She collapsed against her seat, and after a long, lingering moment, Nick lifted his head, meeting her eyes. She registered the pleasure and the passion there, and she took a deep, shaking breath, attempting to compose herself as he lowered her skirts and moved to sit beside her. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, pulling her against him to recover.

She set one hand absently against him, and he hissed at the movement, capturing her hand in one of his. Her eyes widened. “Did I … Are you hurt?”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Not at all. Merely desperate for more of you.”

Understanding dawned, and Isabel said, “Would you like for me to … do something? ”

He laughed then, squeezing her hand in his. “More than anything on this earth, I want that.” He kissed her hand. “But now is neither the place, nor the time. I am, however, very happy that you have agreed to marry me. Because I fully intend to accept that request very soon.”

She blushed at that, immediately embarrassed by the way that they had discussed marriage.

He had the grace to look chagrined. “I did not propose properly.”

She shook her head. “We need not stand on ceremony. There is no one here who will have expected formalities.”

“Nevertheless, I shall make it up to you.”

She looked away from him, considering her hands in her lap. “I rather like the way you did it.”

He put one hand to her chin, turning her to look at him. He searched her eyes, as though looking for something. Something cleared in his gaze, and he kissed her, a soft, generous kiss that made her more than satisfied that she had agreed to marry this man who seemed so very easy to like.

If only she could be certain that he was not easy to love.

She was spared from having to consider the thought when a knock sounded on the door. Isabel leapt from her seat, her heart in her throat. If they had been interrupted just minutes beforehand…

The door opened, and Lara stepped into the room. “Isabel?”

For a moment, she had trouble finding them, well hidden at the far end of the room behind a collection of tall statues, but Isabel took the moment to say, more loudly than necessary, “I do believe this is a statue of Apollo, Lord Nicholas.”

Nick stood, slowly, and came around the back of Isabel to consider the marble to which she was referring. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, Lady Isabel.”

Isabel was not paying much attention—instead watching as Lara hurried through the maze of statues toward them. “Why would you say that?”

“Well,” he said dryly, “in the first place, this statue is female.”

Isabel snapped her head up to look at the marble for the first time. “Well. Obviously I don’t mean this statue. But that one over there.”

“Of course, my mistake.” He gave her a small, knowing smile. “Which one? ”

“That one over there.” She waved a hand absently, distracted by Lara. “Lara? Is all well?”

Lara came closer.

All was not well. “Isabel.”

Isabel knew at once what had happened. “Who is it? ”

Lara stopped, catching her breath; she had clearly rushed the entire way. “Georgiana.”

Isabel felt Nick stiffen beside her. She turned to him and was surprised to see the seriousness in him. Gone was the teasing charmer from earlier, replaced by a stone-faced man. “What about her?”

“She has gone missing.”

He met her gaze. “What do we do? ”

If she had had the time to consider his words, Isabel would have been happy with his use of the word we, yet more proof that they would make a sound team. But she was already heading for the exit, Lara on her heels.

“We find her.”

Sixteen

Lesson Number Seven

Show appropriate awe in the face of his remarkableness.

There is nothing a lord likes better than to be reminded of his superior strength, intelligence, and power. Feign ignorance and allow your lord the right in all things, and he is yours. Give him little opportunities to support you: should you singe your fingers playing Snap Dragon, allow him to tend your wounds; encourage his superior skills in cards and other parlor games; and, when possible, laud his vast knowledge and particular might.

Pearls and Pelisses

June 1823

Who saw her last?”

Isabel’s question was short and efficient as she entered the kitchens of Minerva House, taking a large, rolled sheet of paper from Gwen and moving straight to the table at the center of the room.

Nick noticed Rock enter from the opposite end of the room, back from his excursion to town. He met his friend’s eyes and read the urgency in them before looking away, immediately distracted by the rest of the inhabitants of the kitchen. And slightly overwhelmed by them.

Here was Minerva House.

There were two dozen women there, each dressed in men’s clothing, breeches, linen shirts, Hessian boots, hair tucked inside caps. They stood when Isabel entered, as though she were Wellington himself. And in that moment, she could have been. With the calm and ease of a lifelong general, Isabel unrolled the paper on the center table, holding it down with a large kitchen block, a saltcellar, and two wooden bowls. Nick took a step forward, recognizing it as a map of the manor, spread before her like a battle plan.

This was not the first time that something like this had happened.

“I saw her last,” Jane said, facing Isabel across the table. “She was headed for the laundry with some of James’s clothes.”

Nick met Rock’s gaze across the room. The Turk indicated the door to the outside, a question in his eyes. Nick shook his head.