A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(33)

Forever.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Can’t you wait a few minutes longer?” Toby asked, as the orchestra struck the final chord and they whirled to a halt. “I was hoping we could go speak with your brothers.”

“I can’t, it’s my …” Isabel gave him a pained look, then stood on her toes to whisper in his ear. The delicate warmth of her breath sent heat coursing through his veins. “It’s my hem. I tripped on it during the quadrille.”

Toby smiled. It was adorable, how aggrieved she became, owning up to something so meaningless as a ripped hem. But it warmed his heart that she overcame her distress and gave him the honest truth. He’d heard his fill of enigmatic feminine excuses, and he certainly had no use for them in a wife.

But truly, of late he found everything about her adorable. Toby was well and thoroughly besotted with his future bride. How could he not be? He’d been the recipient of admiring gazes, adoring ones—he could count a half-dozen girls in this ballroom alone who’d once regarded him with nigh-on-idolatrous worship in their eyes. But none of them had Isabel’s principles and discernment, and none of them had ever regarded him with such faith.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “If your hem is ripped, it’s not noticeable in the least.”

“But everyone’s staring at me.”

“Of course they are. Not only is this ball being held in your honor—”

“Our honor.”

“Very well, our honor—but you’ve committed the unforgivable sin of being the most beautiful lady in the room.” He placed a hand on the small of her back. “Just three minutes with your brothers, and I’ll escort you to the retiring room myself.”

“Why don’t I just go while you speak with them? Whatever it is you want to discuss, surely you don’t need me.”

“Ah, but I’d miss you.” With his signature persuasive grin, he steered her toward the corner of the ballroom currently anchored by the broad-shouldered bulk of two Grayson men. Truly, he didn’t need her there. But this was a complicated maneuver he’d been planning for weeks, and all of it solely for Isabel’s benefit. There was no way he would allow her to miss the crowning moment.

“Reginald,” he called, pausing on his way toward Gray and Joss. “May I beg your company for a moment?”

“Yes, of course.” With a polite bow to Isabel, his brother-in-law joined their group. “What is it, Toby?”

“Do you remember that I told you Isabel’s brother is interested in studying law, as it affects his shipping business?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And do you remember promising to take him as a pupil in your offices?”

“Certainly.”

Toby nodded toward the corner. “Allow me to introduce him, then.”

“But I’ve already met Gray,” Reginald murmured, as they walked in that direction. “The other week, at Lord Fairleigh’s dinner party.”

Toby’s smile widened.

“Good evening,” he said smoothly, as they reached the Graysons. “Gray, I know you’ve been introduced to my brother-in-law, Mr. Reginald Tolliver.”

The men traded perfunctory nods.

“Reginald,” Toby continued, “allow me to introduce Isabel’s other brother, Captain Josiah Grayson. Joss, this is my brother-in-law, one of England’s finest barristers. He’s agreed to supervise your legal studies.”

To his credit, Reginald refused to display the slightest hint of surprise that his new pupil was part African. After all, he hadn’t become a top barrister by being easily rattled. He did, however, shoot Toby a look that told him Reginald knew he’d been manipulated, he didn’t appreciate it, and it would be his and Augusta’s turn to summer in the Brighton cottage, two years running.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Grayson,” Reginald said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Toby moved to the side, allowing Reginald and Joss the space to discuss particulars. The step brought him closer to Gray, not entirely by accident.

“Thank you,” Gray muttered, in a tone that told Toby to expect no further comment. But really, those two words were more than enough. If all the remarks in the world were ranked according to how much pleasure Gray would take in saying them to Toby—Toby suspected the list would be topped with “I only wish I could kill you twice” and end with something like, “Kiss me again.” Just a rung or two above that last would be “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Toby replied in a magnanimous tone. It hardly signified that Gray had already left. His chest swelled with victory, until he damn near floated away. A tug at his sleeve yanked him back to earth.

“Toby?” Isabel’s low voice was resonant with emotion.

“Yes, darling?” He turned to her, prepared to receive an outpouring of gratitude and affection.

“May I please go have my hem repaired now?”

Toby stared at her, then gave a little laugh. He’d just secured England’s most unlikely aspiring lawyer the tutelage of England’s most successful barrister, and Isabel’s opinion of him hadn’t altered one bit. She wasn’t impressed, or even grateful in the least. Because she wasn’t surprised. She simply expected heroics of him. He couldn’t decide whether that response was mildly disappointing, or supremely satisfying in some bone-deep, essential way. One thing was certain. It was intimidating. Not to mention unsettling, the lengths to which he felt prepared to go, to win his lady’s favor. He half wished some fire-breathing dragon would crash through the frescoed ceiling, just so he might have the pleasure of slaying it for her.