Page 12 of The Duke of Aces
As Tom turned to retrieve the ladies, the reality of his promise hit him hard. Was he being honest with himself? Was a marriage of convenience what he truly desired?
All thoughts and doubts fled his mind as Lady Isadora appeared. Her long strides had her dark blue, almost black, cloak gaping in the center, revealing a light pink dress. The woman’s beauty had him forgetting to breathe.
“You’re late,” Lady Isadora said as she walked by him. Chin held high, she continued on to the coach.
Close on her heels, Lady Minerva winked at Tom as she, too, strode by and murmured a quick, “Your Grace.”
He assisted the ladies up into the coach and then jumped in to occupy the rear-facing seat alone. Facing the three women, he decided it best to remain silent unless called upon for the remainder of the ride to Fulham.
Chapter Six
Flanked by Minervaon one side and Charlotte on the other, Isadora ignored His Grace, who was close behind them, and walked through the crowd of spectators whose energy was infectious. After the stifling coach ride to the race, she was glad to be outdoors. Fresh air, the scent of hay, and an array of pleasantly dressed men and women about lifted Isadora’s spirits and nearly obliterated her worries as to what had prompted the Duke of Avondale to intently observe her as if she were a new specimen at the Royal Menagerie.
Isadora flickered her gaze between Minerva and Lady Charlotte, who were keenly scanning the crowd. A sense of calmness and security rolled through Isadora. She smiled at Lady Charlotte, who returned the gesture. A kinship of sisterhood that Isadora shared with all the members of the Wicked Ladies Salon was quickly forming with Lady Charlotte.
Minerva leaned closer and said, “You should approve Lady Charlotte’s application.”
Minerva’s comment did not surprise Isadora. Her sister always had the uncanny ability to read her thoughts. “Why the endorsement?”
Her sister glanced over her shoulder, probably to check to see how close the Duke of Avondale remained. Apparently satisfied she wouldn’t be overheard, Minerva answered. “She masks her extreme intelligence with precision and art that rarely occurs at her tender age of eighteen. Her vocabulary, riddled with double entendres, was highly entertaining. I’m certain you, too, would have noticed had you been paying attention to Lady Charlotte and not her brother during our hour-long journey.”
The happiness that filled Isadora at being able to freely discuss matters with Minerva once more quickly dissipated at her sister’s insinuation that she had been as preoccupied with the duke as he had been with her. “I heard every word Lady Charlotte uttered. Every word.”
“Mayhap, however, you were not listening.” Minerva linked her arm through Isadora’s and brought her closer.
Her sister never acted without purpose. Isadora examined their surroundings, looking for Minerva’s nemesis, Lord Mansville, or one of his cronies. She continued to search for a threat until she heard Lord Drake’s familiar voice from behind, “Hey ho, is that Lady Minerva and Lady Isadora I spy?”
Drat. What was Drake doing here?
Lord Drake, neighbor and longtime best friend to her eldest brother.
Isadora twirled to shield Minerva from the man who had broken her sister’s heart many a time over. “Drake, what a pleasant surprise.” The man that Isadora had once hoped for as a brother wasn’t due to arrive in Town for another two weeks. She should be beholden to Drake, for it was he that unintentionally had assisted Isadora to convince Minerva to leave for London early. Her sister had specifically rearranged their departure to ensure it didn’t coincide with Drake’s. Benedict. Blast—her eldest brother and his meddling ways. Benedict probably sent his best friend to keep a watch on them while he lingered in the country with his new bride.
The skin on the back of her neck prickled as Avondale took a step closer to stand next to her, fully barricading Drake from Minerva. “Lord Drake.”
Instead of taking a half step away from the Duke of Avondale as she normally would, she fought the urge to sidle up to the man. Isadora held her position and glanced at Drake, then at His Grace. It wasn’t simple recognition that flared between the two; there was a hint of defiance on Drake’s part. What the blazes was going on here?
Her intuition screamed at her to pay closer attention to the duke than to her neighbor and lifelong friend. But every time Isadora focused on the Duke of Avondale, her mind went blank, and her body ached to get closer to him. It left her in a perpetual state of confusion, which she did not care for at all.
Drake finally nodded. “Your Grace.” Drake’s posture remained relaxed. “Isadora, I wasn’t aware you and your sister intended to attend today’s races.” He presented His Grace and her with a semi-smirk that was his hallmark.
Before replying, Isadora glanced to her left to discover Avondale was openly frowning at Drake. Drake was well-liked by the majority of thetonand rarely garnered such a reaction. Avondale’s frosty stare was quite refreshing, however not knowing what the reason was for the odd look between the two gentlemen, Isadora shifted her focus back to Drake and said, “His Grace extended an offer to escort us, and you know how much I love horses, we simply couldn’t decline.”
Tilting his head to the left to peer behind them, Drake’s features transformed to mirror Avondale’s. He was clearly displeased with whatever was going on behind Isadora. “Excuse me, it appears Lord Mansville and his cronies have arrived. I must go.”
Isadora spun around to find that Minerva and Lady Charlotte were no longer in sight, and Mansville, her sister’s tormentor, was indeed ambling through the crowd.
Avondale reached for Isadora’s hand and threaded her arm through his and turned them toward the stables, away from Drake and the others. “Don’t worry. Charlotte will ensure no harm will come to your sister, and if Drake is as capable as I hope, he should manage to dispatch Lord Mansville.”
She wasn’t as worried about Minerva at present as she was about her body’s reaction to His Grace’s closeness. Isadora knew her sister was quite capable of defending herself. Minerva hadn’t gained the moniker of Ice Queen without provocation. No, Isadora was more concerned at the curiosity coursing through her. Why did this man’s touch make her body come to life rather than rebel? Unexpectedly, her fingers tightened about his arm. His muscled upper arm.
What were they discussing? Oh yes, their sisters. Refocused, Isadora asked, “Charlotte? Your sweet amenable sister?”
“Aye, and I can assure you she’s not that sweet nor as biddable as everyone seems to believe.” Avondale’s lips curved into a smile that held the promise of secrets.
Secrets were every Malbury’s Achilles heel.
She peered up at His Grace. Kind intelligent eyes. A straight nose that reminded her of the Elgin Marbles. And lips, lips that made her want to experience her first kiss. Heat flooded her cheeks. Why did her mind continue to stray?
