Page 20 of Lady Isla and the Lord of Rogue (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #6)

Chapter Thirteen

That night, Isla couldn’t sleep. Rather than wake Meggie and drag her from her bed, she put on her slippers, wrapped a woollen shawl around her shoulders, and proceeded down the stairs from her bedroom to the kitchen to warm some milk.

She passed Algie’s study and noticed a strip of light beneath the door.

That was nothing unusual, for Algie preferred to work late into the night, sometimes even until the early morning hours.

She would go to the kitchen first and speak with him afterwards, so she continued her way down the stairs, when a voice stopped her short.

“You will do as I say. Enough is enough.”

Her hand froze on the banister. She barely held in a gasp.

Precise. Cold. Commanding.

She’d heard that voice only twice before.

She remained where she was, listening breathlessly .

Her brother murmured something in reply, low and indistinct.

“Do not deceive yourself,” said the silken, cold voice, cutting like steel. “You know as well as I do that the entire venture is a farce. It is counter-productive and will not yield what you hope for.”

Isla sank down onto the stair, her hand trembling on the railing.

“You are well-advised to do as I say or else be responsible for the consequences.”

There was a pause, heavy with threat. Her brother’s voice came again; softer now, defensive, almost pleading. He was trying to appease him, that much was clear.

And just as clear was the iron grip Lucian Night had on him. Like a fox with its teeth already sunk into the throat of its prey, the so-called Lord of the Underworld held her brother fast. Not with violence, but with something far more damning.

He was blackmailing Algie.

Of that, there could be no doubt.

Night’s voice grew louder, indicating that he was approaching the door.

Alarmed, Isla leapt to her feet, fleeing up the stairs to the top floor, just in time before the door opened and swift footsteps echoed through the hallway.

With a pounding heart, she peeked over the banister to see what he looked like, the feared Lord of the Underworld.

But all she saw was the billowing hem of his black coat before it vanished through the front door .

With her mind still whirring, Isla closed her bedroom door and leaned against it. What did it mean?

Why was Lucian Night coming and going in their very home, in the dead of the night?

Why was Algie receiving him?

Why had it sounded like they were in some venture— together ? And that in this unholy partnership, Night invariably held the upper hand.

And what did that say about Algie?

She felt a migraine beginning to stir. Rubbing her temple, she slid to the floor and sat staring ahead.

Algie had lied to her.

Why?

A sudden uneasiness settled over her. Not only for her brother’s safety, but because she could no longer understand him.

And she did not wish him to discover that she had overheard everything.

Isla rose, shook out her nightgown, and climbed into bed. The sheets were cold. She shivered.

One thing was clear: she needed to extricate herself from the bargain she’d made with Lucian Night. It had all come to naught.

She’d already given her first kiss to someone else.

A slight smile crept across her lips as she recalled the night at Vauxhall gardens. Her fingers crept up to her lips and a dreamy look softened her eyes.

Teddy.

She’d given her first kiss to him.

How glad she was.

With considerable satisfaction, she snuggled deeply into the pillow. She had outwitted Night in that regard, at least.

And she would outwit him in the rest.

Tomorrow, she would seek him out and renegotiate their contract.

She would dress up in men’s clothes. And she would take Catherine along, this time, instead of Teddy.

Yes. That was a good plan.

Isla kept her disguise hidden in a chest with a false bottom in a little-used service room in the half-basement. The room, filled with discarded furniture and a narrow bed for visiting servants, was seldom entered. Only Meggie knew of the hiding place.

Isla had discovered it was far safer to change there than to sneak through the entire house in disguise, risking an encounter with one of the servants, or heaven forbid, Algie.

After Isla had changed, Meggie would ensure that she could slip out unseen through the servants’ entrance.

Meggie then would slip out herself and help Isla summon a hackney.

Now, while Meggie kept the cook and the scullery maid occupied, Isla flitted down the corridor and into the service room.

She retrieved her clothes from the chest and stepped behind a paravent—a big, ornate screen Algie’s father had once brought back from China.

Its lacquer was peeling, and the bamboo frame cracked, which was why it had been banished to this forgotten corner.

Fortunately, its placement not only shielded her as she changed but also concealed the chest. She folded her gown neatly and returned it to its hiding place. Just as she lowered the lid, the door opened and clicked softly shut.

She turned, about to ask Meggie why she wasn’t keeping guard, when she heard heavy footsteps on the creaking wooden floor, and the words died on her lips. Those footsteps weren’t Meggie’s.

These were slower. Heavier.

A rustle. The soft thump of clothing hitting the floor.

Isla held her breath and peeked through a narrow crack on the screen.

It was a man.

She squinted. The light was dim, and no candle had been lit.

The man turned as he shrugged out of his coat, and she saw his profile.

Teddy.

Isla bit her lip hard to keep from making a sound.

What on earth was he doing here?

He was dressed oddly, in a worn suit and hat, like a common labourer.

He loosened his tie and tugged it off, tossing it on top of the coat on the floor.

And then?—

Her eyes widened.

He unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall.

Isla had never considered herself easily shocked.

Nor was she a prude. She knew all about the male anatomy—she’d had her eyeful when she’d visited the Elgin marbles exhibition.

Even Catherine had blushed and averted her eyes when they came upon a Lapith grappling with a centaur, whereas Isla had merely lifted her spectacles and examined the nude male figures with appreciative curiosity.

But this…

How could a mere layer of fabric have concealed this ?

He was all sinew and rippling muscle, every inch of him honed and powerful. Fascinating, to be sure, but that wasn’t what rooted her to the spot.

It was his skin.

Her gaze clung to the intricate images inked over his chest, his arms, and, as he turned, even all over his back. Images of intricate, elaborate detail.

She had read of such things. The Romans had written about ancient Pictish warriors who were covered from head to toe in blue designs. These days, mariners commonly had tattoos. As did soldiers returning from India or the Caribbean.

But Teddy was none of these.

He moved again, stooping to retrieve a clean shirt from a basket near the wall. He turned, and the light of the window fell across his back—and that was when she saw it.

Between his shoulder blades, stark and unmistakable.

A snarling wolf.

The very same image she’d seen on the man she thought she’d stabbed. And in Algie’s letter. And on the door in St Giles.

Except this one was larger, sprawled across nearly his entire upper back.

And this wolf was crowned.

Isla stared, unable to comprehend .

And then, in a blink, it was gone as he pulled on his shirt, buttoned it, knotted his cravat, shrugged on his coat. The floor creaked. The door opened, then shut with a soft click.

He had gone.

Isla was left behind the paravent.

Stunned. Shaken.

Barely believing what she had just seen.

Her knees gave way. She sank to the ground and pushed herself back until she felt the cold wall behind her.

She was shaking.

Her mind whirled like a fairground roundabout at Bartholomew Fair, spinning, refusing to settle, refusing to believe what she just saw.

Until, at last, a single thought surfaced. One that struck her with dawning horror.

The sweet man she’d promised to marry was, quite possibly, the most dangerous man in England.