A Lady of Persuasion

And how could she doubt him, when he looked at her thus—with those amber-flecked eyes warm with admiration, wide enough to reflect all her hopes and dreams?



“I honestly meant what I told you yesterday,” he told her, skipping his finger from the crown of her head, to her brow, to the tip of her nose, to her chin. “I admire every part of you, inside and out. And I’m … I’m simply so very grateful.”



“Grateful?” she breathed. “For what?”



“For the fact you’re not wearing a bonnet this morning.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.



She almost laughed into his kiss, for in that moment Bel was grateful, too—and for an equally absurd reason. Not because she’d married a man who could turn her insides to jelly with a smile, or because he’d made her mistress of her very own lovely, lamb-plagued castle. Not even because she trusted him so implicitly, so completely that she could accept not only kisses, but pleasure and praise from these lips.



No, in that moment she was overwhelmed with a most vain sort of gratitude—for the fact that Toby was tall. Taller than she, when so many men weren’t. She would always have to reach for his kiss—stretch her neck, arch her feet—and feel just a bit girlish and uncertain and excited as she did. This kiss would never lose its thrill.



A giddy bubble of infatuation rose in her belly. By sheer force of will, she tamped it down. She may have lost the struggle against desire, but she was doubly resolved to guard her heart. Desire would inevitably fade—but love?



Love had a way of altering one’s priorities. And Bel needed to keep hers intact. She pulled away, and he growled deep in his throat.



“Yes, that’s enough of that,” he said, planting one last firm kiss on her lips before releasing her. “Else we’ll never make it to Yorke’s this morning.”



“Why is it we’re going there at all?”



“Just a matter of estate concern. It’s this business with the irrigation canal.”



“Ah, yes.” Isabel remembered her mother-in-law’s complaint. “Mr. Yorke went back on his agreement, simply to vex your mother?”



“I’m certain there’s more to it than that. Mother has a way of exaggerating when it comes to Yorke. You’d think him the three-eyed ogre under the bridge, rather than the neighbor living across it.” Their boots made hollow clunking noises as he led her over the graying planks that bridged a small rill. “I hope you don’t mind the walk,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d feel up to the carriage just yet.”



“No,” Bel agreed, her pulse accelerating at the mere mention of yesterday’s calamity. She’d be just as happy never to ride in a carriage again.



“And I suppose I could have left you at home and allowed you to rest,” he continued, winking at her. “But I’m too selfish for that. This is our honeymoon, after all, and I mean to keep you close.”



They edged a wheat field in silence, walking arm in arm, and Isabel tilted her face to the warm June sunshine. If God had ever created a more beautiful morning, Isabel would still prefer this one. She didn’t think her heart could withstand a day that came any closer to perfection. If the breeze teasing the grain were just a degree warmer, if this sky were just a slightly deeper shade of blue … if her husband, the handsomest thing under the sun, winked at her just one more time—true disaster could strike.



She could fall in love.



“We have a problem.”



Toby frowned as Mr. Yorke tugged him closer to the garden hedge. Behind them, Isabel marveled over a clump of late-blooming strawberries, gathering the tiny red fruits in one palm. Imagine, the dear girl had never seen strawberry plants. There were so many things he could show her, so many delights she’d never experienced.



“We have a serious problem,” Yorke whispered again. “This little plan of yours is off to an inauspicious start.”



“How so?” Toby asked.



“Let me give you a hint. If you don’t want the populace to support your candidacy, you shouldn’t go performing dashing heroics in front of the crowd. You’re the talk of the borough, after that little trick-riding stunt.”



Toby winced. He’d imagined that wouldn’t help his cause. “Well, I couldn’t have done differently. Should I have simply stood back and waited for disaster?”



“No, of course not.” Yorke looked over his shoulder at Isabel. “And even I have to applaud you. It was well done, Toby. For a moment there, even I was certain you’d break your neck. But you should know, much as it pains my pride to admit it—now you may have to make a real effort to lose.”



“It’s only a bit of excitement and chatter. Don’t worry. I’ll be completely absent from the hustings; I’ll send no one to speak in my stead. You’re still a sure bet for reelection, I’m sure of it.”



“Perhaps. But it is a problem.”



“What’s a problem?” Isabel asked, surprising them both with her sudden nearness. She extended her hand to Toby. “Have some strawberries?”



He declined with a slight shake of his head. It was all the movement he could manage, what with his heart thudding against his ribs. Surely she hadn’t heard them. She didn’t have the look of a trusting newlywed bride who just discovered she’d been betrayed by her husband, less than one week into her marriage.



Toby cleared his throat. “We’re just discussing the irrigation canal. Mr. Yorke was about to tell me what his problem is.”



“I don’t have any problem.”



“Then why are you suddenly refusing to proceed? I need that canal, Yorke. Ever since they built that factory downriver, the north fields are flooding every spring. Meanwhile, our lands to the west are under-watered. The canal remedies both conditions.”



“Ah, but those are your problems. Not mine. Why should I allow you to dig a trench through my land, let alone share the costs of the labor to dig it?”



“Because the canal will water your western fields, too. Hadn’t you complained of the low yield last harvest?”



“I had,” Yorke said. “But I’ve since realized, it’s not for lack of water. The land’s merely overworked. I’ve decided to let it lie fallow this season, and therefore, I’ll reap no benefit from your canal. Neither do I have the extra income to pay for it. It’ll have to wait until next year.”



“Oh, but the lambs!” Isabel said. “Think of the lambs.”



“The lambs?” Yorke echoed.



“Yes, the lambs,” Toby groaned. “They’re overrunning Wynterhall. And they’re reasonably compact and adorable now, but by next year they’ll simply be sheep. Great, woolly, malodorous sheep. I need those north fields drained for pasture, this year.”



“So build the canal. Just keep it on your lands.”



“You know very well that would double the length and the cost. Come on, man. Be a friend.”



“Be a friend?” Yorke gave a chortling laugh. “What sort of negotiation is that? If you want your canal, you’ll have to make it worth my while.”



Toby narrowed his eyes at the old man. For the first time in his life, he was growing truly impatient with Yorke. “Crafty old devil. You want this canal, too. You’re just trying to get out of paying for it.”



Yorke puffed his chest. “Now you’re starting to sound like that woman.”



“Leave that woman—” Toby bit off that sentence and began again. “Leave my mother out of this. We’re the landholders, and this is between you and me. Now, if we can’t begin work on that canal directly, I shall have to spend much more time in Surrey this summer. I may have to go talking with the farmers in the neighborhood. Perhaps even perform another display of horsemanship.”



He stared hard at Yorke, letting the implications of his words sink in. The old man looked a bit shocked. Toby was a bit shocked, too, truth be told. He had no idea where it had come from, the gall to threaten his friend’s seat in Parliament simply to see a trench dug in the dirt. But much as he appreciated Yorke’s friendship over the years, he wasn’t going to let the man take advantage of it.



“Be careful, my boy,” Yorke said in a low, warning tone. The old man’s watery gaze flicked toward Isabel. “I don’t think that’s a bluff you want me to call.”



Oh, no. He wouldn’t dare. A knot formed in Toby’s gut. Surely Yorke wouldn’t betray their secret. If Isabel learned about their gentlemen’s agreement to fix the election, she’d never forgive him. He’d spend the rest of his life sleeping with the sheep. Mr. Yorke smiled at Isabel. “May I, Lady Aldridge?” he asked, plucking a strawberry from her palm.



“But of course,” she replied, returning his smile. So sweet, so innocent. So completely unaware of what a deceitful cad she called husband.



“A word to the wise, Toby,” Yorke said, popping the strawberry into his mouth. “Never gamble with something you’re not prepared to lose.”



Toby exhaled with frustration. He knew he was beaten. Yorke knew it too, damn his eyes. The old man could demand to plow a canal straight through Wynterhall’s gardens, and now Toby would be forced to agree.



“Surely some compromise can be reached.” Isabel raised another strawberry to her juicestained lips. “Take pity on the lambs, Mr. Yorke,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Don’t God’s little lambs deserve a home?”



“Is that the newlywed love talking?” Yorke directed his question at Toby. “Or is she always like this?”



“Oh, I’m always like this,” she said. “Aren’t I, Toby?”



“Yes.” Toby smiled despite himself. Only Isabel could insult him so sweetly. She continued, “I’m not a romantic, Mr. Yorke. Fairness, justice, honesty—these are the qualities that move my heart.”



“Is that so?” Yorke gave Toby a chastening look.



Toby shrugged and studied the oak standing sentinel atop a distant hill. He imagined he saw his own noose hanging there, twisting in the breeze. Yes, old man. There you have it. I’m sunk.



“Very well,” Yorke said gruffly. “In the interests of fairness, we’ll proceed with the canal as agreed, if” —he stayed Isabel’s thanks with a curt gesture—“if you lease my western fields for the summer.”



“But you just said you plan to let them lie fallow!”



“I do. You can use them as—”



“As pasture,” Toby said, shaking his head as the obvious dawned. “Of course. And the land will be the richer for it, in time for winter planting.” He had to hand it to Yorke; the man really was shrewd. No wonder he’d been so successful in Parliament all these years. What mad whim had led Toby to consider making a serious challenge? “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”



“No, it wasn’t,” Yorke said, slapping him on the back. “Really, Toby. You were supposed to be clever enough to think of it yourself. It’s a fortunate thing you married this one,” he said, nodding at Isabel. “At least she knows God’s little lambs need a home.”



CHAPTER SIXTEEN



A primal scream greeted them as Toby and Isabel crossed the threshold of Grayson House.



“Dear heavens.” Isabel clutched at his arm, drawing her body into his. Her instinctive response gave Toby a deeply male sense of satisfaction. His wife trusted him. To protect her, to pleasure her. Surely it could not be long before she surrendered her heart. When this absurd election was over, Isabel would put aside her disappointment, and Toby had every hope that their relationship could continue to deepen and grow. In short, life was good. A savage growl shook the walls.



Or not so good.