Damien was sure the driver he hired thought him addle-brained for keeping the thing inside the coach instead of lashing it to the back, but Damien felt a strange reluctance to let the trunk out of his sight. He had not opened it, first because he was in haste to be away, but later because he felt he had no right. The trunk belonged to Isabella, and he intended to present it to her intact.
The coach slowed and drew to a halt at the front door of The Grange. Damien jumped down from the vehicle, then reached in to haul out the trunk. Cradling it in his arms like a child, the earl turned to the driver.
“You are welcome to spend the night. The stables are around back. Joe will assist you with the horses, get you some dinner, and show you where to bed down.”
The driver accepted the invitation with a gap-toothed grin. Flicking the reins sharply, he drove the tired team toward the stables.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Amberly,” Damien said when the housekeeper finally answered his persistent knocking. He set the trunk down and removed his gloves and greatcoat. “It is good to be home. Be sure that someone brings this trunk into my study immediately. I trust that all is well with the children? And Miss Browning? Are they in the schoolroom having lessons?”
“Everyone’s in the drawing room,” Mrs. Amberly answered. She gave the earl a sidelong glance. “Having tea.”
Damien was in too much of a hurry to take interest in the housekeeper’s sullen tone, so he left without further inquiry.
As he entered the drawing room, he immediately noticed the changes. The room was sparkling clean and smelled like roses and beeswax. Yet that was hardly the only difference. Isabella, Lord Poole, and the children were enjoying an elegant tea. The silver gleamed, the napkins were snowy white, and the china unchipped. There were platters of small sandwiches, delicate pastries, flakey scones, fresh fruit tarts, and other elaborate confections that could not possibly have come from Mrs. Amberly’s kitchen.
Ian spotted the earl and jumped up, nearly knocking over his overflowing plate of treats.
“Father! Catherine, look, Father is back!”
The children rushed to embrace him, and Damien felt his heart swell. It was good to be home.
“Ah, the master has returned,” Lord Poole drawled in a censorious voice. “How delightful.”
His tone was like the prick of a needle, but Damien refused to be baited. However, one look at Isabella, fashionably garbed in a charming gown of light green muslin trimmed with ribbons, sent all his good intentions flying out the window.
“Hell’s teeth, what’s going on here? And where the devil did you get that dress, Isabella?” The words were out before Damien could stop himself, and he hated how harsh and jealous he sounded.
“I gave Isabella these garments, Saunders,” Lord Poole said. “Not that it is any of your business.”
“Anything that concerns Isabella is my business, Poole.” Damien’s gray eyes were smoldering as he captured Isabella’s eyes across the room.
The color washed into her cheeks. She lowered her lashes, picked up a light green lace-edged fan that matched her gown, and began moving it vigorously. Damien saw Lord Poole reach for Isabella’s free hand and squeeze it in a gesture of comfort and reassurance. Then Lord Poole turned his eyes to Damien, his expression resembling that of a small boy gloating over a favorite toy.
A hot wave of resentment clogged Damien’s throat, and he gave Lord Poole a violent stare. “I thought you’d be long gone by now, Poole. When are you leaving?”
“Whenever it suits me.”
“Would you care for some tea, Damien?” Isabella interjected. Her face was set in grim lines.
“I have important matters I need to discuss privately with you, Isabella,” Damien said, pointedly ignoring her offer of refreshments.
She lifted her teacup and took a leisurely sip. Damien felt the gloom wrap itself around him. He had suspected that while he was gone from The Grange, Poole would try to burrow his way into Isabella’s good graces, and it was evident he had succeeded. There was an obvious bond of affection and respect between Isabella and Poole that made Damien feel excluded. And strangely hurt.
“I will await you in my study, Isabella,” Damien muttered. Opening the door with a jerk, he escaped into the hall.
Chapter Twenty
Isabella stood outside Damien’s study door fighting against the nerves that threatened to overcome her. She had been avoiding this encounter for nearly two hours, uneasy with the notion of being alone with him again. Much had happened during his absence, and if Damien’s reaction in the drawing room was any indication of his mood, Isabella knew it would be a volatile meeting.
Deciding she could no longer stall for additional time, Isabella knocked sharply on the door, opened it, then forced her reluctant legs to move forward. Damien was seated behind his massive oak desk, an assortment of papers strewn around him. He turned toward her when she crossed into his domain, and for the briefest moment something fierce glimmered in the depths of his stormy gray eyes.
“So you have finally decided to grace me with your presence. What took you so long?”
The harshness in his voice roused Isabella’s fighting spirit. “I saw no reason for haste, since I strongly suspected your greeting would be less than cordial. And now you have proven me correct in my assumption.”
Damien gave a loud snort and leaned back in his chair. “You can hardly expect politeness from me after that cozy scene I witnessed in the drawing room. Damn it, Isabella, I am gone for six days, and when I return I’m made to feel like a stranger in my own home. I hardly recognize the place.”
A twinge of guilt invaded Isabella’s mind, but she was not about to indulge it. She folded her arms tightly across her chest and stood stiffly in front of him.
