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Isleen’s head came up, her eyes wide and her lips parting, but she didn’t look upset. No, she seemed surprised. Intrigued.
The footman opened the door, and Simon led Isleen into the room full of life, light, and people. In the moment before she released his arm, he felt her hand give him a gentle squeeze. And then she walked away, leaving Simon to interpret the touch as an answer to his question.
He’d never been so happy to win a wager in his life. Because this time, he’d won a prize he couldn’t bear to see another have—a kiss from Isleen Frost.
CHAPTER18
The duke hired sleighs from the village of Lambsthorpe to supplement his party, on December the twenty-third, allowing a fleet of sleighs with bells and horses to sweep across the landscape. Isleen sat next to her brother in the sleigh Teague had claimed for driving. Their mother remained in the castle, with tea cakes and a book.
Fiona had dragged Lord James with her into their sleigh, and the two children laughed and shouted as they went down the hill and to the stretch of empty fields. Sleigh races, the duke had declared, would be a marvelous way to pass the day.
A groom rode on the seat at the back of the sleigh, balancing the vehicle with his added weight, and keeping everything steady.
Isleen kept her hands tucked in her muff, and her eyes on the surrounding snow-covered landscape. White blanketed the hills and valleys, dusted the trees, and turned everything around them into a blank canvas ready for the splash of color a sleigh and its passengers would bring.
“I haven’t seen you much in recent days,” Teague remarked, leaning close to be heard over the horse’s bells. “And whenever I do see you, you’re tucked snug as a lamb between Lady Josephine and Lady Atella. Or else arguing with Lord Farleigh in the corner, after dinner.”
“And whose fault is that, exactly? You are the one forever locked away with the gentlemen, speaking of politics,” she accused with a good-natured nudge to his shoulder. “I’m proud of you for holding your own with them, Teague.”
“Thank you. With the duke as my champion, it hasn’t been as difficult to be heard as I feared.” Teague gave her a crooked smile. “I wonder if the wrong Frost went into politics. You nearly turned the conversation from my point aboutyou.”
Fiona leaned forward from behind, her grin less than cherubic. “Are we talking about Issie flirting with the earl? I’ve wagered with James they dance at least twice at the ball.”
“Fiona!” Isleen twisted around in her seat, scandalized. “What a thing to do. Young ladies don’t place wagers, and certainly do not involve themselves in the business of others.” She looked at the boy, to see what he made of the comment.
Lord James shrugged, leaning back in his seat with his fur cap pulled down low over his ears and eyebrows. “My sisters place wagers all the time. Usually with Andrew. We just aren’t allowed to gamble with money. I get all of Fi’s dessert on Christmas if she’s wrong, and she gets my conch shell if she’s right.”
“A conch shell?” Isleen repeated numbly, looking from the young lord to her sister, barely registering that the boy who had argued with her now called her by the pet name her family used. “You must take back your wager at once, Fi. Or—or I will tell Máthair.”
“Best not,” Teague said with a wide grin. “Because if you tattle on Fi, I’ll have to tattle on you.”
“Teague,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder. But of course, her sister had heard. Isleen’s cheeks blossomed with heat, while Fiona cackled with glee.
Lord James leaned forward, eyes aglow. “What did you bet Simon? What happens if he loses? What happens ifyoulose?”
“I think it has something to do with all the flirting,” Fiona sang out.
Isleen glared at her sister. “If there’s any more of that sort of talk, there’ll be less of it!” It was a typical Irish threat, usually uttered by mothers grown tired of children squabbling, but it did the trick.
Fiona leaned back again, an unrepentant grin on her face, saying no more, even though Lord James tried to wheedle more information from Isleen.
Isleen faced forward, shoulders back and head tilted up. “Good job keeping a secret, Teague Frost.”
Teague didn’t look any more contrite than Fiona did. “I didn’t know it was a secret from Fi. It’s all theconteand Sir Andrew talk about, when the duke isn’t present, teasing Farleigh something awful. And Childwick has since joined in, though none of them ever mention your name directly. They’re too gentlemanly for that, I suppose.”
She wanted to sink into the nearest bank of snow and not come out again until spring.
There’d not been cause to tease her about a man in years, and Fiona had been a mere babe then. Too young to notice her sister’s blushes or stammers. And Teague had been away at university.
The most mortifying thing of all was Lord James’s presence. What if he carried the conversation to his brother? His sisters?
“I haven’t done anything wrong.” She failed to keep the plaintive tone out of her words. “We’ve been friendly to one another, and that is all.”
“Calm yourself, Issie.” Teague nudged her the way she’d bumped his shoulder a moment before, his hands still on the horse’s leads. “No one thinks you a flirt. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She ducked her chin and flicked snow that had fallen from a tree off her coat sleeve. “I’m not upset.”
“Good. Besides, if youwereof a mind to flirt with the earl, he’d be a lucky man. He’s a fine fellow and might even deserve you, at that.”
