Taming of the Duke_The - Essex Sisters 02 (2006) by Eloisa James

Author:Eloisa James
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Regency, Man-Woman Relationships, Regency Fiction, Aristocracy (Social Class), Fiction, Romance, Suffolk (England), Historical, Sisters, General, Love Stories
ISBN: 9780060781583
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2006-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 19

Love’s Mistress

It was one of those evenings when the sky is a clear, dark blue, almost as if it is lighted from the inside. He was wearing the mustache. And a black opera cloak.

It felt rather dashing, as if he were a spy. Or an illicit lover. But he’d given a great deal of thought to the evening, and he knew precisely how it would unfold. Imogen didn’t really wish to engage in surreptitious intimacies with Gabe. This was merely a wild flight, akin to when she tried so desperately to entice Mayne into improprieties. He’d wager half his estate that she would change her mind when it came to the point. Then he could bring her back to the house without her ever knowing that Gabe had backed out of the evening. The moon was just bright enough so that the acacia leaves kept a faint golden glow, as if they’d kept a trace of sunshine. He had arrived early and taken up a place leaning against the rounded, mossy stones of the orchard wall. The old acacia kept flinging its leaves at him: beautiful golden ovals that tumbled through the air as if they were waltzing a particularly vigorous, solitary measure.

He straightened when he heard the sweep of a cloak in the leaves. He couldn’t quite believe that Imogen wouldn’t recognize him. Surely she would take one look at his face and know it was he. They’d exchanged enough hard glances.

He would certainly pick her from a hundred women. No other woman had such a deep bottom lip, and those flaring eyebrows. No, or the cracking wit she constantly broke over his head either.

A moment later he took that back. To say she looked like a romp would be a compliment: a night-walker would be the common assumption. He would never have recognized her.

“Imogen!” he said, forgetting for a moment that he was Gabe, and Gabe would address Imogen as Lady Maitland.

“May I call you Gabriel?” she said, dimpling up at him and putting a hand on his arm.

“Youyou look”

“I look positively decadent,” she said with satisfaction. “Once I was completely costumed, my maid had what she called a Very Nasty Spasm at the thought of my being seen in public like this. But I assured her that no one could possibly guess who I am.”

Rafe stared down at her, speechless. Imogen’s lips were shining crimson, and her eyes were lined in black.

She’d covered her face in some sort of powder, and a great quantity of flaxen ringlets spiraled out of her hood in all directions. “I believe you are correct in your assumption,” he said. Of course, she was the most beautiful night-walker he’d ever seen.

“Shall we go?” Imogen asked.

“Where did you find the wig?” Rafe said, pulling himself together and taking her arm to lead her through the orchard door.

“It was in one of the boxes of theatrical properties sent from London, of course,” she said, glancing up at him. “Didn’t you help Griselda catalog the contents?”

“Of course!” Rafe said hastily.

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