A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)

Isabel’s brow creased as she looked from Toby to Yorke, and then back.

“Well, she’s achy, you know. And generally out of sorts. Bit of a fever, some stiffness. It’s a medical mystery, really. She has the doctor quite flummoxed.” The words streamed from Toby’s mouth at record speed. If he spoke quickly and incoherently enough, he might squeak through this muddle. He hoped. “But last I heard, she’s on the mend. I’m certain the polls will reopen Monday.”

“Right,” Yorke said. “I suppose I’ll see you on Monday, then?”

“Oh, yes. Monday.” Toby said, absorbing Mr. Yorke’s strange look. A look that said the crafty old fellow would be nowhere near Surrey on Monday.

“If you’re staying in town, perhaps we’ll meet at church tomorrow,” Isabel said.

“Perhaps, Lady Aldridge.” With a smile and a tip of his hat, Mr. Yorke went on his way. Toby stared after him. What the hell was going on? Toby hadn’t been in Surrey today, but apparently neither had Yorke. Was it possible the old man wasn’t even campaigning? It would explain why the polls remained so close, and the turnout of electors so low. He found himself wanting to chase after Yorke, take him to the club for some quality liquor and one of their honest discussions. The man was hiding something, and Toby was, too. And he didn’t know where that left them, but he knew it was a great deal further apart than they’d been before. That was a damned shame.

Scenarios tumbled together in his mind. There was no way to explain it, except to assume

Yorke wasn’t making much effort at reelection. And if that was the case, the unthinkable could happen.

Toby could actually win.

“Toby?” Isabel pulled on his arm. “The bed linens?”

“Right,” he said, gathering his wits and flashing her a carefree smile. “Aubergine satin.”

What was he thinking? He had no chance of victory. Yorke knew that too, that’s why he wasn’t even bothering to make an effort. And really, which was a better use of Toby’s time?

Trolling the farmlands of Surrey for votes, or waging a campaign of sensual persuasion to win the heart of his beautiful wife?

No contest there.

Winning the election would be a mere temporary victory—a stay of execution, until Isabel next put him to the test. No, to ensure their lasting happiness, he had to win her. And he would. He had a new weapon in his arsenal now: Love. He loved her, and that had to count for something. He only hoped it would count for enough.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Toby, it is indecent.”

“It is merely a well-cut and finely-sewn piece of silk, with no moral code to speak of. And you, my dear wife, are ravishing.”

Isabel tugged at the bodice of her gown, trying to coax it higher. She turned slightly, eyeing the effect in her mirrored reflection. Perhaps she could tuck a fichu under the neckline? Oh, what was the use? A mortifying amount of cle**age would still be on display. It would be like trimming a haunch of mutton with paper frills, and hoping they discouraged the appetite.

“Trust me,” Toby said, his reflected image sidling up behind hers, “the style is not so brazen as you think. It’s practically prudish by French standards.”

“But we are not in France.” And never would they travel there, if Bel had anything to say about it. It wasn’t only the cut of the gown that shocked her. The deep wine-red hue was the color of sin itself, and the crystals sewn into the bodice flashed like little beacons designed to draw prurient attention. But Toby had ordered the gown made thus, and judging by his expression in the mirror, Bel assumed he was well pleased with the result. “I just feel so exposed. But if it pleases you …”

“It does please me, and that is why. Because you are exposed. That’s what the opera is about—

seeing and being seen.”

“I thought the opera was about Don Juan.”

Chuckling, Toby placed his hands on her nearly-bare shoulders. Tracing lazy circles with his thumbs, he leaned over to brush a kiss below her ear. “I love your hair like this, upswept.” His lips trailed down her neck and over her nape. “So tightly coiled and expertly bound.” The words sent excitement rippling down her spine. “It makes me think of the exquisite joy I will have, freeing it later tonight.” His tongue flicked against her ear. As he drew his fingertips down the sensitive flesh of her arms, Bel’s knees dissolved. At this rate, they would never leave the house. She could not say that she would mind. Their planned outing made her uncomfortable, in any number of ways.

“You are beautiful,” he crooned, resting his chin on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her. Together they stared at their entwined reflections. “We are beautiful together.”

She had to concede they did make a striking couple. People commented on it so often, she was growing accustomed to hearing it.