“Then what?—”
Laughter broke them apart, and they both glanced in the direction of the house. The woman was leaning to the left side of the doorway, evidently enjoying the show.
“You two are rather amusing, I must say,” she said through the chuckles. “Why don’t you come in, so we can explain?”
Chapter Ten
Mason could still hear the sound of her breath when she turned away from him, as though she’d been running not through forest but through every feeling she had no intention of naming.
She had thought he was having anaffair…
He watched Cordelia press her hand to her stomach like the mere act of standing had become too much, her cheeks blotched with emotion and mud, her hair rebelliously curling around her temples, damp and wild. And still, despite everything, she looked so terribly,terriblybeautiful, without even knowing it.
God help him.
“No, we should get going,” he told Isabelle, glancing in the direction where he had come from.
Suddenly, fear gripped him, and he was torn between a desire to grab Cordelia by the hand, pulling her away from all of this, and a desire to gently lead her toward Isabelle and share the secret that had been his to carry alone for such a long time.
But before he could allow the scales to tilt to one side, two small bodies had launched themselves out of the doorway, one grabbing Mason’s waist, the other hugging his thigh.
He caught them both with a grunt of theatrical suffering, forgetting all about his torment, for these two little rascals always managed to make him forget about everything else.
“Ambushed again!” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes playfully. “This family is truly a menace. What do you feed them, Isabelle, gunpowder?”
“Mostly jam,” Isabelle said cheerfully, stepping out behind them. She wiped her hands on her apron and smiled a real smile, soft and sunlit and nothing like the polished expressions of London’s drawing rooms.
Sometimes, he wondered if given the chance to return to that world, with her family of course, would she accept it? But that thought quickly disappeared, for Isabelle was never suited for that stuffy atmosphere where women were barely allowed to breathe without the patriarchal permission. Here, she was able to be herself and to be loved as such. He had always wondered what that felt like.
Mason turned to speak, but Isabelle was already making her way toward them with her eyes bright with curiosity.
“Isabelle,” he said her name in warning.
“Oh, let me,” she said, brushing him off with a familiar arch of her brow that brooked no argument. “She’s already seen too much to pretend she’s seen nothing. And besides, this ismysecret. I decide who I trust with it.”
Before he could stop her, Isabelle turned to Cordelia, smiling kindly.
“I’m Isabelle Wheeler,” she said with that gracious calm only a woman truly at peace could carry. “This feral pair are Henry and Thalia, my eldest beasts. The baby is asleep inside, thank the heavens. And this tall, brooding gentleman whom you’ve likely mistaken for some dark forest god is my older brother.”
Cordelia blinked, looking like someone had opened the last page of a mystery novel and handed it to her mid-sentence.
“I…” she began, glancing between Mason and Isabelle and then down at the two children clinging to his coat. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You didn’t,” Isabelle said warmly, crouching to untangle Thalia from Mason’s leg. “Anyone willing to chase a rabbit through Galleon Wood is either mad or brave, possibly both. And I’ve always liked both.”
Cordelia let out a strangled little sound, which sounded like half-laugh, half-mortified cough, and Mason found himself watching her closely, as though he could commit her every reaction to memory. He noticed it all: the way her brows creased when she was flustered, the way her eyes widened when someone showed her kindness, the way she tried not to flinch when she was seen too clearly.
It made something shift in him. He wasn’t sure what.
“Please, come inside,” Isabelle urged Cordelia, who smiled tenderly then entered the little cottage.
Isabelle lingered behind for a few moments longer than necessary, seizing the chance to speak her mind.
“She thought I was your mistress, you know,” Isabelle whispered to him.
Mason closed his eyes and exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Yes,” he muttered. “She said as much and very loudly.”
