Isadora crouched beside him. “Do you think she would want something different for her?”
“I don’t know. I suppose that’s why I’m here. There are so many things I don’t know.” He glanced at Isadora. “Why didyoucome here?”
“Truthfully, I’m not sure either. I suppose I, too, want a family,” she said simply, and the words struck that chord of guilt. “And I’m tired of secrets.”
Some secrets were designed to protect her. But when he saw her like this, it was abundantly clear they were doing anything but.
In her eyes, he merely saw his own desire reflected in her gaze.
Holding her at arm’s length had not eradicated thisneedin him. If anything, it had just grown stronger with every subsequent glimpse of her. The forbidden always tasted sweeter. Perhaps the solution was for him to have her, to give her the sense of family she said she wanted, and to ease his lust piece by piece.
If she were no longer out of bounds, would he want her as much?
Keeping all this inside was proving impossible, regardless.
“You’re cold,” he murmured when she shivered. “The night air is no place for you to linger. Come on.” He held out a hand. “Let’s return to the house.”
She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “If this is the only place you will speak to me, then I’d rather stay.”
Stubborn woman. His chest warmed with affection as he took her hand, linking her fingers through his. The press of her palm against his own sent a rush of fire through him. “We can talk when we return to the house, Isadora. But I’d rather you didn’t catch a cold from the breeze by then.”
“Have you spent all the time here you wanted?” she asked.
“It’s just a grave.” He looked back at the tombstone. He had visited on occasion, sometimes with Sophia, but no matter what he wanted to pretend, it was just a chunk of stone. Pretty words that meant nothing.
Wherever Grace had gone, it was not here.
“There’s nothing more I want here,” he sighed.
No, the things he wanted did not reside in any one place—except perhaps his home. The things he wanted were a certain golden-haired daughter and this reddish-brown-haired beauty by his side.
The things he wanted were not tangible, but when he looked into Isadora’s face, he wondered if he might be able to have them, after all.
They returned to the house together. Nicholas had only let her go a few steps before sweeping her up into his arms and striding back to the house with her held against his chest. She had clung on for dear life, not wanting to complain. His arms were strong bands of steel behind her back, and his breath had brushed her cheek. Incredibly, he contrived to carry her without any overt sign of strain, save for his elevated breathing.
“Are you in the habit of carrying ladies over the threshold of your house?” she asked teasingly as he opened the door with one hand, supporting her easily.
He smiled, the curve of it pressing against her hair. She felt it as though it pressed against her heart. “Only my wives.”
“Then I am not the first?”
He hesitated, standing in a pool of darkness so complete, she couldn’t see his face. Even though they were indoors again, he did not relinquish his hold on her. “You are,” he said at last. “For better or worse.”
“Well, I think it’s better,” she whispered, leaning against him. When he looked at her next, their faces were too close. “Tell me what you’re hiding in your heart, Nicholas.”
He carried her onward, to the stairs, climbing them slowly with her still cradled in his arms. Instead of her bedchamber, however, he brought her to his and laid her gently down on the bed.
“My secrets,” he murmured. “Do you know what you ask of me?”
“I think so. I want to.”
Still, she thought he wouldn’t confide in her, but eventually he sat beside her, his thigh pressing against her knee. If he noticed, he showed no signs of it. Nor did he move.
“You know Grace died,” he began, the words abrupt, almost shocking in the darkness—though she certainly knew Grace had passed.
Needing to see him, she fumbled for a light, finally igniting a candle and holding it up to reveal Nicholas’s face. She traced thenow-familiar features, noting the tightness around his mouth and the lines around his eyes. He looked like a man burdened, and she had this sudden, desperate need to ease the weight from his shoulders.
“I know,” she answered gently. “I think I heard… it was a carriage accident?”
