“You’re my bright and shining star, Isabel,” Somerset told her.
“Thank you. I never thought I’d ever meet a man like you, Somerset. I love you ever so much.”
“Good. That’s good.”
They shared a kiss that started out sweet, turned hot, then passionate, and finally ended with Somerset again delving into Isabel’s sweet, velvety secrets, which she lifted to meet him. As they rocked together in the timeless rhythm of love, Somerset gazed into her eyes, and she offered up a silent prayer of thanks for sending him to her. And in such an amazing way.
He lowered his head and captured his lips with hers as they loved each other. The pressure built in Isabel until at last she tumbled over the precipice into a shattering, rippling explosion of pleasure. Somerset joined her shortly afterwards.
Isabel had never been so happy as when she lay, spent, in her husband’s embrace. Her eyes closed, she relished the sweet languor stealing over her body. She loved and was loved, and life was and would remain good. From now on. She’d have Amazing Graciousness, her dance studio, and she’d have her daughter and her husband—and who knew? Perhaps there would be more little ones. She’d like that.
“I’d like to adopt Eunice,” startled her out of her lethargy.
Her eyes popped open. “You would?”
“Yes. I love the little girl. She’s rather frightening, but I think I can stand it.” He chuckled.
Isabel didn’t. She tightened her arms around him and wept softly against his chest. “Thank you, Somerset. That’s the most marvelous think you could ever do for us.”
“Is it? It only seems natural to me.”
“That’s what’s so wonderful about you. You think of yourself as only natural, when you’re actually superb. Perfect. Precious. Oh, I can’t even come up with enough superlatives to describe you.”
“Careful. I’m liable to get a swelled head.”
She gave a watery chuckle. “Impossible.”
Suddenly, Somerset scared the wits out of Isabel by crying, “I have it!”
After uttering a small, sharp cry of alarm, Isabel commanded her heart to quit racing said, “You have what?”
“The color of your eyes.”
“Good heavens.”
“They’re the blue of Myosotis!” He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “How could I not have come up with the comparison before?”
“I don’t know.”
“I knew they weren’t gentian, because Gentiana acaulis is too purple. They’re almost the color of Lobeliaceae, but not quite. Catananche caerulea come close, but aren’t quite perfect. But Myosotis . . .” He sighed happily. “Now why, I wonder, didn’t I think of that until right this minute?”
“Since I have no idea what Myosotis is, I can’t answer that.”
Somerset laughed and hugged her. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting you don’t speak Latin. Forget-me-nots. Your eyes are the exact color of forget-me-nots. Forget-me-nots are perfect.”
Isabel thought that having eyes like forget-me-nots sounded like a very good thing. She also knew that nothing about her was perfect. But Somerset . . . well, Somerset FitzRoy was absolutely, stunningly perfect.
# # #
Isabel and Somerset had been married for three months. She and Eunice had moved into his Craftsman-style house on Chestnut the day after they were wed, and Isabel had never been happier in her life.
Somerset was a loving husband, an attentive father, and he and Eunice had even started playing baseball together, Eunice having decided she wanted to be a baseball player when she grew up. Since he didn’t know anything more about the game than she did, they had fun making up the rules as they went along.
Isabel’s ankle had healed nicely, and she’d taken a lease on some office space that she aimed to turn into a dance studio. Thanks to Somerset’s artistic leanings and deep pockets, she’d even started redecorating it. The mirrors and new glass windows were being installed the next day, and she was busy in the back parlor of her new home, sewing curtains for the Amazing Graciousness Dance Academy’s windows.
She’d been so engrossed in her sewing—Somerset had bought her a brand-new, side-pedal Singer sewing machine, and she was having fun using it—that when Mrs. Brandeis entered the room and cleared her throat, she jumped a little in her chair. “Yes, Mrs. Brandeis?” She wasn’t yet comfortable having servants, but Somerset had told her she’d just have to get comfortable, because he wasn’t going to let her do all the housework.
“A gentleman to see you, ma’am.”
Mrs. Brandeis had a strange expression on her face; Isabel couldn’t find a word for it, but she rose from her chair and hurried after the housekeeper, a little worried.
“I put him in the front parlor, Mrs. FitzRoy.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Brandeis. Er . . . did he give you a card?”
“No, ma’am. Nor he didn’t give me his name.”
“Oh.”
When Isabel entered the front parlor, she beheld a man, all right, but he was totally unfamiliar to her. She was sure she’d never seen him before. Of medium height, with black hair, what she could see of him was tanned to a fare-thee-well. He wore a suit of foreign cut. He also had his back to her and seemed to be staring into the fireplace.
Unsure of herself, and of him, she said, “May I help you?”
And then he turned around.
For only a second, Isabel’s mouth dropped open and she stared. Then she cried, “Jorge!” and ran over to throw her arms around him.
“I return,” he said, returning her embrace without enthusiasm, but with great strength.
It was Jorge’s voice, all right: arrogant, supercilious, condescending, and heavily accented.
“We didn’t know what had happened to you!”
Although Jorge didn’t seem inclined to let her go, Isabel pulled herself out of his arms, remembering as she did so one of the reasons she’d never cared much for Jorge.
“I was took,” Jorge said with a dramatic gesture so wide it nearly knocked over a lamp. “Right off the dock, I was took.”
“We heard you’d been shanghaied,” Isabel said. “But let me ring for refreshments. Sit down, Jorge! Sit down!”
So Jorge sat. He did so with the same old flair.
“You look so tanned and healthy,” Isabel said, after giving instructions to Li, who had answered her ring. “The sailor’s life must have agreed with you.”
“Huh,” said Jorge. “I’m an artist, not a sailor.”
“Of course, you are,” Isabel said soothingly.
They were still talking when Somerset came home. He didn’t look awfully pleased when he entered the front parlor and found Jorge Luis Savedra lounging on his sofa and chatting with his wife. But he cheered up when Isabel instantly rose from her chair and greeted him with a kiss.
“And guess what, Somerset?” Isabel was terribly excited.
“What?” Somerset himself looked slightly dubious.
“Jorge has agreed to be the dancing master at the Amazing Graciousness Dance Academy for Young Ladies and Gentlemen!”
Somerset said, “Gmmph!”
Peering at him closely, Isabel decided he was suppressing laughter.
“I,” Jorge said, knocking his thin chest with his fist, “am the best.”
Isabel grinned at Somerset, and Somerset, after swallowing his mirth, smiled back at her. He reached for her hand. She gave it gladly. Somerset said, “You might be the best, but I won the contest.”
Isabel squeezed his hand, loving him madly. “It was the second time you saved my life, Somerset.”
He grinned and turned back to Jorge. “And, as you can see, I also won the girl.”
Jorge, scowling and with his arms crossed over his chest, said, “Huh!
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Perfect Stranger Page 31