“I see,” she said quietly.
Isobel reached over to squeeze her hand. “He cannot hurt you now. We have made certain of it. Your season is your own, Nora. You will marry whom you choose, when you choose, or not at all if that is what you prefer.”
Nora nodded, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. “Thank you. All of you. I do not know what I would do without my siblings.”
“You will never have to find out,” Isobel promised. “We will always protect you.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon in pleasant conversation, with Isobel filling Nora in on all the small dramas and joys of managing such a large household. Then came dinner, a raucous affair with all seven children present, the table filled with laughter and the occasional food-related catastrophe.
By the time Nora retired to her room for the evening, she felt more settled than she had in weeks. The love and warmth of Isobel's family had soothed some of the raw edges of her heart.
But as she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, her thoughts inevitably turned back to Godric.
She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, could still hear the dark velvet of his voice in her ear as he commanded her to beg. Her body responded to the memories with a flush of heat, an ache of need that she had no idea how to satisfy on her own.
This was madness. She needed to focus on finding a husband, on securing her future, on fulfilling the goals she had set for herself at the beginning of the season.
But how could she do any of that when every fiber of her being seemed to crave the one man who was determined to remain emotionally unavailable?
With a frustrated sigh, Nora rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, willing sleep to claim her.
Tomorrow, she would return to London and face whatever consequences awaited her for defying Godric's orders.
But tonight, she would allow herself this small escape.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Morning came far too quickly, bringing with it a hearty breakfast and Isobel's continued gentle probing about the duke who had captured so much of her younger sister's attention.
“I still think you should give him a chance,” Isobel said as they sat together in the sun room, watching the children play in the garden through the large windows. “Sometimes love comes from the most unlikely sources.”
“Why must everyone insist on pairing us together? You and my friend Penelope have this idea that – it doesn’t matter! This is not about love,” Nora protested, but the words felt hollow even to her own ears.
Isobel simply smiled, that knowing, maddening smile that older sisters seemed to perfect. “If you say so, dear. But I would advise you to trust your instincts. Keep your heart open. You might be surprised by what you find.”
The words stayed with Nora throughout the carriage ride back to London. Trust her instincts. Keep her heart open.
But her instincts where Godric was concerned seemed determined to lead her into dangerous territory, and keeping her heart open to him felt like inviting certain heartbreak.
Still, as the familiar streets of London came into view, Nora felt a flutter of nervous anticipation in her stomach. Whatever awaited her, she would face it head-on. That was simply who she was.
The carriage pulled up in front of her house, and Nora was entirely unsurprised to see a familiar, tall, broad-shouldered figure standing near her front steps.
Godric.
He was leaning against the iron railing with his arms crossed, his expression thunderous. When he saw her carriage arrive, he straightened, and even from this distance, Nora could feel the intensity of his glare.
She took her time disembarking, deliberately slow in her movements, allowing the footman to help her down with exaggerated care. When she finally turned to face Godric, she arranged her features into an expression of mild surprise.
“Your Grace,” she said breezily. “What brings you here this morning?”
“Where were you?” His voice was tight, controlled, but she could hear the anger simmering beneath the surface.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Where were you?” He repeated, each word was enunciated with careful precision, as though he were speaking to someone particularly slow-witted.
“Was it not clear that I was out? That is strange, I was certain you would have been informed of my absence if you had made it known to my staff that you wished to see me.”
