Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord by Sara MacLean (14)

Nick had just tucked in his shirt in preparation for dinner when the knock sounded on the door to his bedchamber. He snapped around at the sound, immediately on edge, then shook off the response.

If he were honest with himself, he would admit that he had been on edge since his afternoon with Isabel … and that he was eagerly awaiting the evening ahead.

But then he had little interest in being honest with himself.

A second knock sounded, and he turned in time to see James poke his head through the narrow space between the door and its seat.

“I hear you are joining us for dinner.”

Nick raised a brow in response. “I had planned to, yes.”

James nodded solemnly. “Good.”

The boy did not move from his position, half inside, half outside the room. Instead, he watched as Nick turned back to the looking glass and lifted a comb to tame his sable curls.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke, until, finally, Nick said, “Would you like to come in, Lord Reddich? ”

The words unfroze the boy, and he scurried into the room, closing the door firmly behind him. “I would. Please.”

Nick hid his smile, instead watching his visitor in the mirror as he finished his toilet. He adjusted the sleeves of the linen shirt he wore before he smoothed its body along his torso. Lifting his cravat from where it lay on a nearby chair, he said, “Was there something you wanted?”

James shook his head, distracted by the sure, strong movements of Nick’s hands as he began the intricate collection of movements that would result in an elaborately knotted cravat. “How do you know how to do that?”

Nick paused. “I’ve known how to do it for a very long time.”

James crept closer, transfixed. “But … how did you learn?” Nick thought for a moment. “I suppose my valet taught me.”

“Oh.” There was silence as James considered the answer. “I shall have to learn to do that before I go to school, I would think.”

Nick turned. “Would you like me to teach you?”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Would you mind very much?”

“Not at all.” Nick removed the strip of linen from his person and placed it around James’s neck. Turning the boy to the looking glass, he walked James through the movements until the cravat was a fair approximation of the knot Nick had created earlier.

James leaned into the mirror, considering the neckpiece from several angles as Nick moved away to don the rest of his dinner attire. “It looks very well.”

There was something in the boy’s pride that tugged at Nick’s memory. While he might not remember how he learned to tie a cravat, he did remember the powerful desire for approval, for acceptance as a man.

When Nick had been James’s age, his mother had deserted them—absconding in the middle of the night with little but the clothes on her back, leaving twin sons and a desolate husband in her wake. In the weeks following, his father had disappeared, as well, pulling further and further into himself, leaving Nick and Gabriel to fend for themselves—to survive the crushing blow of the loss of two parents. They’d been shipped off to school within a month, thanks to the intervention of a committed aunt who had been aware of the devastation their mother had wrought.

Nick had spent the first year at school working as hard as he could—eager to impress his father, convinced that if, when he and Gabriel returned home for the summer holiday, he had received top honors at school, somehow he could convince his father that his sons were enough.

He had learned quickly that nothing would ever be enough to assuage his father’s pain and guilt at losing his marchioness. But looking at this boy, the young, resilient Earl of Reddich, he remembered what it was like to try. And to believe that he might succeed.

And he wanted to give this boy what he had never had.

“Indeed, it does. You will have to practice to get it perfect, but it shouldn’t take you long.” Nick buttoned his waistcoat, watching the boy’s eyes light with pleasure as he unwrapped the linen from his neck and practiced in the mirror once more. When the tip of the earl’s tongue emerged at the corner of his mouth, and he screwed up his face trying to recall the movements he had just learned, Nick laughed and came forward to help. When the cravat was tied once again, James grinned up at him.

Who would have guessed that here, out on the Yorkshire moors, he would find such satisfaction as he did when he made the Townsend children smile?

Of course, there was nothing childlike about the elder Townsend.

As James destroyed his handiwork to try his new craft once more, Nick allowed his thoughts to turn to Isabel. One moment, she was pushing him away, telling him that she wanted him gone from her house and her life, and the next she was confessing her past, and her secrets and coming apart in his arms, sweet and sensual and splendid.

He’d never met a woman like her.

The way she had laid herself bare, confiding the story of her father’s desertion, of her mother’s desolation, of her own commitment to keeping what little family she was left with together, of keeping Townsend Park working despite the devastating blow of the loss of its master—Nick was entirely intrigued by this enigmatic female.

“Around the other bit once more,” he coached James as he reached for his topcoat.

James followed the instruction carefully. “I have been thinking.”

“Yes?”

“I think you should marry Isabel.”

Nick froze, coat halfway up his arms as he considered the boy’s serious countenance. “I beg your pardon? ”

“It is logical, really.”

“Is it?” Of all the things the boy could have said, this was not the one that Nick had expected.

James nodded once. “Yes. Isabel would make an excellent wife. Shall I tell you why? ”

“By all means.”

The boy took a deep breath, as though he had been practicing his words. “She is very good at running a house. She knows her sums better than anyone I’ve known. Also, she can sit a horse as well as a man. Perhaps when it stops raining you will see for yourself.”

“I shall look forward to it.” Nick was surprised by the truth in his words.

“Also, she is excellent at charades.”

“A quality any man should look for in a wife.”

“There are other things, too.” James tilted his head, thinking. “She is not ugly.”

Nick felt a smile tugging at his lips. “No, she is not. But may I suggest that you not say it in quite that way to her? ”

“I shan’t. But perhaps you could say it. Girls like compliments.”

“If you have learned that at such a young age, you shall be fine when it comes time for you to interact with the fairer sex,” Nick said. “I shall happily tell her that she is not ugly.”

He faced his reflection in the mirror, noting his young companion, watching him carefully in his irredeemably wrinkled cravat.

“I think you would make a good husband.”

Nick looked to James, decided to tell the truth. “I am not so certain.”

James’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”

Nick did not speak. What could he say to this boy that would make sense?

“Is it because you are not titled?”

“No. I do not think a title makes a good husband, always.”

“Nor do I. My father was not a very good husband.”

Nick nodded. “I am sorry to hear it.”

James shrugged. “I do not remember him.”

“Do you wish that you did?”

The boy thought for a long moment. “Sometimes.”

Nick drew in a deep breath at the word, so honest. He knew what it was to be a ten-year-old boy with no one to look to for guidance or help or advice. And he understood the confusion James was feeling with the man they called his father gone without ever having been more than a mystery. “What would you say if you could meet him now?”

James shook his head once. “I cannot meet him. He is dead.”

“It does not matter. What would you say? ”

James looked out a nearby window for a long minute before turning back to Nick. “I would tell him that I plan to be a much better earl than he was.”

Nick nodded solemnly. “I think that is a fine thing to say.”

James was silent for a moment, considering his words before adding, “I would also ask him why he did not want us.”

Nick did not like the tightness in his chest at the boy’s words, so familiar. Had he not asked himself the same thing for years after his mother had deserted them? “I cannot imagine that he did not want you.”

James’s large brown eyes were clear and forthright. “But you do not know.”

“No. I do not.” Nick felt the heavy weight of importance this boy would place upon his answer. “But I can tell you that if I were in his position, I would absolutely want you.”

“And Isabel?”

“And Isabel.” The truth of the words was rather startling to him, and he moved away to run a comb through his hair once more.

James tracked his movements. “Then you would consider marrying her? ”

A ghost of a smile crossed Nick’s lips. The young earl had clearly learned his tenacity from his sister. He set his comb down and turned back. He’d never seen anyone look as hopeful as James did in that moment, as though a proposal from Nick were all that it would take to make everything right.

What James did not know was that Isabel would want nothing to do with Nick when she realized the truth about him.

The thought grated. “I think that Isabel might not like the idea of us negotiating her marriage without her in the room.”

“I am earl, you know. This is the business of men.”

Nick barked in laughter. “And as a man who has a sister nearly as obstinate as your own, I suggest you never say that again as long as you would like to remain alive.”

James sighed. “Well, if it matters, I choose you for her.”

“I am flattered by your endorsement.” Nick raised a brow. “Has there ever been another man in consideration? ”

He should not be asking such questions.

James nodded. “Men come to collect her sometimes.”

Nick’s jaw went slack briefly. “To collect her?”

James nodded. “Mostly, they come because they’ve won her.”

“They’ve won her? As in, her heart?”

He did not like the idea of that.

The boy shook his head. “No. They’ve won her in a wager.”

Anger flared. Surely Nick had not heard that correctly. “They’ve won her in a wager with whom? ”

James shrugged. “With our father, I expect.”

Nick clenched his teeth. The idea that the former Earl of Reddich would have gambled away his only daughter—would have gambled away Isabel—was simply too much. Nick wanted to pummel something. Immediately. He clenched his fists tightly, imagining the pleasure he would take in putting his fist into the face of the smug aristocrat who had taken that bet. And the dead aristocrat who had suggested it.

He wanted to ask more, to gain more insight into this insane world where Isabel and James had been raised, but he could not. He forced himself to relax the muscles that had gone instantly alert at the boy’s revelation. It was not his place to ask about such things. At least, not right now.

Right now, he was going to dinner.

And then he was going to teach Isabel to dance.

Isabel had been about to go abovestairs to check on James and Nick when she heard them coming down the center staircase just outside the dining room. Her pulse quickened at the deep rumble of Nick’s voice in the hallway. Despite straining to do so, she could not make out his words; but the simple tenor of his deep, dark voice was enough to set her on edge.

She smoothed the skirts of her gown, immediately nervous about her appearance—it had been a long, long while since she’d had cause to wear an evening gown, and the one she had rescued from the depths of her wardrobe and had quickly aired that afternoon was embarrassingly out of style. Certainly the women with whom he socialized regularly in London were utterly au courant; they were surely beautiful and poised and would never dream of being seen in a dress more than a month old, let alone several years past its prime.

She winced as Nick and James shared a laugh in the hallway outside the door. She should not have agreed to his silly request. She felt like a complete imbecile.

And then he entered.

Without a cravat.

The collar of his shirt was open, leaving a wedge of warm bronzed skin, framed by white linen and the dark green topcoat he had been wearing when he had arrived the previous day. When he and James entered the dining room for dinner, Isabel’s attention was drawn immediately to that tantalizing triangle of chest, and it took her a second or two to recover from the surprise of it.

When she raised her attention to his face, she realized that he was staring intently at her, his eyes raking over the bodice of her gown, lingering on the spot where its edge gave way to the slope of her breast before traveling up to meet her gaze. She recognized the masculine admiration there, and, blushing, she redirected her attention to her brother.

Only to discover that he was wearing an equally unlikely dinner ensemble: short pants, a dirty linen shirt, and an elaborately tied—if hopelessly wrinkled—cravat. Nick’s cravat. He’d taught her brother to tie a cravat.

Warmth spread through her and she smiled at her brother. “What a fine knot!” The boy preened beneath her praise, and she met Nick’s eyes. “Thank you.”

He was making it very difficult not to like him.

Rock noticed his friend’s missing neckpiece and laughed, a great booming laugh. “You seem to have forgotten something, St. John.”

Nick grinned. “I hope you will forgive me my strange attire, Lady Isabel,” Nick said, teasing in his tone as he stepped forward and lifted her hand to his lips, the caress scorching through her glove. “You see, I found that I had an avid pupil in neckwear this evening.”

An image of James and Nick working together to tie the cravat flashed in Isabel’s mind, and it was a powerful fantasy—in which James had a man to guide him through these complex and uncertain masculine hoops, and in which Isabel had a partner to help her navigate the challenges of raising a young earl.

A partner.

What a lovely word.

She met Nick’s eyes for a long moment, lost in the idea of him here, able to help. Shaking her head of the thought, she said, “Not at all. I am certain we can find you another cravat now that yours has been … appropriated.”

“Given freely, my lady.”

He had a remarkable smile. One that made her feel as though there was too little air in the room.

“Well, there is no reason for us to stand on ceremony this evening. I am happy for you to go without the neckwear if you are.” Isabel held her breath, considering this man and her brother and the charming portrait they made. Nick was instantly more accessible. More endearing. More attractive.

Too attractive.

Clearing her throat, Isabel said, “Shall we eat?”

They moved to the table, which had been elaborately set—at Gwen’s orders, Isabel would wager—and the gentlemen helped the ladies into their seats. There was an intimacy to the movement as Nick held Isabel’s chair for her, the way he leaned in, bombarding her with heat and the scent of sandalwood. She turned her head fleetingly in his direction to thank him, and his whispered, “It is entirely my pleasure,” barely loud enough for her to hear. She felt the soft touch of his breath on her bare shoulder as he added, “I knew you would be stunning in red.”

A flood of pleasure shot through her.

He was a dangerous man.

She shook herself of the thought, entirely inappropriate, and was rewarded by the arrival of dinner. Gwen had outdone herself tonight—creating a meal of simple, hearty food that had come almost entirely from Townsend lands. It was not extravagant—certainly Lord Nicholas had had more sophisticated meals—but it was well seasoned and well cooked, and a feast by the standards of Townsend Park.

As she surveyed the mutton and jelly that had arrived as part of the second course, Isabel was overcome with uncertainty. This meal was far too simple to entertain these men— men who had traveled the world developing sophisticated minds and palates. What could they possibly find enjoyable about a quiet evening meal in the wilds of Yorkshire? What could they possibly find entertaining about the company of two uncultured young women and a ten-year-old child?

The thought festered as the meal went on, and Isabel drifted into silence, shutting out the conversation around her.

As Rock and Lara quizzed James on his lessons and the events of his day, Nick leaned close to Isabel. “You are not with us.”

She straightened at the words. “I was thinking about the meal.”

“It is an excellent meal,” Nick offered, and Isabel’s uncertainty grew.

“I am sure it is rather less extravagant than that which you are used to.”

“Not at all.”

“Certainly not as sophisticated as you have had.”

Nick gave her a serious look, one that did not tolerate self-deprecation. “On the contrary, Isabel. This meal is the ideal end to an … extraordinary day.”

And there, in the deep, welcome tenor of his voice, was the thing that chased Isabel’s doubts away. His words were a dark promise that conjured images and emotions from their interaction in the statuary, making her wish that he would kiss her again. Making her wish that they were alone once more.

But they were not.

They were at dinner.

With people.

With children, for heaven’s sake.

She dipped her head, hiding her blush in her plate. “I am happy that you are enjoying it, my lord.”

“ … and then Lord Nicholas and I had our meeting.”

Isabel looked up at her brother’s words, meeting Lara’s surprised gaze. “Your meeting? What kind of meeting? ”

James seemed to remember that she was there. “A meeting of men.”

She sat back in her chair. “I beg your pardon?”

“We had something to discuss,” James said, simply.

She looked to Nick. “To discuss.”

He lifted his wineglass, making a production of drinking. “Quite.”

“I—” She turned back to James. What could they possibly have been discussing without her? “About what?”

“It’s really none of your concern, Isabel. I asked Lord Nicholas for a moment of his time, as earl.”

As earl?

Her eyes widened at her brother’s words. Mutely, she turned back to Nick, who was having obvious difficulty refraining from smiling. “I could not refuse, Lady Isabel. He is, indeed, the earl. And my host, no less.” He paused, then added, “This mutton is superb, the jelly in particular is excellent. Don’t you think, Rock?”

“I do,” the giant said, and Isabel did not miss the humor in his tone.

She would like to see both of them doused in jelly.

She looked to Lara, noted the amusement dancing in her cousin’s eyes, and scowled in her direction. Unmoved, Lara turned back to James and said, “And you have learned to tie quite an impressive cravat!”

“Oh, yes,” James said eagerly, reaching up to touch the neckwear in question. “Would you like to see me do it again?” Before Lara could answer, James had tugged on one end of his creation, destroying it in an entirely inappropriate display for the evening meal.

As he began his lesson in the proper method of cravat tying, Isabel leaned toward Nick. “As you can see,” she whispered, “my brother may be the earl, but he is in no way able to act as such on his own. I should like you to tell me what it was that you spoke about.”

Without taking his eyes from James, Nick replied, “You.”

Surely she had not heard that correctly. “Me?”

“You.”

“What of me?”

He took his time cutting a sliver of mutton and combining it with a piece of parsleyed potato. He chewed thoughtfully for a long moment, until Isabel’s frustration grew to the point where she could no longer remain silent. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Swallow!”

Nick turned with mock surprise. “Why, Lady Isabel, what forcefulness! You should be careful—you will give me a case of indigestion.”

“And what a sad situation that would be, Lord Nicholas.” He laughed, low and quiet, and warmth spread through her at the sound, audible only to her. “You are enjoying this.”

He met her eyes, and there was no mistaking the heat in his blue gaze. “I confess that I am. In fact, I find that I enjoy all of my time with you.”

Isabel blushed at the words, and the pleasure they brought.

What was he doing to her?

She could not allow him to reduce her to a simpering miss every time they spoke. Clearing her throat, she said, “I must insist, Lord Nicholas. What is it that you and James discussed?”

“You needn’t worry, Isabel,” Nick said. “Your brother is simply concerned about your welfare once he leaves for school.”

Isabel looked to James, awkwardly craning to see his cravat as Rock helped him to complete the elaborate knot. “And why would he think that speaking to you would help? ”

Nick sat back as their plates were cleared, leveling Isabel with a frank look. “He has devised a proposal to keep you safe, and was asking for my input.” He turned back to James, across the table. “Well done, James. That is certainly the best knot you’ve tied yet!”

James grinned his pleasure at the compliment, and turned to receive additional praise from Lara, who was heaping it upon both the young earl and Rock, for his assistance.

Isabel was unable to appreciate the tableau. Brow furrowed, she whispered to Nick, “What kind of proposal? ”

Waiting until Regina had cleared his empty plate, Nick finally leaned in close to Isabel. “He thinks we should marry.”

Isabel opened her mouth, closed it, and repeated the action.

One side of Nick’s mouth kicked up in amusement. “Why, Isabel. I do believe that I have rendered you speechless.”

“I—” Isabel stopped, uncertain of what to say.

“He has contemplated it quite thoroughly,” he said. “He believes that your ability to run a house and calculate your sums makes you an excellent candidate for a wife.”

Surely this was not happening. Not here. Not at her dinner table.

“He is eager for me to see you sit a horse, as well. I am told your equestrian prowess will win me over. I am looking forward to that.”

“I—”

“Also—and this is critical—you are not ugly.” She blinked.

Nick’s eyes danced with amusement. “Remember, Isabel. It was your brother who said it. I would not dare to take credit for such pretty words. I would have said something much more pedestrian. It takes a great orator to come up with—”

“Not ugly.” She gave a little shake of her head. “What a lovely compliment.”

“Ah. You have recovered your voice.” He smiled then, full and winning, and she could not help but match it.

“It would seem so.” She paused, “Tell me, my lord, will school help my brother to learn prettier words with which to woo his future countess? ”

“One can only hope,” he replied, “else we should be very concerned for the Reddich line.”

Isabel could not help but laugh at the bizarre turn of events, drawing the notice of their dinner companions.

“James did say one thing about Lady Isabel during our conversation that has me very intrigued.”

He had the attention of the entire table now, and Isabel felt a thread of nervousness uncoil. Surely he would not repeat anything embarrassing, would he?

“What was that, Lord Nicholas?” Lara prompted.

“He claims that she is a champion at charades.”

“Oh, she is!” Lara agreed. “I’ve never seen her equal.”

“I should like to see proof of that.” He leveled Isabel with a contemplative look. “But first, I believe that we have an appointment for dancing.”

Within moments, they had agreed to adjourn to the ballroom, and Isabel’s anticipation had set her on edge.

Nick held her chair as she stood, and Isabel turned to thank him, only to find him watching her thoughtfully. Distracted from her observation by his intensity, she dipped her head and said, “Thank you.”

He offered her his arm. When she took it, the heat of him rising up from the thick fabric of his coat, he leaned down and said, “I think you should know, I would have used a different phrase altogether to describe you.”

Isabel felt her heart quicken, but attempted a light air. “You mean, other than ‘not ugly'?”

“He did not smile, and all of a sudden, there seemed to be less air in the room than there had been previously. Isabel caught her breath in anticipation.

“I would have described you as magnificent.”

The ballroom had been transformed.

Isabel stopped short as she entered the enormous room, shocked. She had discussed the plans for the evening with Jane immediately after leaving Nick that afternoon, letting her know that the drop cloths needed to be removed from a section of the ballroom and suggesting that they dust the pianoforte in preparation for the evening.

Instead, Jane had worked a miracle.

The far end of the ballroom glowed in the soft, golden light from several dozen candles, unmatched and clearly pilfered from around the house and installed on tall candelabras.

The lights had been strategically placed to create an intimate area of usable space, cordoned off with two low chaise longues on either end, and several comfortable chairs set off to one side.

There was a table of refreshments also, with a large crystal bowl of lemonade, a bottle of brandy from the cellars, along with several snifters and a platter of petits fours that James immediately pillaged. Isabel could not help but smile at the addition—she would wager that Gwen had spent much of the afternoon working on the tiny pastries.

Every surface gleamed with fresh polish, and Isabel wondered how many of the girls it had taken to turn the unused space into a little mini-ballroom, fit for an evening of dancing. “It is beautiful,” she whispered, forgetting her audience for a moment.

“You seem surprised,” Nick said, quietly.

“I am.” She laughed, a small, delighted sound. “It’s been a decade since this room has been used for its intended purpose. We clean it periodically and use it rarely, but never for balls …” She trailed off, one hand waving absently in the air as she searched for the rest of the sentence. “We don’t have much cause for balls at Townsend Park. We are severely lacking in dance partners.”

He smiled as she laughed again, and bowed low in an exaggerated way. “You have several willing ones this evening, my lady.”

She met his smile with her own. “So we do.”

An interior door to the ballroom opened then, and Georgiana entered, head down, moving quickly, as though she was not interested in the activities of the inhabitants of the room. Isabel opened her mouth to ask if there was something wrong, so surprised was she that the governess—who had been so terrified of being spotted by Nick—would choose to join them. She was stayed from speaking, however, when the young woman sat down at the dimly lit pianoforte, her back to them, and began to play a waltz.

James went to sit with her as Rock bowed to Lara, inviting her to dance. Within seconds, she was in his arms, and the two were floating across the room, Lara’s pale blue silk glittering in the candlelight. Isabel watched them with a mix of curiosity and nervousness, wanting to consider their obvious connection, but altogether too aware of Nick’s nearness.

After an interminably long wait, she was rewarded with his low, deep voice. “Isabel …”

“Hmm?” She tried desperately for a tone of distant interest.

She heard the smile in his words when he said, “Would you care to dance? ”

“Yes, please,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

And then she was in his arms, and they were twirling across the room.

“James’s governess has a gift for the piano.”

“Minerva House boasts many talents, my lord.” Isabel did not want to talk about the girls. She did not want to hide from him. Not now. Not while she was in his arms. “You are an excellent dancer.”

He dipped his head, spinning her around a tall candelabrum and heading off toward the far end of the dance floor. “How it is that you think you cannot waltz?”

“I … I never do …” He turned her again, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the movement, the sheer strength of him, the way that he managed her weight so gracefully, swaying in time to the music.

“You should. Your body was made to be held like this.” The words were soft and lush at her ear, and she knew that he was holding her much too closely. That she should tell him to stop.

But she couldn’t.

They turned once more, and she opened her eyes to face the far wall and the door through which Georgiana had come. It was open again, and a row of curious faces peeked through the space between door and jamb, Gwen, Jane, and Kate all focused on the events inside the ballroom. Isabel could not contain her surprised laugh.

Nick looked down at her. “What is it?”

She looked up, amused, to meet his questioning gaze. “Do not look now, my lord, but it appears that we have an audience.”

He grinned, immediately understanding. “Ah. Yes, if I know ladies, I can imagine we do.”

“To be fair, they are attempting discretion.”

“They are better at it than the women in my family.”

The words, spoken with teasing admiration, made her curious. “Tell me about them.”

He thought for a moment before he spoke. “My half sister, Juliana, is Italian, which makes her everything you would imagine. She is opinionated and infuriating and has a penchant for saying entirely inappropriate things at entirely inappropriate times.”

She was drawn to the laughter in his voice. “She sounds wonderful.”

He gave a little snort of laughter. “You would like her, I think. And I know she would like you—she has no patience for London, or the ton, and she has a particular distaste for simpering females and foppish gentleman. Which is going to make it virtually impossible to find her a husband. But really, that’s Gabriel’s problem.”

She smiled. “Ah, the benefits of being the second son.”

“Precisely.”

“And your sister-in-law?”

“Now, Callie will love you.”

She laughed at the words. “I find it difficult to believe that the Marchioness of Ralston will ‘love’ a country-raised northerner who wears breeches when it is practical and has spent most of her life with women who have done entirely inappropriate things.”

Nick grinned. “That is precisely why the Marchioness of Ralston will love you.”

Isabel gave him a frank look. “I do not believe you.”

“Someday, Isabel, I shall take you to London, and you will hear the truth from my brother and sister-in-law themselves.”

Isabel warmed at the promise inherent in the words—the assurance that there would come a time when they would be together in London. When she would meet his family and they would have reason to discuss the private history of one of the ton‘s most talked-about couples.

She wanted it to be true.

It was strange. Here, in this darkened room, with the magic of the waltz, and the candlelight, and this strong, wonderful man, she wanted it to be true. She wanted to be tied to him. To be his partner. To have the life that peeked out from behind his words. Here, as she lost herself to the feel of the dance, to the sway of their bodies and the warmth of his arms wrapped around her, she let herself have the dream that she had shut away so long ago.

The dream that let this, her first waltz, be a waltz with a man who would care for her, and protect her, and shoulder her worries, and, yes … who would love her.

Isabel closed her eyes once more and gave herself up to the movement, aware of the place where his hand, unhindered by gloves, spread warmth through her gown to the curve of her waist. She could feel his long, muscled thighs where they brushed against her own as he guided her across the floor in an endless, curving journey. After several long moments, she opened her eyes, meeting Nick’s searing blue gaze.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Isabel? ”

She knew she should be coy. She knew that if he were in London, the woman in his arms would have something brilliant and witty and flirting to say in response. But Isabel had none of those things. “Very much.”

“Good. You deserve to have pleasure in your life. I think you do not allow yourself enough of it.”

She looked away, embarrassed. How was it that this man knew her so well, so quickly?

“Why is that?” The question was soft, a mere breath at her temple. “Why won’t you take your pleasure?”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “I—I do.”

“No, beauty. I don’t think you do.” He pressed closer, the warmth of him crowding her thoughts. “Why not dance and laugh and live the way you dream?”

Why not, indeed?

“Dreams are for little girls with no worries,” she said, resisting the words even as she spoke them.

“Nonsense. We all have dreams.”

She opened her eyes, met his brilliant blue gaze. “Even you? ”

“Even me.”

“What do you dream?” The question was exhaled—so breathy that she barely recognized her own voice.

He did not hesitate. “Tonight, I think I shall dream of you.”

She should have found the words silly and teasing. Instead, she heard the promise in them, and wanted nothing more than to believe him. “Tell me what you dream of, Isabel.”

“I should dream of school for James. Of safety for the girls. Of a repaired roof and an unlimited supply of candles.”

He gave a little laugh. “Come, Isabel. You can do better than that. This is not their dream. It is yours. What do you dream? For yourself?”

For a long moment, her mind was blank. How long had it been since she had considered her own desires?

She smiled up at him. “I should like to dance more.”

His teeth flashed. “I am happy to oblige.” He spun her in circles in time to the music, and the smattering of candles about the dark room gave the illusion of dancing in starlight. The moment made her believe that if she spoke her desires aloud, they might actually come true.

After a long while, he probed, “What else?”

“I—I don’t know.”

His eyebrows rose. “Nothing? You can think of nothing that you wish? ”

“I would not want to be thought of as selfish,” she whispered.

He captured her gaze in his, arresting her attention. He twirled them to a stop then, and she realized that they were at the far end of the room, where a chaise sat in near darkness.

“Selfish?”

She stared at the indentation on his chin and nodded.

He gave a little huff of laughter, disbelief in the exhalation. “Isabel, you are about the least selfish person I have ever known.”

She shook her head. “It’s not true.”

“Why would you think that? ”

She pressed her lips together, afraid of the answer.

But the desire to share it was too much.

She spoke to his chin. “I—My father gave me a chance to fix it all once. To save the house. The earldom. Everything.” She had never told anyone this. “All I had to do was go to London. And let him arrange a marriage for me.”

“How old were you?” The words were cold, and Isabel felt a sick feeling of dread—imagining that he was judging her actions. As her mother had done.

“Seventeen.”

“You refused.”

She nodded, unshed tears clawing at her throat. “I didn’t want—didn’t want the same marriage my mother had. I didn’t want to be half a woman. Half a person. He left, and never returned. My mother—she died soon after. She blamed me for his desertion.”

He was silent. Unmoving.

She should not have told him. “I am sorry if I have disappointed you.”

His sharp inhalation drew her attention.

One finger beneath her chin, he lifted her gaze to his. She gasped at the emotion there.

“I am not disappointed, love.” The whisper was low and close, so close that she felt more than heard the words. “I am furious.” Her eyes widened as he cupped her face in his hands, turning them to ensure that they were entirely out of the view of the others in the room. She felt the trembling in his fingers. “I wish I had been here. I wish I could have—”

He stopped when she closed her eyes.

I wish you had been here, too.

He traced his fingers down the side of her neck to the place where her pulse was beating out of control.

She did not want to think of the past. Not now. Not when he was so close.

“I wish you would kiss me.”

The raw confession surprised them both.

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Ah, Isabel, if we were anywhere but here …”

She dipped her head at the words. “I know.”

“Do you? Do you know how much I want you?”

She could not look at him. “Yes.”

She felt his thumb run over the soft skin of her wrist, the maddening touch setting her pulse racing. “How do you know? ”

The whisper, dark and coaxing, gave her the courage to look up at him. His eyes were dark—too dark to make out their color in this light—but she could read his thoughts. “Because I want you, as well.”

He growled then, low in his throat, and Isabel felt the noise cut a path right through her, sending pleasure pooling at her core. She started to turn her face away once more, but he stayed the movement with one finger under her chin. “No, beauty. Look at me.”

How could she deny such an urgent demand?

“I am not perfect. I cannot promise you that I will not do things that will hurt you.” He paused, his scar a pale line against his darkened skin. “But I will do everything in my power to protect you and James and these girls.”

He stopped, and she held her breath, waiting for his next words.

“I think you should consider your brother’s proposal.”