Page 17 of Season of the Scoundrel
“Lily,” Edgerton said lightly and with a slight chuckle.
“I have been remiss, Duchess. Your chastisement is entirely fair.”
“Not a true chastisement, Your Grace. I feel a fondness for you now that you’ve seen my sister’s potential as a journalist.”
“I do,” Ross agreed.
“Speaking of Ivy, where is she?” Edgerton looked around.
Ross’s body tensed. “She’s here this evening?”
Neither of them answered, but the duchess swung her gaze to the far side of the room. “She went to speak to Miss Cartwright and her mother. They’ve been friends since last Season.” The duchess’s brows dipped. “But she’s not there anymore. Perhaps she went to the retiring room.”
”You’re not thinking of investing funds into any of Penrose’s schemes?” Ross asked Edgerton, trying for an untroubled tone.
“He’s asked me to,” he admitted. “Several times, in fact, but I always decline. I’m content with my investments at the moment and am not looking to speculate. Especially as we’re planning to leave the city for several months.”
“Back to Derbyshire?” The prospect of Ivy Bridewell leaving London should have been entirely satisfying to Ross. The mostdistracting lady he’d met in years would be far away. There’d be no running into her at The Savoy or anywhere else. And more importantly, she couldn’t endanger herself by further prying into Penrose’s investments.
Yet the prospect wasn’t satisfying. Ross felt strangely bereft at the notion. At least for all of three minutes until he caught the scent of vanilla in the air and turned to see her approaching.
He swallowed hard at the sight of her. Tonight, she wore emerald and she was as dazzling as any jewel. A simple black ribbon choker at her throat drew his gaze there and then lower to where her bodice?—
“And you, Blackbourne?” Edgerton prodded, as if he’d spoken to Ross previously and he’d failed to respond.
Ross turned back to him, though he was damnably aware of Ivy drawing closer.
“Pardon?” he said to Edgerton.
“Have you invested in any of Penrose’s business ventures?”
“Have you?” Ivy asked from the spot she’d taken up tantalizingly close to his elbow.
“I have not.” Ross turned a look her way as he answered.
She nodded as if satisfied with his answer, but her eyes told a different story. Her suspicion was clear in the slight tightening of her jaw, the subtle narrowing of her eyes.
“Oh, it looks like the unveiling will commence soon,” the Duchess of Edgerton noted.
“Do find a spot to gather around,” Penrose called to his guests.
The Duke and Duchess of Edgerton strode closer to the cloth-covered painting. Ivy stayed next to him.
“Finding you here tonight makes your claim from last evening quite hard to believe, Your Grace,” Ivy said in a low accusatory tone.
“You have my vow that I told him nothing. I’m merely curious about the man.” He turned a look her way. “As are you.”
“Mmm.” The noncommittal sound was one he used out of habit. She seemed to take delight in using it against him. “If you discover anything, Your Grace, you’ll share it with me, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Or at least he would as long as it wouldn’t cause her to do anything reckless.
“Blackbourne, good God, it really is you.”
Ross turned at the man’s voice and wasn’t at all surprised to see Lord Alec Grainger at Penrose’s event. The two were thick as, well, thieves, which is precisely what Ross suspected they were. As soon as he’d read Ivy’s piece, he’d suspected Grainger had to be involved too.
“Penrose mentioned he’d dined with you.” Grainger leaned in a bit. “And that you might join us on the Southwell Shipping endeavor.”
Ross gave him a half-smile and offered no reply.
