Undeterred, Simon chuckled.
“I put it to you, Lord Clayton Henley, that you prey on silly, feeble-minded debutantes and jolly widows, and a conquest of any difficulty at all is entirely beyond you. You cannot melt the Ice Queen’s heart any more than we can, but if you do not try, you can keep up this façade of pretending you could, if you wanted to.”
Clayton’s fingers curled tight around a brandy glass. He wasn’t entirely sure who had pressed it into his hand. He drained it anyway, tipping back his head, the liquid burning down his throat. It shivered through his veins, making him feel warm. He could see Lucas now, pushing through the crowd.
A little too late, he thought sourly. If I’d seen you earlier, wretch, I might have excused myself and gotten away from Simon’s nonsense.
It was too late, of course. Simon was waiting, grinning, for Clayton’s response. His cronies were too, and a good number of interested gentlemen.
Wagers like this, which hinged on attracting the attention of a lady, were generally frowned upon and considered ungentlemanly, especially by the older generation. That didn’t stop them from being made.
“Very well, then,” Clayton answered brightly, setting down the glass and pushing it away. “I accept your wager, Simon. The terms?”
Simon’s face lit up. “You have until the end of the Season to win the Ice Queen’s heart. It must be obvious – no getting her to smile at you and calling it a success. If you succeed, fifty pounds for you. If you lose, well, you have plenty of money to lose, do you not?”
“More than enough,” Clayton snapped. “Done.”
“I look forward to the beginning of our wager,” Simon said, grinning delightedly.
Clayton sneered, turning on his heel and marching away.
What on earth have I gotten myself into?
Chapter Three
The first ball of the Season was held by one Lady Juliana Lafayette, an aloof young bride who had never been much of a friend to Isolde, even though they’d come out together. It didn’t matter, though, because Isolde had received an invitation anyway, and it wasn’t as if she’d actually have to talk to Lady Juliana in the tremendous crush.
It was unavoidable that they had to greet each other, though.
Beatrice and Richard passed through the door ahead of Isolde, murmuring greetings and shaking hands. Isolde came next with James on her arm.
Lady Juliana beamed at James.
“Why, Lord James! What a pleasure! I’d heard you were back in the country. You are most welcome to my humble abode, of course.”
Isolde barely muffled a snort at the idea of Lady Juliana’s sprawling, ornate home ever being described as humble.
The snort earned her a glare.
“Ah, Lady Isolde!” Lady Juliana fluted sweetly. “I am surprised to see you here. I am quite honoured, having the Ice Queen herself attend my intimate little party.”
The words stung, as they were intended to. Isolde had tried her best to convince herself that Ice Queen was a fine nickname to have but hadn’t quite managed it yet.
“It’s the first ball of the Season,” Isolde managed. “Of course I would come.”
It wasn’t exactly the sort of witty rejoinder that, say, Elizabeth Bennet would have come up with, but it was all Isolde could manage at short notice.
Lady Juliana smiled smugly, tossing rich chestnut curls overher shoulder.
“This will be your… your fourth Season, will it not, Isolde? Goodness. Pray, do proceed. Enter and partake in the festivities,” she added, and it didn’t much sound like she meant it.
Clenching her teeth, Isolde allowed James to steer her past the entrance and into the vast ballroom beyond.
“Ignore her,” he murmured. “She’s jealous, always was.”
“She might have been jealous when we first came out,” Isolde acknowledged. “I did have a lot of suitors.”
I didn’t accept any of them, though. How could I, when I was lying to them the whole time about who I was?
