Page 3 of The Duke of Aces
Katherine’s eyes widened. “Of course. If not for Lady Charlotte, who else would Sutherland be looking out for?”
“Mayhap the girl’s brother. The Duke of Avondale.”
“Many find it rather hard to say no to His Grace.” Katherine rubbed her lower back. “I can’t imagine why you would suggest that Avondale would wish for his sister to become involved with the Wicked Ladies Salon.”
Her suspicion stemmed from pure conjecture. A belief formed solely based on the brief and few interactions she had had with the man while attending his summer house party.
Katherine’s brows creased into a frown as she brought her hand to rest on her hip. It appeared to Isadora that pregnancy was rather uncomfortable—yet another sound reason not to wed. It was no wonder pregnant women were banished to the countryside, for if debutantes witnessed such discomfort, who in their right mind would willingly place themselves on the marriage mart?
Katherine sighed and, with dreamy eyes, said, “His Grace is rather dashing, and his moniker, the Duke of Aces, makes him sound rather intriguing. Sutherland says the man has Lady Luck sitting upon his shoulder, and only a gull would wager against the duke.”
“His Grace is an overbearing peacock.” Isadora placed her empty glass upon the tray of a passing footman and turned to face Katherine. “My apologies. Peacocks are actually quite lovely creatures.”
Katherine grinned. “Don’t be shy. Go on…tell me what you really think of the man.”
Trusting Katherine not to repeat a word to her new husband, Isadora continued. “His Grace was a most gracious host by refraining from making an appearance for the majority of the house party. However, when he deigned to join his guests, he exhibited an extremely high opinion of himself and was…was rather…”
Katherine chuckled. “Pompous. High-handed. Domineering…”
“Exactly!” Isadora sighed with relief. It was no surprise that Katherine fully comprehended. They often shared similar opinions on matters.
“I could go on and on, but since we are of the same mind, there is no need. It will not be without risk should you decide to grant Lady Charlotte membership. Now that she knows of our existence, there is also the risk of denying her application.”
“And this is the quandary I find myself in. Do I trust Lady Charlotte to remain loyal to the Wicked Ladies Salon and uphold her oath to never tell, or will Avondale extract the truth from his sister and attempt to disband the group?” It was a conundrum that had Isadora lying awake many a night, thinking about His Grace and what he might do.
Yes, she had lost many hours of sleep pondering over the duke. She wished she could claim all her thoughts had been wholesome, except she couldn’t. While she slept, her mind pictured him holding her close, waltzing with her at a ball, or embracing her and kissing her in a secluded alcove. Not that the man had even come within arm’s length of her the entire duration of her stay at Avondale’s country estate.
Katherine wrapped her in a hug. “Either way, I fully trust you shall make the correct decision.” Her mentor released her and made her way toward the doors, signaling that it was time for everyone to disband and go home for the eve.
Why Katherine had placed so much faith in her, Isadora would never understand. But she had silently promised to do her best to ensure the members would have a wicked time this Season, and that it be remembered as one of the finest Seasons the women would ever partake in. She couldn’t fail.
Her first challenge was to secure the location for their events. Wembly Hall had been home to the Wicked Ladies Salon meetings for years. It was perfectly located on the fringe of Mayfair, easily accessible and safe for the members to venture to unescorted. It would be ideal if she could continue to uphold tradition and continue to host their events at the worn but familiar location.
She made a mental note to seek out Mr. Wembley as soon as possible. She’d never met with a merchant before, let alone to discuss a lease for a building. Isadora’s hand trembled with nerves and excitement. She was going to negotiate her first business transaction!
Marching toward the foyer, she smiled and bid her friends farewell. She needed to return home immediately, for there was much to do before the Season officially began in two weeks. It was going to be a Season of firsts. A Season she’d never forget.
Chapter Two
Seated across fromWarren Dowling, the Viscount of Guernsey, his longtime friend from university, Thomas Grandstone, the Duke of Avondale swirled the light amber liquid in his tumbler. Previously, a round of cards at his friend’s small but cozy study had lacked the same appeal as trouncing the man at a club. What had changed? He had, and it was all because of a woman.
Tom stared down at the swill that typically eased his mind and blinked. The image of Lady Isadora Malbury momentarily disappeared from his vision, only to return in a heartbeat. He had been a fool not to have noticed her last Season during her debut. Albeit he hadn’t been on the hunt for a wife at the time. Regardless, as a seasoned spy, he should have noticed the stunning intelligence that shone in the lady’s green eyes.
The two weeks Lady Isadora had resided under his roof this summer had been the truest test of his willpower. He had remained distant as he observed and assessed Lady Isadora’s character, all the while combatting his increasing desire to discover what it would be like to have her close. He feared if he based his decision as to whom he should marry on pure physical attraction, he would be bound to a life of lies and deceit. He needed a woman who he could trust to keep his affiliation with the Foreign Office a secret.
Lady Isadora’s cool, composed demeanor was refreshing. Not once did she bat her eyelashes at him or venture close enough for her to playfully swat his arm with her hand or her fan. No, Lady Isadora had firmly established her preference for distance, which would make her the ideal wife. He had deliberated for many hours over the need to marry this Season, and now that he had decided, there was only one woman who came to mind—her.
His natural desire for freedom and vice was tempered by the mere thought of the woman. His hope was he had not misjudged Lady Isadora and that she would prove to be the strong, resilient woman he had observed during her stay at his country estate. It would be imperative, for he led a complex and multifaceted life that required him to keep each aspect of his existence compartmentalized. His duties to the Crown must remain hidden from the masses. Upholding his family’s reputation as being honorable, fair, and caring landowners was nonnegotiable. Partaking in the occasional card game and executing gentlemanly dares were a reward for his good behavior. But what of a wife? He would have to keep her, too, separate from his other activities.
Tom set his drink down on the polished wood table that was of the same light-warm brown tones as Lady Isadora’s hair. Bah. It was pure fancifulness to liken the color of the furniture to a woman’s tresses. He shook his head and picked up the cards Guernsey had dealt him and skillfully fanned the cards in one hand. Two aces and an array of face cards. Faro was a game of mathematical odds, not luck, which is exactly why Tom won the majority of hands. When required, he could exercise extreme patience and had a sharp mind for calculations. After arranging his hand to his liking, Tom set his hand back down and scanned Guernsey’s study once more. There was a slight chill in the air despite the lack of square footage in the room and the fire roaring in the corner. He peered at the velvet curtains, but they remained unmoving. Something was amiss, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
Guernsey fell back into his chair and picked up his tumbler. “While I was at White’s earlier, I overheard a rather interesting tidbit.”
Tom simply arched an eyebrow. He cared naught for gossip or idle chatter.
Guernsey emptied his glass and said, “Wembly Hall remains available to let for the Season.”
Now that was interesting news.
