Bitterness swelled. This was Montfort’s special talent, the poison touch. Nothing thrived beneath Montfort’s hand.
His strike was imminent, tomorrow likely, with the village providing distraction and cover at Gardencourt. Until then, Percy would play his cards close. Montfort—and Isabel—would have to come to him.
He would be ready.
Chapter 24
Simmering with equal parts pique and puzzlement, Isabel shot one last withering glare at Percy’s back before allowing herself to be led away by the Duchess. The man had abandoned her to a fate worse than death—a Duchess intent on dispensing her special megrim cure to the afflicted.
Thankfully, the Duchess became distracted from her mission by various gentlemen and their wives who were angling to further their acquaintance and meet the newest Lady Percival. Isabel couldn’t isolate the exact moment it had happened, but she’d begun responding to the title without hesitation.
In one of the lulls between greetings and introductions, the Duchess leaned over conspiratorially. “It would behoove you to use this little trick I’ve picked up over the years.”
“Oh?” Isabel asked. It rather warmed her how the Duchess had taken her under her wing. She hadn’t been the recipient of such generosity in a very long time.
“You learn one specific fact about each person and remember it like your life depends on it.” A woman of elder years approached. “Observe,” the Duchess commanded as she stepped forward. “My dear Mrs. Cleaver, how do you do? Was your spaniel bitch delivered safely of her pups?”
The other woman’s face broke wide into a gratified smile. “We have puppies coming out of our ears. Eight of them! Such silly little moppets.” Mrs. Cleaver hesitated as if screwing up her courage. “I would be most pleased to make a gift of one to your grace.”
“Oh, that I could, but you wouldn’t believe the sneezing fits when I come within ten feet of the little lovelies. ’Tis one of the tragedies of my life, to be sure.”
Mrs. Cleaver appeared wholly crestfallen, but only for a moment. Until her eye settled on Isabel. “Or mayhap the future lady of Gardencourt would enjoy her very own lap spaniel?”
The question quite took Isabel by surprise. “Mrs. Cleaver, your offer is most generous, but—” The Duchess gave Isabel a barely perceptible nod, its meaning clear. She was to accept the pup.
“Do dogs give you sneezing fits, too, my lady?”
“I wouldn’t wish to deprive anyone of the pup they’ve been promised.” Isabel hoped against hope that would settle the matter.
The beaming smile returned to Mrs. Cleaver’s face. “I have just the girl for you, my lady. Shall I bring her to the breakfast tomorrow?”
“The following day, if you don’t mind very much, Mrs. Cleaver,” the Duchess cut in. “Lady Percival will be quite occupied with our guests on the morrow.”
As Mrs. Cleaver took her happy leave and the Duchess led Isabel through more rounds of introductions, the reality of Isabel’s position landed on her, hard.
She wasn’t Lady Percival. She was, in fact, an imposter, and it was Mrs. Cleaver’s generosity that made the fact too obvious. Lies and deceit didn’t sit still. Instead, they dropped onto a placid surface and rippled outward, affecting all they touched.
Speaking of lies and deceit, Percy . . .
Percy was the Savior of St. Giles.
Miss Fox’s revelation from this afternoon still shook her.
Yet it fit together. He’d been a spy for a dozen years. He was intelligent, serious, and capable. And, in truth, when she’d seen him tonight in his evening blacks, looking utterly, devilishly handsome with his dark curly locks tousled to perfection, she saw that he could be none other.
Lord Percival Bretagne was absolutely the dashing Savior of St. Giles.
And when he’d taken her hand in his and assisted her into the carriage, she’d experienced a fleeting joy that had become reflexive at his touch.
A knot of anxiety twisted in her gut.
She would betray him. What feelings she’d developed for the man must be stamped out and denied oxygen. They were pure fantasy.
But the way he’d been gazing upon her tonight . . . As if she were the sun and he a planet caught in her orbit, well, it made her insides flip over. It made her want to succumb to the fantasy and pretend all other cares away.
A quick movement caught the periphery of her vision, and she knew the form the instant before she gazed upon it directly.Montfort.
His chin jerked toward a quiet corridor, instantly quelling Isabel’s pull toward delusion. Reality in the form of one loathsome man beckoned.
