brows rising. “Is she?”
“She speaks of you often. Not to me, of course, but to her horse. She’s very partial to Hellion. I accompany her, so I overheard. She called you a handsome devil,” she added hastily.
Blast, she was trying too hard!
He’d gone quiet, and when she dared peek up, he was staring thoughtfully at the house, a small smile on his lips.
Good Lord, was it working?
“See you soon, Iz,” he murmured.
Watching him leave, she couldn’t help being captivated by the slight glimpse she’d gotten of the true Winter. The man behind the mask. It might not be physical like the linen slip covering her face, but he wore one just the same. He reminded her of the soot-covered man she’d seen here in this very spot a handful of days ago, who hadn’t minded toiling alongside servants to save the lives of the animals housed inside.
Something in her chest ached.
Terrible men didn’t do decent things.
Frowning, she stared down at the gold sovereign he’d tossed to her in her palm—a fortune to any servant. Isobel could have been invisible for all the attention he’d paid her since she’d arrived in London. And yet, he would task a humble stable hand to report back to him on anything odd? The man she knew of didn’t do anything without an agenda, so why was he being protective over a marchioness he obviously did not care for? It was baffling. Then again, she could hardly say she knew Winter at all. This was the most she’d ever spoken to him beyond the guise of courtesy.
Three years of marriage and she hardly knew her own husband.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, my lady,” Randolph said in a low voice, making her nearly jump out of her skin. “Lord Roth will not be pleased to discover your true identity, nor will his father for that matter.”
Isobel suppressed a shiver. Should he discover the extent of her deception, Lord Roth would be livid. So would the duke. But being Iz, the grubby little groom, offered an opportunity Isobel had not expected. A way to take the real measure of her husband, as well as a very clever way to win.
She would drop hints here and there, convince him that his wife still carried a tendre for him. Seduction might not be her forte, but she was good at reading people. She wanted to know what made him tick. And she was more curious than she had any right to be. She’d glimpsed a vulnerability in his eyes that she’d never been privy to before. Was it some kind of weakness? Or was it something she could use in her plans? Either way, it was an opportunity she could not pass up. Not while her future hung in the balance.
She gave Randolph a forced grin and flicked him the gold coin. “Don’t worry your grumpy little head about it, because he won’t.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, my lady.”
Isobel swallowed the knot of nerves coiling into her throat along with the words that rose to the tip of her tongue. You and me both.
Chapter Eight
A woman’s tools for seduction are many, Dearest Friend—the most effective are the eyes, the lips, the twist of a fan, the tilt of a head. If all else fails, flaunt the girls.
– Lady Darcy
Winter studied the flat silver case of his preferred cheroots and frowned at the charred, destroyed roof of the mews, visible from the western corner of his father’s library. It was even more interesting that Oliver had been the one to produce the smoking end of his brand as evidence of Winter’s wrongdoing. Almost as if he’d been waiting for the opportunity.
Of late, his brother’s tactics were becoming tiresome.
Winter sighed. Things would have been so much simpler if Oliver had been born first. Then he would be the duke’s heir and all would be well with the world. How many times had Winter simply wanted to disappear? Start a new life without the ducal guillotine hanging over his shoulders? But it was a cowardly thing. He knew that. As much as he wanted to escape, he had held back from doing so, if only to honor his birthright for the sake of his mother.
You will be duke one day, she’d said to him. You must be wise, my little knight. Wise and brave. And guard your heart from those who will use it against you.
I shall, Mama, he’d whispered back solemnly.
She had loved his father, but the duke had