Page 14 of The Duke of Aces
Lady Isadora was in her element and appeared totally unaffected by his attention. He attributed her disinterest to her being a member of the Wicked Ladies Salon, given that the primary requirement for membership was to remain unwed. Blast and damnation. How had the existence and the activities of such a group remained hidden all these years?
He inhaled and glanced at the woman on his arm. His entire body relaxed, and his agitation dissipated like water on a hot plate. The more he discovered about Lady Isadora, the more intrigued he became. Her secret should be a deterrent, yet it had the opposite effect upon him. If he was to convince her to wed, he must first find out why she chose to become a member of the exclusive Salon. He needed more time with her. The idea of a secondary wager to gain him a dance at Lowrington’s ball had stemmed from a primal wish to have her in his arms, but it would also prove to be a stroke of genius if he was able to simultaneously gain the information he needed to further his pursuit of Lady Isadora.
She dropped her hand from his arm and stepped closer to the horse pen. Her gaze was fixed on the prime horseflesh. “I shall back the Arabian to win.”
Would she dare to reach out to stroke the beast? It would be highly unorthodox, yet exactly what he’d expect from a lady who was a member of a club named the Wicked Ladies. His gaze flickered from beast to woman. Lady Isadora’s gloved fingers clamped about the wood railing, and to the untrained eye, might appear relaxed and enthralled with the horse before her. But the almost undetectable quick inhale of breath had him turning to face her. “Are you certain you wish to wager on this one?”
She turned and faced him directly. “Aye. He’s a beauty.”
Tom glanced at the horse, then promptly searched the rest of the stalls for a thoroughbred. None were within sight. However, as luck may have it, he did spy a slightly older quarter horse being brushed down and readied. “I shall place my wager on the old gray over there.”
She stepped back to gain a better view. “Ah, he is a marvelous creature. It shall be a close race indeed.” Lady Isadora scanned their surroundings.
With a few gentlemen lingering within sight, Lady Isadora’s shoulders slumped. It was obvious she wished for privacy—but why?
“Come closer.” Tom turned sideways, providing her with a shield. Her gaze lingered on the men milling about two stalls down. The moment he gave up hope she would acquiesce to his command, Lady Isadora folded her skirts, reducing her silhouette, and stepped up close to him. Her arm brushed against his chest and warmth radiated from the spot where she made contact with him. She had a peculiar effect upon him, which was hard to ignore. “Tell me what it is you want.”
“I wish to ride him.”
It was an innocent response from a well-bred lady. Yet, the breathiness of Lady Isadora’s voice combined with the distinct longing tone of her response had Tom swallowing hard and banishing the image of Lady Isadora naked and straddling him in his bed. His days of being haunted by sexual fantasies were in the past. He was no longer driven by lust and carnal desires. His mind had mastered the art of control.
Tipping her chin up with his forefinger, Tom searched Lady Isadora’s eyes. “If he should win the race, I shall have it arranged.”
A devilish twinkle appeared in her eyes. She released her skirts and pressed both gloved hands flat against his chest. His skin burned beneath the layers of material that separated them. Lady Isadora lowered her right palm to cover his heart. She tapped her right forefinger to mimic the accelerated rate of his heartbeat. “You’re not nervous that Lady Luck shall favor me instead of you today, are you?”
“Not in the least.” His lips curled into a grin at her look of disbelief.
Here he believed he was the one in control of the situation, but the minx proved it was she who was in full control of the situation and him. His spine stiffened at the sound of footsteps from behind.
Lady Isadora took a large step backward. “Wait and see, Your Grace, the Arabian shall win, and I shall hold you to your promise.”
*
The thin rayof sunlight that peeked through the rafters bounced off the diamonds in Minerva’s blonde coiffure. Her sister’s arrival couldn’t have been better timed in Isadora’s opinion. Bending at the knees to remain in the duke’s shadow, Isadora flipped open her fan and brought it up to mask her smile. Exhilarated at her newfound boldness and ability to touch another without her stomach revolting at the action, Isadora fluttered the fan in front of her. Verbally sparring with Avondale was entertaining but having the man’s warm hard muscles flex beneath her palms sent a million sparks through her body. It was both terrifying and liberating all at the same time. Every encounter with the man unlocked another mystery her sisters had warned her about yet failed to explain.
Isadora peered around Avondale. Lady Charlotte waved while Minerva walked sedately next to the girl whose curls bounced like a spring on a carriage. The tension in Isadora’s chest eased. Her sister’s tormentors were not easily dispatched, yet both Minerva and Lady Charlotte appeared in good spirits.
“I believe I might have misjudged your sister,” Isadora offered.
“Easy to do. She’s a chameleon.” Avondale turned to greet their returning party. “Sister, did you have fun exploring?”
Lady Charlotte nodded and peered up at her brother. “Indeed, I did.” Despite the height difference, there was no doubt the pair were siblings. “I located a wonderful sweets vendor to the northwest.”
Minerva’s left eyebrow twitched. It was a signal the Malbury sisters used to communicate among themselves, indicating the speaker was lying.
Lady Charlotte looked up at her brother like he was a god. No one, not even the best actress on Dury Lane, could feign adoration like that. Avondale extended his arm for his sister, and they turned in unison toward the exit. The exchange had Isadora’s concern about whether or not Lady Charlotte was capable of keeping a secret from her brother resurfacing. Isadora imagined it would be difficult for any woman to deny the Duke of Avondale the truth.
Isadora stepped up next to Minerva, who promptly elbowed her in the ribs. “I can’t decipher their code, but their nonverbal cues are far superior to ours.”
She watched the pair carefully, and they followed the Avondale siblings toward the exit. “Are you certain? All I see is a little sister fawning over her big brother.”
“Have you ever once thought of looking at Benedict like that?”
Why would Minerva ask such a question? Isadora stared straight ahead and responded, “Of course not.” Their eldest brother wasn’t a charming duke. A man with dark mysterious eyes. Oh…Lady Charlotte was good, she mirrored emotions that others might wish to see disguising her true intentions and actions.
If Minerva was correct, then Isadora would have no fears in extending the one and only official invitation to Lady Charlotte to join the Wicked Ladies Salon. They invited only one new member to join their ranks each Season. On Lady Charlotte’s application, she had stated her marital prospects were limited due to her overprotective brother. Observing the pair in front of her, Isadora suspected Lady Charlotte had only provided half the reason for her desire to remain unwed.
Minerva leaned closer. “I know that look, dear sister, and whatever suspicions you might be formulating, cease.”
