your lovely wife then, my boy. Before someone younger and wilder than I sets his eye upon her.”
It was strange, but when Poppy pictured the sort of woman Isley would be attracted to, she thought of the typical English rose. That paragon of femininity and grace who men fought wars to protect and who never spoke her mind when she could be making a man feel that his opinion was the only one that mattered. Poppy knew of such women in an academic sense, but had never befriended any of them. The closest thing she had to female friends were her sisters, and they were hardly model ladies, thank God. It appeared that Isley had little interest in proper English ladies either. Not if Mrs. Amy Noble was anything to go by.
Surrounded by young men who seemed to hang on her every movement, she held court from a large red velvet divan, her elbow on the arm of it, and her feet propped up on one end in a pose of utter relaxation. That she lounged about as if she were in her boudoir instead of entertaining guests was not so extraordinary. That she dressed as a man was. Her fine black dinner suit did not hide her femininity, but rather was cut to accentuate her curves. Her hair was raven black, save for a swath of white that started at her left temple and was swept back with the rest to fall in a sleek river down her back. She looked utterly foreign and utterly lovely.
Resting her hand upon Win’s forearm, Poppy walked across the room. Smoke grey satin rustled with each step she took, the heavy slide of those yards of fabric against her legs. How would it feel to always walk unfettered, not just when playing the role of spy? More to the point, why did she persist in wearing corsets and proper gowns? It irked her to realize that she had more in common with those English roses than she’d thought. Despite believing herself to be independent, she had tried to please everyone, take care of them all. As a result, she’d lost a bit of herself in the process.
Mrs. Noble looked up as they came before her. She had to be at least fifty but did not look a day past thirty-five with her skin as smooth and unlined as a peach. Her eyes flashed ebony in the candlelight, and Poppy thought for a moment that Mrs. Noble recognized her. But they’d never met before, and the strange look was gone, replaced by one of mild interest.
“Mr. and Mrs. Snow,” she said with a young maiden’s voice, “how delightful to meet you.” She took in Win’s scarred profile with interest. “Now there’s a story waiting to be told. Sit down and perhaps I can manage to entice it out of you.”
Win’s mouth quirked but he accepted the light chair a footman had pulled up, just as Poppy accepted hers. “Madam,” he said, “perhaps we can trade stories. One of mine for one of yours.”
Mrs. Noble leaned in, and the drop crystal beads on her black velvet diadem caught the light. “A barter?” Her trilling laugh had more than a few men smiling. “I like that.”
Win settled more comfortably on his chair, crossing one foot over the other. “Mind you, it’s quite a story. I’ll expect something similar in return.”
Mrs. Noble cut a glance toward Poppy, giving away the fact that she had been constantly aware of Poppy’s presence. The woman appeared to feed off of it, taking a base feminine pleasure in having Poppy watch while Win flirted with her.
Though Poppy detested to admit it, part of her had never understood why Win had pursued her on that long ago day at Victoria Station, nor why he’d immediately begun courting her. She was not beautiful, or charming, and was in possession of rude, red hair. Her manner could at best be described as abrupt, but was often called mannish. And while she rather liked the person she was inside, she did not suffer fools lightly. In a society that revolved around shallow, false behavior, this was not a beneficial tactic. That this handsome, intelligent man, a duke’s son for pity’s sake, seemed to see no other woman than her… At times, she’d wondered if it had all been some grand mistake.
That had not, however, stopped her from claiming him. She was not a fool, and if he wanted to make her his, she would make