Chapter Sixteen #2
The room quieted when the children left. Damien peered curiously into the large open box on Isabella’s desk, discovering Catherine’s new doll.
“Poole always did have a keen eye for the expensive,” Damien said soberly. He experimentally tugged on a long golden curl that sprang instantly back to the doll’s head upon release. “I suppose Catherine was enchanted.”
“Not especially,” Isabella replied. She carefully replaced the cover on the box, effectively hiding the toy. “I honestly think she would have preferred a sword like Ian’s.”
“Don’t tell Poole, or one will appear with the morning post,” Damien said with a mocking laugh.
“Your place in their affections is hardly threatened by a few toys.” Isabella reached out and softly stroked the earl’s forearm, .
sensing his discomfort. “Lord Poole cannot buy your children’s regard, no matter how elaborate or expensive the gift.
” “Perhaps,” the earl responded, his eyes troubled. “Yet he most assuredly will try.”
“This seems like a good spot, children,” Isabella announced. “Let’s set up our picnic here.”
Last night’s heavy rains had thoroughly soaked the ground, but the section of open meadow not far from the house Isabella had selected for picnicking was covered in thick grass.
Brilliant late-afternoon sunshine and unseasonably warm spring weather had combined successfully to dry out the worst of the puddles, although there was a thin layer of mud clinging to Isabella’s boots and hem.
As she arranged the blanket, Isabella conceded it was rather late in the day and a bit too soggy to be eating out of doors, but the children had been in such high spirits after meeting their uncle that it seemed like the perfect idea.
An al fresco dinner. Away from the subtle tension and veiled hostility of the house.
And the fresh air might even make Mrs. Amberly’s overcooked fare a tad more appetizing.
“We shall double our blankets so the dampness of the grass will not seep through,” Isabella informed the children. “It will make for a cozier seating arrangement.”
As soon as the simple meal of cold beef, cheese, warm bread, and milk was unpacked the children began eating with gusto. Isabella poured herself a cool mug of cider and helped herself to a small wedge of cheese.
“I do wish you had allowed me to bring my new sword, Miss Browning,” Ian said between bites of beef. “This is the perfect place to play pirate attack.”
“Pirates is a stupid game,” Catherine sulked. “Ooooh, that’s horrid, Ian. Don’t talk when you have food in your mouth. I can see inside.”
“Hush now,” Isabella commanded softly, suspecting Catherine was more upset over not having a sword like her brother’s than having to watch him eat his meal.
The children had quarreled heatedly over the toy after tea, leaving Isabella no choice but to confiscate it. She had hidden the sword in her room hoping, yet not really believing, that Ian would eventually forget about the cursed thing.
Deciding to take advantage of the momentary peace between the children, Isabella opened the large book she had brought and began reading aloud. The quiet meadow soon echoed with the soothing tone of her voice and the enthusiastic munching of her charges.
“An early evening picnic? Lucky for me, I’ve brought something to share. May I join you?”
The earl’s startling appearance caused Isabella to lose her place in the story. Flustered, she repeated a sentence twice, then finally gave up and ceased reading.
The children clamored to their feet and eagerly embraced their father.
Without waiting for an invitation, Damien sprawled down on the small blanket, insinuating himself next to Isabella.
Her nose caught the tantalizing sweet smell of fresh berries. Damien held out a basket of fragrant strawberries.
“Try one,” he coaxed.
Isabella shifted uncomfortably. The deep, silky pitch of his voice brought to mind all manner of sensuous pleasures that had nothing at all to do with fruit. Blindly, she reached out and filled her hands with the luscious berries.
Lounging back against the blanket, Damien propped himself up on his elbows, crossed his ankles and inquired casually, “Is that one of the barn cats over there on the hill?”
“Where? Oh, where?” Catherine shrieked, whipping her head about and dropping a half-eaten strawberry on the ground.
Damien grinned. “Right there, on the hill.”
The earl pointed toward the top of a small grassy knoll, where a substantial-looking cat was languidly resting in the grass, washing himself in a dignified manner.
Catherine and Ian both jumped instantly to their feet, exactly as Damien had planned.
“I can see it! I see the cat!” Ian shouted. “It’s the big orange tabby, my favorite.”
“I want to pet him first,” Catherine insisted, nearly knocking her brother off his feet in her haste to reach the animal.
“But I saw him first,” Ian retorted.
Yelling and shrieking with excitement, the pair raced riotously across the meadow.
“Be careful or you’ll frighten the poor cat away,” Isabella called, pushing herself upright. She attempted to rise, but discovered she could not. Damien held her hand tightly against his chest.
The children quickly vanished in hot pursuit of their quarry.
Damien wasted no time. He pulled Isabella down until she was nearly reclining next to him.
Just being so close to her brought him a shivering thrill of anticipation.
He fitted his length close to hers, pressing his leg deliberately against hers, wondering if she could feel the power of his desire for her.
“The children are perfectly safe. Besides, I find I like having you all to myself,” he said thickly.
He saw her take a determined breath, but she did not move away. In fact, she appeared to press herself closer to his side. Damien’s palms started to sweat.
He released her hand, reached over, and brushed his fingers against her cheek.
“Isabella.” He spoke her name softly, tenderly.
She lowered her eyes, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Isabella,” he repeated, stroking her neck with his open palm, feeling her tremble beneath his sensuous caress.
“This is madness,” Isabella whispered, tilting her chin toward him in silent invitation. “Sheer madness.”
He kissed her. With wild abandon. Even though they were outside in the light of day, even though his children were only a few hundred yards away, Damien’s mouth descended commandingly upon Isabella’s lips with hunger and need.
He kissed her passionately, totally without restraint.
The emotions of last night, the frustrations of the day, careened inside him, nearly out of control.
He sought comfort in her arms, he sought understanding, he sought acceptance.
He wanted, nay he needed Isabella to feel every bit of his desire for her.
He only dared to hope she would return at least a small measure of it.
She didn’t disappoint him. She was warm and willing, and her tongue boldly met his as she melted against him. Cupping her face between his hands, Damien deepened the kiss. He pressed closer, crushing her soft breasts against his hard chest, seeking relief from the heat suddenly building inside him.
“Father! Miss Browning! Look what I’ve found!”
At the sound of Ian’s voice, Damien and Isabella sprang apart. Damien bent his knee to hide the painful swelling in his breeches while Isabella turned away to shield the flush in her cheeks.
Apparently oblivious to the tension, the little boy breathlessly stumbled over the edge of the blanket. He opened his closed hands and proudly displayed his prize.
“A frog. I found a frog.”
The creature made a belligerent croak; then, with a flying leap, dove across the blanket and landed directly in Isabella’s mug of cider.
“Ian!” Damien shouted, as he rolled out of the way. “What the devil are you doing?”
“I’m so sorry, Father.” The little boy squatted down and plunged his hand into Isabella’s cup. “I was holding his leg tight, but he got away. My frog is rather slippery.”
After several attempts, Ian managed to rescue his new friend. He pulled it gingerly from the liquid and held it up for examination. The frog hung limply in his hand, dejected and dripping cider on the blanket. Ian shook it sharply, then turned to his father with bright, questioning eyes.
Isabella coughed discretely behind her hand, trying to disguise her laughter. Damien refused to meet her gaze, certain he would be unable to contain his own mirth if their eyes met.
“I believe the frog will feel better if you put him back where you found him, son,” the earl said solemnly. “He is most likely missing his fellow frogs.”
“Come along, Ian,” Isabella stood on her feet, shaking off the stray drops of cider that had landed on her skirt. “We shall return him together.”
“I’m sorry he jumped in your mug, Miss Browning.”
“ ’Tis all right. I suspect your young frog was thirsty. Do you suppose he had enough to drink before you pulled him out? Shall we give him one last dunk in the cider?”
Ian giggled. He allowed Isabella to dry, then wrap the frog loosely in a linen napkin. He held the cloth tightly, in one fist, then with only slight hesitation clasped her outstretched fingers with his free hand.
Damien watched them leave, feeling unexpectedly lighthearted. She was good for the children. Kind, patient, understanding. He remembered the harsh dictates of his own governess and was glad he was able to provide a far more pleasant experience for his children.
She would be, without question, an excellent stepmother.
Dinner for the adults that evening began as a strained affair.
Isabella had overseen the arranging of the table herself, ensuring that no unpolished silver or cracked china was pressed into service.
At first glance, the array of food on the sideboard gave a favorable impression.
Closer inspection, however, revealed overdone beef, undercooked pheasant, soggy vegetables, and sauces with a decidedly burnt aroma.