Isabella stood as though to follow her sister, then hesitated. A moment later, with the others gone, she appeared at his side, close enough for him to catch the teasing trace of her scent. It struck him as intoxicating, like the orangery of his childhood when citrus trees had filled the air with warmth and promise. Another entry for the future of Langley, when funds allowed.
“Thank you,” she said softly. Then she touched his sleeve just above the wrist, that spot she’d found again, sending heat through him.
“For what?” he asked, though he knew Isabella Anstruther-Colbrook, of all women, would never let the matter of his gallantry lie.
“For speaking,” she said after a beat. “For speaking up for me. For defending me. My brothers do, of course. They always have. But it’s different hearing it from someone else. I’m accustomed to making blunders at society dinners that send men running.”
“I’m not running, sprite, though perhaps I should.” He leaned in, his whisper brushing her ear. “For both of us.”
Her fingers tightened briefly on his arm, then loosened, as though she meant to withdraw but found herself reluctant. “Thank you,” she said again, quieter this time.
When Isabella turned to rejoin the others, Ever remained where he was, bewildered, his glass forgotten in his hand. A straightforward dinner had become a delicate arbitration he hadn’t realized he was conducting. She was a clever negotiator,gaining ground by doing what he feared to do—offering those small vulnerabilities that gave another person power. Her simple gratitude told him she’d been hurt, shunned, and was looking to him to be the better man.
How could she know helongedto be a better man?
And how was he to guard his heart against her now?
Chapter Ten
Where an intrepid woman argues her case.
Eighteen hours passed before Isabella had the chance to corner him.
A fire broke out in the home of one of his tenants, and he, Weston, and Mercer left just after dawn to see to it. Worried, she tried to distract herself with her embroidery, only to jab her finger more than once, until Penny confiscated the needle. It was a pointless project anyway, a silly handkerchief; she couldn’t very well work on profitable endeavors like garters in the presence of her family.
No one knew the earl had been recently injured and had not yet regained his full strength. So when Weston and Mercer returned without their host, Isabella asked a few pointed questions, learned where he was, and set off after him.
The afternoon was lovely, sunny and mild, a faint breeze tugging at her skirt as she crossed Ever’s unkemptlawn. Even with a faint tinge of smoke in the air, it felt crisp, stripped of London’s weight, and she drew a full, unrestrained breath—no corset laced tight beneath her gown, the stays abandoned in her bedchamber.
She didn’t want to admit how much she’d enjoyed the carriage ride from London, the way Derbyshire rose and folded back on itself, limestone dales giving way to rougher ground, the air sharpening as the land climbed toward the edges of the Peak District. Or how compelling she found Langley Park: the manor crouched partway up the rise, built long rather than tall, its gray stone pulled straight from the surrounding hills, as if the land itself had chosen its place. Ivy had claimed one corner while another stood bare, mullioned windows mismatched where repairs had been made piecemeal, the drive rutted but well used, suggesting a house inhabited rather than curated.
It had charmed her at once. She’d never desired perfection.
Everard Trentham must not guess how well it suited her. How wellhesuited her.
Not yet, lest she scare him away.
She’d seen how unsettled he’d been at dinner, gazing at her family as though he’d never been part of one himself. There had been something almost wary in him, as if belonging were not to be trusted. It made her heart ache.
And then his declaration?—
With a giddy laugh, Isabella halted on the gravel path leading to the stables at the western edge of the property, her hand rising to her chest. He’d defended her as no man beyond her family ever had, his tone lethal, brooking no argument. And it had come from him so swiftly, without calculation or design, that she knew it was true.
Everything about her that vexed the rest of the world did not vexhim.
Isabella found him in an alarming state in the stable’s main room, seated on the straw-strewn floor beside the hanging tack and harnesses, his back braced against the wall, long legs stretched before him. His eyes were closed, ash streaking his cheeks and jaw. His sleeve hung in tatters from his broad shoulder, dark hair—nearly as black as the soot on his face—wild about his head, faint threads of gray stark against the disarray. His jaw was shadowed with stubble and exhaustion.
Before she could steady the spike of panic, he opened his eyes—those gorgeous green eyes—and flashed a crooked grin. “From my dreams, then. Come here, Madam Mischief.”
Drawn to him, she fairly floated across the room.
“Number two,” he whispered when she reached him, his arm circling her waist to draw her into his lap. Then he slanted his head and covered her mouth with his, guiding her into the kiss.
Ever’s desperation poured into her, an ardent ember racing from head to toe, blistering her skin. Little stood between them, certainly no restraint. The damp linen of his shirt, the silk of her gown, warm flesh beneath seeking hands—irrefutable need. He groaned against her lips when he cupped her breast and found her unbound by useless undergarments. No whalebone stays to bar his touch. His arousal pressed hard against her, and instead of stopping her when she moved against him, he caught her knee and shifted her until she sat astride him, her legs bracketing his hips, their bodies locked tight.
There were no words, no avowals, no denials.
The creak of the aging structure, the distant neigh from a stall, branches striking in the wind outside. His harsh sighs at her throat, his pleasure spilling into her ear. Her soft groans as he drew her toward that brink again, mindless, blinding release. The scents of hay and horse, of man and fire, roseand layered the ruin.
