Page 13 of The Duke's Improper Bride
Isaac slowly unfolded his body, awkwardly to the leaping to the ground and used his cane to help navigate him past the drive into the dark garden.
“Miss MacAllen?”
The night air ate his words. It returned a heavy silence.
“I don’t bite, only growl.”
A rose bush just beyond his reach rustled.
“I am only here to ask if you’d like to be escorted home. Mrs. White offered me a carriage. And she told me you had already left, then I happened to see—”
The bush shook, then a gasp and the sound of fabric ripping before the hard thud of a body colliding with the earth filled the night around him.
Isaac fought back a grin. There was no dignity in falling, yet it seemed something they both excelled at. He strode over, parting the rosebush with his cane to discover Nora sprawled on the ground, one arm thrown over her eyes.
At first, he thought she was crying as her body shuddered in the inky darkness. But no, she was laughing, and by God, the sound drove straight to his chest, causing something within him to crack, and soon he joined in.
“We should stop meeting like this,” he said, stretching out his hand.
She reached up, then paused, instead pushing herself up onto one elbow.
He sobered, narrowing his eyes on her while she studied him. It was just as well, for she was an angel fallen from heaven. The way the light hit her face, the way her dark sapphire eyes bloomed with something akin to hope. Her hand curled into his, soft. Isaac pulled her up, and they stood toe to toe as their smiles melted back into the dark night, until something else was there between them. Something much like how the setting sun pulled the moon into the sky each night just so it could shine.
Her dark curly hair came loose, framing her face. Glorious.
“Are you well?” His voice was husky.
She’s about to be married, he reminded himself.She’s engaged. I’m too late.
Nora nodded, then gazed down at the dress, brushing her hands over the torn lace by the bustle.
“Can I see you home? It’s far too late to walk alone.”
She skirted around him, setting off down the drive as if just to prove a point. But that’s where she was mistaken. He had no doubt she was capable, even as night claimed the highlands in a total, consuming darkness. But if he let her go, what kind of gentleman was he?
Everyone had dismissed her, and Isaac, though he was not at all in the mood for company, still found himself chasing after her. He cursed his new limp as he hobbled forward, leaning on his cane to keep up with her pace.
“Please, I—”
She swung around, holding her hand up as the other fished at her skirts. She pulled out her pad, then it sounded as if she muttered under her breath.
“You can talk?”
Nora glared at him, turning out her pockets. No pencil.
“Well, it’s night and I can barely see as is. No use for a pad and pencil.”
She shrugged, turned, and continued on her way. She tugged on the skirts of her dress as the breeze picked up, fluttering the fabric enough for him to assess the damage.
“We hardly know each other, yet you’re fleeing with a tear in your dress. If I didn’t know any better, I’d hazard you’re about to turn into a pumpkin.”
Once more, she swung around, this time the wind catching her hair, pulling it wild. The curls slipped free and as he approached, he swore her blue eyes had turned to fire. “Please,” she said, not in a polite plea or in warning, but in mockery.
He couldn’t help it, he laughed. He hadn’t often been put off before. Perhaps the highlands had turned him soft. “I’m offering you a way home without you airing your backside to the rest of Scotland.”
Nora marched up, shoved his chest, then stormed past him, climbing into the carriage. When he followed, she crossed her arms in a huff, turning away so she didn’t have to face him.
“Now, it wasn’t so hard to accept help, was it?” he said, closing the door. He settled on the opposite bench, then reached over, grabbing a blanket. She yanked it from his hand, throwing it over her lap and staring out into the night. Isaac signaled the coachman.
