Chapter 19 #2
“That is exactly how I pictured my hat.” Victor laughed. Rich and genuine, unlike his usual careful reserve. Isabel’s hand paused as she caught another glimpse of who he was beneath the careful composure. Her pulse quickened to match the pattering of the rain.
He reached for the book to look closer, leaning into Isabel.
A delicious shiver ran up her arm at his touch.
His shoulder pressed against hers, warm despite the damp.
She could smell rain on his coat, and something else, something that was distinctly him.
Sandalwood, perhaps, and ink, and something indefinable that made her want to lean closer still.
“Are you cold? Of course you are. I would offer you my coat, but as wet as I am, it will only make things worse, I fear.” His voice dropped, rougher than before.
“I have been much colder. I am not uncomfortable considering.” Her eyes met his. They were a lovely, warm, sort of brown. Chocolat au lait steaming on a frosty morning.
His eyes searched hers. Could he see her heart had changed toward him? He brushed her cheek with his ungloved hand. “Raindrop.”
Isabel could hardly form the word “oh” in response. Nor could she drag her gaze from his. Something momentous was occurring. Not that she could name it.
The warmth of his hand lingered on her cheek, his thumb traced a path to her chin. Her breath caught as he leaned closer, gold flecks danced in the brown of his eyes. Heat radiated from him despite their damp clothes. The sound of rain faded until there was only the thundering of her own heartbeat.
His gaze dropped to her lips for one breathless moment before he seemed to catch himself.
She felt the loss keenly when he shifted, his hand sliding gently from her cheek to rest on her shoulder.
He continued to study her face, before raising slightly and pressing his lips to the edge of her hairline.
His lips brushed the skin of her forehead, warming her from within.
It was chaste, proper, perfect, and yet somehow more intimate than any touch she’d ever known. A promise. A declaration spoken in the language of restraint she expected from him. Another man would have pushed for a full kiss or more in that moment.
He drew back, his hand trembled slightly as he lowered it.
She caught his hand with her ungloved one, unwilling for the connection to fade.
Her skin tingled where his lips had touched, and she found herself unable to look away from his face, the vulnerability there, the hope mingled with uncertainty.
Victor cleared his throat, his voice rougher than before. “Miss Godderidge... Isabel.” The use of her given name sent another shiver through her. The acknowledgement that the last moment had changed their relationship. She would call him Victor when she answered his question.
“…I wonder... That is, I should very much like to...” He paused, collecting himself with visible effort. “Who should I —”
“What are you doing in my pavilion? How dare you insult Miss Isabel in such a way! I shall drag you to her brother so he may call you out!”
Isabel shrank back at the sound of Sir Lightwood’s bellow as Victor jumped up from beside her.
“Dalrymple, you wouldn’t even dance twice with any of my daughters and now use my property for your lecherous liaisons!” Sir Lightwood jabbed his walking stick toward Victor’s heart.
Isabel stood on shaking legs to defend her honor as well as Victor’s. “We only sought escape from the rain.”
“Shut your mouth, girl. If I had not come out when I did, he would have ruined you.” The words hit as if Sir Lightwood slapped her. The sting of them stunned her, she found she could not speak.
Sir Lightwood’s face twisted into something almost lecherous. “If he hasn’t already.”
Isabel’s mind raced. Where had Sir Lightwood come from?
The groomsman said none of the family was home.
Ruined? They hadn’t even kissed. Not really.
That sweet kiss at her hairline was all that was proper.
She was sure Victor was about to ask who he should seek permission from to court or propose to her.
How had such a moment been ruined by the man she despised most in the world?
Hot tears pricked behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
She would not give him that satisfaction.
Victor angled his body to shield Isabel, placing himself between her and Sir Lightwood. A protective move such as her brothers would make, only more so. “You have no right to speak to Miss Godderidge in such a manner. We simply sought shelter from the downpour.”
“A shower that ended a full five minutes ago.” Sir Lightwood gestured to the garden. His smile was triumphant, vicious. His clothing soaking wet. Isabel’s stomach turned. He’d been watching them. Watching and waiting. Timing his entrance for maximum damage.
Beyond the confines of the pavilion, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, no longer the sheets it had once been. How had she not noticed? Victor’s eyes. Yes, watching his eyes, little else had mattered. Now, the vile Sir Lightwood twisted the moment to shame.