Chapter Twenty
Isabella stood outside Damien’s study door fighting against the nerves that threatened to overcome her.
She had been avoiding this encounter for nearly two hours, uneasy with the notion of being alone with him again.
Much had happened during his absence, and if Damien’s reaction in the drawing room was any indication of his mood, Isabella knew it would be a volatile meeting.
Deciding she could no longer stall for additional time, Isabella knocked sharply on the door, opened it, then forced her reluctant legs to move forward.
Damien was seated behind his massive oak desk, an assortment of papers strewn around him.
He turned toward her when she crossed into his domain, and for the briefest moment something fierce glimmered in the depths of his stormy gray eyes.
“So you have finally decided to grace me with your presence. What took you so long?”
The harshness in his voice roused Isabella’s fighting spirit. “I saw no reason for haste, since I strongly suspected your greeting would be less than cordial. And now you have proven me correct in my assumption.”
Damien gave a loud snort and leaned back in his chair. “You can hardly expect politeness from me after that cozy scene I witnessed in the drawing room. Damn it, Isabella, I am gone for six days, and when I return I’m made to feel like a stranger in my own home. I hardly recognize the place.”
A twinge of guilt invaded Isabella’s mind, but she was not about to indulge it. She folded her arms tightly across her chest and stood stiffly in front of him.
“We thought you would be pleased, Damien. When the opportunity presented itself to make a few improvements, we seized upon it. I’m sorry you don’t approve. It was never our intention to annoy you.”
“Our intention?” Damien slapped his hand down loudly on the desk and rose to his feet. “How disgustingly intimate you and Poole have become in my absence.”
“Lord Poole? He took no part in these decisions. Three women from the village have been hired on as day maids, and a male chef is now installed in the kitchen. Jenkins asked for my assistance in this matter, and we interviewed these new servants together. He and I are responsible for the changes at The Grange.”
Damien returned Isabella’s piercing stare. “Is Jenkins also responsible for your new wardrobe?”
Isabella felt herself coloring, and her defiant stance withered fractionally.
Although she enjoyed her lovely new gowns, she did not feel entirely comfortable with the notion of wearing garments that had once belonged to Emmeline.
Jenkins had repeatedly assured her the earl would not object, but Isabella secretly feared Damien would think she had done something horribly inappropriate when he discovered the truth.
“This was Emmeline’s gown,” Isabella said quietly, her fingers smoothing the soft folds of the green muslin skirt.
“Lord Poole gave me several of her dresses. Jenkins thought it permissible for me to accept them, but I shall return the garments to Lord Poole if it upsets you to see me wearing them.”
Damien’s mouth dropped open. “What the devil is Poole doing with Emmeline’s clothes? Does he travel about the countryside with her garments packed away in his luggage?”
Isabella let out a nervous giggle. “What a ridiculous notion, Damien. Don’t be absurd.”
The earl gritted his teeth. “I suggest you tread carefully, my dear. My patience has been sorely tried this afternoon.”
“So has mine, my lord.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing him momentarily speechless. Capitalizing on her advantage, Isabella quickly added, “This dress came from the armoire in Emmeline’s bedchamber. It is filled with gowns, most of which were never worn.”
“I remember now,” Damien said, his eyes involuntarily sweeping over Isabella. “After Emmeline disappeared, Jenkins and I searched her bedchamber. I recall thinking it strange that she kept such an extensive wardrobe here, since she came to The Grange so infrequently.”
“I will not wear the gowns if you object,” Isabella reiterated.
As Damien pondered her words, Isabella saw the anger diminish from his eyes. “It seems a ludicrous waste to let the clothes become food for the moths,” he finally said. “Besides, you look very pretty.”
Isabella fought back a smile. The compliment was sincerely if begrudgingly given. “Thank you, Damien.”
The earl shifted from one foot to the other, then walked out from behind his desk and began prowling around the study. He appeared restless and uneasy, but to Isabella’s relief, no longer angry. Eventually Damien paused by the fire and idly picked up the poker.
The tension gradually eased from the air.
Isabella found herself watching his hands, mesmerized, as they prodded the smouldering logs, sending showers of glittering sparks leaping among the flames.
The heavy gold signet ring on Damien’s left hand gleamed in the firelight, and the memory of the feel of cool metal on her warm flesh sent a tremor of excitement through Isabella.
She cleared away the lump in her throat. Damien turned at the strangled sound, and Isabella berated herself for being caught staring at him with such blatant expectancy in her expression.
Seeming to read her thoughts, Damien flashed her a wickedly inviting smile and moved nearer.
Isabella’s stomach clenched. Damien looked so strong and vital, the romantic light cast by the burning fire emphasizing his handsome, rugged features.
His broad shoulders and muscular chest filled her vision, and Isabella felt a tremor run through her body.
Unable to stop herself, she reached out a trembling hand and rested it upon his shoulder.
Damien cocked his head to one side and looked down at her in a way that made her knees feel weak and her heart beat at twice its normal rhythm.
His smoldering, heavy-lidded gaze made her achingly aware of how lonely she had been without him.
“I missed you,” she whispered softly.
“Thank God,” Damien murmured with relief. He stroked her cheek gently with his forefinger. “I thought about you constantly.”
The room was warm, but Isabella could feel goosebumps on her arms. His gaze dropped suggestively to her mouth and she nervously flicked out her tongue.
“Where did you go?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you later.”
Damien bent his head and softly kissed her lips. Isabella eagerly welcomed him, shutting her eyes at the delicious pleasure she felt when his tongue explored her mouth.
She raised her arms, clasping them tightly around his broad back.
He felt solid and powerful, inspiring a sweet sense of security.
Damien had haunted her thoughts nearly every hour he had been gone from The Grange.
Being held so lovingly in his arms made Isabella realize how much he meant to her, how truly incomplete she felt without him.
Worries about her future, her past, even this very moment, faded as Isabella savored the feelings of love that burned in her heart.
It was a true testament to the mysterious power of love that she and this proud, worldly man shared a closeness that endured no matter what their differences.
Isabella offered a silent, selfish prayer that this oftentimes bumpy, yet blissfully exciting relationship would continue.
Damien’s teeth raked the delicate skin of Isabella’s throat, causing a restless urgency within her. Smiling, she pressed herself closer to him, smelling the fragrant smoke from the fire mingled with the musky male scent of his body. It was pure heaven.
“Shouldn’t you lock the door?” she whispered breathlessly.
Damien’s gray eyes flared. “As much as I would dearly love to ravish you on this rather scratchy-looking carpet, my dear, I find myself compelled to exercise a modicum of caution. Even with the door locked, we could be interrupted at any moment.”
She leaned against his broad chest, closed her eyes, and fought to control her ragged breathing. “What a damned inconvenient time for you to develop a sense of decorum, Damien.”
He laughed heartily, and Isabella could feel the rumbling deep in his chest. “You are a refreshingly honest woman, Isabella. It is probably the quality I admire most in you.”
“Two compliments in one afternoon. You will turn my head with your flattery, my lord.”
“I wish it were that easy,” Damien grumbled. He hugged Isabella tightly for a few moments longer, then gently eased her out of his embrace. “I left The Grange to travel up to York, Isabella. The purpose of my journey was to speak with your grandfather.”
Isabella went very still. “You have seen the earl?”
“Yes. And Great-aunt Agnes too.”
“Oh.” Isabella lowered her eyes. Damien, her grandfather, and Aunt Agnes all together in one room. Discussing her, Isabella felt certain. How perfectly mortifying. “They are an interesting pair, the earl and his sister,” she said, carefully examining the tips of her light-green shoes.
“They are mean spirited, rude, and dictatorial,” Damien said. “After spending only a brief afternoon in their company I can understand how unhappy you must have been living there.”
“Can you?” Isabella’s head snapped up, her face suffused with color.
Damien had endured merely a taste of the atmosphere at her grandfather’s estate.
The self-confidence and self-worth she had managed to achieve through years of struggle faltered badly when she recalled the unpleasant memories.
“Toward the end, it became unbearable living at the estate. Aunt Agnes scrutinized everything about me—my appearance, my actions, my conversations—and always found me wanting, while the earl either ignored me or dismissed me out of hand as being beneath his notice.”
“They are both fools,” Damien said. “You are far better off without them.”
“I know that,” Isabella answered quietly. “Yet they are my only family.”