5
Knot in the Dark
Late that night, Lady Elizabeth sat in her room stitching by the light of three flickering candles. She had only two days to sew a gown for Lady Ashburton’s ball, and she must accomplish the task without anyone in Lady Alameda’s household discovering the embarrassing fact that she must act as her own seamstress. The season pressed forward. High time she brought someone up to the mark, or all would be lost.
The intricate detail work she was putting into the bodice began to strain her eyes. Yet, it was necessary. The small tucks in the white crepe would create dozens of lines to pull the eye upward. Why so many young women fashioned dramatic creations for their flounces baffled Elizabeth, unless they wished to draw attention to their ankles or toes. Ankles might be well and good, but it seemed patently obvious which aspect of her anatomy most attracted the male eye. So, she focused on accentuating the bodice and left the hem fairly simple.
She heard a thud just outside her door. It was her brother, no doubt, stumbling home at this dreadful hour. She picked up a candle in a brass holder and went to the hallway, colliding with, not her brother, but Lord St. Evert. “Good heavens!”
In the unsteady light of her lone candle, it took her a moment to note that her brother appeared to be draped around St. Evert’s massive shoulders. “Is that my liddle Izzie Bizzy?” Robert collapsed in a spat of giggles.
“Good heavens.” She looked from one to the other.
Lord St. Evert grinned wickedly at her. “You keep referring to the heavens, my lady. I don’t believe this has anything to do with the sky, nor God’s dwelling place. To the contrary, I do believe I’ve been cavorting through—”
She held up her hand. “You’re both foxed.”
Robert saluted her from his upside-down position. “Right you are, your highness.”
“No. He is foxed.” Lord St. Evert straightened under his burden. “I have merely ingested too many glasses of watered-down bourbon. There is a vast difference.”
She raised the candle and stared at him. His neckcloth hung untied around his neck, his coat had gone missing, and in the dim light, strands of his golden hair hung beside the hard lines of his jaw and shone red in the candlelight. There appeared to be nothing foppish about him. He looked altogether masculine. Frighteningly so. She stepped back, bumping into the wall.
“It’s the smell, isn’t it?” It caught her off guard when, in complete violation of his character, he gazed remorsefully at her. “I’m afraid he retched on my leg during the carriage ride home.”
Robert piped up. “Damn fine celebration. Too bad you weren’t there, Izzie. Dunworthy came into his majority tonight. Fine fellow. Good family, even if they are Scots. Pots of money. Jus’ yer type.” He lifted his hand weakly in her direction. “Has a lovely sister, he has. Didn’t you think so?” He twisted sideways trying to speak directly to Lord St. Evert and then gave up the effort. “Eh, Capt’n?”
“Lovely.”
“’Xactly. Yellow curls. Very fetching. Keen on you. Kept batting her eyes in your direction.”
“You’re blathering.” St. Evert turned to cart Robert down the hall to his rooms. “It’s off to bed with you.”
She held the candle aloft and led the way, opened the door. “If you will set him on his bed, my lord, I can manage from here.” She hurriedly threw back the blankets.
Robert flopped onto the mattress as if he were a sack filled with sand and had no bones whatsoever. She stared at her brother. “I’ve never seen him like this.”
“I have.” St. Evert’s hushed voice glided easily into a familiar place in her soul, as if they were old and intimate friends. “Once. On the continent—but that is another matter. Tonight I ought to have dragged him away much earlier. Here, let me give you a hand with his boots.”
Lord St. Evert tugged off the boots while she removed Robert’s neckcloth and struggled to shift him out of his coat. Half-asleep, her brother mumbled grumpily and batted her hand away.
“Robert, for pity’s sake. You cannot go to bed in your coat. You’ll ruin it entirely.”
The uncooperative slug rolled onto his side, muttering oaths at her. She gave up.
“It rained on us.” St. Evert stood beside her. “His coat is bound to be damp. We’d best take it off.” Together they wrested Robert’s arm out of the sleeve and rolled him onto his other side to complete the task.
St. Evert handed her the sodden garment. “That should do. He’ll rest well enough in his clothes.”
She pulled the covers over her foolhardy brother and briefly smoothed back a few stray dark hairs from his forehead. Sweet, guileless Robert. If only she could count on him to shoulder more of the family problems—but no. She would guide them through this predicament. Izzie turned and found St. Evert watching her intently. “Thank you, my lord, for your assistance tonight. For bringing my brother home, and—”
“It’s Valen.”
“Valen?”
“My name.”
“Yes, well, thank you, Valen.” She retrieved her candle plate from the bed table.
He still stared at her. “You’re fairly pleasant to look at. You realize that, don’t you?”
She, who was accustomed to far more gratifying compliments, pursed her lips. “I am passable, my lord. And you, I believe, are nearly as foxed as my brother.”
“I told you, call me Valen. For Valentine. Ghastly name. Never call me that. Just Valen. I am not foxed. But you, you’re in your night-rail, and I can’t help it, you are abominabable-y…no, that’s not the word…abysmally attractive.”
Abysmally?
Was he that far into his cups, or was he simply gammoning her? She couldn’t tell. Did he actually intend to call her attractive? What did he mean, abysmally
