And she did as he told her, falling over the edge, convulsing around him, milking him with a heady, nearly unbearable rhythm. She cried out his name again, and he did catch her, finding his own pleasure only once she had fully experienced her own. He unraveled above her, thrusting a final time before he collapsed to her chest, their harsh breathing the only sound in the still, dark room.
He lay there for a long moment, trying to focus, to regain the power of thought before he stirred, lifting his weight from her even as she tempted him to stay with the little protest that she offered at the loss of him. Propping himself on one elbow next to her, he ran his hands over her flushed skin. She shivered and curled into his warmth.
He felt her lips curve against his chest in a smile and he pulled back to meet her gaze. “What is it?”
“It was not strange in the end.”
He grinned. “No?”
“No.”
“What was it, then?”
She tilted her head, considering the question. “I think it was rather remarkable.”
He kissed her, quick and deep. When he lifted his head, he said, “It was that.”
She drifted to sleep in the long moments that followed, and he watched as she slumbered, considering this woman who was so strong and soft and beautiful. Here was a woman who lived. She was filled with passion and pride, and she would take nothing but what she believed was right and fair. He reflected on the events of the day—the way she had so vehemently agreed to marry him…
The way she had so violently recoiled when he had proven to be different than what she had first thought.
She curled against him, sighing in her sleep, and the sound punctuated his shame. She had come to believe in him, to have faith in him and the life that he was promising her, and he had robbed her of her sense of certainty. And, while her body clearly trusted him, it would take time to win back her mind.
He would not stop until he had done just that.
He loved her.
It was in that moment, with the second admission of his feelings, that he realized the full force of the words. And the terror that came with them.
“Isabel! Isabel, wake up!”
Isabel shot straight up in bed at the pounding on the door to her bedchamber. The sound was disorienting, and for a fleeting moment, she had no knowledge of where she was or what was happening.
When the events of the prior evening came flooding back, she gasped, one hand flying to her lips to hold back the sound, and she searched the room for any sign of Nick.
He was gone, along with all evidence that he had ever been there. She noted that he had even moved her clothes, which had been discarded without thought, and draped them over a chair by the fireplace. The care with which he had covered his tracks made Isabel at once grateful and disappointed—grateful that he would take such steps to protect her reputation with the other residents of Townsend Park, and disappointed that he would so easily slip from her room without a backward glance.
As though he had done it many times before.
She scoffed at the thought. She did not care if he had done it a hundred times before. His habits were not her concern.
One hundred did seem a few too many times, however.
The knocking began again then, distracting her—thankfully—from her thoughts.
“Isabel!“
“Enter!”
Lara came bursting through the door at the command, breathless and disheveled. “You must dress!”
With a sigh, Isabel threw back the covers and got out of bed, heading for the wardrobe to fetch clothing. “I know that I have overslept, but it cannot be that late. What time is it?”
Lara had frozen in midstride across the room, her eyes wide as she watched Isabel.
Isabel turned back at the silence. “What is it?”
“Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”
Isabel looked down at herself, immediately covering the pertinent parts as she willed herself not to blush … unsuccessfully. “I didn’t … that is … I …” She paused, irritated at her stammering search for a quick and reasonable answer. “I was hot,” she ended simply, grasping the closest gown and hurrying behind her dressing screen to avoid further embarrassment.
She could hear the disbelief in her cousin’s voice when she replied, “You were hot.”
“Precisely. It is nearly July, Lara.”
“In Yorkshire. At night.”
“Nevertheless,” Isabel said, willing Lara to accept the excuse. She peeked around the edge of the screen to find her cousin slowly looking around the room. She must distract her. “Lara.” The word gained the other woman’s attention. “Was there something you wanted to discuss? A reason you were hammering on my door, demanding that I wake and dress, perhaps?”
Lara’s eyes widened. “Yes!”
Isabel stepped out from behind the screen, tying a long belt on the midnight-blue mourning dress. “What is it?”
Lara pursed her lips. “You shan’t like it.”
Isabel stilled. Was it possible that Nick had left? He had said he was leaving last night … but that was before … well, before things had changed. “What is it?” she repeated, tentatively.
“We have a visitor.”
A feeling of dread settled deep within.
Everything was about to change.
“Who is it?”
Lara clasped her hands together tightly in front of her, hedging.
Densmore. The guardian was here. The house, the girls, James—their fate was in his hands now.
And Nick would leave. There was nothing to keep him here any longer. He was no longer needed for the marbles, or for anything else.