Page 16 of The Duke's Improper Bride
“Good night, Miss MacAllen.”
She bowed her head, smiling to herself as she stepped onto the granite stairs of Esslemont Abbey. It would be hours before her parents and sister returned home, and she was likely to be hiking as they settled into bed.
As Mr. Barnes climbed into the carriage, about to close the door, she peeked over her shoulder. “Tomorrow,” she said.
“Pardon?”
“I like to hike the mountain in the m-morning. You can paint me then if you wish.”
Even under the moonlight, the man was devastatingly handsome. “I do,” he said, his voice rough, “wish for it very much.”
Chapter 5
Isaac shifted from his seat on the large boulder at the foot of the mountain, rolling a strand of grass between his index finger and thumb. A bird flew over, drawing his attention to the bright sun. Brilliant and yellow, not sleepy like the sun that breaks through dawn. And almost directly overhead. Close to afternoon.
He had been sitting here for hours now, not having slept. He couldn’t. Not after last night. With Nora.
Nora.
The thought of her sent another rush of excitement coursing through him.
He had wanted to kiss her, and she held her breath as he neared. She had wanted to kiss him too. But she was to be married, and Isaac was to leave Scotland and continue doing whatever Grembly ordered.
Even if he wished to spend his days painting. And now, perhaps, spending those days with Nora. Kissing.
She had the mouth for it. And her hair was so soft. He wanted to explore her with his hands and lips, sink into her, and lose himself in her and her fierceness. He feared once he tasted those lips, there would be no return.
Bly often told Isaac his heart was too easily won. It was true.
Nora told him he could paint her, but she still hadn’t arrived. After two hours, Isaac hiked the mountain himself to be sure no harm had come to her. It hadn’t. He returned, fearing she would find him searching for her. He had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the concern.
That’s what drew his interest—her quiet resolve. She was a woman who didn’t seek pity, even if she did deserve the attention of others. He was struck by everyone’s lack of involvement with her, when, she seemed to be the only person in the room with the most to say.
Isaac wished to listen.
“Well,” he said to the empty stretch of land before him, “she isn’t coming.”
The disappointment wrung his heart as he packed up his paints and returned to the cottage. But he didn’t feel like losing himself in painting there either. And though his leg was stiff and his body sore from the hike, he decided to pay Mrs. White a visit to thank her again for the dinner the evening before. Another long walk might quiet his mind, though he doubted he would stop thinking of Nora.
As he knocked some time late, a commotion erupted from within the house. An exasperated footman answered, sticking his head out as shouting commenced behind him.
“Hello,” Isaac said. He leaned heavily on his cane, his leg smarting. “Bad timing?”
“Terrible, sir,” the man replied, his features frozen in apathy.
“I’m here to see Mrs. White, if possible.”
“No, sir, I’m afraid she is not taking—”
More yelling, then the man ducked as though someone had hurled an object.
“Who is it, Mosley?” Mrs. White asked from within.
The footman raised his eyebrows, and Isaac snickered.
“It’s me, ma’am, Mr. Barnes. I came—”
The door flew open and Mosley was pushed aside by a red-faced Mrs. White. “The good Lord works in mysterious ways. Thank heavens you’ve come. I’ve just received the worst news.”
