Permission granted, the room split into fifty various conversations as bodies stood to stretch stiff legs. The Duke ambled toward the dais and congratulated Squire Noble on his granddaughter’s exceptional performance. Lucy and Miss Radclyffe took the mayor’s words to heart as they strolled arm-in-arm down the center aisle to inspect the multitude of savory and sweet tidbits arrayed for the gathering’s consumption, Hugh at their heels.
The path mostly clear to Isabel—the Duchess proved a tenacious conversational partner—Percy approached, drawn to her light like a moth to the flame. Isabel’s eye met his and skittered away. It was like the sun peeking out from behind a black cloud long enough to fill the air with a warm glow, only to slip behind it, plunging the world back into the cold dark.
It was possible the analogy contained no small dollop of mawkish melodrama. Still, he couldn’t help feeling exactly so. She’d needled her way into his blood and down deep into the marrow of his bones.
All his earlier vows and self-castigations had fallen away the moment he’d caught his first glimpse of her tonight, wearing flowers in her hair and a newly remade dove gray dress trimmed with a short verdigris fringe that brought out the emeralds in her eyes.
There was no denying it: he was a man besotted. The race of his heart as he’d handed her up into the carriage. The intake of his breath as he’d sat beside her, filling his lungs with her sunshine and honeysuckle. He knew all the signs.
After how any days? Four? Or was it five? The number hardly signified. It was long enough to know her and want her. Really, this fall into mad, deep infatuation had been inevitable.
Yet it didn’t change what his mind knew and what his heart forgot with every moment spent with her: he could have these feelings, but never act on them.
Isabel deserved a better man.
Still, as her “husband,” wouldn’t it appear odd if he didn’t go to his “wife” and twine her arm through his and lean in to inhale deeply of her?
So, he did, producing a gratifying dusting of goose bumps along the elegant length of her neck.
The stream of the Duchess’s latest observation halted mid-flow, and one busy hand stopped spinning the oxidized silver ring set with a large cabochon emerald on her other. Wide, unsurprised eyes flashed back and forth between him and Isabel. “Well, I see it now.”
What it she spoke of was clear. He and Isabel positively vibrated with it.
Isabel tensed at his side. He wondered about that stiffness. A subtle shift in her attitude toward him had occurred since they broke their fast together this morning.
Then, her eyes had been unable not to cast shy glances his way. Her mouth had been unable not to tip up at the corners when his hand had brushed hers. He hadn’t bothered pretending the contact accidental. Instead, he’d thrown her a rakish smile, the one he’d tossed about so indiscriminately in his misspent youth, the one that never failed to draw a breathy exhalation from the opposite sex. That smile hadn’t failed him this morning when Isabel sighed and her eyes glazed over with desire.
Now, the Duchess with her busy, keen eye noticed Isabel’s sudden rigidity. “My dear, is one of your megrims attempting an encore? Shall we send for my special tonic? It could be here within the half hour.”
At the Duchess’s offer, Isabel blanched as if she’d already swallowed a tumbler full of the noxious substance. “Your offer is most generous, ma’am, but my head is quite well.”
“Sweeting,” Percy cut in, “I believe all you need is a turn about the room. Perhaps a peek at the stars?”
Grateful eyes met his. The sun had returned.
Before Percy could act on the words, a familiar form caught the edge of his vision.
Hortense.
Hair pulled back in a tight chignon and covered by a lace mob cap that managed to age her by a few decades, she was attired in the sort of respectable, drab brown that wasn’t likely to draw the curious, stray eye. She flashed him a quick cut of her gaze before disappearing through the exterior door that was open to let in cooling night air.
Her meaning was clear. He was to follow.
Which meant tearing himself away from Isabel, for if he was going to succeed in protecting her from Montfort, he must hear what Hortense had to say. The woman wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t uncovered vital information.
To protect Isabel, first, he would have to betray her. “On further consideration, the Duchess’s tonic could serve as a preventative, my love.”
My love. The endearment rolled off his tongue with disconcerting ease.
Isabel’s eyebrows drew together in distress, and her eyes flashed hot at his treachery. Her mouth opened to deliver what was sure to be a vociferous rebuttal, but before she could counter him, the Duchess took her by the hand. “Come with me, Isabel. We shall have you fixed up presently. You know what that Benjamin Franklin had to say. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”
As the Duchess led her away, Isabel cut Percy one last glance over her shoulder that was one part betrayal and two parts pleading, with a dash of pique thrown in. She wouldn’t be forgiving him anytime soon.
Later, he could make it up to her in a way she quite deliciously enjoyed . . .
He shook off the idea. Hadn’t he vowed to avoid any such future encounters? Yet, when he was with her, he had trouble remembering precisely why.
Outside, he spotted Hortense some distance away near the path that led to the riverbank. The instant she saw him, she disappeared down the trail. He didn’t see her again until he reached the village’s five-hundred-year-old stone bridge.
She stepped into the moonlight, and turquoise eyes shone up at him from beneath her ridiculous mob cap. It simply wasn’t a Hortense item to wear. “Well, Bretagne, you wanted Montfort’s attention. Now you most certainly have it,” she said by way of greeting.
“What have you learned?” he countered, ready as she to get this conversation underway.
“Answer me a question first. Are you a Whig or a Tory?”
“Neither. Can’t tolerate politicians. To the one, they suffer from an overinflated sense of their value in the world.”
Hortense nodded. Most involved in espionage echoed this view. Once politicians got involved in an operation, a spy’s work increased tenfold, if it wasn’t blown entirely to bits.
“You’ve heard the Tories recently secured their position in the general election?” she asked.