Gerard scowled at his facetiousness. “Take the reward money, then offer a chance to win it back.”
The studious marquess beamed. “Put Mortimer deep in the hole, and force him to sign the agreement to leave the twins and their property alone.”
“Then get him drunk and carry him to port,” Gerard finished, knowing it would never be easy. But at least it was a plan.
“Leave White to court the lady?”
“That,” Gerard said gloomily, “is the fly in our ointment. He must have some plan to force her hand. And she’s not a countess yet. The title is still in abeyance. We can’t predict how either of them will react.”
Rainford bit into his beef as if it were nails instead of tenderloin. Gerard knew how he felt—only worse.
At the knockon the door, Iona fretted over letting anyone in. Had the maid already pressed her gown? She didn’t know what to expect of a luxurious hotel like this one. Even the soap in the washbasin smelled of lovely herbs.
“I have your gown, my lady,” a female voice said from the hall.
Iona grasped her walking stick and a hatpin. The attack today had shaken her. She’d known Mortimer was capable of it, but she had thought they’d been so careful—
Easing open the door a crack, she glimpsed a dour matron holding the secondhand gown, followed by a bevy of young women carrying measuring tapes and baskets of trimming and fabric—seamstresses?
“His lordship said you’d be needing a wardrobe to fit this size.” The stout matron shoved in, holding up the gown Iona had sent for pressing. The stranger gestured for her army to take their places around the room. “We can fit you up with a few ready-mades. You’re a small size, so we can take down several. Anything fancy will be longer.”
She threw the cotton print over the bed and studied Iona with expert eye. “Let’s get you out of that rag. Travel is dreadful these days, losing a lady’s luggage like that.”
Not knowing whether to be thrilled or angry at the earl’s tale-telling and presumption, Iona let the plain-spoken seamstress bully her into a fitting. Was this how a lord made a woman into a mistress? Sweet kisses, a secret hideaway, unexpected gifts?
That kiss in the carriage—she’d been too caught up in the pleasure to read his reaction. Or perhaps his scent of desire had blocked all else. But bringing her to a hotel room and providing her with a wardrobe...
She didn’t think she’d object too much to being the earl’s mistress—except it didn’t solve any of her problems. She needed to be back with her queen by spring. It would be better if she could ensure the hives’ safety over winter—which was the most she could hope for.
The gowns the modiste produced were simple but of excellent cloth. Iona rejected two in colors she didn’t wear but accepted two with interchangeable colors, bodices, and skirts. One of the younger girls stitched up the secondhand gown so it fit perfectly, giving her a third choice.
By the time Lord Ives returned that evening, Iona was hungry, tired, and dressed in the simple gown with the pretty gold bouquet print. The dressmakers had added a fashionable apron bodice in a deep green and a frill of lace for the neckline.
The workers were already packing up their bags. The modiste promised to complete the other gowns by tomorrow and ushered her charges away.
“Lord Ives,” Iona said stiffly once they were alone, uncertain how to approach him after his generous gesture.
“I wish you would call me Gerard,” he said. “There are far too many of us to wish to be called Ives by people I’ve come to know.”
He didn’t even notice Iona’s pretty attire. Warily, she nodded, “Very well,Gerard.”
He nodded and began pacing the tiny room. “I’ve filed a report with the police but I won’t count on them arresting Mortimer. I can’t leave you alone all evening. We’ve decided you’ll be safe with Phoebe’s aunts for the night, if we can smuggle you in without anyone noticing. I’m hoping we’ll keep your stepfather busy at cards this evening so he won’t think to hire anyone to look for you.”
“Unless Lady Phoebe has a flock of aunts, I’m assuming you’re taking me to the School of Malcolms? Surely they must be full to bursting and run ragged at the start of a school year.”
Miffed that he didn’t notice how nice her stylish gown fitted, Iona swirled around, letting the skirt fly above her newly trimmed petticoat. Her short gowns were practical, but this bit of confection appealed to her long-denied feminine nature.
“They’re expanding the school into the next building. There’s room,” he said curtly, keeping his gaze above her head. “Tomorrow, we’ll meet with the solicitors to claim the reward. We’re hoping to have Mortimer sign a document relinquishing all claim to you and your property. I won’t promise anything except a second plan if he does not comply.”
“It won’t work, of course. I’m certain Mr. White has promised to pay off Mortimer’s debts in return for my title. But you’ll have your reward. I suppose these gowns can be considered an expense of doing business,Gerard.”
She taunted him a little, stepping close to his proud figure and drawing her finger down his waistcoat buttons. He was very much the proper gentleman in silver-blue today, a shade that went well with his dark coloring. “You can be free of me tomorrow,” she said a trifle wistfully.
He grabbed her invading hand and seemed set to push it away. Instead, he wrapped it in his long fingers and pressed her palm to his chest, where she could feel his heart beating. “I’ll never be free of you. You’ll haunt me like all the other voices in my head. But I won’t be leaving until I know you and your sister are safe.”
Aroused by his scent and proximity, she slid her hand away. “Heroic of you, I’m sure,” she said sadly, not thrilled to know she’d caused him grief. “I’d rather you promise to take me to Italy as long as we’re talking fantasy. I really do not expect you to take care of me. You have enough to do.”
He finally turned his gaze downward, and she sensed his churning conflict. She shouldn’t do this to him, but she wanted so much and could have so little— She drowned a little in his dark, troubled eyes.
