Page 3 of A Dangerous Little Scandal

“I see,” she said evenly, her lips quirking at his humor. She decided that he cut a fine figure with his white hose that showcased his muscular calves, and the purple and gold velvet doubletthat made his shoulders look impossibly broad. The round cap that matched his simple, black mask completed the ensemble.

“Can you try to guess who I am this evening?” he asked.

She thought for a moment and then said, “If I had to wager a guess… Henry VIII?”

He laughed. “Bravo, my lady. Indeed, you are quite right. Although the decision wasn’t mine, but that of my niece.”

“Ah, yes. Lady Portia. She seems a delightful young lady.”

“Astute and a good memory,” he returned in a husky murmur. “Is there anything you can’t do, Lady Isadora?”

“You might be surprised,” she murmured. Hoping to change the subject, she held out part of her dress and added, “Can you dare to guess who I might be?”

He sighed heavily. “Forgive me, but I daresay I’m not nearly as perceptive as you are.” He put a hand over his heart. “You will have to put me out of my abject misery and reveal the secret.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “There’s no need for such theatrics. However, you might be surprised to learn that our costumes are aligned this evening. I am representing Lady Margaret Pole, the Countess of Salisbury. She was such a focus when it came to rebellion that King Henry—you—executed her—me.”

She pointed at him, and then herself, to ensure that she got her point across.

“Oh, dear.” He winced. “Suddenly I feel very foolish. And entirely overdressed.”

She waved a hand. “Don’t concern yourself on my account. As you can see my head is completely intact.”

“Indeed. And a very nice one it is.”

Isa stilled at the compliment. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought that he was flirting with her. It was ridiculous, of course, because there was no need to act as though he felt anything more than a passing acquaintance. It wasn’t as if he had to pretend to be interested in her any longer.

She dipped into another curtsy, abruptly discontented. “If you will pardon me, my lord. I should like to visit the refreshment table.”

He bowed. “Only if you will save me a dance later this evening.”

She smiled tightly. “Of course.”

She turned in a swish of skirts as she clenched her hands into apprehensive fists.

Chapter Two

Isadora downed her punch, hoping that someone might have laced it with brandy. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anything more than a watered-down version similar to what Almack’s boasted. She would have preferred to have the fortification to face Lord Osgood later, but perhaps she wouldn’t have to worry about a dance if she found her attention diverted in the card room. While it wasn’t commonplace for ladies to enter a gentleman’s domain, she wasn’t above doing so if it meant getting what she wanted.

She left the ballroom and headed down the hall to a room that was filled with raucous laughter. She opened the door on a fog of smoke that threatened to burn her eyes and glanced about at those gathered around the makeshift gaming hell.

For a moment, activity ceased as all eyes turned to her. With a coy grin, Isa removed her mask and looked at each table in turn. “Anyone have room for one more?”

They all glanced around, and then one man held up his hand in invitation. “We would be glad to rid you of your blunt, Lady Isadora.”

Her lips curved upward when she spied Sir James Graham. Hewas just the man she had been hoping to gain an audience with this evening. If it came to pass that she lost a few guineas it would be worth it just to engage his interest, as there was a particular matter that she wished to discuss with him.

As she settled herself in the empty chair, she glanced around at the three other middle-aged men seated around her. They were all particular men of significance to her.

“What are we playing, gentlemen?” she asked when the cards were dealt.

“Three-handed whist,” came the Scottish brogue from Sir James Mackintosh.

Isadora gathered her cards and fanned them out before her. “Ah, the lovely Widow,” she teased, referring to the nickname given to this particular hand. “I hope that wasn’t on my account, as I’ve never been married.”

Basil Montagu, the barrister in the group, gave a chuckle. “And what a shame that some young man hasn’t yet taken the opportunity to snap you up.”

She reached into her reticule and tossed down a few shillings in the middle of the table, and the game began. “I daresay I’m quite content on my own. At least that way, I know that whatever decision I make can’t be blamed on someone other than myself. Truly, I’m doing the prospective suitors of London a great service when it comes to preferring my independence.”

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