Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord
Page 53
Pearls and Pelisses
June 1823
There was something rather calming about his discovery of Minerva House.
She wouldn’t have expected it to be so … She would have expected to be panicked, or to feel compelled to deny what he had seen—to scoff at his discovery and move on as if nothing had changed.
But what she felt when he’d looked her right in the eye and, as though he were announcing the weather, proclaimed his knowledge … it was more akin to relief than to panic. She was tired of hiding from him … of waiting for him to discover their secret in one way or another. In hindsight, it had been silly of her to imagine that she could keep the truth from him.
“You’ve a female butler, female footmen, and a female stable boy.”
She stood at his words, removing her gloves, which were ruined from the plaster she had been cleaning. “I’ve a female stable master.”
He ignored the correction. “You’ve a houseful of women.”
“Not entirely.”
“How many, entirely?”
She paused. “All but one.”
He turned away from her. She noticed the scar on his cheek, white and stark with frustration. She watched his hands cup the back of his neck as he looked up at the ceiling. “Your brother.”
“The earl.” It seemed imperative that she underscore the title.
“The ten-year-old earl.”
“What does it matter? He is still the earl!”
“It means there is no one to protect you!” The words shook the room, surprising Isabel with their power. All at once, she was angry. Angry at the truth of the words. Angry at the universe. Angry at this man—who had known her for less than three days—and his insistence that she must be protected. That she could not care for herself. For her brother. For her girls.
“You think I do not understand the straits in which we are? You think I do not see the risks we take? You think that if there were another way, I would not have found it?” Tears came fast and furious. “I never asked for your help, Lord Nicholas. I never asked you to protect me.”
He met her gaze, frustration flaring in his blue eyes. “I know, Isabel. You wouldn’t dare ask me for help. You are too afraid of revealing your weakness.”
“Perhaps I do not ask you for help because too often it is men from whom we need protection. Did you consider that?”
She immediately regretted the words, which fell between them like a stone.
He did not deserve them. He was not like those other men. She knew that.
Even as she knew he was infinitely more dangerous.
“I am sorry.”
He searched her eyes for a long moment. “It was easy enough to discover that they were female, but who are they? Why are they here? ”
She shook her head. “You cannot really believe that I would tell you that.”
“Are they criminals? ”
“Some of them? I’m sure you would think so.” She knew she wasn’t being fair. But she could not stop herself. She was transfixed by the movement of his hands, clenching and unclenching slowly. “Some are just girls who needed an escape.”
“If you are harboring criminals, Isabel, you could go to gaol.”
She did not answer.
“People may come looking for them. That is why you keep them secret.”
He was putting it all together, but she would not give him the pleasure of acknowledging the truth.
“The marbles. Your concern about finances. It isn’t just for James. It is for them.”
“I never denied that I needed the money for more than James’s school.”
“No. You merely omitted the whole truth.”
“It is not your truth to bear.”
“It seems I bear it nonetheless.”
“I never asked you to do so.”
He did not respond, instead turning back to the window, looking out over the wet, stormy land beyond. She could see only the scarred half of his face, the white line stark in the gray morning light, whiter still for his stony silence. He stood there for long minutes, unspeaking, until Isabel thought she might go mad from it. Finally, he spoke. “You can trust me.”
Trust. What a lovely word.
There was something about this man, about his strength, about the way character virtually seeped from him, about the way he looked at her with patience and honesty and promise, that made her desperate to believe him. That made her want to place her faith, her trust, her girls, her house … everything she had … in his grasp and ask him to help her.
But she couldn’t.
She knew better.
Oh, certainly he thought he could help them. He thought he could be their protector. Certainly the idea appeased some kind of masculine desire within … but she had seen what happened when men with pretty words and strong arms grew bored of their surroundings. Of the needs of the women in their lives. She had watched as her father had deserted her mother, leaving her with nothing but a crumbling estate and a broken heart.
If she leaned on him now, she would not survive it when he left.
“You have brought me into your world, Isabel, like it or not. I deserve to know.”
There was no room to trust him. No matter how badly she wanted to do so. No matter how much his strength and his certainty—and his kisses—beckoned to her.
This man was more dangerous than legions of men like her father.
She shook her head.
“So you will not tell me.”
She held her ground. “No.”
“You do not trust me.”
I want to!
“I—I cannot.”
Something flared in his eyes—something dangerous—and Isabel wished she had not said the words.
June 1823
There was something rather calming about his discovery of Minerva House.
She wouldn’t have expected it to be so … She would have expected to be panicked, or to feel compelled to deny what he had seen—to scoff at his discovery and move on as if nothing had changed.
But what she felt when he’d looked her right in the eye and, as though he were announcing the weather, proclaimed his knowledge … it was more akin to relief than to panic. She was tired of hiding from him … of waiting for him to discover their secret in one way or another. In hindsight, it had been silly of her to imagine that she could keep the truth from him.
“You’ve a female butler, female footmen, and a female stable boy.”
She stood at his words, removing her gloves, which were ruined from the plaster she had been cleaning. “I’ve a female stable master.”
He ignored the correction. “You’ve a houseful of women.”
“Not entirely.”
“How many, entirely?”
She paused. “All but one.”
He turned away from her. She noticed the scar on his cheek, white and stark with frustration. She watched his hands cup the back of his neck as he looked up at the ceiling. “Your brother.”
“The earl.” It seemed imperative that she underscore the title.
“The ten-year-old earl.”
“What does it matter? He is still the earl!”
“It means there is no one to protect you!” The words shook the room, surprising Isabel with their power. All at once, she was angry. Angry at the truth of the words. Angry at the universe. Angry at this man—who had known her for less than three days—and his insistence that she must be protected. That she could not care for herself. For her brother. For her girls.
“You think I do not understand the straits in which we are? You think I do not see the risks we take? You think that if there were another way, I would not have found it?” Tears came fast and furious. “I never asked for your help, Lord Nicholas. I never asked you to protect me.”
He met her gaze, frustration flaring in his blue eyes. “I know, Isabel. You wouldn’t dare ask me for help. You are too afraid of revealing your weakness.”
“Perhaps I do not ask you for help because too often it is men from whom we need protection. Did you consider that?”
She immediately regretted the words, which fell between them like a stone.
He did not deserve them. He was not like those other men. She knew that.
Even as she knew he was infinitely more dangerous.
“I am sorry.”
He searched her eyes for a long moment. “It was easy enough to discover that they were female, but who are they? Why are they here? ”
She shook her head. “You cannot really believe that I would tell you that.”
“Are they criminals? ”
“Some of them? I’m sure you would think so.” She knew she wasn’t being fair. But she could not stop herself. She was transfixed by the movement of his hands, clenching and unclenching slowly. “Some are just girls who needed an escape.”
“If you are harboring criminals, Isabel, you could go to gaol.”
She did not answer.
“People may come looking for them. That is why you keep them secret.”
He was putting it all together, but she would not give him the pleasure of acknowledging the truth.
“The marbles. Your concern about finances. It isn’t just for James. It is for them.”
“I never denied that I needed the money for more than James’s school.”
“No. You merely omitted the whole truth.”
“It is not your truth to bear.”
“It seems I bear it nonetheless.”
“I never asked you to do so.”
He did not respond, instead turning back to the window, looking out over the wet, stormy land beyond. She could see only the scarred half of his face, the white line stark in the gray morning light, whiter still for his stony silence. He stood there for long minutes, unspeaking, until Isabel thought she might go mad from it. Finally, he spoke. “You can trust me.”
Trust. What a lovely word.
There was something about this man, about his strength, about the way character virtually seeped from him, about the way he looked at her with patience and honesty and promise, that made her desperate to believe him. That made her want to place her faith, her trust, her girls, her house … everything she had … in his grasp and ask him to help her.
But she couldn’t.
She knew better.
Oh, certainly he thought he could help them. He thought he could be their protector. Certainly the idea appeased some kind of masculine desire within … but she had seen what happened when men with pretty words and strong arms grew bored of their surroundings. Of the needs of the women in their lives. She had watched as her father had deserted her mother, leaving her with nothing but a crumbling estate and a broken heart.
If she leaned on him now, she would not survive it when he left.
“You have brought me into your world, Isabel, like it or not. I deserve to know.”
There was no room to trust him. No matter how badly she wanted to do so. No matter how much his strength and his certainty—and his kisses—beckoned to her.
This man was more dangerous than legions of men like her father.
She shook her head.
“So you will not tell me.”
She held her ground. “No.”
“You do not trust me.”
I want to!
“I—I cannot.”
Something flared in his eyes—something dangerous—and Isabel wished she had not said the words.
