The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,19
the duke had an inkling of her wardrobe misadventures in Chelmsford, but Randolph was right. London was a whole different beast. Here, she was Lady Roth, first and foremost, with a reputation to safeguard. And ladies of quality did not run amok with the servant classes while dressed in men’s clothing.
But Isobel forgot everything as her eyes fell on Hellion, and instantly, she went to her mare, crooning softly under her breath. Thankfully, the horse seemed fine as Randolph had said, though a little more skittish than usual.
“Did we lose any others?” she asked him.
“One,” he said. “Though he was old and his heart likely gave out.”
Still saddened, Isobel stared over at the smoking and charred end of the stables. “It was lucky that the fire was contained so quickly. It could have been disastrous.”
“We had more than luck on our side,” Randolph said somberly, and moved away to assist a man with a ruined piece of timber.
Isobel stared at the blackened, collapsed corner of the mews. The fire had been fierce, and so many horses could have perished, including her beloved Hellion. She stroked the mare’s glossy flanks, grateful that she’d escaped injury.
A sudden commotion in the yard made her whirl around as a tall man strode into view. She blinked in silent shock, every muscle in her body going tight.
No wonder Randolph had been skittish.
Why was her dratted husband here?
Isobel swallowed hard at the sight of him, though this wasn’t the suave marquess she knew. His jacket was missing, as was his cravat, the long, tanned column of his throat damp with grime and sweat. Thickly muscled forearms were visible from his rolled back shirtsleeves and flecks of ash streaked his brow.
It was obvious he’d been neck-deep in the burning mews. Surprise rippled through her. She didn’t take him for a man who would get his hands dirty, but here he was. Covered in soot.
He made no bones about heading straight toward her, and she opened her mouth to explain her unusual attire.
“You, there, lad—fetch me a cup of water.”
Isobel froze in place, mute. Goodness, did he not recognize her? Her hand almost lifted to the cloth at her face and hung in midair like a sparrow without a home.
Winter speared her with an exhausted glance. “Did you hear me, boy? Water, please.”
Mindful of her disguise, she lowered her voice to an imitation of rough gravel. “Aye, milord. Right away, your lordship.”
She raced off to procure the water from the kitchens, returning to where he stood, stroking Hellion with a thoughtful expression. Mercurial gray eyes landed on her after he emptied the cup. “Whose horse is this?”
Isobel hastily ducked her head. “Her ladyship’s,” she said, unable to keep the thread of pride from her voice. “Lady Roth. This beauty here is called Hellion.”
The man visibly started, his throat working as he studied the mare belonging to her as if the horse harbored secrets that only her mistress would know. Shock and intense curiosity warred on his face. Isobel suspected he wasn’t normally this transparent, and he wouldn’t be…not in front of her. Then again, to him, she was just a stable boy. No one of consequence. There would be no need to hide his expressions.
Fascinated, Isobel peeked up at him from beneath her cap. It was like getting a glimpse into something forbidden and she couldn’t help the delicious thrill that filled her. When his attention swung back in her direction, she quickly bent her head to hide her eyes. They were distinctive enough in color that he might recognize them, and Isobel did not wish to be exposed. She wanted more of this intriguing insight into her husband.
“I thought she was afraid of horses,” he murmured.
Isobel shook her head. “Not anymore.”
“And you are her groom?”
“In training, milord.” She paused. “For Mr. Randolph over yonder.”
“What’s your name?”
“Iz. Like the verb.” Isobel almost swore and inwardly kicked herself. Lowly servants wouldn’t know the first thing about grammatical concepts, but luckily, he was too distracted to notice her slip. Winter was staring at a man who was heading toward him, rage in every ground-covering step.
Isobel’s heart sank as she took stock of the arrival. Oliver. She was already pushing her luck with one Vance brother. Two of them together spelled disaster. To her gratitude, Randolph had returned to her side, and she shifted behind him just as Oliver swung a wild punch at his brother’s face. Winter moved out of the way, his eyes glinting dangerously.