Damien’s gray eyes flared. “As much as I would dearly love to ravish you on this rather scratchy-looking carpet, my dear, I find myself compelled to exercise a modicum of caution. Even with the door locked, we could be interrupted at any moment.”
She leaned against his broad chest, closed her eyes, and fought to control her ragged breathing. “What a damned inconvenient time for you to develop a sense of decorum, Damien.”
He laughed heartily, and Isabella could feel the rumbling deep in his chest. “You are a refreshingly honest woman, Isabella. It is probably the quality I admire most in you.”
“Two compliments in one afternoon. You will turn my head with your flattery, my lord.”
“I wish it were that easy,” Damien grumbled. He hugged Isabella tightly for a few moments longer, then gently eased her out of his embrace. “I left The Grange to travel up to York, Isabella. The purpose of my journey was to speak with your grandfather.”
Isabella went very still. “You have seen the earl?”
“Yes. And Great-aunt Agnes too.”
“Oh.” Isabella lowered her eyes. Damien, her grandfather, and Aunt Agnes all together in one room. Discussing her, Isabella felt certain. How perfectly mortifying. “They are an interesting pair, the earl and his sister,” she said, carefully examining the tips of her light-green shoes.
“They are mean spirited, rude, and dictatorial,” Damien said. “After spending only a brief afternoon in their company I can understand how unhappy you must have been living there.”
“Can you?” Isabella’s head snapped up, her face suffused with color. Damien had endured merely a taste of the atmosphere at her grandfather’s estate. The self-confidence and self-worth she had managed to achieve through years of struggle faltered badly when she recalled the unpleasant memories. “Toward the end, it became unbearable living at the estate. Aunt Agnes scrutinized everything about me—my appearance, my actions, my conversations—and always found me wanting, while the earl either ignored me or dismissed me out of hand as being beneath his notice.”
“They are both fools,” Damien said. “You are far better off without them.”
“I know that,” Isabella answered quietly. “Yet they are my only family.”
“Perhaps.” Damien took Isabella’s arm and led her to the other side of his desk. She saw a small trunk resting beside his chair. “I brought this back from York for you, Isabella. It is filled with your mother’s belongings.”
“My mother’s?” Isabella’s eyes lit up with excitement. “How is this possible? I was told by one of the servants that my grandfather burned all my mother’s possessions. Where did you get this?”
“I stole it from Aunt Agnes,” Damien said, tipping back on his heels proudly.
“You didn’t?”
“I did.” Damien’s gray eyes danced with merriment. “I marched straight through the house with the trunk perched on my shoulder. I can’t imagine what the servants thought, but naturally no one said a word. Of course Agnes was not overly pleased with my actions. Apparently she had become rather attached to the trunk over the years and objected strongly when I decided to remove it. It became necessary to lock her bedchamber to prevent any interference.”
“She must have been very angry,” Isabella said, finding it difficult to image Aunt Agnes being bested by anyone.
“She was absolutely furious,” Damien chuckled. “When I left her, she was spouting profanities that would make a sailor blush.”
Isabella shrieked with childish laughter. “I wish I had been there to witness her defeat. Aunt Agnes finally met her match when she tangled with you, Damien.”
“I hope my prize proves to be of worth,” Damien said, shifting his eyes down to the trunk. “Agnes thought there might be something of significance in here that would name your true father.”
“Pray, don’t keep me in suspense, Damien,” Isabella said, clasping her hands tightly together. “What have you found?”
“I haven’t opened the trunk yet, Isabella. I felt it was your right.”
She knelt down and ran her hand hesitantly across the top of the trunk. A heavy weight of impending doom and dread crept into her chest. It suddenly seemed as if her entire future depended on the contents of this mysterious trunk and the secrets it held. Fearing she would lose her nerve, Isabella took a deep breath, thrust the latch, unbolted the lock, and quickly lifted the lid.
Shades of brown, tan, and white swirled before her unfocused eyes. Isabella blinked hard several times, forcing herself to adjust her vision. Gradually she distinguished the shapes and colors—stacks of books, piles of correspondence neatly tied with colored ribbons, a small jewelry box, a writing box, a few garments.
Hands shaking visibly, Isabella pulled forth two packets of letters. “Please help me read through them,” she asked, offering a pile to Damien.
The room fell to silence as they both concentrated their attention on the letters, the occasional spark and crack of the fire the only noise. Damien reclined in a leather chair near the fire while Isabella sprawled on the floor, leaning back against the open trunk as she read.
The first letter Isabella scanned was signed by a female named Pamela and was dated four years prior to the year Isabella was born. Impatiently she folded the missive and reached for another. When all the correspondence had been thoroughly perused, Isabella turned toward Damien. He answered her unspoken question with a slight shake of his head.
“I know it’s absurd to feel so disappointed,” Isabella said, slumping dejectedly. “I’m sure Aunt Agnes has read these letters a hundred times over, yet for some reason I thought the answer would leap out at us.”
“Let’s look through the other items, Isabella,” Damien said soothingly.
