Chapter Nineteen
July 28, 1818
“No, not that jacket, Vincent. The charcoal gray one,” Royce instructed his valet that evening. “I want to look my best for the lady.” He waggled his eyebrows when the other man looked at him with questions. “I intend to propose tonight.”
“Ah, then I shall make certain you look the part of a hopeful suitor.” Vincent whisked the bottle green jacket back into the clothes press and then soon returned with the requested charcoal one. “Let’s have a look, then.”
Royce slipped his arms into the sleeves of the exquisitely tailored garment. He grunted when the valet smoothed it over his shoulders. While peering critically at his reflection in the cheval glass, he did up the silver and mother-of-pearl buttons. “It goes well with the black cravat, yes?”
“Yes, but it would have gone even better had you let me dye a few shirts black too.”
“There wasn’t time.” Speaking of which… He glanced at the carriage-style clock that sat on top of a bureau in the dressing room. Quarter to nine o’clock. Isobel’s note said to meet her at the inspector’s townhouse on the hour. “I need to go.” Grabbing his black gloves from a table, he headed toward the door.
“Uh, Your Lordship, won’t you be wanting this?” Vincent held up a small, black ring box. When he flipped it open, a yellow diamond winked in the candlelight.
“As much as I would adore seeing that on my lady’s finger, I fear she’s not much impressed with gems and jewels.” He patted the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. “I think she’ll prefer this one instead.”
“Hope springs eternal, my lord.” The valet closed the ring box and replaced it in a drawer in the clothes press.
“Indeed, it does.” Royce rested a hand on the door handle. “If all goes well, I shall see you in the morning. If it doesn’t, I’ll return within the hour.”
One never knew if Isobel’s storm hadn’t yet blown itself out.
*
By the timeInspector Storme’s butler showed Royce into an elegantly appointed parlor done in pleasing shades of cream and green, he had no idea what to expect. He’d assumed Isobel would still be in bed, resting, but of course she would go against the advice of her doctor. Stubborn woman. Two globe-shared gaslights flickered on one wall while a couple of candles in silver holders glimmered on small, ivory-inlaid tables that flanked a low sofa. There, lounging on the brocade cushions was where the lady had decided to hold court.
And there was no chance of him ignoring her.
“Isobel.”
She reposed in an evening gown made of ivory silk so thin it was almost sheer—had she also dampened the skirting?—complete with a sheer overskirt that twinkled with golden embroidery. The low bodice and shoulders of the gown were trimmed in some sort of ivory gauze that drew his gaze to the tops of her breasts. The bruises on her arms did nothing to distract from her scandalously tempting image. Gone was the bandage from her head. Her glorious dark brown hair flowed down her back with the sides held up with golden combs. Gold embroidered slippers completed the picture, and he couldn’t take his focus from her.
“You resemble a Greek goddess.”
“That was my intent. I wanted you to think back to that poetry reading when we first decided to begin our affair, when I read those erotic verses.”
“And you first captured my notice.” He could only wonder why, for she largely remained a mystery to him. The soft click of the door being closed behind him jolted Royce from his silence. Did her family encourage this meeting, or did they not know of it? His throat suddenly tight, he cleared it and came further into the room, pausing at the edge of an Aubusson carpet in the same soothing green palette of the room. “Where is your brother?”
From somewhere within the bowels of the house, frantic barking from Ivan drifted through the air. Obviously, she’d also planned to have one of the servants watch the exuberant Corgi for this evening and the canine wasn’t taking the news well.
“I believe he took Fanny to have dinner with Cousin Andrew and Sarah.” She shifted her position to cross her legs at the knee, and her skirting rose up her calf. Like the other day, the only flash of color in her ensemble was the ruby ring on her right hand. “But then, you didn’t come here to see them, did you?”
“No.” The word sailed out, breathless. What the devil happened to all the words he’d wished to say? Suddenly, he felt at sixes and sevens much like he had the night they’d met on the shore of the Serpentine River. He waited, almost frozen to the spot, merely to see what Isobel would do next. The fascination he’d originally been caught with hadn’t faded over the weeks. Oh, no. If anything, he was even more hooked and only needed for her to reel him in.
“Ah.” Her grin held an edge of wickedness that went straight to his stones. “What did you come for, Doctor? Or should I call you Worchester?” Slowly, oh so incredibly slowly, she rose from the sofa, and once she was fully standing, the whole of her form was on display… and the gown was every bit as transparent as he’d thought, especially when she moved in front of a candle.
“At this moment, Royce will suffice. I’d rather not bow to ceremony just now.” His voice was graveled with the myriad of emotions that bounced through him.
“Why don’t you come closer so we can finish our talk from yesterday?” She gestured toward a matching chair near her vacated sofa, and every tiny movement had the folds of her gown clinging to various curves on her person. “Or does the cat have your tongue?”
He shook his head, determined not to let her waylay his purpose with her wiles. “I’m happy to do so, but it would be best if you’d cover yourself with a blanket. The last thing I want is for the inspector to swoop down on me and call me out for this latest scheme of yours.”
“You worry too much.” The huskiness of her laughter washed over him, and he stumbled toward her a few more steps as if she were a siren. “William is well aware that I’ve invited you here tonight. As for the scandal, well it’s not as if I need to guard my maidenhead.” She laughed again, and he was nearly lost to the sound.
“How does your head feel?” Royce finally blurted out, for what sort of physician was he if he didn’t ask after the health of his patient?
Some of the naughtiness faded from her eyes. She touched a hand to the back of her head and winced. “The pain from the bump is still there, but my brain isn’t pounding as much as yesterday. My vision remains clear, as does my speech.”