To Sin With A Stranger by Kathryn Caskie Read Free Book Online

wouldn’t dare set foot outside the house without his express permission—in writing. You are certainly braver than I!”
    Isobel gave a short laugh. “I am not brave at all. Parliament is in session and therefore he is not at home. Ah, here we are.” Isobel hooked her arm around Christiana’s and turned her into Harding, Howell & Company.
    Christiana stopped a few feet inside the door. “What if you are found out?”
    Isobel walked to a counter and lifted a painted silk fan in her hands. “Why should I be? He always returns home late in the evening from the House of Commons. I simply need to arrive at home before him. Honestly, Christiana, I could not endure another day restricted to the house without dying of boredom. La, it has been a full week.” She set the fan back down. “Dresses and millinery are in the fourth department. Come on, I haven’t got much time, you know.” She giggled and caught up Christiana’s hand and pulled her toward the back of the store.
    They were passing the glazed partition that marked the beginning of the haberdashery, when a wiry-haired gentleman suddenly looked up and stared at Isobel, dropping the reticule he had been holding for the woman beside him while she examined a swath of blush-rose silk. “Gorblimey, it’s her, Dorthea.”
    “Who, dear?” the woman replied in a decidedly uninterested tone.
    “Miss Carington,” he replied in a hushed voice. “You know,
her.”
    The woman whirled around. “Oh my goodness!”
    Isobel felt their gazes upon her and her cheeks warmed, but she kept moving, tugging Christiana along with her. How could it be that days later people were still buzzing about her slapping Blackburn at Almack’s? Honestly, it should have faded from memory by now. She was simply not that interesting. Her father had told her as much time and time again.
    “Excuse us, Miss Carington.” Each of the woman’s words grew louder, and it occurred to Isobel that she was being pursued through the store. “Please, might we have a word or two with you?”
    The gentleman’s voice trailed after them. “We just wondered if you would share your intentions.”
    Lud, would they not just let her be? Isobel walked faster to put as much distance between her and her pursuers as possible.
    “Isobel, they are speaking to you. Please stop.” Christiana stopped walking mid-stride. She held firm to Isobel’s hand, preventing any further movement.
    Isobel looked down at her slippers and sighed. She heard the couple move behind her instantly, and so she took a steadying breath and turned around, a forced smile upon her lips. “Were you speaking to me? I hadn’t realized, I do apologize. I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you both.”
    Then, finally realizing he had forgotten his manners, the gentleman smiled and introduced himself. “Do forgive me. I am Lord Triplemont, and this is my wife, Lady Triplemont.” Lord Triplemont bowed, and Lady Triplemont tipped her head toward them.
    “I am Miss Isobel Carington, and this is Miss Christiana Whitebeard.” Isobel bobbed a quick curtsy, trying not to tip over in her confusion. “I apologize again, but I do not know what
intentions
you desire to glean from me.”
    Lady Triplemont laughed. “Why, if you will marry Sterling Sinclair, the Marquess of Blackburn, before Season’s end.”
    Isobel tore her head around and stared at Christiana, hoping she might make some sense of this, but her friend’s expression was as blank as her own must have been.
    “I beg your pardon, Lady Triplemont, but I have not the faintest notion what you are about.” Isobel crinkled her brow. “Why do you ask such a thing? I am sure I am the last miss in London he would wish to marry, and he most certainly is the last man I would ever consider after his rudeness at Almack’s.”
    Lord Triplemont handed his wife’s reticule back to her. “You see, Dorthea. The wager is naught but madness. I told you as much when I first heard of