Page 21 of Lady Isla and the Lord of Rogue (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #6)

Chapter Fourteen

Teddy? Her Teddy? Gentle, earnest, warm-eyed Teddy?

The one who blushed when their hands brushed?

The one whose singular, sole passion was horology and who was oblivious to anything else if it didn’t involve clocks?

The one who read every single wish from her eyes, was charmingly inept when it came to dancing, fed her ices, chocolates and marzipan confections, and chased down half the country to find rare flowers simply because she’d once mentioned she liked them?

He had kissed her so passionately in Vauxhall Gardens.

A hot shiver ran through her as she remembered his ardour.

He’d declared he loved her. Deeply. Sincerely, like no man had ever done before. There’d been nothing but honesty in his eyes.

Isla was sitting at her toilette table, staring into the mirror without seeing anything.

Was that all a lie ?

“M’lady. M’lady!” Meggie’s voice emerged through the thick fog of her tumultuous thoughts. “Why don’t ye let me brush yer hair?”

Isla blinked. For how long had she been sitting with her hand half-way lifted to her head, holding the brush?

Meggie pried the brush from her clutching fingers and brushed her hair with vigorous strokes.

Isla’s thoughts went back to the room, to what she’d witnessed. After Teddy had left, she had remained sitting on the ground for a good ten minutes more, incapable of doing anything at all.

Until Meggie had finally slipped into the room to enquire what was the matter.

“Did you see Lord Linwood leave the room just now?”

“Linwood?” Meggie stared. “No. Why’d ‘e be in there?”

Isla closed her eyes. Maybe he hadn’t been. Maybe her mind had played tricks on her. Maybe she’d imagined it all.

“I’ve changed my mind. I won’t be going out tonight after all,” she’d managed to say in measured tones.

Meggie nodded, satisfied. “‘Tis better that way, m’lady. The weather’s awfully dreich tonight.”

Isla had returned to her room.

But the whirl in Isla’s brain refused to calm down.

A snarling wolf with a crown.

Lucian Night.

No, no, it was all a mistake. It couldn’t possibly be true.

Her imagination was running wild. It simply couldn’t be.

There must be another explanation. Anyone could have a tattoo.

And anyone could have a wolf tattoo. Why not?

It didn’t have to mean anything. After all, the man she’d stabbed also had one.

Who knew, maybe it was a popular motif, currently in fashion.

Very likely, every second mariner had one. Why not Teddy, too?

It didn’t have to mean anything.

But what if it did?

Back in St Giles, hadn’t they all receded from him, avoiding him, fawning when a confrontation was inevitable?

She’d thought nothing of it. She’d believed that was how commoners behaved when confronted with the aristocracy.

But what if she was wrong? What if it was because they’d recognised him? What if it was because they feared him?

The boy. The innkeeper. The people who withdrew as soon as they’d approached as if they were the plague personified—it hadn’t been normal behaviour, not in St Giles. Had they been told to stay out of their path?

Aside from the boy, not a single person had accosted them, and the streets had been empty as if a pestilence had wiped the entire quarter out.

Because they’d been in his territory. And they acknowledged him as their king.

The Lord of the Underworld.

Her heart was pounding violently, and she felt dizzy.

“Are ye all right?” Meggie asked for the third time after she finished binding her hair up in a simple chignon.

“No.” Isla rubbed her forehead.

“Should I let his lordship know that yer not comin’ fer dinner?”

Isla shook her head. She had to talk to Algie. Now.

She got up and chose a dress, any dress. It didn’t matter. She pulled out something from her clothes press without looking at what it was.

“Ye can’t wear that. It’s a riding habit.” Meggie took it from her hands and pulled out a dark blue silk dress instead.

Meggie helped her get dressed, cursing all the while, lifting Isla’s arms like a doll’s as she pulled the dress over her head, since Isla was standing stiffly and uncooperatively, staring into space.

“There.” Meggie tugged at the skirt and adjusted the neckline. “That’s better.”

“Thank you, Meggie,” Isla said monotonously, and proceeded to the door.

“Your shoes!” Meggie held out a pair of silken slippers. “Or do ye want to go barefoot?”

“That’s right,” Isla said. “Shoes.”

Meggie shook her head. “Maybe it’s better to stay here if yer in such a state.” She placed her hand on Isla’s forehead. “Though ye don’t seem to have no fever. There’s the flux goin’ about, so better stay in bed if yer feelin’ ill.”

“I’m all right, Meggie. Thank you.”

Algie. She had to talk to Algie at once.

“Ah, Pixiekins,” Algie said, taking off his monocle when she entered the room. “Just in time for supper.”

“Indeed,” Isla said as she folded her hands in front of her, not giving away with as much as a blink of an eyelash that her entire world had tilted on its axis only moments earlier.

“I just wanted to tell you I have no appetite at all, and I wanted to excuse myself from supper. But I would like to talk to you.”

Algie lifted an eyebrow. “You are unwell? How can that be? You normally have the constitution of a seasoned warhorse. Nothing and nobody can bring you down. When the entire household had the influenza last winter, you were annoyingly chipper, the only one unaffected.”

Isla gave him a weak smile.

“Besides,” Algie continued, “we shall have a guest tonight for supper.” He gestured at the armchair in the room's corner, a little in the shadow, from which someone rose.

Isla’s stomach made a sickened lurch.

“Teddy,” she whispered.

He beamed at her.

Isla swallowed.

“As you can see, I’ve invited Linwood tonight.”

“We had some matters to discuss regarding our wedding,” Teddy put in. “You won’t believe how much paperwork one must wade through before one may get married in this country.” He shook his head.

“One might as well save some time and have that conversation over supper.” Algie indicated at the door to the dining room, which the footman opened.

“Quite so,” she said woodenly. She felt completely caught off-guard as she hadn’t expected to see him. Not so soon, not so quickly. Not before she’d had the chance to sort through her mind and to understand exactly what she had seen.

Of course he was here. Where else would he be? He now wore formal evening clothes and looked like Teddy was supposed to look: polished, normal, his nice, inconspicuous, usual self. Not a hint of what lay underneath those few threads of fabric.

His dark hair was slicked back, and his spectacles glinted on his nose, which he pushed back with one finger. The dimples in his cheeks appeared as he smiled, shyly, as though he was truly pleased to see her.

Dear sweet heavens.

He would be there all evening. Sitting right across from her. Looking at her. Speaking to her.

It was imperative that he didn’t discover anything was amiss.

Isla attempted to control her panic beneath a mask of calm.

She nodded and smiled. “How lovely,” she heard herself say. “That will be delightful.” She held out her hand to him and he took it, warm and secure, and squeezed it.

A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed and increased her smile. “Of course, if Teddy is here, then I must join you for supper.”

Teddy looked at her with concern. “But truly, you are not falling ill? You look awfully pale. The night air at Vauxhall was rather fresh, after all. I worried you’d catch a cold.”

“Isla never catches colds,” Algie grumbled. “Not even when she slept the entire night outside in the garden, when she was but a girl, pretending to live the gypsy life.”

Teddy turned to look at her. “Truly?”

Isla played with her pearl necklace Meggie had had the foresight to sling around her neck.

“It stayed with me from my time with the Rom. I sleep better outside in the fresh air. I also find it more comfortable to sleep on the hard ground than in a suffocating bed.” Then she blushed as she realized what she’d just said.

For heaven’s sake, she must get a grip on herself and stop jabbering nonsense.

Teddy’s eyes widened as he took in that piece of information, just as Algie let out a chortle. “Best not buy a wedding bed, old chap, if the plain floor will do just as well.” He clapped Teddy on the shoulder with such unexpected force that he stumbled forward.

“Algie. Really.” Isla had gone bright scarlet, and so had Teddy. Now neither of them dared to meet the other’s eye. For a blessed second only, she felt Teddy was still her Teddy, that nothing at all had changed between them, and all was good with the world.

The butler entered to announce that dinner was served, and she hesitated.

“Isla?” Both men were looking at her.

There was nothing in the world that she wanted to do more than to run away and hide, to crawl into her big bed and pull the blanket over her head and pretend it had never happened. She could stay in denial, to pretend she’d seen none of it. She’d hallucinated and imagined it all.

But if she withdrew now, if she excused herself and returned to her room, that would be cowardly. She would be running from him and hiding.

And she would miss out on an excellent opportunity to discover what on earth was happening, and how it could be that from one moment to the next, her entire world had tilted, and she hadn’t found her bearing yet.

What was happening?

Why?

Who was Teddy, really?

Surely, her brother must know?

What she needed the most, now, was answers. And not to run away and hide.

She pulled herself up. “I beg your pardon. I have been gathering wool. Let us have supper. I am famished.”

She sat down with them at the lavishly set supper table.

For when Algie supped, it was always lavish. All the silverware and crystal were out, the wine glasses were filled, the footmen served an elaborate six-course meal.