Page 16 of Season of the Scoundrel
“I made a sketch for you too, Ivy.”
Ivy guided them through the other zoo visitors toward the entrance. They’d agreed with the family’s coachman to collect them at this hour.
“Oh? Thank you.” Ivy glanced down at her sister’s sketchbook. “Is it the sea anemone I admired?”
“No, it’s the gentleman you admired.” Marigold held up the page proudly.
Ivy slowed her steps and felt the maddening rush of her heartbeat—this time at a drawn image of the man. Mari had done an excellent job of capturing the squareness of his jaw, the waves of his hair, even the shape of his mouth.
“I don’t admire him,” she said a little too emphatically.
Both twins stopped walking. Hyacinth, who’d been holding Ivy’s hand, pulled her to a stop too.
“Why would you fib about such thing?” Marigold asked. Her tone rang with utter disappointment.
“She doesn’t want to admit that he flusters her,” Hyacinth said, relaying Ivy’s sentiments from the previous night.
“Yes, thank you, Cinthy.” Ivy only barely resisted rolling her eyes. “Come, let’s not keep Mr. Henshaw waiting.”
Once they’d located the coach and climbed inside, the twins on one bench and Ivy opposite them, the girls started going through the sketches Marigold had made at the zoo.
But Hyacinth kept glancing up at Ivy. “Perhaps you should tell him that you admire him.”
Marigold looked up with a mischievous look. “Or perhaps you should investigate him.”
During their sister Daphne’s Season, it had become an amusing topic in the family that Ivy would investigate any gentleman who so much as looked Daphne’s way, after one particular scoundrel had betrayed her trust.
Blackbourne, if he’d ever participated in the Season’s events, would no doubt have been investigated too—at least within the scope of Ivy’s amateur sleuthing skills.
“Perhaps I should look into him,” Ivy mused.
Though she’d have to possess the worst luck of any aspiring lady journalist in London if she’d taken an article about onenobleman’s involvement in criminal activities to an equally nefarious duke.
“Maybe he’ll go to the party you’re attending this evening,” Hyacinth said, almost hopefully.
Ivy hoped he did not attend because she had a plan to see what she could uncover inside Penrose’s townhouse. Blackbourne would certainly call her planreckless.
But she cared far less about etiquette than uncovering the viscount’s crimes.
Ross couldn’t quite believethat he was in evening wear again.
At dinner the previous night, Penrose had invited him to attend a small gathering in which a painting of his wife would be unveiled, and Ross should have declined.
At least at The Savoy, the others in the dining room had been attending to their meals. Tonight, Ross felt as if he was being considered as the meal. Ladies’ eyes followed him hungrily. Not just marriageable debutantes and their mamas, but others like Lady Wentworth, a lovely widow who’d propositioned him at the last soiree he’d attended years ago.
Ross considered bolting. While his conscience might remind him he needed a duchess, he wasn’t seeking the sort of liaison someone like Lady Wentworth might propose.
As he took a drink offered by a servant winding their way through the gathering, he spotted a familiar face on the far side of the room—Edgerton was here with his duchess.
His presence gave Ross a moment’s pause. Good grief, had Penrose drawn Edgerton into one of his investment schemes? If Ivy knew, she’d certainly warn her brother-in-law aboutconsorting with the man, which made Ross curious about the couple’s presence.
Edgerton seemed to sense his regard and looked his way. Ross approached the two.
“Blackbourne, have you met my wife?” Edgerton asked amiably.
“I have not had the pleasure. It is an honor to meet you, Duchess.” Ross offered her a nod.
The Duchess of Edgerton offered him a graceful nod in return and then assessed him with one tawny brow arched. “You might have met me years ago if you’d accepted one of our invitations, Your Grace.”
