Page 22 of The Lover's Eye
She held his gaze, even as a faint flush bloomed on her cheeks.
Giles’s pulse performed a strange lapse in rhythm.What answer was he vying for?She wouldn’t miss him.She barely knew him.Damn it, he could scarcely claim familiarity with her, either—and yet he felt it.He felt like he had known this sharp-minded, beautiful woman for ages.
The footman entered with the tea service then, the placement of the silver tray between them severing the moment.Giles spoke up before he had a chance to think better of it.“I left a parcel in the entry hall.Would you mind bringing it up?”
“Certainly, my lord.”There was a certain glint in the footman’s eye, as if he could see through Giles’s crumbling façade of cool reserve.
Isobel shot him a questioning glance, but when he didn’t indulge her, she began pouring their tea.“I’ve walked as far as the arch you mentioned,” she said.“When you told me of the sinkhole, I never accounted for it being so monstrous large.”
He instantly recalled the conversation she referenced.During their intimate dinner at Cambo House, Giles had waxed poetic about his fascination with the rugged coast.The rock formations, the shingle beaches, and the gaping orifice of Ceto’s Hole.Many an incautious onlooker had ventured to the ragged, earthen edge, hoping to glimpse the cavernous depth, but it was a wildly dangerous undertaking.He’d warned her of that, hadn’t he?
She caught sight of his furrowing brow and laughed softly.“No, I did not venture close to the edge.I am a good listener, Lord Trevelyan.”
Giles grinned and shook his head.“Am I so easily read?”
“Not always,” she said, her tone mischievous.She extended a steaming teacup in his direction.
He took it from her hands, and their ungloved fingers brushed.Isobel pulled away first, clearing her throat.Was there chance, even a slight one, that she was as affected by him as he was by her?
Even the possibility sent warmth running up Giles’s limbs.He took a large, steadying sip.
“Did you walk the coast often, with your father?”
Giles lowered the cup from his lips, frowning at it.“You remembered how I take my tea?”She gave a tiny, bashful nod.“After a day?”
The shyness broke, and Isobel burst into giggles.“Yes.Do you take issue with my impeccable attention to detail?”
The issue was quite internal, and perhaps wouldn’t be an issue at all if she weren’t leaving Northumberland.If she weren’t promised to another man.“Ah, no.Of course not, Miss Ridgeway.You merely … impress me further.”
She recognized her own phrase instantly, and the veil of bashfulness returned, making her eyes glisten beneath thick, dark lashes.
“To answer your question, yes.Father and I did walk the coast often, while he was still able.Ceto’s Hole wasn’t nearly so sizable then, mind you.Before long it will be just another cliff.”
“It may be ominous, but I do love the name,” Isobel said, melding back into her chair.“Ceto.Goddess of whales, sharks, and sea monsters.”
Her voice turned playful on the wordmonster, making Giles’s smile bloom further.“As an incarnation of the sea’s innumerable horrors, I find it befitting she should lend her name to that sinkhole.”
The same footman slipped into the room, and catching Giles’s gaze, set the parcel on a table and left.Isobel craned her neck to peer around the chair back.
“Wait here,” Giles said, rising.
“What is it?”
“Some things,” he said, walking back toward her with the wrapped bundle behind his back, “are more pleasant as surprises, Miss Ridgeway.”His hands trembled as he extended the gift to her.
Isobel’s mouth fell open.She sat down her teacup and saucer, the china clattering in her hurry, and accepted the package from his hands.Her fingertips traced the thin paper, staring as though she’d never received a gift in her life.“This is for me?Youdid this?”
“Well, I own I didn’t manage the wrapping—it would hardly be worthy for presentation if I had.”
She gave a small laugh, already untying the twine bow and folding back the paper.Two leatherbound books stared up at her, the one on top smaller and unmarked.Isobel opened the cover to find clean, blank pages inside.
“Have you ever used a commonplace book, Miss Ridgeway?”
She shook her head, still looking dazed, and Giles knelt beside her chair.“It’s a particular hobby of mine.I supposed you—well, I guess it was rather presumptuous of me—but I thought you might enjoy recording your ideas, when you read this.”He moved the empty book aside, and tapped his finger to the much older volume beneath.
Isobel opened the book to an ornately engraved frontispiece.Among the Grecian arches and slouching warriors were the words,The Whole Works of Homer, translated by George Chapman.
Blood pounded in Giles’s ears as she stared at that page, so long familiar to him after years of revisiting it in his family’s library.She flipped a page, and then another; now words, now engravings, and Giles began to wonder if he’d made a grievous error.
