s room.
    Damn that woman, would she never get out of his thoughts?
    After lighting a lantern and shedding his outer garments and topcoat, he didn’t try to curb the urge that drove him to the wardrobe. He shifted the clothing aside, moving unerringly to the small sketchbook he’d buried in the back, beneath a blanket he kept there. He didn’t know why he’d purchased the thing. He hadn’t