The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,8

visionary publisher had seen opportunity with the Dearest Friend letters. That had been the start of The Daring Lady Darcy.

All anonymous, of course.

Said publisher didn’t want to go to prison.

Lady Darcy’s instant success had taken them all by surprise. As it turned out, wicked advice to ladies of quality had been a shocking novelty, and the modest publication had risen to instant notoriety. From recipes to fashion to needlepoint, to physical and emotional intimacy, to scandalous erotic advice, there was no stone left unturned, no subject left untouched. The frank periodicals flouted decency, but readers were greedy for more.

“I should write Lady Darcy a letter on disemboweling unsuspecting husbands,” Isobel said, then with a grin, she added, “And hiding a body without getting caught.”

Clarissa cackled, eyes sparking with glee. “I’d have to do some research, but why not? I bet our readers would love that. What do you think of ‘A Lady’s Guide to Mariticide’?”

Isobel laughed with her friend, the hottest part of her anger draining away. She could always count on Clarissa to make her smile.

Thundering hooves interrupted their amusement.

“Your ladyship!” A panting groom rode out to meet them.

Isobel schooled her features into calm. “What is it, Randolph?”

“His Grace is in residence!”

Oh, good Lord, she had completely forgotten her father-in-law’s arrival!

Strangely, Isobel had developed a fondness for the duke over the years. Having lost her own parents in a terrible carriage accident, she had gravitated to the stoic man. Besides her sister, who had her own life, Kendrick was the only family she had. Eventually, they had bonded over a shared love of music as well as their common bedsore of a connection—his estranged son and her equally estranged spouse.

Isobel stepped over to where Hellion was grazing. She glowered at Clarissa. “You could have reminded me,” she accused without much heat.

“How could I when I forgot as well?”

“Some friend you are. Come on.”

Clarissa shook her head. “Not a chance. You enjoy the Duke of Derision by yourself. He positively loathes me. Besides, I need to cool my horse and my sore behind after chasing your shadow for the last half an hour.”

“He doesn’t loathe you.”

Clarissa’s eyebrows shot upward. “He called me a witless pest, Izzy.” Her eyes widened as she clutched at her chest with dramatic flair. “Witless. Me? Doesn’t everyone know that I am the undeclared Goddess of Eternal Wit? For shame!”

Isobel snorted. “That’s a mouthful.”

“Well, you know what they say about more than a mouthful.”

“No, Clarissa,” Isobel said, her lips twitching, “what do they say?”

She tapped her lips with a finger. “Something I might need to consider for our next batch of letters. Speaking of, I should get started. ‘More than a Mouthful’ is a memorable title, don’t you think? Or perhaps, ‘Ladies Gobbling Bananas.’”

“Clarissa!” Heat flooded Isobel’s cheeks. Sometimes her best friend was too much.

“What? It’s a natural part of life, or so my brothers declare in secret. All men enjoy it, I bet.” She wrinkled her nose. “Even the duke. Perhaps we should send him a copy and see if we can get him to crack a smile?”

“You wouldn’t!”

Isobel pinned her lips between her teeth. If the duke had any inkling of her secret life as Lady Darcy, he would implode. As much as he cared for her, Lady Darcy’s intrigues weren’t the done thing for a lady of quality. The duke was a fastidious man who was a stickler for decorum.

That said, most people didn’t appreciate her father-in-law. Underneath all that aloof, brooding reserve, he had a heart that beat fiercely for his sons, even though his firstborn seemed to be convinced the duke was the devil. From what Isobel could garner from the tight-lipped upper servants, they’d been on the outs since Winter was a boy…a divide that had only worsened in recent years.

Isobel sighed and mounted her horse. She wasn’t sure she was up for company, but she turned Hellion around, stroking the mare gently. Hellion was the foal of her sister’s prized thoroughbreds, Brutus and Temperance, and had been a belated wedding present from the Duke and Duchess of Beswick. At first, Isobel had been terrified of the horse, but the truth was she’d been so lonely that she’d learned to ride out of sheer necessity.

At least the mare had stuck around.

Because Hellion was loyal, unlike a certain fickle, spineless marquess.

Arriving at the stables in short order, she slid from the horse with a soothing word and a caress, and threw the reins to a waiting groom, before dashing toward the