The Widow's Auction by Sabrina Jeffries Page A

said during their night together, she had read his proposal for the boys’ school very carefully. And when she’d examined it through eyes unclouded by suspicion of his motives, she’d discovered it had far more merit than she’d given him credit for. The least she could do was support it now, though she’d have to present her change of heart in a way that wouldn’t rouse his suspicions.
    When she reached the top of the stairs, Phoebe was waiting for her. “What is going on?” her friend demanded. “I’ve been trying to see you for three days. I can’t believe you weren’t at home to me .”
    â€œI-I was busy, that’s all.”
    A knowing look spread over Phoebe’s face. “Aha! But busy with whom ? That’s the question.”
    â€œLower your voice, for pity’s sake,” Isobel hissed as she veered around her friend and headed purposefully down the hall. “Do you want to ruin me?”
    â€œI saw Lord Warbrooke win you at the Widows’ Auction,” Phoebe said as she hurried after her. “I only want to know if it was everything you expected. And what did he think when he found out it was you?”
    Isobel halted in her tracks. “I didn’t tell him. Do you think I’m insane?”
    â€œThat bad, was it?”
    â€œNo!” At Phoebe’s raised eyebrow, she colored. “No, it was as wonderful as you said it would be. But it could never work between me and Just–. . . Lord Warbrooke. He’s not interested in marriage, and I’m not interested in anything else.”
    â€œHe told you that?”
    â€œYes. Well, sort of.” She continued down the hall.
    â€œAh, but he didn’t know who you are. That might make a difference.”
    â€œIt wouldn’t,” she said feebly.
    â€œSo you’ve become a Gypsy fortune-teller, have you? Bella, if you don’t tell a man that you want him, how is he supposed to know? Especially when you take away his chance to decide by keeping your identity secret.”
    Isobel paused outside the closed door to the meeting room. “You don’t understand–”
    â€œOh, but I do. You’re a coward, Isobel Lamberton. You’ve finally found a man who suits you, but you’re afraid to risk your heart. It’s easier to go on with your plodding, lonely life than to take a chance on happiness. Well, you’re a fool if you choose being safe over being loved.”
    Then with a sniff, Phoebe opened the door to the meeting room and marched in to take her place at the table.
    Isobel stood in the doorway, Phoebe’s words resonating in her brain. Phoebe was right. She was a coward. But she couldn’t help it. She loved him so much she was afraid to be anything else. It would shatter her to have him admit he wanted only some sordid connection with her.
    Mustering her strength for the long meeting ahead, she donned her old regal faÇade and walked into the room. “Good day, gentlemen. I’m sorry for being late, but I had some pressing matters to attend to.”
    As she skirted the table, she could feel Justin’s eyes following her to her seat. Though that was nothing unusual, today it was different, at least for her. Because for the first time she wanted to meet his gaze boldly, to tell him who she was and how she felt.
    But she couldn’t take that chance.
    She reached her usual chair and pulled it out, then froze. Directly in the center was a glove. Her glove, the one she’d lost. And attached to it was a note that read only, “Is this yours, Lady Kingsley?” It was signed, “Lord Warbrooke.” Just that, and no other explanation.
    Her pulse beat madly as she stood there, unable to do anything but gape at it. God help her, he knew who she was! Did he mean to unmask her right now before the entire board? To reveal her immorality and ruin her? Would he do that?
    She forced herself to look up,