She whirled about with a gasp, pressing a hand to her heart. “Oh, sir! What are you doing in here? I… I believed myself alone.”
Tears glistened on her cheeks and clumped on her dark lashes. Despite the low glow of a lone lamp, he could discern the pink mottling her otherwise pale throat. Her nose, too, was red.
He offered her the handkerchief. “Perhaps you have need of this, Lady Isolde.”
“I am not…” Her words trailed off as she hiccupped. “Crying.”
Belying her words, another fat tear slipped down her cheek.
“Of course you are not,” he agreed, catching the tear with the scrap of linen himself.
She swatted at his hand as if it were an errant bee, buzzing about her head. “Please l-leave me alone.”
He tucked the damp handkerchief back into his coat. Leaving her alone would not do. Letitia would be here soon. He was still very much looking forward to the wicked promises she had whispered in his ear being fulfilled.
“Shall I fetch your sister?” he offered, trying to be helpful. “Perhaps a discreet exit from this affair is in order.”
“Why should I wish to flee as if I h-have done something wrong?” she asked, listing to her left.
His hands shot out in haste, landing on her waist and keeping her from toppling sideways into a table lined with a marble bust and other bric-a-brac. “Steady, my lady. You appear to have indulged in too much champagne. There is no shame in it; I have partaken more than my fair allotment on many occasions.”
The most recent of which had been when he had learned that his two elder brothers had both been drowned, making him the Earl of Anglesey. His drunken stupor had lasted for a full three days.
“I daresay you have, my lord. Your reputation predates you.” She blinked, an adorable expression of befuddlement clouding her features. “Er,precedesyou.”
“I am certain it does.”
He paused, struggling to think of which step, if any, he ought to take next.
Likely, he should remove his hands from her person. This was his good friend the Duke of Wycombe’s sister-in-law, for Christ’s sake. And yet, the warm curves of her beneath his hands felt strangely pleasant.
Dimly, he realized the reason. The pliant contours were unimpeded by boning. Lady Isolde was not wearing a corset. Scandalous. But then, perhaps that also explained the awkward fitting of her gown, which was a truly unfortunate shade of yellow silk, bedecked by an abundance of daisies and other flora. She looked as if she had wandered into a meadow and rolled about.
“Your reputation,” she said, eyes going wide, punctuating the two words with yet another hiccup. “Yes, that is precisely what I need.”
She needed his reputation?
What the devil was she—
Before he could even complete the thought, Lady Isolde’s lips were on his.
CHAPTER2
Anglesey’s lips were…
Warm, for one thing.
Unresponsive, for another.
Delightfully pliant, however. Not at all like Arthur’s stern, cool, thin-lipped mouth, which she had oft swooned over without cause. His greatest charm had been in his letters. Whenever Izzy had kissed him during their infrequent times together, he had always taken a step in retreat and given a queer little laugh. Once, she had found it charming, thinking him endearingly shy, but now she wondered at the reason for that chuckle. Hadshebeen the source of his mirth?
But then, why should she care any longer?
He and Miss Alice Harcourt could drown in all the diamonds which had been dripping from her hair, ears, and throat this evening. She hoped he choked on one!
Meanwhile, she waskissingthe Earl of Anglesey. True, he was not returning her attentions, but ’twas a trivial point. Scandal would be hers, secured with only minimal hardship. It was not as if the earl was an unpalatable man to kiss. Quite the opposite.
He possessed a face that was not just handsome but interesting, with sharp cheekbones and a wide jaw, a stern nose, and the mouth of a sinner. His golden hair was worn a trifle too long, sleek with a slight wave that made it appear as if a lady’s fingers had recently been through it. Of course, they likely had.
