Free Seduction & Scandal by Charlotte Featherstone

as Lucy.
    â€œOh, get on with it,” Lucy commanded. “It’s only you and I, for mercy’s sake.”
    The wax seal broke, and she opened the card to more of the elegant black script.
    â€™Tis the last rose of summer
    Left blooming alone;
    All her lovely companions
    Are faded and gone;
    No flower of her kindred,
    No rosebud is nigh
    To reflect back her blushes
    To give sigh for sigh.
    I dreamed of your sighs last night, Isabella—a most haunting, beautiful sound that I hope, most fervently, I might hear again very soon.
    Your servant, Black
    Isabella tried to hastily fold the card before Lucy could read it. But her cousin was too quick, and managed to read Lord Black’s missive before she could hide the card.
    â€œWell,” Lucy drawled with amusement, “how could Lord Black know that you have a fondness for Thomas Moore’s poetry?”
    Puzzled, Isabella looked up at her cousin. “I don’t know.”
    With a smile Lucy breezed past her then stopped atthe door. With a glance over her shoulder, she said, “You know, Issy, I would bet my dowry that Lord Black would not command you to see to your own amusement in the evenings—not like Mr. Knighton. Something tells me that Black would keep you exceedingly busy, and delightfully amused, all night long.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    P ALL M ALL AND C OCKSPUR STREETS were bustling with trade. Elegant carriages transported the rich and fashionable down the cobbles for an afternoon of shopping, while wooden carts carrying fresh vegetables and apples wound their way to Covent Garden where the goods would go up for sale in the market.
    On the sidewalks, people walked shoulder to shoulder, some in a hurry to carry out their business, others at a more leisurely pace, stopping occasionally to peer into a shop window or to purchase a newspaper from one of the many young boys selling them on the street corners.
    â€œWolf escaped from London Zoo! Still at large!” called one such boy as Isabella passed him.
    â€œMystery in Spitalfields!” cried another. “Bodies found murdered! Read all about it in the Standard! ”
    Pressing on, Isabella ignored the chilling headlines of the day and continued down Cockspur Street to Jacobson’s, the preeminent apothecary in London. Her headache would not give up, not even after a pot of tea and a nap. When she’d left the house, Lucy was still napping, so Isabella had taken a footman with her. The footman, Isabella noted, was lingering behind, talking to a buxom shopgirl who was trying to sell the young man a haunch of pork—and other wares, Isabella was certain. It didn’t matter that she was getting farther and farther away from him, for her head was throbbing, and the smells of the city were beginning to nauseate her. She needed that medicine,the only tonic that had been able to cure the headaches and stem the dreams.
    Oh, how she hated to think of them coming back. They’d been gone for months now. She’d thought herself cured. How very distressing to know she wasn’t. She’d had one of those disturbing dreams that very afternoon, during her nap. It was upon awakening that she realized the dreams had only been on hiatus—not banished. She knew then that she must come to Jacobson for more of the tonic.
    â€œWomen gone missing from the Adelphi Theatre,” a boy called as he rang his bell. A group of gentlemen stopped and clustered around the lad for a look at the day’s headlines. The boy held out an issue of the Times to her when he saw her standing on the sidewalk, attempting to move around the group of men. “Read all about the Adelphi mystery in the Times, miss.”
    Reaching into her reticule, Isabella removed a shilling and gave it to the lad.
    â€œThank you, miss,” he said, his eyes growing round. “’Ave a good day.”
    Nodding, she accepted the paper from the boy and unfolded it. Scanning the headlines, she read