An Innocent Abroad: A Jazz Age Romance Read Online Free Page B

one, the two
intertwined.
    Anything
is possible. If you want it enough.
    But
was she brave enough to go after what she wanted?
    Could
she do what Frances had done, and cast aside everything she’d ever been taught,
everything she’d ever believed, just to experience this momentary pleasure?
    She
sighed, looking down at the sketch with a critical eye, before tearing it from
the book and crumpling it into a ball.
    No.
She wasn’t Frances, ready to risk her reputation and her future for a moment of
passion. For her, Stefano could be nothing more than a dream.

Chapter Four
     
    Isobel
bathed and dressed carefully for dinner. By the time she had pinned up her long
hair, she was sufficiently composed to face company. The elegant reflection in
the mirror, swathed in an evening dress of rose pink that swirled softly about
her calves as she turned before the mirror, looked like a stranger, like the
woman she wanted to be.
    In
the drawing room, the Parcheesi boards had been cleared away. The room was
empty, apart from her cousin Adam who stood beside the silver butler’s tray and
mixed cocktails.
    “Your
usual, Izzy, or can I tempt you with something exotic tonight?”
    It
was a game they played, with Adam tempting her to try one of his alcoholic
experiments and Isobel always insisting on a small, safe glass of sherry.
    But
tonight she felt daring.
    “I’ll
try something exotic.”
    Adam’s
eyes widened momentarily, but his perpetual grin reasserted itself. He handed
her a tall glass of pink liquid, the rim decorated with sugar, and watched as
she took a sip. Fire burned through her. The aftertaste was bitter, but the
drink fired new courage in her veins.
    “What
is it?” She tried hard not to sputter.
    “It’s
a pink gin. Gin with a dash of angostura bitters.” He laughed as she grimaced
before taking another sip. “You’ll get the taste for it soon enough.”
    “What’s
this?” Her uncle’s boisterous voice intruded. He entered the room, as imposing
physically as he was verbally. “You finally breaking out of your shell, Izzy?”
    A
familiar flush burned her cheeks.
    “Let
her be,” said Adam.
    She
smiled gratefully at him for coming to her defence, before retreating to the
sofa across the room. This was a good spot to view the guests as they arrived.
Adam mixed a medley of drinks, each more exotic than the last, as the guests
drifted in.
    First
came the English Major, dapper in his dress uniform, with her aunt on his arm.
An incorrigible flirt, the Major’s presence discomforted Isobel, but Aunt Alice
didn’t seem to mind. She batted her lashes at him and laughed.
    Then
came Lotte, who’d lost her husband in the Great War, with the French Baron
who’d made his fortune selling banned champagne to the Americans. Frances had
hinted that they were lovers. Isobel watched them as they took their drinks and
moved to stand beside the long windows. Though they did not touch, she could
almost see the sparks between them as they moved, in a subtle dance she was
only beginning to appreciate.
    Then
Christopher, pale and neat, slipped quietly into the room. Taking the glass of
creamy liquid Adam offered him, he came to sit beside her on the sofa, keeping
a respectable distance between them. No sparks at all.
    The
last of the guests were the Americans, uncle Padraig’s nephew Tom and his
pretty wife, Beatrice, overdressed in a cascade of ostrich feathers. Tom was a
business partner of the Baron’s and though Isobel was sure he was a gangster,
she liked him most of all the company.
    She’d
never met anyone like Tom before. He dressed in tight-fitting suits and
listened to jazz music, and spoke in a lazy drawl interspersed with slang.
    Her
parents would definitely not approve.
    At
last, Frances made her entrance. She wore her coal black hair cut in a stylish
bob. Her dark eyes, inherited no doubt from her Irish ancestors, smouldered.
She wore a drop-waisted dress of palest gold, with a hemline barely below her
knees. A