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Chapter 17
Isaac snappedthe newspaper open and held it up, blocking his view of Greenbulls and the many gentlemen filling the space.Mr. Allenwasn’t among them. Not that he was looking forher, but his eyes had searched the room all the same. Lady Nightingale wouldn’t have the gall to show up as her own cousin, not now that he’d found her out. If he’d had any inkling that she would be here today, he wouldn’t have come.
He hadn’t yet scrubbed the guilt off himself at seeing her nearly cry a few nights before.
Isaac straightened the paper in his hand—he wasn’t here to dwell on her or any of that which had passed between them. He was here to enjoy a winter afternoon in comfort with news of the world to keep him company.
A ripple of welcomes told Isaac that some new gentleman had entered the club. He didn’t care, though. He wasn’t in the mood to smile and wish another a jolly holiday.
“I was led to believe you would be leaving us soon.” Robins’s voice carried over the others.
“Soon, but not quite yet.” At the sound of the far too familiar voice, Isaac’s hands tightened into fists, crumpling the newspaper.
What the blazes was she doing here?
Though he kept his paper up, he could feel her moving through the room, drawing nearer to him. He hadn’t laid eyes on her since Parsons’s engagement party, and yet he was aware of each step she took.
She stopped directly before him.
“Good day to you,” came her firm Mr. Allen voice.
Isaac slowly lowered the paper. She looked exactly as he’d seen her so many times: hair short and perfectly styled in a very masculine fashion atop her head, a suit well-tailored to hide her curves, a walking cane in her hand, fake sideburns down either side of her face, glasses atop her nose, and freckles. Oh, so many freckles. Knowing now that he was indeed looking atLady Nightingaledid strange things inside him. He simultaneously despised the charade and ached to pull her closer. To study her eyes and see the woman just behind the mask of a man. To trail his thumb across her jaw and possibly kiss each freckle.
Gads, he could not be thinking about kissing her right now. He was angry, confused, and hurt that she would lie to him so completely.
Isaac folded his paper, pulling on it most harshly. “Mr. Allen,” he greeted her, his words tight. Only after he tossed the folded paper down on a nearby table did Isaac realize she wasn’t alone.
Two men stood just behind Lady Nightingale. With the three of them looking down at him, he felt rather like a man hunted by a posse. The first man he didn’t recognize. But the second—lud, it was his own man of business. What in heavens name was Lady Nightingale up to now? Turning his own men against him, same as her father had?
“You have been ignoring my letters,” Lady Nightingale said, clasping her hands behind her back. Where had she learned toactlike a man so convincingly? Now that he saw her thus again, he realized it wasn’t just her voice and appearance that had fooled him, it was her every mannerism, too.
“And if I have?” he replied. It was true, all the same. Hehadbeen ignoring her letters. The first had come in her own handwriting and had been signed with her own name. The later ones had come in a far more masculine hand and had been signedMr. Allen. He’d done no more than glance, regardless of as whom she’d written to him.
Her lips pinched, and he found he couldn’t look away. “There is a business matter of highest importance we must discuss,” she said. “The owner here said we might use a side room. If you’ll follow us.”
Oh, now she wasn’t even giving him the option of turning her down?
Still, despite all his frustrations and confusion, he stood and silently followed the two men who proceeded after her. She certainly wasn’t one who was afraid to take control of a situation, that much he’d grant her. Begrudgingly grant her. Just as he begrudgingly had to admit, if only to himself, that there was something wholly bewitching about watching her stride around a gentlemen’s club in breeches and a jacket.
She opened a door off the main room and allowed everyone to pass in before her. It struck him again how far she’d stretched outside of what was expected of a lady—a peer in her own right, no less—to pull off this ruse.
There was a long table in the center of the room with nearly a dozen chairs circling it. Three large windows on the far wall lit the space comfortably, as did the small fire in the hearth.
The men who accompanied Lady Nightingale sat, facing one another across the table. Lady Nightingale took the seat beside the man Isaac didn’t know even as his own man of business motioned for Isaac to take the seat beside him. He did, and it placed him facing Lady Nightingale, as Mr. Allen, directly.
“I am here on behalf of my cousin, Lady Nightingale,” she began.
It was strange hearing her talk about herself—and yet the words rolled off her tongue. No doubt, she was used to the paradox now. Isaac’s mind flitted back to the many conversations they’d had. Not many had included Lady Nightingale in topic, but a few had. Remembering them made his stomach sour with humiliation all over again. The things he’d said to her very face. The urging for other men to steer clear of her. The insinuations that she was here merely to play with the hearts of the gentlemen.
Yet, she had been deceiving them all this whole time. So in that regard, at least, he’d been correct.
His man of business, Mr. Stanley, cleared his throat, bringing Isaac back to the present. The other man Isaac had yet to meet was introducing himself as Mr. Backston, Lady Nightingale’s man of business. This truly was a matter of business then, if she’d gone through all the trouble to bring not only Stanley all the way to Carlaby but her own man as well.
“Lady Nightingale has informed me,” Backston continued, “that she’s given her cousin, Mr. Allen, full permission to sign for her today and to make decisions on her behalf.”
Isaac’s gaze foundMr. Allen, and he watched her closely. Of course Lady Nightingale had given her cousin permission.
She didn’t flinch beneath his gaze but held it in return. Her face was nearly devoid of expression, and yet he thought he could see a hint of uncertainty beneath her calm facade. A hint of hope, too.
