He turned over gingerly in bed, glad that he’d had the foresight to close the curtains around his bed before he collapsed into it.
Actually, come to think of it, it was almost certainly his valet who had done that.
Clayton had made his excuses from the ball somewhere around one o’clock in the morning, and he and some friends had gone onto more savoury establishments, where the liquor was stronger and served unreservedly, and there was much less dancing.
Not that Clayton had danced much at the ball. He’d asked Lady Juliana to dance, as she was his hostess, and she’d simpered so much he was inclined to leave her right there on the dance floor. A married woman should probably not flirt quite so much.
But then it was over, and he’d been studiously avoiding all other ladies. Stretching his arms above his head, Clayton yawned widely. He had no idea what time it was. The sun had been rising by the time he made his way home, and his valet knew better than to disturb him before he was ready.
A certain type of woman sought him out these days, he’d noticed. Young widows, or ladies on their second or third Season. The debutantes might look at him wide-eyed, but assiduous mammas or watchful friends would soon steer them away.
He was more than happy with that.
Although, come to think of it, Lady Isolde was unlike any woman he’d met before. Firstly, she’d cannoned right into him, which was amusing. Then she’d been so deeply annoyed by his presence he’d had to fight back laughter. He ought not to have asked her to waltz, but it had gotten the attention off the two of them, had it not?
He bit his lip, remembering how she fought to keep her eyes from his face, but they kept travelling up anyway. She was very pretty. She hadn’t smiled, not once.
I could make her smile. I’ll win this wager yet.
The thought of the wager effectively doused his blurry, warm happiness, as if somebody had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.
He could understand why she was called Ice Queen. He didn’t believe she was haughty, but she certainly kept men at arm’s length. In Clayton’s experience, women who did that generally had a reason. A good reason, usually.
He heard a door slam somewhere in his house, and flinched. Not any of his household – they crept around on velvet feet at the best of times, and certainly when he was home from a late night out. Who was making all that racket?
The answer came sooner than he expected. The door to hisbedroom was shouldered open, and Lucas came stamping in, whisking open the curtains around Clayton’s bed.
He gave a yelp, covering his face with a pillow. “What are you doing, you fool? My head feels like it’s about to split apart.”
Lucas tossed a paper onto his bed. “Read this.”
“I just told you, I have a headache. I’m not reading anything. You read it to me.”
Lucas bit back a curse, snatching back the paper. He read out the title, and Clayton went quite still.
“The Ice Queen Dances With London’s Most Infamous Rake. There you are, you see? You hear that, Clayton? That’s Lady Isolde and you, dancing together last night. It’s in all of the gossip columns.”
“Well, that is irritating,” Clayton acknowledged. He made no move to get out of bed.
Lucas gave a growl of frustration. “Is that all you have to say? That it’s irritating?”
Clayton propped himself up on his elbows, eyeing his friend. “What would you like me to say? Should I track down the author, and make them take it back? Cleverer people than me have tried and failed. I can’t control what’s written in those useless columns. I think that if people are foolish enough to read them, they get all they deserve.”
“But individuals do peruse them. Indeed, everyone does so, thus I fear it holds significance what is inscribed therein.”
“It shall pass. This folly always subsides.”
Lucas shook his head. “Not for ladies. You know as well as I do that the world doesn’t work in women’s favour.”
Clayton bit his lip and said nothing. That was unfortunately true. He remembered his mother trying to separate from Auric, many years ago. It was not permitted. Nobody helped her. Nobody sympathised with her. The world could be a cruel place, especially for a woman.
He shifted uncomfortably in his bed. “Well, what does the rest of it say?”
Lucas read out the whole wretched article, sparing no detail. Clayton listened in silence, biting harder and harder on his bottom lip until he tasted copper.
When at last Lucas finished reading, there was a long pause.
“Well,” Clayton said at last.
