The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,29
her lips into a scowl. “When I was a girl, maybe. Now, I despise him. And the feeling is nauseatingly mutual. Let’s talk about something more interesting than Lord Tight-Arse before I get angry all over again.”
“Is it?”
“Is it what?”
Isobel smirked. “Tight.”
Clarissa’s cheeks went crimson. “Shut up.”
Laughing, Isobel narrowed her eyes as a thought occurred to her, given what she’d just learned and the fact that Clarissa might still harbor feelings for a man she claimed to hate. “Wait a moment,” she said, her suspicions deepening. “About that snooping mask you had in your possession the other day…”
Clarissa groaned. “You were supposed to forget that.”
Isobel shot her with an unblinking stare. “Confess, wench.”
“Fine, very well. It is Oliver, if you must know. It’s only to get information, you see. I’m worried about him with Winter. He’s up to something and I’m determined to prove it.”
“So let me get this straight—you’re spying on Oliver to protect Winter? That poor excuse for an explanation has more holes in it than a fishing net.”
Clarissa nodded, but kept her eyes firmly on the ceiling. “It’s true.”
Isobel didn’t believe that for one second. Clarissa was up to something. She rarely did anything without a thorough scheme. “So what do you think he’s planning then?”
“I think he intends to discredit Winter somehow. I found notes in his room on The Silver Scythe and information about a meeting with an earl about a sum of money owed to him.”
“What’s The Silver Scythe?”
“A gentlemen’s gaming club, I think.” Clarissa gave another ferocious blush, her hands twisting in the folds of her night rail. “At least that’s what it looked like.”
“Clarissa Gwendolyn Bell,” Isobel said in a hushed whisper. “Have you been to this gentlemen’s club?”
“Only the outside,” she replied, her blush going deeper. “I followed Oliver there once without his knowledge.”
Wide-eyed, Isobel chucked her friend in the arm. “You heathen! I must insist that if you return, I have to accompany you. Did you discover anything else in his room?”
Clarissa shook her head. “It’s not enough that he covets Winter’s downfall; I worry things will get out of hand. I’ve never seen anyone so consumed with hostility, and it’s gotten worse over the years. Oliver can’t move past his own bitterness.”
“And Winter? Have you told him of your concerns?”
“Not recently. He thinks Oliver is irritating but harmless.”
Isobel frowned. Oliver might be, but there were many other men who were far from harmless, who went out of their way to destroy people in pursuit of their own selfish desires. She and her sister had dealt with one firsthand.
Now she was the Marchioness of Roth, protected by the powerful Duke of Kendrick, if not her own husband. Astrid had the same protection as Duchess of Beswick.
The Earl of Beaumont was firmly in their past.
Chapter Seven
Subterfuge is an excellent tool in the waging of the seduction wars.
– Lady Darcy
“Aren’t you my special beauty,” Isobel crooned to the mare as she moved the curry comb in a circular motion down the horse’s hindquarters. Hellion loved being groomed, and here in London Isobel could only do that dressed as Iz the groom without causing a ruckus about a lady—gasp—doing manual labor and kneeling in the dirt.
Randolph hadn’t stopped scowling since the moment she’d raced down to the stables, dressed in her breeches, shirt, cap, and mask. “My lady,” he’d chided. “You cannot keep doing this. What if you’re recognized? It will be my hide and yours if the duke discovers such tomfoolery.”
“I’m wearing a mask,” she insisted. “No one will recognize me.”
“There’s no fire anymore. Why are you even wearing a mask?”
Isobel had shrugged. “I can say I’m disfigured, like the Duke of Beswick. That I suffered injuries to my face as a child. No one will question it as long as you back me up. Say you will, Randolph. Please.” She wasn’t above using bribery to get her way, but Randolph already knew she had a stubborn streak a mile long. She went the route of cajolery. “I’ll put in a word with the duke about the head groom position at Kendrick Abbey once Rodney retires.”
His eyes had narrowed, but then he’d sighed in resignation. “If the duke finds out, I had nothing to do with it.”
“I promise he won’t.”
Grumbling under his breath, he’d walked away, and Isobel had resisted the urge to hoot with triumph. She’d thought she would love the glamour of London, and she did. But she also missed the quiet spaces of Chelmsford and the freedom to be