Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord
Page 84
He wanted her.
He turned toward the door of the stables and, for a fleeting moment, considered the lateness of the hour. He hovered there on the brink of movement, considering his options.
He should leave her.
Perhaps she had found sleep.
A vision flashed of Isabel soft and willing, eyes half open, watching him, welcoming him … and it proved too much to resist.
He wanted her.
And if he had to wake her to win her, all the better.
She was sleeping when he crept into her room, still in breeches and a linen shirt. She had not put out the candles after he had left, and several had burned out, leaving nothing but a pool of wax. Two remained burning, one by the door and the other by her bedside, casting her sleeping form in a pool of soft light.
He closed the door, knowing that he was committing the very worst of sins, entering her bedchamber without her knowledge or consent, but it did not stop him from slinking close to watch as she slumbered.
She was curved into a near ball, lying on one side, facing the door and the light. Her hands were fisted beneath her chin and her knees were pulled up tightly, as though she could protect herself from the beasts that threatened in the dead of night.
Beasts like him.
He resisted the words, instead focusing on her face, looking his fill at this woman who had wreaked havoc upon his life. She was beautiful, her full lips and long, straight nose combined with high cheekbones dusted with freckles. He paused there, marveling at those tiny brown spots that betrayed her time working in the sunshine—yet another example of how this woman was so very different from all others.
His gaze caressed her face, finally settling on her brow, where worry furrowed the space above her nose even as she slept. Nick felt a tightening in his chest as he watched the dimple there deepen; he had done this to her. He could not resist reaching out, smoothing one long finger softly along the wrinkle, willing it away.
The touch was enough to bring her out of her too-light sleep, and she came awake with a deep breath, her limbs extending as consciousness returned. He took a fleeting moment to remember her like this—warm and lush and barely aware of her surroundings.
Someday, he would kiss her awake and keep her abed for hours.
The thought did not have time to linger.
When she saw him, sleep gave way to surprise, then to outrage. She shot straight up. “Why are you here?” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and Nick resisted the instinct to put distance between them, somehow knowing that if she stood, he would lose any ground in this battle.
She immediately understood what he was doing. Her eyes narrowed. “Let me up.”
“No. Not until you listen to what I have to say.”
“You have already said quite enough, Lord Nicholas.”
The sound of the honorific on her lips sent a river of distaste through him. Somehow, he had to convince her to hear him. He had to convince her that he was worth it. Desperation surged, and he did what came instinctively, crouching in front of her and capturing her hands in his.
She immediately tried to extricate herself from his grasp, but he held firm and after a few seconds, she gave in.
“I have not said that I am sorry.” She did not respond, and his lips twisted in a wry smile. “If you knew me better, you would know that I do not apologize well.”
“Well, perhaps it is time you learn,” she said, simply.
“I never meant to hurt you, Isabel. Had I known what I would find when I came north, I would never have agreed to Leighton’s request.” He stopped for a moment, looking down at where their hands were entwined. “That is a lie. Had I known that I would find you when I came north, I would have come years ago.”
Her jaw dropped, and he gave her a lopsided grin. “I see I have rendered you speechless. You see, Isabel, you are something of a marvel. I have met many women in my lifetime, all across the globe. And yet, I have never met a woman so strong, so vibrant, so lovely as you. And you must believe me when I tell you that I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“But you did hurt me.”
The words, filled with pain and barely a whisper, propelled him forward, and he lifted her hands to his lips, kissing them with reverence. “I know that I did. And you’ve every right to hate me for it.”
“I don’t hate you.”
He looked up at her then, meeting her gaze, seeing the truth there. “I am very happy to hear it.”
Her brow furrowed again, and he itched to kiss the fret away. “But I do not understand …”
"Someday,” he promised, “someday I will tell you everything.”
She shook her head. “No, Nick. No more someday. It is time for the truth.”
He took a deep breath, knowing in his heart that she was right. That he must tell her everything … that he must lay himself bare for her if she was ever going to trust him again. And somehow, with that knowledge came strength. “Fair enough.”
He stood, pacing the room as he spoke, unable to keep still as the words poured out of him. “My mother left us when I was ten. One day, she was there; the next, she was gone. We knew nothing of where she went—after a while, it was difficult to believe that she had ever really been there to begin with.” He stopped by the candle near the door and turned back to her. “You would think that losing one’s mother would be the hardest thing for a child—but it wasn’t, really. The hardest thing was that I did not know what had happened. What had caused her to leave. The hardest thing was the worry that … somehow … it had had something to do with me.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he pressed forward, not willing to stop, not sure that he could start again if he did. “I became obsessed with her leaving. With the reason behind it. My father had had every one of her possessions disposed of within days of her disappearance, but I was dogged in my search for something that would point me in the right direction. I found a diary, and in it her plans for the future. She was leaving for the Continent. Going first to friends in Paris, then on to Italy. She called it her adventure.” He gave a little laugh. “Apparently marriage and children and being a marchioness were not exciting enough for my mother.
He turned toward the door of the stables and, for a fleeting moment, considered the lateness of the hour. He hovered there on the brink of movement, considering his options.
He should leave her.
Perhaps she had found sleep.
A vision flashed of Isabel soft and willing, eyes half open, watching him, welcoming him … and it proved too much to resist.
He wanted her.
And if he had to wake her to win her, all the better.
She was sleeping when he crept into her room, still in breeches and a linen shirt. She had not put out the candles after he had left, and several had burned out, leaving nothing but a pool of wax. Two remained burning, one by the door and the other by her bedside, casting her sleeping form in a pool of soft light.
He closed the door, knowing that he was committing the very worst of sins, entering her bedchamber without her knowledge or consent, but it did not stop him from slinking close to watch as she slumbered.
She was curved into a near ball, lying on one side, facing the door and the light. Her hands were fisted beneath her chin and her knees were pulled up tightly, as though she could protect herself from the beasts that threatened in the dead of night.
Beasts like him.
He resisted the words, instead focusing on her face, looking his fill at this woman who had wreaked havoc upon his life. She was beautiful, her full lips and long, straight nose combined with high cheekbones dusted with freckles. He paused there, marveling at those tiny brown spots that betrayed her time working in the sunshine—yet another example of how this woman was so very different from all others.
His gaze caressed her face, finally settling on her brow, where worry furrowed the space above her nose even as she slept. Nick felt a tightening in his chest as he watched the dimple there deepen; he had done this to her. He could not resist reaching out, smoothing one long finger softly along the wrinkle, willing it away.
The touch was enough to bring her out of her too-light sleep, and she came awake with a deep breath, her limbs extending as consciousness returned. He took a fleeting moment to remember her like this—warm and lush and barely aware of her surroundings.
Someday, he would kiss her awake and keep her abed for hours.
The thought did not have time to linger.
When she saw him, sleep gave way to surprise, then to outrage. She shot straight up. “Why are you here?” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and Nick resisted the instinct to put distance between them, somehow knowing that if she stood, he would lose any ground in this battle.
She immediately understood what he was doing. Her eyes narrowed. “Let me up.”
“No. Not until you listen to what I have to say.”
“You have already said quite enough, Lord Nicholas.”
The sound of the honorific on her lips sent a river of distaste through him. Somehow, he had to convince her to hear him. He had to convince her that he was worth it. Desperation surged, and he did what came instinctively, crouching in front of her and capturing her hands in his.
She immediately tried to extricate herself from his grasp, but he held firm and after a few seconds, she gave in.
“I have not said that I am sorry.” She did not respond, and his lips twisted in a wry smile. “If you knew me better, you would know that I do not apologize well.”
“Well, perhaps it is time you learn,” she said, simply.
“I never meant to hurt you, Isabel. Had I known what I would find when I came north, I would never have agreed to Leighton’s request.” He stopped for a moment, looking down at where their hands were entwined. “That is a lie. Had I known that I would find you when I came north, I would have come years ago.”
Her jaw dropped, and he gave her a lopsided grin. “I see I have rendered you speechless. You see, Isabel, you are something of a marvel. I have met many women in my lifetime, all across the globe. And yet, I have never met a woman so strong, so vibrant, so lovely as you. And you must believe me when I tell you that I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“But you did hurt me.”
The words, filled with pain and barely a whisper, propelled him forward, and he lifted her hands to his lips, kissing them with reverence. “I know that I did. And you’ve every right to hate me for it.”
“I don’t hate you.”
He looked up at her then, meeting her gaze, seeing the truth there. “I am very happy to hear it.”
Her brow furrowed again, and he itched to kiss the fret away. “But I do not understand …”
"Someday,” he promised, “someday I will tell you everything.”
She shook her head. “No, Nick. No more someday. It is time for the truth.”
He took a deep breath, knowing in his heart that she was right. That he must tell her everything … that he must lay himself bare for her if she was ever going to trust him again. And somehow, with that knowledge came strength. “Fair enough.”
He stood, pacing the room as he spoke, unable to keep still as the words poured out of him. “My mother left us when I was ten. One day, she was there; the next, she was gone. We knew nothing of where she went—after a while, it was difficult to believe that she had ever really been there to begin with.” He stopped by the candle near the door and turned back to her. “You would think that losing one’s mother would be the hardest thing for a child—but it wasn’t, really. The hardest thing was that I did not know what had happened. What had caused her to leave. The hardest thing was the worry that … somehow … it had had something to do with me.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he pressed forward, not willing to stop, not sure that he could start again if he did. “I became obsessed with her leaving. With the reason behind it. My father had had every one of her possessions disposed of within days of her disappearance, but I was dogged in my search for something that would point me in the right direction. I found a diary, and in it her plans for the future. She was leaving for the Continent. Going first to friends in Paris, then on to Italy. She called it her adventure.” He gave a little laugh. “Apparently marriage and children and being a marchioness were not exciting enough for my mother.
