“Are you coming, or are you going to let me drown, Desmond?” she called playfully over her shoulder.
She felt like a twelve-year-old girl and felt immediately foolish for all of a quarter of a second before she saw him pulling off his boots and chasing after her. She stopped at the bank and did the same, unsure of what to do next. She looked to Desmond for guidance only to find him half naked.
Merely his top half was naked—his shirt having been removed—but it was no less scandalous.
And man was he a man. He hadn’t the perfectly sculpted torso of Michelangelo’s David, but nor was he unfit. His stomach was flat with just the bones of his hips curving out just above his trousers, and his chest was strong and freckled with a light dusting of dark hair matching his head above.
“Do I go in like this?” she asked, hesitating for the first time.
Desmond answered, “Undress down to your slip. It will make you lighter in the water.”
It wasn’t that she was embarrassed to undress so fully. It was merely that she was nervous. And shouldn’t she very well be? It was quite presumptuous for him to assume that she would so readily disrobe herself for him. And yet she found herself shedding her skirt, her shirt following suit. She didn’t even bother to turn away. Instead, she held his gaze, held the moment in her hand, felt the tingling and relished in it.
“It will be a little cold,” Desmond warned as she neared the water’s edge, “but it’s best to jump in quick. It’s less of a shock.”
Isabelle dipped the big toe of her right foot into the water and doubted the certainty in his words. It would most definitely be a shock to dip herself fully into the frigid spring.
“You can do it,” Desmond coaxed as he slid his hand into hers, tangling their fingers together.
He was so warm compared to the cold water nipping at her toes.
So warm that he gave her the courage to jump.
Not that she literally jumped. But she did run in squealing—rather like a pig, she thought acerbically. But she continued anyway, until she was nearly up to her chin, deep in the water that made her body seize and shiver simultaneously.
And Desmond was right there beside her, shivering and smiling, the air blowing out of his mouth entangling itself in a cloud of hers.
It was magic.
“Are you ready to go under?”
Isabelle replied by shaking her head in the negative.
“Then we’ll do it together,” he breathed, squeezing her hand just a little bit harder.
“O-Okay,” she stuttered. And then she let him pull her beneath the surface.
Everything was changed when she resurfaced with him by her side.
Everything was changed. And yet, nothing was. It was all exactly as it was just seconds before.
She had changed.
She looked to the man at her side. The man that was so unlike the man she had come to know—the man that was guarded and hard, the man that wasn’t quite so polished as a gentleman ought to be, the man with a tortured soul.
He was a boy. He was young. He was handsome. The years and the past seemed to wash off of him.
Isabelle smiled.
It was the perfect moment, and he was the perfect man.
Then the chill of the water hit her again and she shook, gasping, holding Desmond’s shoulders to steady herself, and feeling his hands find her hips.
“What is it?” he asked, concern lacing on his lips. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s merely—” She couldn’t speak. She tried, but she didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t think or do anything other than look into Desmond’s eyes.
He was perfect, and she was everything but.
She swallowed, her smile waning.
“I was merely a bit frightened, is all,” she managed to squeeze out of her lungs that seemed to be crushing inwards. But she wasn’t frightened of the water, and she wasn’t frightened of him. She was frightened of this, whatever it was.
“It’s okay,” Desmond said, his eyes steadfast on hers, all assurance. There was a truth in them that he followed up with words, “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
And she knew that he wouldn’t. If she never knew anything else, she knew that he would always keep her safe, he would always protect her.
“Do you want to learn how to float?”
Float? She wanted to sail. Sail away from the guilt she was drowning in.
“Yes,” she answered, nodding her head vigorously.
He talked her through what to do, his hands her guide, and soon she was face up to the sky above as she desperately tried to keep herself afloat.
Isabelle wished she could say that she was an impressive student, that she succeeded at floating in a mere moment. However, while she was failing, sinking like the heavy, burden-ridden rock that she was, she was rather enjoying the perks to failing.
So long as she couldn’t keep herself afloat, Desmond had to do it for her.
“Just relax,” he whispered in her ear.
If he had any idea of the workings of the female mind—particularly, her mind in that moment—he would know that the last possible thing she could do with him tickling her with his breath, was relax.
Though, she did try.
And fail.
And try.
And fail.
However, she was not one to fail, even though Desmond made failing feel so good.
So she tried and tried, until at last, Desmond removed his hands from her back and she found herself floating all on her own. She was almost too excited to breathe, too nervous to move.
She didn’t have to wait long for Desmond to join her. They floated side by side, staring up at the light fading from the clear sky.
It was wondrous how big the sky was. It just went on and on, never appearing to end. It wasn’t something you could touch, no matter how high you reached, and yet it was there. It was real.
It was like love.
You couldn’t touch it, but you knew it to be real.
She looked at Desmond who was focusing his attention above.
Heartbreak, she was finding, was the same way.
*****
It grew dark rapidly, even as the sky was still bright above. The sun, angled just right, quickly turned the earth black with shadows while the sky changed to magical hues of orange and red and pink.
Desmond had to admit, he’d been mesmerized by it.
He was mesmerized by other things too. One other thing.
Her.
Swimming with her, it was so… so… real. It was hard to explain for a man of few words, but with her, right then, he felt a presence of body and mind that he normally sought to avoid. And yet this awareness didn’t frighten him. It was like a warm light, and he was relishing in it. In her.
In the water, she came alive and she brought Desmond to life with her.
She was amazing. She was light as a feather and as deep as the ocean. And when she smiled, she made his heart beat faster as though it had a mind of its own.
And suddenly, sneaking secret peeks at her floating on the water, he couldn’t imagine his life without her. He, who had survived separate and alone for years, had come to actually need someone. And not just need them in the sense of trivial things like money, but because he just knew that he could not live without her, could not move or breathe.
It was rather befuddling, and a lot concerning, but those were the facts and they could not be changed.
They could, however, be ignored. Which was exactly what he intended to do. Though, his resolve wasn’t quite as strong as the sudden awareness of his emotions.
Desmond smiled, turning over onto his stomach, taking a mouth of water and squirting it at her. He laughed at her shriek. Held her when she floundered. Pulled her closer when she shivered. And kissed her when the air thickened from their heavy breathing above the cold water.
He could ignore his feelings for her, but they couldn’t ignore her. Particularly not once his l
ips touched hers. Her silky-softness against his unrefined coarseness was a fire that demanded to burn, wild and reckless.
When he finally separated from her, it was to find the sun nearly completely descended and her eyes glossy with passion. The beads of water on her skin made her sparkle against the dim light mirroring off the surface of the water. She was radiant.
He loathed to say the words, but clouds were beginning to fill the darkening sky and he knew they must be said. “We should be heading home,” he whispered against her lips.
She nodded, her gaze not lifting from his lips.
Movement started slow, and yet in no time they were seated beside each other in the wagon, dressed in damp clothing, and then they were home and he was depositing her outside of her room, where the pressure seemed to build.
It felt fairly anticlimactic, after what happened in the spring, to merely walk away, to not kiss her goodbye. But though they were in his own home, every house had eyes that saw and mouths that spread rumors, and they needed to bring no more scandal upon themselves than they would soon surely face.
Desmond took a step back as she held him in her eyes; he had to close his own not to be mesmerized by hers. He breathed out slowly, hoping to release the pressure on his heart.
“Would you—” he paused, swallowing to steady his nerves, before continuing, “—join me for dinner tonight?”
Her reply was a soft inhale of breath followed by, “Yes.” It was more breath than word, and he loved it.
“I will see you at eight,” Desmond murmured as he bowed over her knuckles he’d raised to his mouth, brushing his lips across them as his eyes met hers above his brow.
Then he turned, her sweet smell wrapping around him like a blanket, and strode down the hall. He needed a bath. A warm one to drive the cold out of his bones. Or perhaps a cold bath would serve him better at that precise moment.
Chapter 22
Stepping out into the hall, silk skirts brushing against her ankles, she felt like a queen. Or, at the very least, a princess.
Rose had pampered her to perfection.
She couldn’t have been more ecstatic, or nervous.
She had never felt this way before—not that she could remember if she had. It was new and intriguing and petrifying, for she now knew that there was the real possibility that she could fall in love with this man, but would he ever love her back? The way he looked at her today, in the water, suggested that he might, but…
But what was love without it’s complications? And the possible complications were many.
No, she had a plan. She would wed him, pass off her child as his, and live happily ever after. She had nothing to fear if the chemistry continued growing between them as it had today. But if he were to find out the truth about the child… His rejection would be all the worse.
Isabelle paused at the top of the creaky stairs to allow herself a breath. She was feeling a bit queasy. But it wasn’t her condition that was turning her stomach, it was the situation. Looking down, she smoothed out the golden fabric covering her stomach. She was still looking down when she heard his voice.
“You look beautiful.” His voice was sincerity and surprise, with a liquidity to it that had her skin tingling.
She didn’t like feeling this way. She didn’t like the loss of control. She was an intelligent girl, she shouldn’t be so easily controlled by a mere change in tone and rigidity. He was the same man that had been coarse and unrefined, the same man that had frightened her nearly to tears mere days ago.
He was also the same man that had been her company in the water.
She felt the blush warm her cheeks and down her neck.
“My lord,” she curtsied, and Desmond bowed in return.
“My lady,” he answered. His face was hard, serious, his eyes steadfast on hers. She looked into those eyes—really looked. He was the puzzle she’d been trying to put together for eight days, and here he was. Complete.
Isabelle swallowed as she placed her hand in the crook of his arm and was ushered down the stairs. She stole glances at him as he kept his gaze straight forward, hoping for another inward look at his soul. And though he didn’t look upon her, she could feel the change in him. He was the same man he’d been when they had met. He was a strong man. But she realized now that he was not coarse or unrefined. He was merely Desmond.
He was dressed smartly, in formal black and white attire, his cravat tied simply. The garb made him seem taller, larger than life, as compared to the slightly worn suits he’d donned for the length of their short acquaintance. He was a prince, without all the unnecessary adornments. With his dark hair, caramel eyes, and his sun-touched skin offset against the stark black and white, Isabelle finally noticed his starkness wasn’t quite what she had believed. Desmond wasn’t hard or harsh; he was serious, yes, but he was also handsome, and he had an unexpected, underlying softness that one would overlook if they were not looking.
Isabelle felt as though she had been living with her eyes closed for over a week.
*****
Dinner was like a song. Desmond felt the crescendo at every shared glance. He felt the beat of the drum every time Isabelle opened her mouth, and the thrum of the strings when she spoke. He was almost tempted to set his meal aside and scribble down the melody in his veins so that he could remember this feeling forever.
But this—the feeling of her—nothing could tempt him more than that.
He couldn’t remember a time when he had been happier and, trying to, it almost made him sad. He was always sad, and loathe to admit it, but he had a lot to be sad about, a lot he was not willing to share. Yet, with this girl, he smiled, he spoke, he felt the giddy sensation of a boy falling in love in his youth. He felt a release of himself that frightened and intrigued him.
He stood, the meal concluded, his heart beating in his ears and coming out his eyes. “There is something I want to show you,” he said, forcing his nerves to relax, holding out his arm to Isabelle.
She took it delicately, a shy smile returning his affection.
Desmond’s heart seemed to beat faster, more violently as he steered her into the hall, towards the East Wing. He paused before a set of double doors. And taking a deep, steadying breath, he turned to Isabelle and murmured, “Close your eyes.”
“What?” she asked, her voice a heady breath of anticipation.
“It’s a surprise,” he explained. “Close your eyes.”
She followed his direction, silently closing her eyes without raising further protest.
Desmond let go of her hand and reached forward, throwing open the doors. Immediately, their forms were flooded with a dull, yellow light from the candles in the room beyond. Lighting so many candles was an extravagance he could no longer quite afford, but he knew the breathtaking sight that this room provided and, if he could only see her witness it once, it would be enough.
He moved Isabelle slowly forward until they were in the middle of it. Whispering in her ear, he said, “Open your eyes.”
Isabelle blinked twice, her eyes adjusting to the candlelight.
He watched her face as she saw, for the first time, the two-story marvel that still surprised even him.
Hamilton Hall was far from the finest of homes. It was desperately in need of funds and repair. But this room had been spared from the difficult times the earldom had recently seen. With stained glass windows reflecting a seemingly ancient light, and mahogany shelves lining the walls full of books, the room was simply extraordinary. It was an entire world hidden within the walls of a building that was falling apart at the seams. It was a delight to witness, and an honor to own. Though, for how much longer would it be his?
Isabelle’s eyes rounded as he expected. Her gasp made him lose his breath. Damn, she’s beautiful, he cursed silently to himself.
She moved two paces forward, leaving him behind.
Desmond clenched his jaw. It was absurd. She wasn’t leaving him. But it was difficult to imagine a scenario where anyone was no
t leaving. And as he stood back, raw, tender feelings warring viciously inside him, he took in her appearance in the muted light of the library. She was wearing a lovely gown that looked gilded in the light of the many candles, with matching shoes and white gloves that came up past her elbows. But what she wore wasn’t what was of interest. Not when her person was so radiant.
Her golden hair sparkled in the yellow candlelight like a beacon in a storm. And when she turned, her hands cupped over her mouth, her light eyes were reflecting the color of the lamps, shining the same shade as her hair. Desmond could look upon her every moment of every day, inspect every part of her, and he knew that he would never be able to find fault—she was far too perfect for flaws.
“Oh Desmond,” she said, her voice small in the expansive room, “it is marvelous.”
“Do you like it?” he queried, desperate for her approval.
“Do I like it?” she mimicked. She took a step forward, and his hand, and said, “Desmond, it is extraordinary.”
“Do you wish—” He was about to ask if she wished to pick out some books. But then the song in his veins struck up a chord again and he suddenly had to ask, “Would you care to dance?”
“But there is no music,” she smiled.
Desmond noted that it was not a no.
He held out his free hand to her. “Then we shall make our own.”
Isabelle’s eyes flicked down to his large, rough hands, before they embraced his eyes once more, at the same time as her hand embraced his. “I will follow your lead.” In her eyes, Desmond could almost believe, was the end of the sentence unspoken, wherever you go, forever.
It was absurd, but it was there. He would swear it on all he held dear, on the graves of his parents, and his aunt and uncle, and all his relatives that had passed.
Desmond led her to the middle of the room where the light seemed to grow duller, making each movement more intimate. He cupped one hand around her waist and in the other he held hers, and he danced to the beat of the music in his heart. It was the kind of dance in which the world falls away. There was nothing but him, and her eyes reflecting the affection he felt building inside him.
Wherefore Art Thou. Page 18