Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was as though that afternoon had been a figment of Isadora’s imagination.
After embracing her so tenderly, after showing her a little of the pleasure he’d denied her, Nicholas retreated back into avoiding her so thoroughly she might have believed she and Sophia lived alone.
She tutored the girl at the pianoforte, and encouraged the young girl to embrace her childhood, dashing around the house and hiding so Isadora could search for her.
They raided the kitchens under Cook’s indulgent eye, and walked by the lake where Sophia fed the ducks and spoke dearly of her few memories of her mother.
Isadora asked no questions about Nicholas.
To her relief, Sophia noticed nothing amiss, chattering about her dreams for their little family. Trips to the sea together, exploring all the places in her enormous Atlas. London, when she was older.
“Or now?” she asked hopefully.
“Not now.” Isadora flicked the tip of her nose. “But there is something in York.” Her mind raced past every invitation she couldn’t bring a child to. “A picnic.”
Sophia’s eyes widened. “I could go to a picnic?”
“I don’t see why not. So long as you’re good.
” Isadora lay back. It would do her good to get out, too; the house only reminded her of all the ways Nicholas didn’t want to be near her.
That had never been the terms of their agreement, yet the sadness came anyway.
Had she never tasted what things could be like, she might have borne it better.
But he had shown her, and that struck her as cruel.
Unfortunately, she was not to avoid him as much as she’d hoped. Hearing the plan, Sophia had gone straight to persuade her Papa, and as Isadora drew on her lace gloves, Nicholas came down the stairs in a pale blue coat and Hessians polished to a shine.
“Papa!” Sophia cried, running to take his hand in a way Isadora fancied she would not have done a few weeks prior. “There you are.”
He watched Isadora with as much caution as she felt. “Here I am,” he said—to Sophia, not her. “Is everything ready?”
“The servants have it prepared,” Isadora said, willing her heart to calm. “I hadn’t known you meant to join us.”
“Sophia informed me I would ‘regret it greatly if I missed the chance of picnicking on a perfect June day.’“ He glanced at the cloudless sky as though to prove the point. “Do you object?”
Under Sophia’s eager gaze, she forced a smile. “Of course not. We’d be delighted.”
“See, Papa?” Sophia hung off his arm. “I told you.”
His gaze flicked to Isadora, then away, but he offered his arm to the carriage and, with Sophia’s help, made idle talk on the road to Dean’s Park behind the Minster. The tension gradually left her. This would not be so bad; he seemed set on being his most charming self today.
Then his knee brushed hers as the carriage rocked, and she remembered painfully the last time they’d been so close—how it had felt to have those thick, muscled thighs beneath her.
Her breath hitched, and he glanced over, blue fire in his eyes.
So he remembers, too.
At least she wasn’t alone in it.
She shifted back, but another sway pressed her against him again. He steadied her with a hand on her arm.
“Here. Let me help you.”
Such simple words ought not to have weakened her knees so.
“I’m all right,” she managed, sitting upright. His fingers lingered a fraction too long before dropping.
They traveled the rest of the way in silence.
Dean’s Park was a lovely stretch of green, overseen by the Minster and fringed by cherry blossoms which had, by this time of year, lost their leaves.
Flowerbeds along the back of the park boasted bright roses and other blooms that Isadora didn’t know.
She had taken classes in flower arranging while still living with her sisters, but that had been so long ago, nor had she ever especially been good at it like her eldest sister Aurelia; her eye for color did not extend to knowing what the flowers in question were.
The footmen followed them to a free patch of grass in the shade, where they first set up the blanket and set the wicker picnic basket to one side.
Isadora took a seat immediately, Sophia beside her, and eventually Nicholas did the same, stretching his legs out before them.
“Look!” Sophia chirped up immediately, pointing out a particularly spectacular butterfly.
“That’s a monarch. Isn’t it beautiful?” She rose, as though to follow, and Isadora cast a glance at one of the footmen, who discreetly followed the girl.
She encountered a boy of a similar age, and they stood conversing by the edge of the flowerbeds.
Isadora glanced at Nicholas’s face, which was pointed in Sophia’s direction with a contemplative expression. “Is it strange watching her grow up before your eyes?”
He chewed on his lip before answering, and she wondered if he ever would, when he eventually murmured, “Sometimes it feels as though she’s growing both up and down. I’ve seen sides to her that I’ve never seen before.”
A warm glow alighted in Isadora’s chest. “Is that so?”
“She laughs more freely.” His hand came to rest on his thigh, and she did her best not to look at his fingers, although the strength of them held her attention more than she’d like to admit.
Something about his hands appealed an inordinate amount, although she didn’t fully know why.
She hardly went around admiring most gentlemen’s hands.
There was just something unquestionably erotic about Nicholas’s.
Or perhaps there was just something erotic about Nicholas himself.
Maybe it was that they had created something erotic together, and even when she did her best not to think about it, memories of that sensual pleasure crossed her mind too many nights and wouldn’t leave.
“She has settled into my arrival better than I could have ever hoped,” she said.
Nicholas slid her a wry glance. “I think that may have something to do with you. When I asked you to be my wife, this was…” His throat worked, and he looked away, back toward where Sophia laughed as a butterfly perched on her outstretched finger. “This was precisely what I had in mind.”
In terms of Sophia and the family they were making, this was what Isadora had in mind—at least, mostly. There was the question of her own children, too, but for that, she had to…
Well.
Nicholas stretched full-length upon the blanket, his shirt pulling taut against his corded muscles as he reached for the strawberries that the other footman was unpacking from the picnic box.
He offered one to Isadora, who accepted it cautiously.
Would their truce last only as long as the sunshine, or had they finally turned a corner?
“Wine?” he asked, eyes glinting in the sun. He looked like a forbidden prince there, all tousled dark hair and sharp blue eyes and a chin that could cut glass.
That mouth had been on hers.
His hands had been on her hips, guiding her movement. She’d heard his rough exhalation as he’d found his pleasure from her, with her, and he’d held her after as though he was afraid she might shatter into a thousand tiny pieces if he let go.
How could she reconcile that man with the one who lounged opposite now, so close and yet so unobtainable?
“There’s a regatta next week,” she said carefully, choosing her words as though they were hot coals. Quickly, carefully, placing them down without lingering too long. His gaze was on her, watching with that needle-sharp observation that missed nothing. “I thought perhaps we might take Sophia.”
We. Together.
The words resounded between them, though she didn’t say them aloud.
Then Nicholas inclined his head. “Very well.”
“Oh.” Surprise made her laugh a little. “That was easier than I anticipated.”
Once again, Nicholas looked at her, his eyes tracing across all her features one by one, his gaze so hot, it was as though blazing fingers singed over her skin. “It’s important,” he said finally.
Isadora parted her lips to say something more, but before she could, someone approached them and claimed Nicholas’s attention.
“Goodness me, Your Grace,” she purred, fluttering her fan at her face, light blond curls bobbing in the manufactured breeze.
“It has been an age since I have seen you out and about. Not since—” She broke off with an affected laugh, though Isadora could tell it was entirely intentional.
“I suppose I should say nothing about it. And no doubt you don’t know, my dear!
” She aimed the comment at Isadora, who gritted her teeth.
“Forgive me,” Isadora smiled, although she really wanted to scream. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“How remiss of me! Go on, Your Grace. Introduce us.” She slapped her fan against his arm playfully, and Isadora gritted her teeth.
Nicholas inhaled slowly through his nose, looking almost as irritated by the interruption as Isadora felt, and slowly turned to look at Isadora. “This is Lady Windermere. She was… friends with Grace.”
Ah. A friend of the former wife. Isadora didn’t know why that knowledge sent a stone into the pit of her stomach.
Nicholas had never overtly hid anything about Grace; Isadora had even found the bread basket picture of the meek-looking lady with soft blonde curls and limpid blue eyes.
Sophia’s twin—except Sophia had inherited a touch of Nicholas’s stubbornness and mischief, bringing much-needed life into her face.
Isadora knew she was the second wife. She knew that Nicholas had loved his first wife; the evidence was on his face every time he spoke of her. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling there was still some sort of mystery surrounding her.
Isadora doubted Lady Windermere would enlighten her here today.
Nicholas’s face had gone entirely blank, any and all emotion wiped from his expression.