Like now.
She reached the open doorway and blinked at the sight before her. In the corner nearest the room’s lone window stood a shirtless Percy and a man who looked as old as the earth.
“Drummond,” Percy began, weary, as if he’d already spoken his next words a dozen times over, “I am perfectly capable of shaving myself.”
“You’re saying you didn’t have a valet all those years?”
“That is precisely what I am saying.”
Drummond shook his head, mournfully. “’Tisn’t proper that a son of the Duke of Arundel shaves his own beard. ’Tis right shameful.”
Theson of the Duke of Arundel.There were times when Isabel forgot that fact about Percy.
The men went quiet of a sudden, and her gaze met Percy’s in the mirror. It held for a fluttery heartbeat.
“I reckon this’ll be the newest Lady Percival?” Drummond asked.
Percy cleared his throat. “Isabel, may I introduce the Duke of Arundel’s oldest—”
“Watch yourself, boy,” Drummond warned.
“—and most loyal—”
“That’s better,” Drummond cut in, mollified.
“—valet—”
“And all-around man.”
“—Drummond, to you?”
“Most pleased to meet you,” Isabel replied. Drummond eyed her up and down. She straightened her spine and hoped she met his exacting standards.
Seemingly satisfied with his findings, Drummond began packing his straightedge and other shaving accoutrements into a small black case. “You will have your hands full keeping this one”—he jerked a thumb toward Percy—“on the straight and narrow. That’s a fact worth knowing.” He cut Percy a sharp glance. “I shall be informing the Duke of your behavior today, make no mistake.”
Isabel stood aside as Drummond shuffled past, mumbling about the young folk these days not knowing what was right and proper. It was only when the front door clicked shut that Isabel’s gaze returned to Percy. Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes, and a chirrup of laughter squeezed through the firm press of her lips.
“What shall be your punishment, Lord Percival? No pudding for dessert?”
Percy picked up his straightedge, steel glinting in the sun. “A day’s banishment from the stable was always effective.”
Ariel thrust a tiny baby fist into the air and became squirmy in Isabel’s arms. She began to sway from side to side, giving him the movement he wanted as she helped him find his thumb. The babe settled.
When she returned her attention to Percy, she found him watching her in the mirror, the straightedge frozen midway along his jaw. The hilarity of the previous moment faded beneath the look in his eyes.Hunger.He blinked and resumed his shave.
Isabel’s gaze skittered away only to land on his shirtless chest. As the full midday sun streamed through the window at his side, the light caught every ripple of muscle beneath tan skin, illuminating the beauty of him.Lean. Muscled. Strong. Scarred.Again, she wondered about those scars. Each had a story to tell, but they combined, too, to tell the story of the man.
It was only when he finished his shave, and slipped his shirt over his head, denying Isabel her view of him, that it occurred to her she hadn’t had to stay.
Yet she had.
“You have my sincerest gratitude for saving my life,” Percy said as he turned to face her.
“For saving your life? How so?”
“Drummond was as like to slit my throat as to shave it.” His chin jutted toward Ariel. “How has he settled in?”
“He’s a very sweet young man,” she said down to the wide-eyed babe. “But aren’t you quite a handful today?” She looked up. “Literally.”
