“No, you keep it.” He reached for her hand again and slipped the golden wedding ring onto her finger, and then, on impulse, he kissed the hollow of her palm.
She shivered and snatched her hand back. “You don’t even know me.”
“And yet we are married.”
“Many marriages begin thus,” said her aunt from the entrance to the courtyard. “Your own parents’ marriage, for instance, Isabella.”
“This is different,” Isabella said.
“Indeed it is,” Luke agreed. “It is our marriage, and we will make of it what we will.” He patted her hand and left.
Isabella knuckled her eyes fiercely. He’d been sokind. Sounderstanding.
She’d rather he’dbeatenher. It would have been easier to bear than this…
Humiliation scalded her.
All her own fault. Because Isabella Ripton was stupid, stupid, stupid! Dreaming silly schoolgirl dreams instead of paying attention to what was really happening.
She wished he hadn’t been so kind. It would have been so much easier if she could be angry with him, blame him. But he’d given her the protection of his name for the last eight years, and now it was time for her to pay that debt.
He’d offered her a life of security, of contentment, and Reverend Mother was right—it was more than that. She’d take her place in English society. She’d have pretty dresses and go to parties and…
She bit her lip. She didn’t care about dresses and parties.
But that didn’t matter, she told herself. It was wrong for her to be sitting here filled with self-pity because she was married to a kind and handsome man, when poor Alejandra might be forced to marry a horrid old poxedvizconde. And the others might never marry at all.
She was lucky. There were so many reasons why sheshould feel deliriously happy that Lord Ripton had come for her.
A single tear rolled slowly down her cheek. She dashed it away. She was her father’s daughter and she would not weep over what could not be changed.
She was not a child anymore to rail at fate. She was a woman and she would make her own happiness.
The small, scruffy boy appeared from nowhere again, as the convent gate shut firmly behind Luke. “You want your horses now,señor?”
Luke considered it. “How far is it to the village?”
“Just a few steps,” the boy assured him.
“Is there an inn?”
The boy laughed heartily at the idea. “The nearest inn is more than ten miles away,señor. But if it is a drink you want… or a bed for the night?”
“A bed.”
“Then you must stay at my home,” the boy said. “I am Miguel Zabala, and I am the man of the family.”
He was small and skinny and barely ten years old, but Luke didn’t laugh. “Take me there and we’ll see,” Luke told him.
He soon learned Miguel’s “few steps” were the estimate of a large-minded spirit, but Luke didn’t mind the walk down a narrow, dusty track. The boy skipped along beside him, chattering incessantly, part travelogue of the places they could see from the road, and part his views on life and the various people he’d known.
Luke listened with half an ear.
Isabella’s reaction to his arrival had been a little disturbing. It was clear to him that she wanted the marriage as little as he had. A situation that could not be allowed to continue.
His title hadn’t impressed her in the least. Well, she was the daughter of aconde.
She’d seen through him at once. He did need an heir. There was no shame in that. It was his duty to his family name. Bearing an ancient name herself, she should understand that.
