“We were discussing Catherine and Ian, my lord,” Isabella said irritably, trying to regain her equilibrium.
Damien made a small gesture of disgust. “No, I believe it is fair to say you were lecturing me about Ian and Catherine,” Damien insisted, donning a clean shirt. Harried and distracted, the earl made a valiant attempt to marshal his emotions. He was cold, he was wet, he was tired. He was definitely not up to arguing with Isabella. Summoning up every ounce of self control he possessed, Damien faced his adversary.
“There is a break in the north fence, and several hundred sheep have wandered on to Lord Gilmore’s property. I am needed there.”
“Can’t it wait? Just for an hour? Catherine and Ian will be crushed if you break your promise. Again.” A lock of chestnut hair escaped the confines of Isabella’s neatly plaited hair, and she impatiently pushed it back. “Surely you can spare a scant hour for your son and daughter?”
Damien’s jaw tightened. “I don’t have an hour to spare. If you would care to look outside, you will see the storm clouds threatening even as we speak.”
Isabella gave a cursory glance out the window. “If it is going to storm, then it makes no sense for you to leave in the first place.” She took a small step toward him. “Please, Damien, don’t dismiss your children so lightly.”
“I have already explained why I must leave,” Damien growled, his patience giving way. “In my opinion, you are making far too much over my missing one afternoon tea.” He gave her a scathing look. “And I, for one, would greatly appreciate it if you would stop acting so damned melodramatically. It ill becomes you.”
Isabella shot him a furious glance. “You made a promise to your children, sir. And I fully intend to see that you keep it,” she reiterated fiercely.
“Is that so?” Damien rounded on her. “I have also made a promise to take care of them. Will you kindly explain to me how well off they shall be without a roof over their heads?”
“What utter nonsense,” she returned nastily. “Now who is acting melodramatically.” Isabella narrowed her violet eyes. “I hardly think the welfare of the entire estate rests on a few sheep. You are merely using that as a convenient excuse for neglecting your parental obligations.”
The earl stilled instantly. The cords on his neck stood out, and a pulse was beating visibly at his temple. Isabella knew she had pushed him too far. With perceivable effort the earl maintained his control. Across the room, their eyes met.
“Well, you are correct about one thing, Isabella,” the earl finally stated coldly. “You hardly think.” He lurched past her and Isabella watched him in silence, lacking the courage to utter another syllable.
The palpable tension remained in the room after Damien’s departure. Isabella regretted allowing her overset emotions to rule her tongue, but her first obligation must always be toward the children. Who else would look to their welfare, if not she?
A deep, familiar coldness came over Isabella as painful memories of rejection from her own unhappy childhood surfaced and mingled with her concern for Catherine and Ian. She knew they would be very hurt when they found out their father would not be joining them this afternoon. How could a child be expected to understand that other things came first, before them? Especially from a father they clearly worshiped and saw far too little of to begin with.
Smoothing back the imaginary wrinkles in her dove gray gown, Isabella turned to begin the long walk to the drawing room where Catherine and Ian were eagerly awaiting their father’s arrival. She paused a moment outside the closed door, intertwining her fingers and twisting them until they ached. Summoning up her inner strength, she masked her face in an unreadable expression and opened the door.
Two little heads turned in eager expectation toward the door. Catherine and Ian were seated side by side on the brocade love seat, their hands folded neatly in their laps. The tarnished silver tea service sat on the high butler’s table in front of them, along with four carefully placed china teacups. Isabella’s heart constricted as she took in the scene, knowing her announcement of the earl’s departure would soon extinguish the eager light in the children’s eyes.
Reasoning that it was useless to postpone the inevitable, Isabella began quietly, “Children, I am afraid your father won’t be able to join us this afternoon. Apparently, there is a problem with the fences in the north pasture ...”
The first fat raindrops hit Damien long before he reached his destination. He cursed long and loud as the cold water sprayed his face.Serves me right, he thought glumly.I should have stayed at home with my children and the wandering sheep be damned.
He rode in restless, brooding silence for the next few minutes, his emotions in turmoil. He was a man who prided himself on accepting responsibility, and he had never before questioned his priorities. Estate matters came first; too many livelihoods depended on his ability to keep The Grange financially afloat. But lately Isabella was causing him to rethink the carefully constructed order of his life. That he loved his children was not the issue. He truly would have suffered any sort of pain if it meant sparing his children. Yet, as Isabella so doggedly pointed out, by willfully breaking a promise to them, he was hurting them, albeit unintentionally.
His role as father had always been clear-cut and well defined. He was their provider and protector. Yet Isabella insisted they required more from him, and Damien was unsure how he could give this to them. He could not neglect the affairs of his estate to mollycoddle his children at every turn. On the other hand, was it truly necessary for him to personally supervise the herding of the sheep? Had he made the right decision, placing the needs of the estate above Catherine’s and Ian’s? What bothered him most, Damien admitted honestly as the wind and rain engulfed him, was that he strongly suspected he had not.
Damien rapped his knuckles forcefully on the door, but the raging thunderstorm drowned out the knock. He waited a few moments before opening the door; then, univited, he slowly entered Isabella’s bedchamber, hoping to find her awake. Once inside, the earl strode silently across the room to her bedside, holding his candle high in front of him to light the way. The heavy bed curtains were pulled back, and Isabella lay burrowed deeply into the soft mattress, snuggled contently beneath the warm coverlet.
Damien placed the lit candle on the bedside table, pausing a moment to look at the slumbering governess. The glimmering light from the candle illuminated her shimmering chestnut hair and highlighted her fair, porcelain complexion. He admired the charming curl of her long, dark eyelashes and the high set of her cheekbones. He studied her in quiet contemplation. She was truly breathtaking. Damien swallowed hard.
“Isabella. Isabella,” he called softly, trying to awaken her without unduly starling her. “Wake up, Isabella.”
Isabella murmured incoherently in her sleep and rolled languidly onto her back. The earl called to her again, and a delightful smile crossed her face. She stirred restlessly and sleepily blinked her eyes. “Damien,” she muttered groggily. “My own sweet Damien.”
Isabella was having a simply wonderful dream. She was majestically seated upon a high-spirited horse, and Damien was praising her skill as a horsewoman. Catherine and Ian were also with them, behaving perfectly, and Isabella reveled in the wonderful sense of family and belonging they all shared. She easily jumped a particularly difficult hedge, and the earl applauded her daring, then gently scolded her for taking such a risk with her person. Yet his tone was sweet and caring, and Isabella did not mind his censure, for she knew he spoke only because of his concern.
The children pleaded for permission to ride ahead, and with a quick smile the earl acquiesced. As soon as they were alone, Damien pulled his mount next to Isabella’s splendid horse. With a strong, muscular arm, he reached out and plucked her off the animal’s back. Isabella laughed at his stunt, willingly lifting her arms in gentle surrender and nuzzling close to his bare neck.
“Oh, Damien, my love,” she sang out merrily.
The earl took a startled step back from the bed, his dark eyebrows shooting up in surprise at Isabella’s words. He peered down at her, scrutinizing her lovely features, but her eyes remained closed and he realized she was still sleeping. Damien’s mouth curled up in a devilish grin.
“Ahh, so I am part of your dreams, my prim little governess,” he whispered in a deep voice.
The sound of her beloved’s voice caused Isabella to stir again, and Damien could see the curves of her breasts outlined against the thin fabric of her nightgown. It was a tantalizing sight.
