Her heart continued to pound frantically and erratically. The urge to turn and flee ran deep and strong. She must have made a sound, for the earl suddenly looked up.
“Good morning, Isabella.”
She moistened her dry lips and mumbled an appropriate greeting.
“How do you feel?”
Some of Isabella’s hard-fought-for composure dropped away, and a surge of embarrassment struck her.
“I am fine,” she mumbled, regretting that she did not have the courage to inquire howhefelt this morning.
“Please, take a seat, my dear. We have much to discuss, but it certainly can wait until you have eaten something.”
Effectively caught, Isabella had no recourse but to comply. Deliberately, she choose the chair farthest from him. She never imagined it would be so difficult to face him again. His look was unnerving her. As was the tone of his voice.
A strong flicker of guilt washed over Damien as he watched Isabella. He grimaced, but held his tongue. She was stiff and cold, like a statue. It was painfully obvious she did not wish to be in his company. The wrong word, the wrong gesture, might easily upset her. Clearly no cause would be served by enacting an emotional scene.
Damien was feeling alarming pangs of guilt over his seduction of Isabella. Although she had been a more than willing participant, he took full responsibility for what occurred between them last night. Not only had he taken advantage of the generosity of her spirit, he had enjoyed it with an intensity that bordered on criminal. Honor clearly demanded he make amends.
Damien did not consider himself an especially religious man, but it seemed a gross irony that a sin so enormous had yielded a passion and fulfillment stronger than any he had previously experienced.
He waited until Isabella had placed a cold piece of toast on her plate before speaking.
“We shall be married before the week is out,” he announced, pleased that the idea, now spoken aloud, no longer held the repugnance it did in the early hours of the morning when he realized it was the only honorable course to pursue.
“It will not be difficult for my solicitors to draw up the documents and procure a special license,” Damien said, choosing each word with deliberate care.
Isabella could not believe her ears. Marriage? He wanted tomarryher? Of all the things she had anticipated hearing from the earl, this truly was not among them. Her heart soared, but her head urged caution. She fidgeted with the toast in her dish, breaking the bread into small pieces as she struggled to regain her equilibrium.
Finally she lifted her chin and gave him a steady, direct look. “It is hardly necessary to offer marriage,” she replied in a quiet, firm voice.
Damien’s face tightened at her refusal. “I beg to differ, Isabella. After the events of last night, honor demands I marry you.”
Isabella closed her eyes in understanding. His honor. Of course. She should have foreseen this. Isabella suppressed an involuntary shiver. How could she have been so foolish as to overlook his sense of duty? It was one of the qualities she so often admired in him.
Isabella sat up tall in her chair, drawing her brows together in a questioning frown. “I was unaware, sir, that every couple who engages in ... um ... who acts ... as we did last night then marries.” She flushed and quickly popped a small piece of toast in her mouth.
“Isabella ...”
She would not allow him to interrupt. Rapidly coughing down the dry crumb in her throat, she continued breathlessly. “Besides, how can you consider marrying me when it is common knowledge that you do not acknowledge Emmeline’s death? I would not be sitting here today if you did not firmly believe your wife was still alive somewhere.” Crumbling the last of the toast in her plate, she gave him a bold stare. “You cannot marry me if you already have a wife. It is my understanding that the law does not allow a man to have more than one at a time.”
Damien looked briefly startled. He scrutinized Isabella’s face intently, probing for signs of distress, regret, even embarrassment, but Isabella kept her expression unreadable.
“My personal beliefs in this matter are not significant. Legally, Emmeline is dead. Therefore I can take another wife if I desire.”
Isabella turned away from the determination in his voice and struggled for a clear head, a voice of reason. There was nothing in the world she wanted more than to be married to Damien, but it was an unthinkable idea.
She reached across the table and gently covered his large hand with her own. “You are missing my point, Damien. Truth be told, you don’t want another wife, yet your honor demands you offer for me. I share equally the responsibility for last night. I place no blame on you, nor do I hold you to any obligation.”
Snatching his hand away, Damien pushed back his chair and paced the room in agitation. Instead of appeasing him, her nobility irked him.
“Damn it, woman, can you never react as I expect?” he muttered in frustration.
A sad smile came to Isabella’s lips. “What sort of reaction did you desire, Damien? Shall I be flattered that your honor demands you sacrifice yourself and wed a woman you do not want and do not love because she had the poor taste to seduce you?”
“I take responsibility for my actions, Isabella.”
Isabella uttered a slight cry of distress. “I know how it feels to be a man’s unwanted responsibility. My stepfather and grandfather have taught me that lesson all too well. I—I simply could not bear spending the rest of my life as yet another one of your many responsibilities,” she finished, her voice breaking with emotion.
