“Of course, of course. I beg your pardon, Lady Isolde, I did not intend to make you uncomfortable.”
She gave her head a tiny shake. “You did not. I was the one who encroached on your private walk.”
He cleared his throat, folding his hands behind his back.Goosebumps had erupted over Clayton’s skin, contradicted by sweat beading at his temples and behind his cravat. His stomach was doing somersaults.
In short, it was the oddest feeling Clayton had encountered for a long time, and he knew all too well what it was.
“We cannot reappear together, of course,” he said, pleased that his voice did not shake, “so perhaps you should go back the way you came, and I’ll circle around the garden and come out near the wall.”
“A good plan,” Isolde said. There was something odd about her voice, something tight and a little uncertain, but when Clayton glanced at her face, her expression was smooth and impassive as always.
Ice Queen.
“Right. Well. I shall see you soon, I daresay. And don’t worry about those wretched gossip writers.”
She gave a small, wry smile. “I shall do my best.”
She turned and began to walk quickly down the path, disappearing from view.
Clayton was left standing alone, sweat beading on his temples, feeling – there was no other word for it – shaken.
What was it about Lady Isolde that affected him so? When he’d stepped close to her, Clayton had wanted nothing more than to fold her in his arms, hold her tight.
He could not, of course, for a dozen reasons, not least of all the fact that Isolde did not like him in that manner. No doubt she found him amusing, but that was all.
And yet Clayton was shivering, desperate to run after her.
You are a fool, he told himself, shaking his head. Are you about to fall in love with the Ice Queen yourself, and join the graveyard of men who thought they could tempt her to matrimony? It would be a fine reward for taking on that hideous wager. Falling in love yourself, only to be rejected.
No, that couldn’t be it. Clayton was too hot, no doubt, and probably hungry, and she was a pretty young woman. That was all there was to it. Nothing more, nothing less.
Vaguely aware that his stepmother would send somebody out to fetch him soon, Clayton turned on his heel and stamped back up the pathway.
The sooner this wretched wager is over, he thought, the better for all concerned, I think.
Chapter Nine
Clayton rolled over, hazy with sleep, and a glass bottle clanked into his forehead.
Groaning, he cracked open one eye.
It was a brandy bottle, by the looks of it, tucked in between his face and the cushion of the sofa.
Looks like I didn’t make it to my own bed last night, then, he thought wearily, hauling himself into a sitting position.
The garden tea party had been a great success, although its success wouldn’t become official until the scandal sheets were printed and read. He doubted that even the most malicious of gossip writers could find anything to pick at concerning Eliza’s well-arranged party.
Tossing the empty brandy bottle onto the rug, Clayton lay back on the cushions. He had spent the rest of the evening avoiding company and Lady Isolde as best he could, but the sense of unsettlement she’d sparked inside him would not go away. When he was in company, he found himself looking for her, watching who she spoke to, who she did not speak to, and the way she held herself.
He had fancied himself in love before, of course. A gentleman did not reach Clayton’s age without some attraction or another, although the feelings had never been quite so strong. Also, immodest though it was to admit it, Clayton had always known that his feelings were requited to some degree.
Lady Isolde, however, seemed determined to keep her distance from him. The nickname of Ice Queen was well earned, however. She employed none of the fluttering and flirtation that even most debutantes could manage.
For a start, she seemed entirely uninterested in beingfascinating, which in Clayton’s opinion seemed to consist of asking a man clever questions about himself which left him feeling interesting and intelligent, and therefore benevolent towards the lady who was so very fascinating.
What nonsense.
Wincing against the pain throbbing in his temples, Clayton swung his legs over the side of the sofa, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
