Isabella wondered whether Payne, her true father, would attempt to wrest Aimee back from them. Isabella didn’t understand whatever strings Mr. Gordon had pulled to make the adoption legal, but he’d assured them that all would be well. Isabella still worried, though. Aimee did not need to be taken by a lunatic who set fires to houses and stalked women in parks.
“Mac, old thing!” A man’s voice rang out and Isabella looked up to see four gentlemen bearing down on them.
She stifled a sigh. They were Mac’s friends from Harrow and Cambridge, the boys who had worshipped Mac as their leader-in-crime during their school days. They were grown men now, but they’d collectively remained the wild tears who’d done anything to gain Mac’s approval.
The one who walked in front, a short, rather slender young man with blond hair, had become Marquis of Dunstan at age twenty-two. His Christian name was Cadwallader, and they called him Cauliflower or Cauli for short. The others were Lord Charles Summerville, the Honorable Bertram Clark, and Lord Randolph Manning. None of these gentlemen had passed Isabella’s father’s rigorous screening as possible suitors for her, and it had been these four gentleman who’d originally wagered that Mac would never “crash” Lord Scranton’s ball and dance with his virginal daughter.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” Lord Charles Summerville screwed a monocle into his left eye and peered through it. “Good Lord, it is Mac Mackenzie walking a baby. From where did you steal the damned thing? Paying off a wager, are you?”
“This is my daughter,” Mac said coolly. “Miss Aimee Mackenzie. I’ve just adopted her. Pray watch your language in front of her as well as in front of my wife.”
Summerville guffawed while Bertram Clark bowed to Isabella. “Ah, the lovely Lady Isabella. How delightful to see you again. You dazzle mine eyes, my lady.”
Lord Randolph Manning gazed unsteadily at her. “I thought you well rid of this blackguard, Izzy. I’m devastated you’ve never sought solace in me. My door is always open, you know.”
“Randy Randolph,” Cauliflower chortled.
“Stubble it,” Mac said. “Insult my wife again, Manning, and your eye will learn the exact texture of my gloved fist.”
Manning blinked. “Good lord, what did I say?”
“Forgive my Lord Randolph,” Bertram Clark said to Isabella. Mr. Clark had the best manners of the lot but also the reputation for being the most dissipate. “He’s drunk, he’s an idiot, and he swoons at your feet. We all do, as you know.”
“It’s quite all right,” Isabella said. “I’m well used to his vulgar manners.”
The four men burst out laughing. “As erudite as ever,” Lord Charles said. “We’ve missed you, my lady. In truth, Mac, what are you doing with a baby?”
“I answered you. I adopted her.”
Manning blinked his hazy eyes. “Dropped a by-blow, did you, Mac? Your lady wife is a most forgiving woman.”
Cauliflower gaped, and Bertram Clark grabbed the back of Manning’s collar. “That’s it. Time to sober you up, old man.” He dragged Manning off, Manning spluttering and continuing to ask what he’d said wrong.
“Cauli,” Mac said in a quiet voice. Cauliflower, who was a foot shorter than Mac, turned red but gave Mac his attention. “Know this: Aimee is not my by-blow, and she will be raised as a proper young lady. Any other gossip is to be squelched. You know the truth, and I expect you to uphold it. You too, Charlie. Tell the others.”
Cauliflower touched his forehead. “Right you are, chief. You can count on us. But by the bye—since wagers were mentioned—what about the one we made before you went to Paris? You know about the . . . ?” He trailed off, making a painting motion with his hand.
“The erotic pictures?” Mac finished. “Fear not, Isabella knows all. I keep nothing from my wife, as you know. I am working on them.”
Charles shook his head. “Time’s running out, Mac, old boy. I hope you know some merry tunes to sing with the temperance band.”
“I’ve been told I have a nice baritone.” Mac’s words were light, but Isabella saw a muscle tighten in his jaw, his temper rising.
“We’ll make certain every member of the club is out to watch you and cheer you on. It will cause quite a stir.”
“I always enjoy making a stir. But I might come through with the paintings, you know.”
Cauliflower made a point of pulling out his watch and studying it. “Very well. Not much time left, you know.” He gave Mac a sorrowful look. “Don’t let me down, old man. You’ve been my hero since I was ten years old.”
“That was a long time ago,” Mac said.
Cauli stuffed his watch back into his pocket, nodded to Isabella, and grabbed Charles by the arm. “Come on, then, Charlie. Let’s have some champagne to celebrate our certain win.”
Charles bowed to Isabella, somewhat unsteadily, and walked off with Cauli. Mac watched them go in unveiled disgust.
“To think I used to take pride in leading that gang of bullies.”
“School makes one do odd things,” Isabella agreed.
“Did you do odd things? At Miss Pringle’s Special Home?”
“Select Academy for Young Ladies,” she corrected coolly. “And yes. I was rather a tear.”
“I think that’s one reason I love you.” Mac looked thoughtful. “I’d like to win that wager and rub their faces in it, before I give them all the cut direct. Would you still be willing?”
“To pose for you?” She glanced behind them, but Miss Westlock had maintained a discreet distance, pretending to study a guide to the park. “I think I might.”
Isabella’s skin tingled with the thought. Baring herself while Mac studied her with his warm eyes made her feel wanted and beloved. Her pulse quickened when she thought about what had happened the last time she’d attempted to pose for the paintings.
Mac bent his head and kissed her lips in full view of the entire park. Aimee looked on with great interest. “Good,” Mac said into her skin. “I believe I feel inspired to paint today.”
What absolute madness had persuaded Mac that painting Isabella in erotic poses was good for his health, he had no idea. He’d even fancied that his hand would be steadier now that they’d bedded each other. He must have been insane.
Bellamy helped Mac turn one of Isabella’s large rooms at the top of her house into a studio. There was light here from tall windows, and warmth, because Bellamy had installed a small parlor stove and stoked it with coal. Mac had no intention of letting Isabella catch cold.