Mac folded his paper and set it aside, his face stern. “Isabella, my lovely, I am not letting you out of my sight. Don’t mention to Ainsley that I will be there if she thinks my presence would confound the scheme, but I am going.”
“Mac.”
“No.”
Mac rarely asserted husbandly mastery. He’d told her the first day of their marriage that he thought it nonsense that men presumed to dictate to their wives—what if the husband was a fool? Wouldn’t the wife be even more of a fool to obey him? Isabella was to be given complete freedom, because, Mac said, he suspected that Isabella had far better sense than he did.
Isabella saw now that Mac simply had chosen not to assert his rather formidable will. The look in his eyes told her he would not back down, no matter how much she argued.
Isabella tried anyway. “She’s my sister.”
“And there is a madman lurking in the streets waiting to do who the hell knows what. You go nowhere without me.”
Isabella swept her lashes down. “Of course, my dear,” she said meekly.
“And don’t you dare pretend to capitulate and then sneak away when my back’s turned. Your servants agree with me and will tell me if you attempt anything so rash. If you try to leave the house without me, I promise I will drag you back home, chain you up in the cellar, and feed you bread and water with my own hands.”
The trouble with Mac making idiotic declarations was that there was a good chance he’d carry them out. Also, he was right. Payne was a danger. Isabella recalled his terribly strong hands on her and suppressed a shiver. She never, ever wanted to feel that helpless again.
“Very well,” she said in a cool tone. “Find some way that I can meet with my sister safely, and I will do as you say.”
“I will,” Mac said. “I am deadly serious, Isabella: Do not leave the house without me. I will escort you wherever you wish to go. I trust no one else to keep you safe.”
Isabella smeared jam onto a piece of toast. “Will this not severely limit your own business in town?”
“No. My business in town is you.”
“Oh.” Isabella went warm with pleasure, but she certainly would not let him see that. “Surely you’ll have errands to run.”
“And a houseful of servants to run them for me. Anyone I must do business with can come to me here.” He lifted his paper again and shook it open. “In fact, I have an important visitor arriving this morning, so don’t plan to go out until after that, there’s a good wife.”
Isabella sent him a glare that could have burned his newspaper to a crisp. But in spite of her irritation at his high-handed arrogance, she couldn’t help feeling, deep down, a warm glow at his protectiveness.
Her warm glow dimmed an hour and a half later when the Mackenzie family’s London solicitor arrived.
Isabella knew Mr. Gordon well. He’d guided her first through the legal ramifications of her marriage to Mac and his settlements on her and then through the morass of issues involved in their separation. Mr. Gordon had advised her against divorce, which he explained was costly and difficult to achieve. It would involve Isabella accusing Mac of heinous behavior, and Mac defending himself in court in front of the world. Separations were less scandalous and less of a headache, and after all, Isabella wanted only to live in peace and comfort on her own. Mac would provide a full income to Isabella, and she could do as she liked. Mr. Gordon had been kind and patient during the turmoil, and Isabella would be forever grateful to him for that.
“Your ladyship.” Gordon bowed and shook her hand. Unlike the stereotype of the dried-up, rather elderly solicitor, Mr. Gordon was tall, round, and pink-faced, with an amiable smile. He was married and had five children as round and pink as he was.
“Mr. Gordon, how pleasant to see you. How is your family?”
While Mr. Gordon effused about his growing brood, Isabella led him to the front drawing room. They entered to find Mac on his hands and knees playing horsie with Aimee.
Isabella paused in the doorway to take in the sight. Mac was in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, his coat and watch chain safely out of the way. Aimee had her hands full of Mac’s hair, pulling him where she pleased as he galloped over the floor, Aimee squealing in delight.
“This must be the child in question,” Mr. Gordon said.
Mac gently tipped Aimee to the ground then lifted her high, making her squeal again. He settled her in the crook of his arm and turned to greet Gordon.
“In question?” Isabella asked. She bade Mr. Gordon sit down and took a seat herself on the sofa.
Mac perched on the sofa’s arm, still holding Aimee. “I’ve asked Gordon to come ’round and make the adoption official. I’ll become Aimee’s guardian until she’s of age.”
“You will?” Isabella asked. “I thought I was to be doing the adopting.”
“So I told Gordon, but he suggested it would be better for Aimee in the long run if I make her my legal ward, extending her the protection of the Mackenzie family. With you to raise her as you like and make all the crucial decisions of course.”
High-handed again, but Isabella warmed with relief. She’d half feared that Mac would view Aimee in a different light this morning—the daughter of the man who’d accosted Isabella—and want nothing more to do with her. Obviously not. Mac could separate the actions of the guilty from the lives of the innocent, which was another reason she loved him.
“Are you certain of all this, my lord?” Mr. Gordon asked. “Taking on guardianship of a child, especially a girl, carries a weight of responsibilities.”
Mac gave Gordon his careless shrug. “She’ll need someone to pay for her dresses and hats and ribbons and other fripperies. We’ll send her to Miss Pringle’s for finishing and give her a debut ball the like of which London has never seen.” He winked at Isabella. “And we’ll sternly forbid her to elope with any stray lordlings.”
“Very amusing,” Isabella said.
“I mean it. Her mother’s dead, poor sprite, and her father has abandoned her. Besides, her father is a villain. She’ll be much safer with us.”
That seemed to be enough for Gordon, but then, the man had always been fond of Mac and his brothers. He behaved more like a sympathetic uncle than a family lawyer.
“Aimee has obviously adopted you,” Isabella said, watching Aimee play contentedly with a button on Mac’s waistcoat.
“I did ask her, you know, what she thought about living with Uncle Mac and Aunt Isabella for the rest of her life. She approved.”