"Christ's righteous toes!" Isabella cursed under her breath, stopping dead in her tracks.
Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be her? And why now, when Isabella was covered in mud and exhausted from a long day of helping the community?
Lady Harcourt looked completely out of place in her pristine emerald gown among the crowds of displaced villagers. Her hair was perfectly arranged, her face painted with just the right amount of powder, and she wore that infuriating smile that made Isabella want to throw something at her.
Isabella's hands clenched into fists at her sides. Their last encounter was still fresh in her mind. The ball, the trap, that horrible moment when Lord Julian had almost done the unthinkable. And now this woman had the nerve to show up at her home?
Taking a deep breath, Isabella straightened her shoulders and marched forward. If anyone needed to feel uncomfortable, it should be the lady not her, besides this was her territory.
