She’d barely finished her sentence before a haughty-looking footman shouldered past her into the room, making a stiff bow from the waist. He wore the blood-red livery of the Camden footmen. One of Auric’s men, then.
Eliza relaxed, but only a little. “Well?”
The man wordlessly handed her a folded piece of paper. As he withdrew, he shot a look of such contempt at Clayton that Clayton nearly got up and struck him.
Instead, he watched his stepmother’s face. She paled as she read it, biting her lip.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, gesturing for Mary and the footman to leave. Mary scuttled out, but the footman remained.
“I am to bring Lady Wrenwood home,” he insisted, only to cringe back under Clayton’s glare.
“Wait in the hall, man,” Clayton snapped. “Go!”
The man retreated, albeit reluctantly.
“Nothing to worry about,” Eliza said, unconvincingly. “Your father did not know I planned to go out, it seems. He will know, of course, that I came here, and you know how he hates for us to visit you. He says I’m to return home at once, and I suppose I’d better.”
“Eliza, this is not fair.”
She smiled sadly at him. “This is how the world works, my dear Clayton. Still, it hardly matters. We discussed what I came here for. Will you secure that book for Amelia? I planned to buy it for her myself, but your father has reduced my allowance again.”
He flinched. “So much so that you can’t buy a book?”
Eliza avoided his eye. “Your father is a rich man, and rich men do not stay rich by spending their money or lavishing it on their wives. I have what I need, Clayton.”
He bit his lip hard to avoid speaking. “Yes, well. I’ll buy it, of course.”
“Thank you,” she placed her hand on his shoulder, just for a moment, and squeezed lightly. “Amelia is lucky to have such a fine older brother as you. Many men would not think twice about a step-sibling.”
She did not wait for a response and swept out of the room. Clayton followed her into the hall, where the sullen footman waited, lounging against a wall. He jerked upright with only the barest semblance of respect.
Eliza did not look at him. She sailed out of the house and into the waiting lacquered carriage. The footman hurried after her, bouncing up on the seat beside the driver. With no further ado, the carriage pulled away, leaving Clayton standing at the door, staring after them.
Footsteps echoed in the passage behind him.
“Forgive me, my Lord,” came Thomas’ voice. “I did not know you were awake, and I did not know we had guests.”
“It’s fine, Thomas,” Clayton responded. He was not looking forward to seeking out a bookshop – or a circulating library – but at least it would distract him from the blank look on Eliza’s face, or the bruise on her cheek. “I think we must update our rules concerning my father, however.”
“What do you mean, my Lord?”
“I mean that not only is my father not permitted entry to my home without my express permission, but neither are his footmen or messengers. Nobody wearing Camden red is to set foot in this house without my say-so. Is that understood?”
“It is, my Lord.”
There was a tinge of pity in Thomas’ voice, and Clayton could not bring himself to turn and look at his valet. He heard footsteps retreating, followed by the clatter and bustle of breakfast being set out in the dining room.
Clayton squeezed his eyes closed. His headache was getting worse.
Chapter Ten
“Lord Henley,” Isolde tried again, as firmly as she could manage, “this is entirely improper.”
The man smiled down at her, the candlelit ballroom giving him an odd, devilish look. He wrapped his arm tighter around her waist, pulling her flush against him. To her horror, an answering flutter of something strange and shockingly pleasant spread through her torso. Goosebumps broke out over her skin, barely covered by her flimsy ball dress. Her breath caught in her throat, and when the viscount’s smile widened, she knew that he’d heard.
“Perhaps so,” the viscount acknowledged, “but if I may say so, Lady Isolde, you do not seem uncomfortable.”
A flush tinged her cheeks.
