“I’m aware.” Fast footsteps crunching over gravel until he strode by her side once more. “Listen, Lady Isabella,” said deep and low and making her shiver despite the sun overhead. “I’m perfectly capable of it. Lady Isabella,” said rich and a bit yearning and making her heart race. He caught her wrist, and what could she do but stop? So, he caught her other wrist, and his gloved fingers rested perfectly above the edge of her glove, against her skin, brushing along her pulse.
Her boots were particularly interesting, just the tips of them peeking out from beneath her lavender skirts.
“Lady Isabella,” said teasingly, gently, coaxingly. “Look at me,a chuisle.”
She stared at the house instead.
“Lady Isabella,” said with love.
She ripped out of his hold and spun around. Better to return to the crowds. But he kept up with her so easily, strolling at her side while she practically ran.
“So you can say my name without sneering. That does not mean you will ever feel comfortable around me.”
“Let me try.”
“No.”
“Damn it all, Isabella. Just listen to me.”
“No, damnyou, Rowan.” At the wild edge of the garden, right before the vines and ropes of summer flowers tapered off into the lawn, she stopped to face him, toe-to-toe and broken heart to broken heart. “You left me on the street. Crying. It felt like night would never end. I’m still stuck there in some ways. In the darkness. I hope you’re enjoying the sunlight because I feel cut off from it.”
“I never should have said any of it. I was terrified. I thought if I took you for myself, like the selfish bastard I am, you would wake up one day and wonder why you’d done it. Why you’d lowered yourself. And then you’d be miserable. Because of me. I looked at your home, your friends and family, and realized nothing I could ever give you would be more than what you already have. What good am I to you, Isabella?” He shook his head, a wet dog flinging off water droplets, and paced away from her. When he paced back to her, he leaned low, offering her something she couldn’t see on his flat, upturned palms. “You are a story I do not want to ever end. You are the unknown, terrifyingly beautiful depths of the ocean.” His voice steady and sure. His eyes green and daring, tinged around the edges with the darkness of fear. “And you are the very center of my heart. Please. Isabella. Let me try.”
If there existed a woman in Christendom who could resist that plea, Isabella did not know her.
Isabella certainly was not her.
And though her mind screamed at her to walk away, head held high, her heart whispered in quite plaintive tones that she take his hand instead.
She walked away, throwing over her shoulder, “I will not stop you from trying, but I cannot guarantee success.”
He appeared at her side, marching as if to battle. “I am not a man used to failure, Lady Isabella.”
“Enough of that,” she grumbled. Mostly because when he said her name like that she melted.
“Where are we going? Who are we meeting?”
“I am going to speak with my friends. You may do as you please.” She found her way to Lottie first, who wore a fascinating collection of white paper flowers in her coiffure. “Is there anything I can help with?”
Lottie shook her head. “Prudence has proven superbly organized, as usual, and the baron’s grounds are lovely. I do not think Imogen could have asked for a more perfect event.”
“There have been several of them already.”
“And more to come. Everyone wishes to congratulate the young couple, particularly since they’ve proven surprisingly tame compared to their scandalous predecessors.”
No one knew, then, that Imogen and Thurston had been caught kissing in front of the Hestia. “I think Im is growing tired of the celebrations, but she seems happy, does she not?” And that was what mattered. Not that Isabella knew all her sister’s secrets, not that her sister’s life spiraled forward in the way Isabella felt best, safest. Isabella released her need for control and let her sister live happy as she pleased.
“Yes, surprisingly. But I think Imogen’s expectations are different from most women’s.” Lottie scooted closer and leaned in. “By the way, you seem to have a rather ominous shadow.” She looked over Isabella’s shoulder. “Good afternoon…”
Rowan stepped forward and bowed. “Trent. Mr. Rowan Trent.”
“Ah!” Lottie curtsied. “I am Lady Noble, and you must be the Mr. Trent my husband told me about, the one who owns Hotel Hestia.”
“When did you meet Quinton?” Isabella asked.
Rowan seemed loose and at ease, as if he spent every day chatting with viscountesses. “I had coffee with him earlier this week. And your brother and other brothers-in-law. And a man named Norton.”
“The entire army, then. I see you survived.”
