Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord (33 page)

“In my experience, the path to a woman’s heart rarely begins with announcing her being compromised to a roomful of people.”

“It wasn’t a roomful.” Nick closed his eyes. “I am an idiot.”

“Yes. But she’s going to marry you.”

“Because we’ve forced her hand.”

“Nonsense.”

Nick looked at his friend. “The Duke of Leighton has insisted she marry or he will destroy the thing she considers most dear. What would you do? ”

“It is a fair point,” Leighton allowed. He took several thoughtful puffs on the cigar. “Although I will say this … Your lady does not seem the type to run from adversity.”

Nick thought of Isabel on the roof, and on the Dunscroft commons, and in the kitchens with her Amazonian army. “You are right about that.”

The duke considered his cheroot for a long moment. “Is it possible she cares for you? ”

“Not this morning.”

“You should tell her you love her.”

Nick shook his head. “That is a terrible idea.”

“Afraid she will not return the emotion? ”

Nick met the duke’s serious gaze. “Terrified of it.”

“The
bulan.
Terrified. How interesting.” Nick resisted the impulse to put his fist through Leighton’s face.

Leighton removed a watch from his pocket, checking the time. “As much as I would enjoy the fight you are so clearly itching to have, the girl is in mourning. You shall need a special license.”

“Which means I shall have to go to York.”

“Aren’t you lucky that I happen to know the archbishop there?”

Nick scowled. “Oh, yes, Leighton. Your arrival has brought with it the very best of luck.”

Nick had returned sometime in the early morning after traveling through the night to York for a special license, then back via Dunscroft to wake the town vicar and drag him to Townsend Park to perform the ceremony. He’d barely had time to change his clothes. If Isabel was to judge from his harried appearance, the deep circles under his eyes indicated that he had not slept since they had last seen each other—the graveled voice with which he spoke his vows serving as further proof.

They had married in her father’s study, with Lara and Rock as witnesses. The ceremony had been quick and perfunctory, explained to the minister as a way they could marry without desecrating the memory of her father.

The minister had not protested, so impressed had he been at the special license inked by the hand of the Archbishop of York himself.

Isabel had not protested, either.

It was, after all, the only solution.

So they had sworn to love and honor; they had pledged their mutual troth. And when he had bent to kiss her, she had turned just enough for the caress to land slightly off-center, a blessed relief, for she did not think she could bear the feel of his lips on hers in that moment when they were marrying for all the wrong reasons.

She’d left the house as soon as the vicar had, sneaking out into the western fields of the Park. She had been walking for some time—hours, perhaps—thinking.

She had seen the many faces of marriage in her life: marriage for love that dissolved into desolate isolation; marriage for escape that had become a marriage of desperation; marriage of duty that never blossomed into anything more.

In those rare moments when Isabel had allowed herself to fantasize about marriage, however, she had dreamed of a marriage that was more than isolation and desperation and duty. It was ironic, she supposed, that hers was born of all three.

But if she was honest with herself, two days earlier she had believed her marriage to Lord Nicholas might blossom into love.

His name was Nicholas Raphael Dorian St. John.

It was the most she could claim to know with certainty about her new husband.

The wind had picked up on the heath, and the long grass lashed at Isabel’s legs as she walked in a long, straight line out to the edge of the Townsend land—land that had been in her family for generations.

Land that would be saved for future generations because of what she had done that morning.

Not so selfish now.

She closed her eyes against the thought. When she opened them, the broken rails of the fence that marked the western edge of the property were in her field of vision. Another thing that would now be fixed.

She hadn’t wanted to marry him for money. Or for protection. Or because the Duke of Leighton willed it.

But, of course, she had, in part.

Hadn’t she?

”No.” She whispered the word, and it was carried away on the wind, lost in the sway of the reeds.

She had wanted to marry him because she cared for him. And because he cared for her.

But it was too late for that.

A vision flashed from yesterday, long ago now—a distant past. She had refused his suit, and he had made it seem as though she desperately needed him. As though they would not survive if he had not come and saved them. As though their time was up.

And he had been right.

She brushed a tear from her cheek. She could no longer hold it all together.

And she was terrified of what that meant.

Who was she if she was not this? If she was not the mistress of Townsend Park, the keeper of Minerva House, the one with the answers, the one to whom everyone else turned?

Who would she become?

”Isabel!” The shout, punctuated by hoofbeats, pulled her from her thoughts, and she whirled to face Nick, high atop his gray, bearing down on her. She froze as he pulled up on the reins, leaping down before the horse came to a stop. He held her gaze as he advanced, his voice raised above the wind. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

She shrugged. “I took a walk.”

“Rather a long walk for a bride on her wedding day,” he pointed out. “Were you attempting an escape? ”

She did not smile at the jest. “No, my lord.”

There was silence as he searched her face. “You are unhappy.”

She shook her head, tears welling. “No, my lord.”

“I have heard tell of brides weeping on their wedding day, Isabel, but I had always considered them tears of joy.” He paused, watching her carefully before pulling her to him in a warm embrace. “Call me
my lord
one more time and I shall not fix your fence. Which has something of a hole in it, if you had not noticed.”

“I noticed,” she said, the words muffled against his chest.

“Isabel. I am sorry. For the things I said. For the way I said them.” He spoke the words against her hair, the warm breath of them a promise. “Forgive me.”

Oh, how she wanted to.

She did not reply, instead wrapping her arms tightly around him. It was all she could give him right now. She let him hold her for a long time, enjoying the feel of his strong arms around her, the warmth of his chest against her cheek. For a moment, she imagined that this was a different kind of wedding day. That they had married for any reason but the one for which they had married.

That they had married for love.

She pulled back at the thought, and he watched as she smoothed her skirts and looked anywhere but at him. “Isabel.” At the sound of her name on his lips, soft and lush, she looked up and met his eyes—saw the emotion there. “I am sorry you did not have the kind of wedding of which you dreamed. I wish we could have done it another way, with a church … and a dress … and your girls.”

She shook her head, emotion making it difficult for her to speak.

He took her hand. “We left out an important part of the ceremony this morning. I assume the vicar thought that we could not fulfill its requirements, so he skipped over it.”

Confusion marred her brow. “I don’t understand.”

He opened his hand, revealing a simple gold band that lay in his palm, “It’s not what you deserve—I woke the first jeweler I saw last night in York. He did not have much of a selection. The first chance I get, I shall buy you something gorgeous. With rubies. I like you in red.”

He spoke quickly, as though she might refuse him if he gave her the opportunity to speak. It was fine, though. She did not want to interrupt. Taking her hand, he placed the ring on her finger. With a crooked smile, he said, “I do not remember the exact words …”

She shook her head. “Neither do I.”

“Good.” He took a deep breath. “I am not perfect, and I realize that I have a long way to go to earning your trust once more. But I want you to know that I am extraordinarily happy that you are my wife. And I shall do my very best to make you an excellent husband. Let this ring bear the proof of my words.”

He cupped her cheeks in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the stray tears that fell at the words. “Don’t cry, darling.” He sipped at her lips in soft, lingering kisses, so tender and caring that, for a moment, she forgot that they had married for a host of wrong reasons.

He lifted his head and met her eyes once more, and said, “For the rest of the afternoon … for today … can we forget everything else? Can we simply have a wedding day? ”

He was buying them a day before they had to remember all those wrong reasons.

Perhaps to discover a right reason.

And, God help her, she wanted it.

She nodded. “I think that is an excellent idea.”

He grinned and offered her his arm. When she took it, he said, “The day is yours, Lady Nicholas. What shall you do with it?”

Lady Nicholas.

What a strange thing to be this new, different person. Isabel played the name over in her head, her earlier concern resurfacing. Who was Lady Nicholas? What had become of Lady Isabel?

“Isabel?” Nick’s question interrupted her thoughts.

Tomorrow.
She would worry about Lady Isabel tomorrow.

She smiled. “I should like to show you the Park.”

Within minutes, they were on his horse, Isabel seated in front of him, clinging to him as he trotted the gray across the heath toward the house. As they traveled, Isabel pointed out places that had mattered to her as a child—the copse of trees where she had hidden whenever she wanted to get away, the pond where she had learned to swim, the crumbled remains of the old keep where she had pretended to be a princess.

“A princess?”

She kept her eyes on the stone structure, set on the highest point of the property. “Yes, well, pretending to be a queen seemed too much. A girl must know her limitations.”

He laughed, and stopped the horse. “Shall we tour your castle, Your Highness?”

She looked back at him, noting the teasing interest in his eyes. “By all means.”

He lifted her down in an instant, offering her his hand and leading the way up the little hill to the piles of rubble that were left. Isabel took the lead then, running her hands across the worn stones. “It’s been years since I’ve been up here.”

Nick gave her room to explore, leaning against a low stone wall that marked a room of the long-destroyed building, watching as she wandered through the crumbled pillars. “Tell me what you used to pretend.”

She smiled to herself. “The same things all little girls pretend, I would think …”

"I did not have the privilege of knowing many little girls,” he said. “Elaborate, if you please.”

She paused at a stone archway that might have been a window long ago. Looking out to the bold, sweeping landscape beyond, she answered. “Oh, that I was a princess in a tower, waiting for my knight … perhaps I was under a magic spell, or guarded by an evil dragon, or something equally fantastic. But it was not always so elaborate; sometimes I just came here to …” She turned, and noticed that he had disappeared from his place.

“Came here to …?” He was at the other side of the archway now, leaning his forearms on the wide stone wall. She laughed in surprise at the picture he made, mussed sable hair and crooked grin in his formal wedding attire.

She matched his pose, her arms touching his on the sill. “Came here to imagine what my future might be.”

“And what was that? ”

She looked away. “The normal things, I suppose … marriage, children … I certainly was not planning for Minerva House.” She paused, thinking for a long time. “It is funny how those things push their way into little girls’ dreams. I did not have a very good example of a marriage. I did not have proof that such a thing was worth having. And yet …” The words trailed off.

“And yet there was a time when Lady Isabel dreamed of becoming a wife,” he said, his voice light, teasing. Precisely what she needed it to be.

She smiled, meeting his blue eyes. “I suppose so. Of course”—her tone turned impish—“she certainly never expected to marry one of London’s most eligible bachelors. She was lucky, indeed, to secure such an eminently landable lord.”

His brows shot up at the words, his jaw dropping in surprise, and she dissolved into giggles at the picture he made, so comical and clownish.

“You knew!”

She placed a hand dramatically to her breast. “My lord, how could you have imagined that there was a woman in this great land who did not know? Why, we need not have a subscription to
Pearls and Pelisses
to recognize such a “—she paused with great emphasis—“paragon of manhood … when we see one.”

He scowled at the silly description. “You think you are very funny, Lady Nicholas.”

She grinned. “I
know
I am
exceedingly
funny, Lord Nicholas.”

He laughed and reached out to brush away an auburn curl that had come loose in the wind and landed against her cheek. When the task was completed, their laughter died, and with the barest of pauses he continued the caress, cupping the back of her head in his large hand and pulling her toward him, kissing her thoroughly on her warm, smiling lips. The kiss was deep and thoughtful, sending a river of pleasure straight to the core of her. She sighed into his mouth, and he moved to settle little, soft kisses on her cheek, the tip of her nose, and her forehead before pulling back.

“So you thought you might land me,” he teased.

She shook her head with a laugh. “No. The girls thought I might land you. They urged me to use the lessons from the magazine to do so.” She smiled at his groan of disbelief. “Needless to say, I was never very good at following instructions.”

He chuckled. “And so? What was your plan?”

“I thought I might land your expertise in antiquities.”

“Well … you seem to have received more than you had bargained for.”

She made a show of considering him with a critical eye. “Indeed, it seems I have.”

He barked in laughter. “Minx.”

She laughed, too, and he left the window then. She leaned through to watch him make his way to a nearby entryway, her heart quickening as she realized that he was coming to be closer to her. Wanting to retain her illusion of calm, she hopped up to sit on the low sill, waiting for him to come to her. Excitement pooled in her belly as he approached, carefully navigating the stones that littered the inside of the keep, his blue eyes trained on her.