Dante sharing what brings him to Oregon, for instance. It’s a question I’d also like answered, but the man stays infuriatingly silent.
Mostly. He’s murmuring some sing-song words in Dovlanese as he rubs the rabbit’s ears. It takes me a moment to recognize the lyrics of a traditional children’s lullaby.
Baby, baby, darling baby, time is fleeing faster than a wild badger.
I swear it sounds lovelier in my native tongue. Did the song spring to Dante’s mind because it’s a common song for children, or is it meant as a message for me? I don’t dare look at Bradley for fear my face will give something away.
“So you and Izzy know each other, right?” It’s Sean speaking this time, though he’s distracted by the baby. “Mark said something about you working with the royal family?”
I dare a glance at Mark, whose expression is masked behind the big beard. I can’t tell if he’s smiling or frowning, and his eyes hold no clues. I wouldn’t put it past him to have Austin run a background check on Dante, though I’m doubtful they’d find much.
This time when Dante looks up, he holds my gaze for a few beats before answering Sean. “That’s right.”
“Okay, give us some dirt on Izzy.” Jon throws me a wink. “She’s always so proper, but I know she’s got a badass streak buried in there. Ask her about the time she dragged me into a public bathroom to read me the riot act.”
“I did no such thing.” I draw myself up straighter. “I simply saw you were floundering in your conversation with Blanka and wanted to make certain you didn’t lose sight of the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“And I’m grateful.” Jon grins at Dante. “Seriously, man—I’m guessing you’ve seen her in action.”
Dante holds my brother’s gaze for an uncomfortably long stretch of time. Even James starts shifting in his seat, his brow furrowed as the men await a response. I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t say something horrid. That he doesn’t ruin everything with a few careless words. Maybe I should take the baby and just—
“Yeah.” Dante clears his throat and it sounds like gunfire. “There’s this one time Isabella got angry. She was fourteen, maybe fifteen, and some boy wouldn’t leave her alone. A damn viscount or something. At least five years older than her and an entitled piece of shit.”
My gaze flicks to Mark, who is too engrossed in the story to mention the cursing. I glance at the other men—James, Austin, Jon, Sean, Brandon—and see they’re hanging on Dante’s every word.
I’m listening as well, though I’m not sure where this story’s going. I remember the viscount, but not this particular tale.
“Duchess Francesca,” he continues. “That’s Isabella’s mother. She instructed her to ignore it. That the boy came from a prominent family. You know how it is.”
I’m not sure they do, though it’s possible. Some of these men grew up attending elite boarding schools. Perhaps it’s similar.
“Law school was full of douchebags like that.” James flicks a glance at Mark. “D-bags like that.”
Mark gives a grudging nod, but doesn’t take his eyes off Dante. I dare a glance at Bradley and see he’s watching me instead. Heat rushes down my arms, and I fight back memories of his hands on my breasts, his tongue moving between my—
“Anyway,” Dante continues, “the little prick cornered her in the rose garden. I was close by, but not too close. Don’t think she knew I was there.”
I shake my head mutely, dumbfounded to realize where he’s going with this story. “He grabbed me,” I say. “The viscount. If he hadn’t, I never would have pushed him into my mother’s rose bush.”
Dante nods, and I could swear there’s a glint of respect in his cold blue eyes. He holds my gaze a few seconds before continuing. “By the time I got there, Her Ladyship was long gone. Took an hour to pull the little asshole out of the thorns.”
Sean laughs. “I’m guessing you weren’t in any hurry to make it happen.”
One edge of Dante’s mouth twitches. “He may have fallen in a few more times.”
He also may have vanished from the royal court not long afterward. Another memory hits me, a conversation I overheard between my father and the young viscount’s father.
“We think it would be best if you refrained from visiting the palace again in the future,” the Duke said stiffly from within his study. “If you return again with Viscount Archibald, I will not be held accountable