Izzy stared at the exquisitely decorated chamber pot, now horridly defiled. “Is there a lid?”
But as she asked the last word, those long, elegant fingers of Anglesey’s were already settling the covering into place, mercifully shielding her from the evidence of her indulgence.
He paused. “Are you finished, or will you be needing another round? I must say, I have never witnessed anyone shoot the cat with such…vigor.”
Was heamused?
She could not bear to look at him. “I am quite finished.”
She hoped.
Izzy kept her aching head bowed, her line of sight limited to the rumpled bedclothes and her undergarments. Somehow, she had removed her gown the night before, but she had not shed her shoes. The realization prodded her with a renewed reminder that she was in a strange room and no recollection of how she had arrived there.
“If you feel the urge, do give me a warning.”
His voice was calm and precise. One would have supposed he tended to heartbroken ladies who had gorged themselves on champagne the night before as a common occurrence.
She swallowed hard, fighting against the throbbing in her skull and the swirling of the room, the latter of which had been somewhat lessened now that she had cast up her accounts. “I will, my lord.”
More silence reigned, interrupted only by the sound of him crossing the carpets before returning, a tray in hand. It was laden with a single cup of something that looked terribly murky.
“A restorative,” he said. “When you are feeling more the thing, Lady Isolde.”
He knew her name.
There was that, anyway.
She sniffed the tray. “It smells like lemon and vinegar.”
“Itislemon and vinegar,” he said blithely. “With a raw egg, for good measure.”
Izzy gagged. “How appalling.”
“Hardly more appalling than vomiting in a chamber pot.”
His pointed observation had her gaze rising to his at last. “Forgive me my lack of manners, my lord. If it is not too much trouble, perhaps you might tell me where I currently find myself and how I came to be here.”
He grinned, revealing a lone dimple which was distressingly appealing. “Why not make this more interesting? You tell me what it is thatyouremember, my dear.”
Was it his intention to torture her? To force her to wallow in shame and admit just how pathetically low she had sunk the night before at that dratted ball? Or was this indeed some form of entertainment for him? Could it be that the Earl of Anglesey, having tired of bedding half the ladies of London, had decided to slake hisennuiby humiliating ladies who had forced kisses upon him at balls?
Her cheeks went hot, and her head thumped with menacing portent. Her mouth was dry, but what she wanted most was water, and most definitely not the diabolical concoction the earl had proclaimed a restorative. Her stomach revolted
“I remember being present at a ball,” she began slowly, recalling her arrival.
She and her sister, along with Ellie’s husband the duke, had driven there together. Ellie had urged her for the entirety of their drive to hold her head high, to show Arthur she was unaffected by his betrayal and subsequent betrothal. To prove herself impervious. But Ellie had become distracted by engaging in conversation with Lord Smithton, who was one of the benefactors of the London Society of Electricity. And Izzy had found herself in that miserable corner, watching Arthur and Miss Dripping Diamonds Harcourt…
“You were at a ball, yes.” Anglesey’s tone was one of grim amusement. “At some point during the course of the evening’s entertainments, you began tippling. One can only assume it was because of Arthur Penningtwaddle and that obscenely wealthy American heiress of his, Lucy Moneybags.”
She would have laughed at his butchering of the names, but she was reasonably certain she would need the chamber pot again, her head was swimming, and she still did not know where she was or why.
“Mr. Arthur Penhurst and Miss Alice Harcourt,” she corrected, and not without an accompanying twinge of bitterness. “And perhaps I overindulged in the champagne.”
He raised a brow. “Perhaps?”
“Please, my lord,” she snapped. “Must you amuse yourself at my expense?”
His levity fled, his sensual mouth flattening into a grim expression of displeasure. “After the trouble you caused for me last night, yes. I think I must. If I am to be saddled with you for the remainder of my life, the least you can do is provide me with a morning’s worth of diversion in exchange. Either way one regards it, this bargain of ours is hardly an even one, Lady Isolde.”
