How long was she watching?
Her next question had thrown him. For he had not known.
Did you know she was there?
He had struggled, his mind a muddled confusion, his body a strange conflagration of sated lust and outrage. He had been in another realm with Izzy’s mouth on him, the raw explosion of his orgasm so unexpected and uncontrollable that he had spent down her throat instead of politely extricating himself and spilling into a handkerchief as he intended. His heart had been pounding from the aftermath of his release. And he had struggled to form an answer. To know for certain. Had he seen Beatrice before he had come? Had he known she was there, watching? What manner of monster would it render him if he had?
Izzy had not waited for his response. With a low sound, she had turned on her heel and fled, not bothering to take her taper with her. And he had watched her go, wearier than he had ever been.
Uncertain of where this left them.
By the light of day, he was not any more reassured. But he was willing to hope some distance and sleep would change her mind. Soften her reaction.
“No need to look so Friday-faced. The servants from Talleyrand Park will be arriving soon,” Wycombe said, misreading his concern.
And it was for the best. The fewer questions his friend asked, the better.
“The house already looks well enough,” his friend added, frowning at the dead fire in the grate. “With the exception of the fire. It’s deuced cold in here this morning.”
Late autumn in Staffordshire could be damned chilly, and the frigid great hall was a reminder of that. “With any luck, we will see this heap back to working order by the day’s end.”
Yesterday, they had managed a surprising number of improvements. But today would require more. Far more.
Chief among them, the mending of fences between himself and his betrothed.
“Do you suppose there is any coffee to be had in this heap?” Wycombe asked lightly.
“Christ, I hope so,” he said.
Fortification of any sort would be required to face the day.
And the woman he intended to wed.
* * *
“Izzy.”
At the familiar voice, Izzy halted on the path in the overgrown gardens, pulling her wrap more tightly about herself as if it were a shield. A light mist had begun to fall. Not quite a drizzle, but enough to fill the air with a dreamy haze.
Anglesey rounded a bend on the vine-tangled trail and came into view.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, handsome perfection, dressed as if he had prepared to go riding. And perhaps he had. Her brother had reported back that he was pleasantly surprised by the state of the stables. It was the only portion of Barlowe Park that was not overlooked and unattended. She wondered how Anglesey might look, seated atop one of the fine Arabians Royston had given his approval.
It should hardly matter, for Izzy herself only rode when absolutely necessary, and yet here she was, drinking in the sight of him. A golden Adonis with hands and lips that knew precisely how to hone a woman’s pleasure. A face that promised sensual delights. A well-muscled, graceful form. The moment their gazes met, everything that had passed between them the night before hit her, making her cheeks go warm.
“My lord,” she said, for although they had been quite intimate with each other last night, she had not forgotten the manner in which their interlude had abruptly ended.
He owed her some explanations about the widowed countess. There was—or had been—something between the two of them, and she was determined to learn what that was. If they were to marry, she needed to at least know where she stood. And now that she knew the earl intimately, Izzy understood, instinctively, that she could not support any entanglements he may have with his brother’s widow. Loyalty was an important virtue to her, whether in love or other matters. Only, she had not realized how very imperative it was in a future husband—in regard to the bed chamber—until last night.
Anglesey reached her and stopped, near enough to touch.
Must not touch, she reminded herself.Regardless of how tempting he is.
He studied her with that intense, brilliant gaze of his, unsmiling. “You have been difficult indeed to find this morning.”
She tilted her head and gazed up at him, thankful for the jaunty brim of her hat, catching the mist and keeping it from her face. “Are you suggesting I was hiding from you?”
He raised a brow. “Were you?”
