Rising, he looked down at himself. He had apparently struggled out of his boots and jacket during the night, but everything else was twisted around him.
Straightening his vestments as best he could, he availed himself of the pitcher of frigid water on the dresser to wash hisface and hands, wet down his hair, and wake himself up. He took in the small but well-appointed guest room, done in tones of silver and gold. It felt welcoming, a neutral backdrop to whoever stayed there. The only thing missing was his boots, which he could not find anywhere. He’d even checked under the bed.
Having been vertical for longer than his belly liked, he called it good and exited the room on stocking feet, spying the stairs.
He descended gingerly, his grip on the handrail so tight he expected the wood to groan under his hand. His stomach never enjoyed being up this early, so he rarely was, and the anxiety around why he was here and what the Black Widow expected did not help.
He caught sight of the longcase clock in the hall. Good God, it wasn’t even noon. A passing footman pointed him to a door. Hoping it was the dining room, he stepped into the entry.
It was a back parlor with a very decorative hostess. Isabella reclined on a tufted navy settee with tea, resplendent in a sunny yellow dress that accentuated her dark hair and golden skin. He sucked in a breath. He’d have preferred tea first and her second, but he’d take them together gladly to enjoy her beauty.
“Good morning, Lord Lynwood.” Her tone was unreadable, flat. She almost sounded resigned, but his head hurt too much to think about why.
“Good morning, Isabella. Please, call me Luke. I’m unable to locate my boots.”
“Hmm. I still think Clodpate suits you best.”
There was no polite answer to that, so he remained silent, hoping for a cup of tea.
She saw his gaze and waved a hand toward a matching chair and the tea tray. “Help yourself. I did not agree to serve you, only to supervise you for a short time. I took your boots for safekeeping until you get yourself together.”
He gestured to her cup with the pot first, but she declined, so he poured and doctored his tea, sitting back to take a long draw. After a minute, he felt brave enough to venture, “About that... I am not certain I understand what the agreement was. Could you perhaps elaborate?”
“Apparently, the Black Widow is either finished allowing your debt to accumulate, or she thinks you’re worth saving. I am to help you get out from under your ‘bad habits.’”
Her lips twisted as she said the last words and distracted him for a moment. Their lushness and berry color were sublime. But... “Why do you say it like that?”
“I think ’tis more than a habit at this point, which also means ’tis going to be more difficult to stop. And no matter what I do, if you don’t actually want to stop, it won’t stick. I’ve seen it before.”
“You have?”
“You don’t get to my age in my line of work without having seen people become dependent on a variety of substances.” She shrugged.
“I can stop any time. I am not dependent on drink.” He ignored the twitch of his shoulders and elevated pulse at the thought of no whisky. A headache stabbed at his temples. Draining his teacup, he poured another.
“Really? We shall see about that.” She arched a dubious brow. “Shall we take a stroll to the park then and enjoy the sunshine?”
He gave an involuntary shudder. “Ah, perhaps later.” Or never. “I’d need my boots. Speaking of which, what about my home, my clothes, my responsibilities?”
“Oh, have you been so riveted on your duties then? Is that why when I sent a man and a note to your house to collect clothing, he found a pile of unopened letters and invitations?”
He groaned. “Tell me he didn’t bring those here.”
“I can’t.” She smirked. “I wouldn’t want you to shirk your responsibilities.”
Blast. ’Twould be a long few weeks if she was going to throw his words back at him all the time. He might not be dependent, but he needed a drink to deal with her. He cast a hopeful look around the room. Alarm shot through him when he noted the decanter on the drink trolley was empty.
Isabella raised a brow and stared at him.
“Why not have a daily check in or something, and I’ll stay at my own house?” he asked, the pitch of his voice rising with hope.
“Let me ask you this. How has that worked for you these past months? Do you even wish to get this under control? Have you any aspirations for your future?”
“Eh. Yes. No.”
She flattened her lips, staring at him.
“Look, I realize I’ve overindulged a bit. But I can pay off my gaming vouchers over time from my allowance. And until my pater is gone, I don’t need to have aspirations.”
