Page 51 of The Lover's Eye
“Do not apologize,” he said, his hand inching nearer to hers on the walled edge.His brow held a slight crease, but his eyes were warm with kindness.“You apologize too damned much, Miss Ridgeway.”
He held her gaze until her shoulders relaxed.“And I did not hear.I only assumed, for Pemberton gave you the best opportunity when he put up the dashed canopy.”
Isobel laughed at that, the sound high and sweet, eddied with amusement.“That was terribly ridiculous.”
“What are your thoughts after having spoken to her?”
Isobel’s lips pursed in some remembrance, her eyes turning appraising of the scene below.Giles winced.Evidently not all of their discussion had been favorable.
“I am certainly amenable to the idea,” she said at length.She turned her face up to his.“But I am also frightened.”
“Of me?”His pulse turned thready.Isobel had reason to fear potential suitors after how Sempill had treated her, but Giles also knew rumors swirled about his own name.Some people speculated he was to blame for Aurelia’s disappearance, that he was a violent man who had caught her with another and acted in vengeance.It was a baseless accusation, but that only deepened the wound.
“Why, of course not.”Isobel slid her hand further down the rough grained wall until it bumped the edge of his.“It is my papa, and the Sempills, and …”
“What?”
“I suppose I want to be certain it’s a fair arrangement for you.I am keenly aware I have nothing to offer you but myself, and that is very little.”
In one smooth motion, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him.
“Lord Trevelyan, remember anyone can see us from the portico, and they may be out at any moment,” she said, her eyes struggling to focus on him.
“I would say it front of them, too, I do not give a wit.Miss Ridgeway, if you are to be my wife, you must not speak of yourself in such a depreciating manner.I am not a man of rules, but by God, I won’t allow you to do such a thing.”
A swallow disrupted the tender front of her neck.She nodded in understanding.
Giles could hardly believe he’d said the words aloud, that he had the need to.If you are to be my wife.It was a dream that had been too elusive—too brilliant—to place faith in.
“You have much to offer.I have enjoyed our conversations immensely.We have many shared interests, and I find you to be a singularly beautiful woman.I would not have hinted at such an arrangement if I, myself, was not willing to it.”
He could see in her eyes that his words only pooled upon the surface of her understanding.Enough to engender a genuine, girlish smile and a bashfully bent chin, but not enough to penetrate her belief.Christ, what had she been told her whole life to think so poorly of herself?
Enough dawdling about.He was going to set to rights the misunderstanding that had begun that morning.He moved his hands from her shoulders up to the soft curve of her jaw, a gentle pressure that begged her attention.“What you said this morning—I wanted to correct you.It isn’t convenience I want.It’s you.”
Isobel’s shyness burned away in the afternoon sun, and she looked so unaccountably beautiful between the cradle of his hands, Giles’s body ached.Her brows flinched, giving way to a smile that lay somewhere between disbelief and mischief.“Perhaps you shall have both.For I—I want you, too.”
Giles smiled like he hadn’t smiled in years.Like he hadn’t ever smiled.Like the world had been melted and poured into one perfect moment, one exquisite woman, and he held her between his thumbs.
He closed the distance between them with a slow step, the tips of his fingers edging into her neatly pinned hair.He bent his head, electrified from head to toe with anticipation and burning with longing.All these months, these damnable, torturous dreams that died with the dawn, and now—now,he was finally going to kiss her.
There was a split second where he paused, realizing Isobel might have no desire to kiss him or anyone else, given what she had been through.But before he could give voice to concern, she clasped the lapels of his coat and pulled his mouth against hers.
The effect was immediate.She made her desires known, allowing him to give into his.Giles forgot about propriety, about the likelihood of onlookers gathering on the portico below, the milieu of problems that awaited them in the days to come.His lips closed on hers, not in the tentative manner he had planned, but consuming and searching and insatiable—
The kiss he had wanted to give her all along.
Isobel leaned into him, as if entrusting him to catch her, to hold her like this forever.She was roses and sugar, her hair threads of satin between his fingers.Her hands moved to his neck, brushing against the wildness of his pulse, and he reawakened to their surroundings.
“Isobel,” he breathed, catching his breath.Their faces were still inches apart, his fingers still twined in her hair.A loose tendril strayed in the breeze, and he reached to capture it, smoothing it behind her ear.“May I call you that now?”
Her eyes were something other than grey just now; they were darker, her pupils larger, cresting with something he dared to hope was desire.The sight nearly undid him, almost had him stretching for another kiss, when a scuffle drew their attention toward the house.
Lady Pemberton was shoving her husband back inside, kneeing him in the arse when he resisted.Isobel laughed softly, lowering her hands to her sides.Her cheeks turned an illuminating shade of pink, and she fussed with her rumpled hair and skirt.
“Yes,” she said through a little sigh.“You may, Giles.”
He couldn’t remember the last time someone had used his real name, and to hear it coming from those lips, their color still heightened from his kisses, was pure ecstasy.
