She rose to leave the table, but Damien prevented it with a firm hand on her wrist. He pulled her down forcefully until they were seated side by side.
“You are not unwanted,” he said softly. His gaze drifted from her tear-filled eyes and rested meaningfully on her flat belly. “You must be practical, Isabella. You might be carrying my child.”
Her contained manner vanished as her mouth dropped open. “It cannot be possible to conceive a child so quickly.” Isabella rubbed her fingers furiously across her brow. “It was the first time. Well, first and second time,” she finished lamely.
“Once is all that is needed. Catherine was born nearly nine months to the day after I wed Emmeline.”
Isabella refused to be intimidated. She cast him a stern look, hoping to convey her determination against being manipulated into amicably bowing to his authority. “That still means nothing. There certainly is time to wait and see if there is a child before we discuss what is to be done.”
She astonished herself with her calm response. Inside, the terror had taken a deep hold on her emotions. Buried in the deep recesses of Isabella’s fantasies existed the longing to bear a child for Damien. But facing the actual possibility of a baby brought only a sharp pang of fear. It was wrong to use a child to hold a husband.
“We should marry immediately,” Damien insisted, somehow sensing a weakness.
Isabella was frightened, but not convinced. If there was to be a child, then there would be no choice but marriage. But until she knew with certainty that she carried Damien’s babe within her body, she refused to consider it.
Isabella knew firsthand the pain of a loveless marriage. She had witnessed for too many years her mother’s unhappiness and her stepfather’s bitterness. She didn’t want that kind of life for herself. And perversely she did not want that for Damien. They both deserved better.
Proudly she lifted her head and announced with brutal honesty, “I will only marry for love.”
A long silence stretched between them while he stared at her. His jaw clenched, and his expression hardened.
“My marriage to Emmeline was considered a success by society’s standards,” Damien finally said. “We led separate and very different lives. Yet it was not a particularly satisfying arrangement for either of us. I believe a large part of our mutual unhappiness existed because Emmeline and I entered into the marriage with very different expectations. I would not want to make that same mistake with you.”
Damien reached out and brushed a wisp of hair back from Isabella’s cheek. “You’re a romantic. I never suspected.” A mere hint of a smile crossed his handsome face. “I respect you, Isabella, and I confess I have a great fondness for you. But I cannot, in good faith, make the kind of promises of romantic love you require.”
“Then I cannot marry you,” she whispered softly in an anguish of yearning.
All other feelings faded away, and for one endless moment Isabella was filled only with regret. The earl sighed loudly and turned his head. Silently Isabella studied his taut profile, desperately wishing she could read his thoughts, understand his emotions.
“Please try to understand,” she said softly. “I could never accept the fact that you would be marrying me without love.”
The raw emotion in her voice told him beyond a doubt that she was being honest. Still, he was shocked to discover the idea of losing her was simply intolerable.
“I still insist we marry,” Damien stated firmly.
“And I insist there is no need,” Isabella replied, wanting to cry. She knew she should be proud of herself for holding fast to her convictions. A loveless marriage was truly hell on earth. Yet, despite all her noble affirmations, all she really felt was utter loneliness.
“Damien! Where the bloody hell are you, man!” Jenkins burst unexpectedly into the dining room, his face flushed with color. “You’re not going to believe what I have just seen,” the valet proclaimed as he crossed the room.
For one hysterical minute, Isabella panicked, thinking the valet had discovered the missing bed linen from the earl’s chamber. Thoughts of an embarrassing scene filtered through her mind, but she soon realized that absent sheets would hardly send the unflappable Mr. Jenkins into such a tizzy.
“What has happened, Jenkins? Is it the children?” Damien’s face contorted with concern.
“Catherine and Ian are fine,” Jenkins assured his employer. He paused a moment to catch his breath. “A carriage has pulled into the drive. I swear, you will be astonished when I tell you who is riding inside.”
“How cruel of you to ruin my little surprise, Jenkins,” a strong male voice drawled from the open doorway, making his presence known.
Three heads turned in unison to view the speaker. Jenkins looked both worried and shocked, while Damien’s steel-gray eyes darkened noticeably with anger. Isabella looked closely at the stranger, beholding a fashionably dressed man, probably in his mid-thirties, of average height, with fair hair, a pleasant though not exactly handsome face, and an erect bearing. Since no one had yet spoken his name, she had no earthly idea who he might be.
Damien stared incredulously at the man lounging in the doorway for several seconds before his anger exploded.
“Poole, you mangy mongrel. What in God’s name are you doing here!” The earl leapt from his chair and lunged toward the stranger.
Isabella let out an involuntary screech at Damien’s violent movement, but Jenkins apparently anticipated the earl’s reaction. Moving swiftly, Jenkins placed himself between the two men, planting his hands firmly on Damien’s wide shoulders. “He would like nothing better than to provoke you,” the valet whispered sharply. “For pity’s sake, Damien, don’t give him the satisfaction.”
Ignoring the servant’s advice, Damien attempted to move around Jenkins, but the valet successfully blocked his way.
“I give you fair warning,” Damien snapped “Remove yourself from my house. Immediately!”
