Chapter 12

A Few Weeks Later

Until Wednesday, then," Io said to Miss Amelia Temple.

"I look forward to it, my lady, er, Io," the village schoolteacher amended at Io's chiding look.

Io smiled. "Better."

Amelia glanced around at the moonless night. "You really should not be walking alone so late. Perhaps I should accompany you."

"Then I would need to walk you back. Don't worry. I'm going to the King's Quarrel. My brothers all but live there. One of them can walk me home."

Her new friend looked faintly distressed at the mention of the local pub. It was acceptable for women to go there during the day—in pairs—but not at night. And certainly not alone.

Truly, women were often more eager to build their own cages than men were.

"Good night, Amelia," Io said firmly, and then turned before the other woman could come up with any other suggestions.

The walk to the pub was less than five minutes. Instead of thinking about the book club discussion at Amelia's cottage, her mind went to the vicious argument she'd had with Edith earlier that day.

Io felt like she was always bickering with the woman, but a new level of hatred had entered their clash today because Edith had learned what Io and her small cadre of friends had distributed the night of the Harvest Fair.

"What, precisely, did Masterson tell you we were distributing?" Io had asked Edith, hoping to force the other woman to say the word condom.

Edith had not denied that Masterson was her informant. "Do not trifle with me. You know exactly what you were doing."

"That is true. I do know. And you can do nothing to stop me." She had smirked in a way that drove her twin mad and worked a similar effect on Edith, if her heightened color was anything to go by.

"You are determined to drag His Grace's name through the mud—to shame him and the rest of us with your abhorrent behavior." Her voice had risen to unladylike levels by the time she'd finished and Io had taken vengeful pleasure in witnessing Edith's mask of civility slip.

"It may surprise you to discover that I do not consider offering aid to impoverished women abhorrent, Edith."

"You might not care about your own reception here, but your sister does," Edith had retorted, ignoring Io's words as if she'd never spoken.

"Eva would not want me to suppress my beliefs regardless of what society thinks."

It was Edith's turn to smirk and Io had to admit the woman had the hateful expression down to an art form. "That is what she would tell you, of course."

"What are you driving at?"

"As you refuse to pay calls on the local gentry with us you will not have witnessed the cool reception Eva has received. None of the mothers in the area will allow their daughters to associate with her. Not because of Eva herself, but because they fear your pernicious influence."

As much as she had wanted to scorn the accusation, Io had heard the truth in the hateful harpy's words and had stood mute with fury and shame while Edith had sailed from the room, her chin high in triumph.

The other woman's criticism had rankled all day and even during the book club, an activity she normally savored. Was what Edith said true? Could Io really be ruining Eva's standing in their community?

The sound of loud male laughter shook Io from her thoughts, and she was startled to see that she had reached the inn while she'd been fuming. Noise and light poured from the windows of the King's Quarrel and Io hoped at least one of her brothers was inside. Not because she needed an escort home, but because she desperately wanted a pleasurable distraction from her unhappy thoughts.

She pulled open the ancient wooden door and smiled with relief when she saw the twins—although not her twin—sitting around a table with an enormous man all the villagers called Small Jim.

Ares saw her first and waved a hand in greeting, grinning widely. Judging by his rosy cheeks, the pint in front of him was not his first.

"Look who the cat dragged in," Ares said loudly enough for the surrounding tables to hear every word.

Io slanted a look at Apollo. "How long has he been here?"

"Ever since Mrs. Fletcher rejected him," Pol said, a glint of amusement in his mixed-color eyes.

"Thanks very much, Pol." Ares gave his twin a sour moue.

"I don't know why you look so stricken," Io chided her wild, willful younger brother, who really looked nothing like his twin. It always amazed her how their faces could be identical and yet so very different.

"I'm stricken because some of us possess the finer emotions," Ares shot back.

Io laughed. "Well, you'd best toughen up, hadn't you? I never thought you were stupid, but if—" she broke off to smile at the serving woman who came to their table. "Good evening, Suzy."

"My lady," the young woman said, blushing and dropping a curtsey, as if Io were something special rather than just another female a few years older than her. But she had already given up on trying to change people's awe of her ducal connection. Instead, she said, "Another round of whatever these three fools are having—my treat—and a pint of homebrew for me as well," she added, not caring if it raised eyebrows that she was drinking in the main room rather than the parlor or snug or whatever it was called, or that she was consuming ale rather than a more ladylike shandy.

Suzy left and Io turned back to Ares to continue her harangue. "As I was saying, I never thought you were stupid. You should have known Mrs. Fowler would tire of a pup like you once she nailed your tail to her trophy wall." She rolled her eyes at the other two men, who were howling with mirth, and raised her voice to be heard over their laughter. "Even an idiot could see it was Bal she wanted all along," Io continued, amused at the red stain and sudden sobriety on Ares's handsome face. "Every single time the two are in proximity the woman all but humps poor Bal's leg."

Io shook her head as Small Jim and Pol fell off their chairs laughing. Idiots.

She had no issue with women taking what they wanted, but Jo Fletcher had hounded Bal relentlessly, putting him in the uncomfortable position of having to reject her advances, again and again.

Just because Io's family had grown up in Canoga everyone assumed they were sex crazed maniacs. It was annoying.

Io looked up when the barmaid speedily returned with their drinks. "Thank you, Suzi."

Ares nodded absently at Suzi—evidently not noticing the worshipful look on the young woman's face—and then glared at his still-chuckling friend and twin before turning back to Io. "Did you just come in here to insult me? Or do you want to play darts?"

"Do I have to choose? Why can't I do both?" She sipped her drink and surveyed the small taproom, which was lively and crowded. Her eyes screeched to a halt and then retraced their steps, landing on a familiar, unwanted face.

It was Masterson and he was sitting alone with a pint in front of him. And he was looking at her.

"What is he doing here?" Io said, not bothering to lower her voice.

Pol followed her gaze to the secretary and gave one of his slight smiles. "I believe he is here to make sure we behave."

"Zeus sent him?"

"Edith," Ares said, making the word sound like a multilegged insect that had crawled up his trouser leg and bitten him someplace sensitive.

Io scowled as she once again recalled what Edith had told her earlier. She was disgusted and disappointed but not at all surprised that Masterson had tattled to Edith about the Harvest Fair.

"I trust you have been giving him plenty to report back to his mistress?" Io asked, needing to exert far too much effort to wrench her gaze from Masterson, whom she'd not exchanged a word with since their explosive argument in Northampton when—yet again, she had behaved in a way that shamed her, screaming at him like an enraged toddler and losing control of her emotions, allowing him to goad her into acting like a spoiled child.

Io grimaced at the memory and turned back to her brother Pol, who was studying her with a far too knowing look. "What?" she demanded, hoping that his sharp eyes didn't notice the heat that flooded her face. "

But he only said, "Ares does his best to give Masterson plenty to report back."

"And what about you, Pol? What have you been doing?"

Io hadn't meant the question to sound quite as arch as it did—she'd just wanted to move his attention away from her—but her brother blushed and she felt a twinge of guilt.

"I did not mean it that way," she said in a low voice.

"I know."

Io and Pol had always been close and it was no surprise to her that her brother had confided his secret several years back. A secret she would never breathe a word of to anyone else, not even her twin.

"Do you hate it here?" she asked when he didn't offer anything else.

"Surprisingly, no. How about a game of darts?" he asked, obviously wanting to change the subject just as much as she had.

Io took a gulp of ale and wiped the foam off her mouth with the back of her hand. "Very well. I'll give you a game. As long as you don't cry and carry on when I thrash you."

Pol snorted. "I shall try to restrain myself."

***

Corbin knew he should stop staring at the woman currently making a spectacle of herself in front of the entire population of the village. Well, the male half, at least. Although he admitted grudgingly that Lady Io wasn"t the only female in the lively pub. But the other two women were demurely sitting with their husbands or sweethearts in the part of the building designated for women, while Lady Io was boldly playing one game of darts after another, drinking beer, and winning every game, while a crowd of eager, admiring males followed her every move.

She was a disgrace to her brother's name.

She was also so bloody beautiful that it hurt to look at her. Her hair, while still short, had grown out since New York, and the dark curls were wild as they danced around her perfect face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her catlike eyes sparkled with good humor—an expression they never held when looking at Corbin.

Just now she was laughing with exasperation as her twin brothers mooed at her, of all things. Corbin had heard them do that before. Just what the hell did it mean?

He pushed the perplexing thought aside and his mind immediately cleaved to its normal path: his obsession with Lady Io.

Right now, he was more than a little concerned with the hard-on he was desperately trying to conceal beneath the pub table. He told himself that was why he"d not got up and dragged Lady Io out of the place and home to the duke an hour ago. But the truth was that he had never enjoyed watching anyone so much in his life.

Corbin could not get her out of his mind. Even when she wasn't in front of him, he saw her.

Now that he'd experienced her touch—albeit mostly over his clothing—Corbin felt her all the time.

Especially on his dick and balls.

Of course, it was really his own hand—which had been as busy as a cock in a henhouse—that he'd been feeling. If Corbin had possessed any shame at all he would be mortified at how often he masturbated.

But he was rapidly learning that he had no shame where Lady Io Hale was concerned.

None at all.

***

Io could feel Masterson's eyes on her as she made her way back to the castle.

"He is following us," she muttered to Pol, who'd wanted to walk back with her while Ares went and made a fool of himself with Mrs. Fletcher.

"He is following you," Pol amended.

Io didn't argue.

"What are you going to do about it?" he asked quietly.

"What am I going to do? Nothing!" She chewed her lip and then said, "What in the world could I do?"

Pol snorted softly, a smirk on his handsome profile. "The sexual tension between the two of you is enough to power a steamship, Yoyo."

She groaned. "Is it that obvious?"

Pol laughed outright this time.

"You are suggesting I work him out of my system."

Pol merely shrugged.

"We might have been raised to believe that sexual relations are merely another human need like breathing or food, but a man who once trained to become a Presbyterian minister certainly would not," Io said.

"But he is not a minister, is he, Yoyo?"

Io opened her mouth, and then closed it. Pol had a point.

"Besides, when have you ever let a small matter like unpalatable opinions stop you?" Pol goaded.

"I cannot believe you are encouraging me in this."

Again, Pol shrugged. "They have dragged us into their world. It only seems fair to give them a taste of ours."

Io was still thinking about her brother's words an hour later, when she was in bed. She was unable to sleep, even though it was late, and the house slumbered all around her.

While Pol's suggestion that she work Masterson out of her system had some appeal, she knew all too well what a moralizing prude the man was. It didn't matter that he looked like a Viking god come to life, he still possessed the worldview of a country parson.

She glared at the opposite wall, which held a tapestry Mrs. Dryden told her was five hundred years old.

"It was made by your ancestresses," the older woman had said, her beautiful features placid, as they always were. Except when Io's twin Balthazar was anywhere in the vicinity.

Io liked Mrs. Dryden a great deal. She also pitied her because Edith had taken a rabid dislike to her the very first day and picked on her at every opportunity. The only person Edith harried more than the housekeeper was her little mouse of a cousin, Susan Barclay. A woman Io pitied more than anyone she had ever met, including the street urchins thronging the streets in New York City.

Those children might be hungry and homeless, but at least some of them had still held a spark of life or resistance in their tired eyes.

Susan Barclay looked like somebody who'd been hollowed out by Edith's oppression, and then refilled with abject misery and fear.

Io was starting to like her brother Zeus—although she was still furious at him for putting a stop to her plan to lease her own house—and she could not comprehend why he was betrothed to a bombastic, small-minded, cruel harpy like Edith Barrymore. It hurt her to think about their eventual marriage. She had never seen any true sign of affection pass between the two. But Zeus was excessively reserved—even more than his best friend and secretary—and hard to read, so it was possible that he might care for Edith.

But to her mind, Edith viewed Zeus as a status symbol and nothing more.

Io huffed a sigh, bored with thinking about Edith. She pulled her gaze from the exquisite tapestry that so many women had slaved over and looked at the clock. Four minutes had passed since the last time.

She growled, swung her legs out of bed, and rammed her feet into slippers before pulling on her favorite dressing gown, which was made from silk that looked like a peacock's tail. It was the only feminine and colorful article of clothing she owned. For her daily wear, she preferred garments that were plain to the point of ugly. Because if a woman emphasized her appearance, then that was all the men around her would see: the pretty shell.

Right now, she thought as she tied her sash and tidied her hair in the mirror, she wanted to be a pretty shell.

"Are you sure you know what you are doing, my girl?" she asked her reflection.

The woman in the mirror just stared.

Io hissed and snatched up a candlestick before striding out of her chambers.

She made her way through the ancient corridors toward the rooms she knew Masterson occupied, a suite that was not far from Zeus's.

When she reached his door she knocked immediately, not giving herself time to change her mind.

The door jerked open before she'd even lowered her hand and she yelped.

Corbin Masterson stood in the doorway.

Io's mouth, which had been dry, flooded with moisture at the sight of him. He was wearing only the deliciously worn leather riding breeches he'd had on earlier—she always noticed what he was wearing—and a shirt that was open down the front, exposing his magnificently muscular chest, which was surely an endorsement for pugilism.

While Io gawked at his body, he poked his head outside the room, looked left and right—as if to see who else was in the hallway with her—grabbed her arm and ungently pulled her into his room, shutting the door without a sound before turning on her.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, an actual expression—disbelief—on his face for a change. "Are you not aware that His Grace's rooms are just down the hall?"

"So what?" she asked, refusing to whisper and earning a wince and a scowl from him. "Do you think Zeus is interested in your nocturnal activities? If so, perhaps you might tell him why you were mooning over me all night at the King's Quarrel and then stalked me home, even though I did not require your protection—and I use that word with reservations."

Guilt flashed in his gray eyes, but it was only there for a second before he had himself sternly under control. "What do you mean by reservations?" he retorted, his voice so arrogantly, smugly, annoying aloof that Io had to shake his calm.

She absolutely had to.

"I mean that the only one I need protection from is you, Masterson. And we both know it."

He opened his mouth.

And then Io sank to her knees in front of him and reached for the placket of his leather breeches.