Page 41 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
She sighed and glanced at him. “I can’t see any way to hide my ownership ofThe London Crier, not from Drake and Louisa. They’re both as sharp as the proverbial tack. If we want their help—and I agree with Therese and Devlin’s assessment that consulting both Drake and Louisa would be the sensible thing to do—then I’ll need to be open with them.” She gestured vaguely. “It’s the only way.”
That she was prepared to risk all in pursuit of the killer could not have been clearer. Gray said, “From what I’ve gathered, Drake—and Louisa as well—must, of necessity, be very good at keeping other people’s secrets.”
“There is that.”
“With luck, nothing adverse will come of this meeting.”
She grimaced faintly. “I can only hope.”
The hackney bowled along the north side of Grosvenor Square, then slowed and pulled up outside Wolverstone House.
Izzy grasped Gray’s hand to step down from the hackney, waited while he paid the jarvey, then raised her skirts and climbed the steps to the imposing mansion’s front door.
Gray rang the bell. A magisterial butler opened the door and, when Gray gave their names, bowed them into the front hall, took their coats and hats, then conducted them to the drawing room.
Izzy had visited the house often enough over the years to feel entirely assured, yet for a disconcerting second as she crossed the tiled hall, she wasn’t sure which persona she should be projecting—Lady Isadora Descartes or Mrs. Molyneaux.
The point was clarified when the butler announced them as Lady Isadora Descartes and Lord Grayson Child, and she drew in a fortifying breath, and side by side, they moved into the room.
Louisa, who’d been sitting on one of the twin sofas, saw her, blinked, then all but sprang to her feet. “Isadora!” Louisa’s pale-green gaze flicked from Izzy to Gray and back again.
Izzy dipped her head. “Louisa.”
Drake had been standing with one arm resting on the mantelpiece; he straightened and, equally curious, came forward. “Isadora.”
She halted and inclined her head. “Drake.”
Drake’s gaze deflected to Gray. “Child.”
Gray held out his hand. “Please, just Gray.”
His lips lightly lifting, Drake shook hands. “Drake. I remember you from Eton—you were in Alverton’s year.”
Gray grinned. “For my sins.”
Releasing Gray’s hand, Drake turned to Louisa. “My wife, Louisa, although I expect you’ve met before.”
Gray grasped the hand Louisa offered. “Years ago. I believe you’d only just been presented when I left the country.”
Louisa nodded. “I think we met only once, at some ball.” She continued to glance back and forth between Izzy and Gray.
Drake also looked curiously at Izzy.
Calmly, Izzy caught Louisa’s eye and waited.
Recalled to her hostessly duties yet patently still burning with curiosity, Louisa waved at the other sofa. “Please, sit, and tell us what brings you here.”
Izzy walked to the sofa, sat, let her reticule fall to the cushion beside her, and started to pull off her gloves. As Gray sat beside her, she looked at the pair settling themselves on the sofa opposite. “Perhaps I should commence our revelations by explaining that I’m here in my role as proprietor ofThe London Crier.”
When dealing with powerful people, it helped to knock them off balance from the start.
Judging by the astonished looks both Drake and Louisa fixed on her, she’d achieved her objective.
“YouownThe London Crier?” Then Louisa’s expression cleared. “Well, of course you do—that explains so much! I’ve always wondered how they got their information. And your anecdotes are always so wickedly accurate.”
Izzy had to admit she enjoyed surprising Louisa, who was generally held to be all-knowing, at least as pertained to those in the ton.
But before Louisa could launch into the myriad questions clearly forming in her busy brain, Drake drily said, “With that now established, what brings you to our door?”
