“Certainly, Jenkins,” Damien replied, tearing his eyes away from Isabella to answer his valet. “Miss Browning and I have a few matters to settle first. I will ride out shortly.”
Freed from the hypnotic power of the earl’s glance, Isabella rose from her chair and stepped to the far side of the drawing room. Fearing to look at the earl again, she deliberately turned her back to him, starring unseeingly out the window.
Damien remained quiet for a long time. Each time he was alone with Isabella, she had a decidedly unsettling effect on him. Somehow she managed to stir up smoldering emotions and passions that he had almost forgotten he possessed. With just a few innocent glances, Isabella had shown him just how close to the surface these feelings lay, and how quickly she could bring them to life.
Yet Damien was determined to resist her, no matter how appealing he found her. He would keep his feelings firmly in check and remain immune to her charms. He fought for and regained his self-control.
“How do you propose to reconcile this problem of my children’s need for attention and my obligation to run this estate?”
Isabella shivered visibly at the sound of his voice. She swallowed several times before answering. “Is it possible for Catherine and Ian to accompany you when you attend to certain estate matters? Perhaps they can ride with you when you visit your tenants?”
Damien thought a few moments before answering. “Generally, I leave the house very early in the morning and am often miles away before Catherine and Ian even awaken. And I only visit my tenants if there is a problem.”
“I don’t suppose you could return for afternoon tea each day?”
“So I can referee the fights over strawberry tarts?”
Damien’s lighthearted remark eased the tension within Isabella, and she summoned the courage to turn around and face him.
“Well, sir, if I promise to do my best to prevent the fights, will you promise to come to tea?”
“I will be here at least twice each week,” the earl declared. “Perhaps Catherine and Ian can join me for dinner Saturday evening?”
Isabella rolled her eyes at the notion. Visions of mashed potatoes and peas being flung across the dining room table filled her head. “The children are a bit young to be eating dinner so late in the evening,” Isabella hedged. “It might be better to wait until Sunday. I am sure you can find some free time after we return from Sunday services.”
The earl stiffened at her remark. “I do not attend church services, Isabella,” Damien said tersely. “And neither do my children.” He held her gaze for a chilling instant, allowing no emotion to cross his face. “Is that clearly understood?”
Isabella blinked uncertainly. “You have made your point, sir.” Isabella was astonished by his vehement declaration and very curious. Too curious to resist asking, “Is it merely church you object to, sir, or do you have something against God?”
“Not personally,” Damien replied with a note of temper in his voice. “It is my opinion that the majority of individuals who attend services in this community act as though spending an hour in pious prayer absolves them of a week of sinning. I’d like to think I’m not quite so hypocritical.”
Isabella raised her eyebrows questioningly. “Surely that cannot be the only reason you do not attend Sunday services?”
Damien gave a harsh laugh. “You are very aware of the ugly gossip that surrounds my name, Isabella. I refuse to bring my children into the village and expose them to all those malicious lies.”
“I would think the people of this village could find a more worthy subject of conversation,” Isabella said lightly. “And I highly doubt anyone would have the audacity, or the courage, to insult you or your children directly. If you faced the gossips head on, Damien, they might just move on to more juicier scandals.”
The earl was not convinced. “I will not subject Catherine and Ian to any scrutiny,” Damien declared in a firm voice.
“Do you object to my attending services?”
Damien frowned slightly. “Your presence will certainly cause comments.” When Isabella did not respond, the earl concluded impatiently, “Ultimately, it is your decision to make, Isabella. As long as you do not involve my children, I have no right to object. In fact, I insist you take my carriage.”
“Thank you,” Isabella replied, inclining her head with icy politeness. “I should be honored.”
“Fine,” Damien replied, slightly annoyed because she appeared determined to follow a course he felt certain would cause her discomfort. “I wish to have supper with Catherine and Ian on Saturday evening. I shall instruct Mrs. Amberly to serve the meal promptly at seven o’clock.” He cast her a sly look. “Naturally, I expect you to be in attendance.”
“Naturally,” Isabella repeated faintly, her heart fluttering anew at the thought of spending an evening in the earl’s company.
Damien walked to the door. “If you will excuse me, I should like to see about those fences before darkness falls.” The earl hesitated, but departed the room without another word.
With shadowed eyes, Isabella watched him leave.
“I have finished drawing my flowers, Miss Browning. Can I paint them?” Catherine looked with undisguised longing at the fresh box of water colors Isabella was using.
“Certainly.” Isabella shifted the position of her easel, allowing Catherine easy access to the paints. “Light, even strokes,” Isabella advised as the young girl jammed her paintbrush onto the canvas.
Isabella offered a few more tactful suggestions before shifting her attention to Ian. The young boy had elected to forgo the watercolor lesson and instead was practicing his writing. Isabella joined him on the stone bench as he leaned intently over his slate.
