Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Over the next two days, Morris recovered quickly, and by the third day, he was back to his bounding self, tearing through the garden before Isabella and Oscar, who walked down the flowering paths.
Their hands brushed, and Isabella kept considering taking his hand in hers, but she thought he rather enjoyed the teasing brushing, so she did not.
It reminded her of how he had laced his fingers through hers during their coupling last night, when he had pressed her into her own bed, mouth already hungry and seeking.
“He is doing well,” she noted, gesturing ahead at where the bloodhound snuffled into a rosebush, and she wondered if he sought out an animal or a rose for himself as a trophy for hunting. “It seems he takes after his master when it comes to healing.”
“He is a strong dog,” Oscar praised. “Though I cannot say I bounce back so quickly.”
“No?”
He swallowed, shaking his head. “The war took a long time to come to terms with, and my injuries were deep and slow to heal. It was not a kind process.” He sighed, nodding back to Morris. “But I am glad that he is able to have a kinder one than I did. Both times, really.”
“You have both been hurt enough,” Isabella said softly, reaching out to brush her fingertips against some petals at her side. “The scars will remain, but that does not mean you have to keep punishing yourself.”
“I do not punish myself,” he said quickly. Then, after a moment, he muttered, “I do not like you reading me so acutely.”
Isabella only smiled and kissed his cheek before pulling back, but he caught her around the waist, keeping her at his side.
Morris still sniffed ahead, glancing back at them once before leaping off into more bushes.
“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” Oscar asked her, and Isabella’s eyes widened. “It is… it is something I have wanted to ask you for a while. Tonight is a good night for it; the cook is preparing an expensive cut of meat, and I’ve got an excellent bottle of wine in the cellar to go along—”
This time, Isabella’s quick kiss was to his mouth. “I would love to. I often hoped that was what you began to ask a few times, but never dared to think it.”
“I admit I avoided it several times.” He laughed almost nervously at himself, as if both mocking and hating himself for the vulnerability. “In fact, a change would be welcome. How about we dine in our nightclothes?”
“That is most uncommon,” she countered, frowning. “I will be in a thin nightgown.”
His eyes sparkled. “Exactly. And you ought to know, I do not wear a great deal of clothing to bed.”
“I have a counteroffer,” she murmured, leaning in to kiss his jaw. “We dine in your chambers instead of the dining hall, and I admire you throughout the whole meal.”
“Deal,” he murmured against her lips.
After spending so long hoping the distance would not be reignited, Isabella tried not to worry that she was on borrowed time for his openness and how close he was allowing her to get.
This easy teasing of one another… she tried to simply enjoy it. Seeing this side of Oscar was everything to her, and she would not let it go without a fight should he try to distance himself once more.
A piece of paper slid beneath her door that night, the cursive bold and spiraled in thin, black ink. It was more elegant and delicate than she expected for a man with such calloused hands.
Join me at your leisure.
That was all the note said, yet a thrill still went through her.
Slipping off her robe, Isabella boldly opened the adjoining door, but the sight she walked into was far more than what she expected.
The terrace doors of Oscar’s balcony were open, and he leaned against the balustrade, the candlelight from the table set up inside the room flickering over his face.
He was half draped in shadows that cast delicious, contrasting lines over his bare torso.
From the waist down, he kept loose breeches on, but everything else was on display for her viewing.
“You look like a painting of an ancient Greek god,” she whispered, the compliment slipping free from her without her quite administering it.
She flushed, clearing her throat, as Oscar gave her a throaty chuckle.
“At least Hermia showed me enough from her painting collection, and I see the similarities. What I am trying to say is that you look—”
“Powerful? Handsome? Terribly desirable?”
“Yes,” Isabella breathed, for there was no use in denying it anymore.
Her simple admittance made Oscar’s brows rise, but then his eyes drifted over her thin nightgown. It was almost see-through, for she had chosen it specifically for that reason, and her nipples already pressed against the fabric.
“If we are more than one inch apart for another moment, I might just throw the dining table over the balcony in frustration,” Oscar growled, beckoning her closer with two fingers. “I have decided we ought to skip the main course and go to dessert.”
Moving to his side, Isabella felt herself swept up in that embrace. He began to pull her close with an arm around her waist—and she pressed a hand to his bare chest.
“And what is for dessert?”
“You,” he promised, and Isabella laughed into a kiss as he tugged her flush against him.
Her breasts pressed against his chest, and she moaned softly at the friction her nightgown against his skin provided when they shifted.
But she pulled away just as quickly, teasingly dancing back out of reach. “However, you have kept me waiting a very long time to dine with you, and as much as I like the thought of being your dessert, I wish to have my main course.” Her eyes flashed. “And then you might be my dessert too.”
“Perhaps at the same time,” he mused, and her cheeks flooded with heat at the implication, the position she could scarcely imagine.
Oscar ambled toward her, joining her at the table he had ordered to be prepared in his chambers for them.
“I do enjoy how you let yourself go when you tease me, and during our intimacy, but the moment I say something scandalous, you cannot stop yourself from blushing. It is—it is a beautiful sight to behold.”
He averted her gaze, clearing his throat, as if complimenting her was still a strange thing for him to do. Isabella was delighted and kissed him again briefly, before sitting down on the chair he pulled out for her.
Two candles flickered between them, and two plates were laden with a full course, for they would not have staff to provide more than one, but this was plenty.
Isabella took in the array of food—the thick, expensive meat paired with roasted parsnips and potatoes that looked so crisp and delicious. A side of meat pie sat between the two of their plates, and a silver bowl of fruit was kept fresh and covered as a palate cleanser, no doubt.
“I wished to experiment with the dinner to go beyond slightly traditional means,” he told her, watching her take it all in. “Greeks often have fruit with their meals, so I thought I would surprise you. And the pie… well, it is a favorite of mine, so I wished to share it as a first course of sorts.”
“And there is truly no dessert for the man with a sweet tooth?” she asked, laughing.
“You are all the sweetness I need,” he told her. “Your taste is far better than any sugar cube, pastry, or piece of chocolate.”
Isabella flushed again, setting her napkin on her lap.
“I really ought to take you to a village near Wickleby Hall. There is a stall in the village market that sells the most heavenly chocolate. Hermia gorged herself on it for two days straight and then…” She cringed.
“Well, it ended badly, but she said she did not regret a thing.”
Oscar laughed quietly, already reaching for a slice of pie to serve up to her.
“When I was a young boy, I ate the entire stock of sugar cubes in the pantry. Both my parents and the cook had many angry things to say about it, but all I cared about was how happy I felt. But heavens, my teeth ached for days.”
Isabella couldn’t help the burst of laughter at that, imagining a young boy stuffing his face with sugar, leaving white crumbs everywhere. She slid her fork into the tender pie, taking a bite that washed over her tongue deliciously.
“Do you have any stories from your childhood like that? Anything secretive or rebellious that you did?” he asked her, surprising her with his quest for knowledge.
She thought hard for a moment, trying not to get distracted by the weight of his gaze looking her up and down as she pondered.
“Ah, yes, yes, I do, actually. When we were younger, Hermia and I used to look at scandalous artwork—rather ironic, I know, given how she and her husband got married. She would always speak to me about wanting to know the ways of… well, a couple’s bedroom.
“After doing what she called research, she would return to me with ludicrous findings, and we could not have been more than fourteen and fifteen. One evening, just before dinner, I was so curious to know all the things she had spoken of that I snuck out of the townhouse and ventured into the stables. There, a stable hand’s son was sweeping up the hay, and I tapped his shoulder.
When he turned around, I planted a kiss right on his lips and then ran off, giggling.
I did not ever tell Hermia I did that, but she would have laughed herself silly. ”
“Heavens,” Oscar laughed, and the sound was deep and honest, and Isabella thought she would get drunk on it more than the wine he poured her. “So, you have always scandalized men, then?”
“I would not call it that,” she giggled. “My mama had a lot of say in my ways during my Seasons. It was always do this, do that, be like Hermia, Hermia ought to be teaching you better, more proper ways. She always pushed me to marry quickly, especially after Hermia’s scandal.”
Oscar frowned, nodding. Isabella was careful to skirt around the subject of her first fiancé, for she did not want to invite a mention of him into such an intimate space.