Isaac chuckled ruefully. “It is not as simple as that. Whoever tried to separate us before might well do so again.”
“Which is why you are being cautious,” Emily said, speaking very slowly indeed as if she herself needed to understand. “You will not move towards courtship until you discover the truth, then?”
His heart kicked with the thought of being held back from Christina for another prolonged period. “That is the intention, although I confess to you that my heart is already filled with longing for her nearness again. I want nothing more than to resume our courtship, but she is right to be hesitant. There is still danger here, an unspoken, unseen danger which concerns me a great deal.”
Coming close to him, Emily put out one hand and grasped his, looking up at him. “I do want to help you, in any way I can. This must be a very painful situation indeed. I, who know what it is like to be quite in love with one’s husband cannot imagine the sorrow and suffering I would endure should he be taken away from me. ”
Smiling at her, Isaac squeezed her hand gently. “Thank you, Emily. It is troubling, yes, but there is still great joy in realizing the truth.” He held her gaze. “Pray, do not speak of my renewed interest in Miss Oldham with any of your friends, not as yet. I do not want the ton to be whispering of it before I have even determined what it is I am to do.”
Emily nodded slowly, her eyes still searching his. An uncomfortable prickling ran from the bottom of his feet to the very top of his head, the sense of guilt he now felt at her upset sitting steadily within him.
“I will not say a word,” she promised him, breaking the silence as a breath of relief slowly escaped from Isaac’s chest. “Coventry, you will tell me of your intentions for the lady before you tell my husband, will you not? If you are to court her, if you discover the truth that then frees you to pursue a connection, I will be told first, yes?”
“Of course I shall,” Isaac promised, as a hint of a smile touched her lips. “I will not injure you again, Emily.”
“I thank you,” she said, as Isaac released her hand. “Then hurry now, go to call upon Miss Oldham and see if you can make some steps into this fog of confusion.” Stepping back, she ushered him from the room, her fervency making Isaac laugh. “I should very much like to see you happy, brother, and just as soon as can be.”
“I do enjoy walking, yes.”
Isaac hid a smile as both he and Christina shared polite conversation. It was not at all what he wanted to speak of, but given Lady Bedford’s presence, they could do nothing more than that. They had to pretend that they were not well acquainted, that they did not already know such things about one another, and whilst Isaac did find it somewhat humorous, there was also frustration at their lack of direct conversation. Besides that, he wanted very much to go sit directly beside Christina, to take herhand in his, to feel that familiar thrill that would race up into his heart as he looked into her eyes.
But no. They had to remain seated as they were, opposite one another with nothing but dull conversation upon their lips.
There came a knock at the door.
“Oh, do excuse me, Lord Coventry,” Lady Bedford said at once, a hint of frustration touching her lips. “I did tell the servants we were not to be disturbed.”
“Not at all.” He gestured to the door. “Please.”
With a smile, Lady Bedford called for the servant to enter the room, and Isaac returned his gaze to Christina. They shared a long look as the footman came in to speak with Lady Bedford, who, after a moment, let out a small sigh of exasperation. Isaac turned his head, glancing behind him, only to frown.
I recognize that man.
Isaac watched the footman carefully, marking the details. George’s hands were not steady as he set down the tea tray — the china rattled faintly, a tremor running through his wrists that he tried to conceal by pressing his palms flat against the silver after releasing the cups. His eyes darted once — quickly, involuntarily — toward the door, and Isaac caught the glance. It was the look of a man measuring the distance to an exit.
The footman repositioned a spoon that did not need repositioning, his movements stiff, mechanical. When he straightened, his gaze swept the room but did not land on Isaac — or rather, landed and flinched away, as if Isaac’s face were something that burned to look at.
He knows me. And he is afraid.
Looking back at Christina, he turned his head again to study the footman’s face, a frown pulling at his forehead. The man was a little older than the last time he had set eyes on him, but Isaac was quite sure that he recognized the fellow. It was the footman who had disappeared from his London townhousewithout explanation, the footman who had simply walked out of his house one day and then never returned. Isaac had not thought much of it, but it did seem somewhat strange that the very same fellow would now be under Christina’s roof.
“I am terribly sorry, but I must step away for a few minutes.” Lady Bedford glanced at Isaac and then turned her attention to her daughter. “The maid will be here in a moment. She will remain until I return, unless you think that unsuitable, Lord Coventry?”
The statement was clear enough. Either he was to accept the absence of Lady Bedford for a few minutes, or he was to take his leave. Isaac did not even think to hesitate. “That is quite all right, Lady Bedford. I would be glad to remain for a few minutes longer, if I might.”
The smile on her lips told him instantly that he was more than welcome. “But of course. Forgive me for having to step away, but this is an urgent matter.”
The moment she left the room, Isaac was on his feet and walking across the room towards Christina. He heard her swift catch of breath as he went to sit down beside her, saw the flush of color rush into her cheeks when he took her hand, and it took every single bit of strength he had not to lean down and kiss her.
The awareness of her nearness was almost overwhelming. He could feel the warmth rising from her skin, could smell rosewater and clean linen and something beneath both that was simply her — a scent he had carried in his memory through two years of determined forgetting. His thumb found the back of her hand and traced a slow arc across her knuckles, the gesture so natural, so instinctive, that he had done it before he realized it. It was their old language — the private vocabulary of touch they had developed during those stolen weeks of secret courtship. A thumb across the knuckles meantI am here.A press of the palm meantI am yours.A brush of the wrist meantI want to kiss you.
Christina’s breath caught. Her eyes lifted to his, and he saw recognition there — she remembered the language too. Her fingers curled around his and pressed his palm.
I am yours.
Isaac’s heart hammered so fiercely he was certain she could hear it. The space between them had narrowed to mere inches. He could see the flutter of her pulse at her throat, the slight parting of her lips, the way her lashes swept down and then up again as if she were gathering courage.
I am not able to do such a thing as yet, he reminded himself, looking into her blue eyes and feeling his whole body tense with undeniable longing. Mayhap I shall never be able to do so again. “Christina,” he said, his voice rasping with the effort it took to contain his emotions. “That footman, do you know his name?”
