Page 18 of The Duke of Aces
The report Tom had received on the Malbury siblings expounded on their protective nature, but he hadn’t fully understood its depths until witnessing it. His chest constricted. Without the danger and shared association with the Crown, would Charlotte and he be as close? He would have liked to think so, but perhaps their age difference would have proved a challenge.
Charlotte’s eyebrows slanted down, forming a deep valley between her eyes. “I don’t believe so. I apologize. The romantic gesture rather enraptured me.” His sister’s hands balled into fists at her sides.
As an agent of the Crown, they were trained to always be on alert and not be distracted. The weak smile his sister gave him was like a stab in the heart. Here he was fawning over Isadora, while he had sent Charlotte to deal with Mansville for a second time. Damnation. He should have taken care of the loathsome man himself.
Tom flickered his gaze between Charlotte and Isadora. “All is well. If Lord Drake and Minerva had set tongues wagging, we would have already heard whispers.”
“Your Grace, I should like to return home,” Isadora replied.
The combination of worry upon Isadora’s features and Charlotte’s sad eyes had Tom ready to depart post haste. He winged his free arm to his sister, who stepped up to slip her arm through his. He escorted the two women toward the rows of awaiting footmen at the ready.
Halfway to their destination, Tom bent to speak to Isadora. “I promise no harm shall befall Minerva.”
“Your Grace, even you cannot make such guarantees. Minerva wishes to marry for love and for love alone. If it is discovered Minerva is alone with Drake, it will force them to marry, and it will all be my fault. I can’t let that happen.”
“Please, call me Tom.” The insensitive request slipped from his mouth. He should be reassuring her not demanding more of the woman. “I can assure you, I have the resources to suppress any harmful gossip that might befall your sister.”
“Why would you do that for Minerva?”
He glanced at Charlotte, who was doing a superb job of pretending not to be listening. Smiling and nodding at acquaintances as they passed, Tom turned his attention back to Isadora. “You have my promise. I’ll never let anyone harm you or your family.”
Isadora squeezed his arm. “Your Grace, you are avoiding the question.”
“And you continue to ignore my request to address me by my given name.”
“Very well. Tell me, Tom, why would you pledge such an oath to protect my family?”
He motioned for the ladies to proceed him and said, “Shall we postpone further discussion until we are comfortably seated in the carriage?”
Charlotte bobbed her head as consent, and Isadora’s furrowed brow relaxed. “Agreed.”
The women released him and stepped to the side. Tom approached the Avondale footman. “Have the coach brought around.”
“Right away, Your Grace.”
The footman dashed toward the long line of black lacquered vehicles. Having won the race and the wager, the duke should feel triumphant. Instead, he wished he’d lost merely to see Isadora happy again. Her shoulders were tense and the brightness in her eyes was replaced with worry. They waited in silence. Charlotte prompted him to say something, anything, but their code was limited to actions, not words of comfort. The ducal coach approached and stopped in front of them. Charlotte stepped forward to enter first.
Before Isadora followed, Tom reached out to brush the back of Isadora’s hand that clasped her skirts tightly. “Is it Minerva’s welfare that has you quiet as a mouse?”
“Partially. I know Minerva can manage Drake on her own.” The faint lines about Isadora’s eyes and at the corners of her lips clearly indicated she was worried. What other matter was causing her such unhappiness?
At a loss for words, he scanned the area for prying eyes. With no one in sight, Tom stepped closer and wrapped her up in his arms. Eyes locked on each other, they simply breathed in and out. After a moment, she relaxed in his embrace and he asked, “What is it that’s bothering you, pet?”
She leaned back to peer up at him. “I lost the wager.” Her chin dipped back down, and she stared at his cravat. Barely louder than a whisper, she continued, “I wanted… I’d hoped… Oh, blast, what I’m trying to tell you is that I rarely find myself in this position, and apparently, I’m not a gracious loser. A dreadful knot has settled in my stomach, and the ache has me feeling nauseous.”
He relaxed his hold on her. “How about we agree that the first of our four outings shall be to attend Lady Thornston’s soiree?”
She surprised him by wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her delightful form to him. “You are a most gracious winner.”
Tom wrestled with his guilt. He wasn’t really a gracious winner. He was merely ensuring his plan was moving forward. Escorting Isadora to the soiree would be deemed a declaration of his intent to court her, and once he trounced her at Rum, they could settle the matter of who would occupy Wembly Hall. His decision to grant her wish had nothing to do with his desire to make her happy. Nothing. Lies.
Tom released Isadora and took a step back, and immediately regretted the space he placed between them. Having her close to him was fast becoming an overwhelming necessity. He assisted Isadora up into the carriage and hopped in, taking the seat facing both his sister and the woman his heart was melting for.
How was he to keep his hands off Isadora for an entire Season? Six bloody months was a long time. His skin tingled at the memory of her body. Tom shifted in his seat, spreading his legs to twirl his hat between his knees, all in the hope Isadora didn’t notice his precarious state of arousal.
Tom searched his memory for intel on his host for the game that may seal the fate of Wembly Hall. Drawing a blank he said, “I don’t believe I’ve attended one of Lady Thornston’s events in the past.”
His comment drew his sister’s attention. “That is because you’ve never received an invitation.”
