Chapter 23

A Tuesday

The weeks that followed were, without a doubt, the best of Corbin's entire life.

But they were not without difficulties.

The most notable being his shame every time he looked the duke in the eyes and pretended that he was not debauching his best friend's sister in a hotel room every Wednesday.

Actually, the debauching was entirely mutual. Lady Io was no blushing maiden, but a woman who demanded what she wanted.

Together they had engaged in every carnal activity known to man.

Even a few that were new to Corbin.

While his guilt was the main thing distracting him from fully enjoying what should have been weeks of pure pleasure, there were other matters that caused him some anguish. Not the least of which was the question of where this thing with Io was going. And how would it end?

Most pressing: When would it end?

Given her former reactions to any suggestion of a more permanent relationship between them, Corbin would rather bite off his own tongue than suggest marriage again.

Was he avoiding raising the issue out of fear that she would simply put an end to things now?

Yes, absolutely.

Was that cowardly of him?

Yes.

Did he care?

No.

Well, maybe a little. But he cared more about not disturbing the delicate balance between them.

And so he locked his concerns in the same mental cell where he kept his shame and betrayal toward the duke.

He also avoided Io from every Thursday to Tuesday, fearing that he could not hide how he felt from those who lived in such close proximity with them.

Well…he avoided her as much as he could.

But not today, because His Grace had asked Corbin to accompany him and his siblings on an outing to the National Portrait Gallery.

Miss Barrymore, for a change, would not be going. She alone had been invited to tea at the Duchess of Malverton's—evidently a great honor.

Corbin had needed to rise early and take care of a few matters so he could have the afternoon free to go on the junket. As a result, he was later than usual to breakfast, which he normally ate either alone or with Hastings, who was also an early riser.

Today when he opened the door to the breakfast room, he saw Io, Miss Barclay, and Apollo at one end of the long table, engaged in conversation.

At least the two Hales were talking. Miss Barclay was as quiet as ever, but for once she did not have the hunted expression she always wore in her cousin's presence.

After greeting the three of them with a nod and a curt good morning, and avoiding meeting his lover's eyes, Corbin turned to the buffet to fill his plate, listening to their chatter.

"Oh, I'm afraid I could not go with you," Miss Barclay said in her soft voice. "I have far too much to—"

"You must accompany us, Miss Barclay," Io said in her firm voice. "It will only be a few hours and this is a special exhibit which will change shortly and you will lose your chance."

"But Miss Barrymore wanted the invitations finished today and I am only—"

"I will help you write them," Io said.

Corbin was glad his back was turned so he could hide both his shock at the offer and his amusement at Miss Barclay's polite, but firm, response.

"It is so kind of you to offer, my lady," Miss Barclay hastily said, doing an admirable job of lying. Io Hale had the worst penmanship of anyone Corbin knew—man or woman. "But Miss Barrymore specifically asked me to write them out."

He heard Lord Apollo bark a laugh and then attempt to disguise it as a cough.

"What is so amusing, Pol?" Io asked her brother in a frosty voice.

"Nothing," Lord Apollo wisely answered.

Miss Barclay suddenly said in a musing tone, "I suppose I could finish them this evening, after dinner."

"Then you will go with us?" Io asked. "Even Ares is accompanying us, and getting him to look at anything other than furniture or wood is all but impossible. You must join us."

There was a pause and then, "Yes. I will go."

"Excellent!" Io said.

When Corbin turned, he sneaked a look at Io and saw that she was smiling, genuinely pleased that Miss Barclay was coming along for what was surely a rare day of pleasure.

It embarrassed Corbin to admit that he forgot that Miss Barrymore's rather colorless cousin and companion was even in the room most of the time. Susan Barclay was one of the meekest women he had ever met. Objectively, he supposed she was pretty in a delicate, fairylike sort of way, although such slight women had never been his preference. However, it wasn't her physical appearance that he found so underwhelming, but her very diffidence. Io Hale's almost constant defiance of anything she did not agree with could be infuriating, not to mention exhausting, but at least she had blazing light shining from her eyes.

Miss Barclay, by contrast, looked as though somebody had snuffed out the flame inside her long ago.

As if speaking the youngest male Hale's name had summoned him, the door opened and Lord Ares entered the breakfast room, murmuring a very quiet good morning before slumping into a chair and nodding to the hovering footman who was offering him coffee.

Corbin recognized the look on the younger man's face as being one he'd had often, although not in many years.

Evidently, so did his sister. "Are you feeling a bit delicate this morning, Ares?" she asked in a strident voice that had to be deliberate.

Lord Ares winced. "Must you shout, Yoyo?"

"Yes, I must."

He groaned and pushed to his feet. "I'm going back to bed."

"You most certainly are not. Today we are all going to the National Portrait Gallery and you are coming along."

"I don't recall agreeing to that."

"You are agreeing to it right now."

He huffed a sigh and then winced again. "Can't I go another day?"

"Of course you may go another day," she said.

Lord Ares began to smile.

"But you will still be going with your family today."

Lord Ares slid a look to his twin, who gave a slight shrug.

Finding no support in that quarter, Ares said, "Fine." And then he turned to the footman, Charles. "Would you please bring me a tankard of ale and two raw eggs?"

"Of course, my lord," Charles said, his lips curved into the faintest of smiles as he went to do Ares's bidding.

Satisfied that she had sufficiently badgered her brother, Lady Io turned to Corbin just as he swallowed a scalding mouthful of coffee and said, "And you will be accompanying us, as well, Mr. Masterson?"

"Yes, my lady. The duke has invited me to enjoy the day."

"I don't believe I have ever seen you take time to yourself before," the vixen prodded, smirking. She turned to Miss Barclay. "Have you seen Mr. Masterson have a free day, Miss Barclay?"

Miss Barclay fixed Corbin with a startled look, her eyes magnified by her spectacles and looking large enough to swallow her small, heart-shaped face. "Er—"

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," Io went on blithely, not waiting for an answer to continue her torment. She smirked, her eyes fixed on Corbin as she asked her brother, "Is that not the case, Pol?"

Corbin met the mismatched gaze of the most reserved Hale sibling, who merely regarded him quietly for a moment before saying, with humor glinting in both the pale blue and dark brown eye. "I have certainly found that to be the case, Yoyo."

"And I'm sure Ares agrees, don't you?"

"Yes," her youngest brother croaked so speedily that Corbin suspected he didn't even know what he was agreeing to.

Io lifted her brows. "Well. There you have it, Mr. Masterson."

"I would hate to be accused of being dull, my lady." Corbin did not bother to hide his sarcasm and the two younger Hales sniggered.

Lady Io's eyes glittered. "Oh, rest assured, Mr. Masterson, we Hales will never allow that to happen."

Yes, she was definitely emphasizing the master in his name. Corbin resolved to make her pay for her taunting tomorrow afternoon, which seemed frustratingly far away.

***

Io knew it was bad of her, but she couldn't help shadowing Masterson as he perused the portraits.

After leaving Pol with Miss Barclay and Zeus, she strolled with Ares for a few moments. But her woodworker brother was more interested in the floor and joinery than the portraits and she easily left him behind, finding her quarry standing at an odd angle from a very strange painting.

"What are you looking at?" she asked as she came up beside him.

"Shhh." He turned to look down at her, a slight frown of disapproval on his brow. Io loved that expression almost more than any other he displayed—except the one of utter surrender when he reached his climax—and cocked a challenging eyebrow at him.

"What are you looking at?" she repeated in an exaggerated whisper.

He compressed his sensual lips into a prim line and said, "It is an anamorphic portrait of Edward VI by Scrots."

"Scrots?" Io laughed, drawing another disapproving stare from a nearby couple—their expressions not nearly so charming as Masterson's. "What is a Scrot?" she said in a marginally quieter voice. "And what is ana—what did you say?"

"William Scrots was the painter. Anamorphic means you must study the painting at a certain angle to see it." He hesitated, and then lifted his hands, and said, "May I?"

Io nodded, curious.

Masterson took her shoulders and gently moved her into position. "There. Now look."

Io stared for a moment, still only seeing smears. "I don't unders—Oh, wait! I see it!"

"Once you do, it's hard to believe you ever missed it, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

They stared at the odd painting for a few moments and then, without verbal agreement, the two of them fell into step together, spending the next quarter of an hour in companionable silence until they came to a halt in front of the photograph of Victoria and Albert that dominated a series of images of the royals.

This one had been taken shortly before Albert's death. He was standing beside his famous wife's chair, the difference in their sizes—more than a foot—made obvious.

Io knew the Queen was still mourning his passage, but she thought Albert looked… tedious. As for the Queen herself? Victoria looked much like you'd expect a woman to look when she controlled most of the globe and was prepared to go to any lengths to hold on to it.

"What do you think?" Masterson asked.

"I think Prince Albert dressed to the left," she said, smirking while she waited for his frown of disapproval.

When he instead gave a low chuckle, Io gawked.

Masterson leaned close and murmured, "You devil." His breath was hot on her temple, the feel of it going immediately to her sex.

"I don't want to wait for tomorrow," she impulsively whispered back, feeling his body jolt beside her.

Io expected a stern, chiding rejection—which she would have enjoyed, too—but was happier when he said, "Me neither. Today—five o'clock, instead of three."