Page 53 of The Lover's Eye
Her eyes jerked up, tears welling in them instantly.So he did know some part of it.She did not know whether to be relieved or mortified, and only nodded in answer.
“Isobel.”
His voice was like honey, a comfort she hadn’t realized she was aching for.He moved closer to her, wrapping his arm lightly around her, his fingers working an easy pattern over her shoulder.“What happened to you, no part of it was your fault.You must know that.”
Isobel was useless to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks.“Yes, but, you might think differently—”
“No.”Giles moved once again, bringing her closer, his thumbs swooping over her damp cheeks.“Nothing can change how I feel about you.”
She drew a shaky breath, searching his face.Even through the blurred veil of tears, she could read the genuine concern in his eyes.“Truly?”
He brushed her lower lip with his finger, as if to take her back to their kiss on the terrace, a moment that had distilled even her belief in his affection.“Truly.”
She laid her hands over his wrists and gave them a squeeze.It seemed this man was slowly putting her back together.No,she thought,he’s helping me put myself back together.Somehow, that was far more precious.
“Have you eaten?”he asked, brushing a kiss to her knuckles before relaxing back into the sofa cushions.
“No.”Isobel shook her head.He was muddling her brain, robbing her of half her senses just by being present.“I mean, yes.”
A slow, amused smile spread over Giles’s features.“But you could eat again?”
She laughed, but the sound was choked by a residual sob.“Yes,” she answered truthfully.She thought she might finish smothering her anxieties if she had a second cup of chocolate.
A small tray was brought a few minutes later, laden with a few pastries, Isobel’s chocolate, and Giles’s coffee.She began to relax as they talked and ate.The drawing room, which always felt too cramped, suddenly became not close enough.She wanted to be nearer, nearer—in his arms, consumed by his kiss.
She brought out the commonplace book he had given her, and they delved into a discussion of their favorite quotes and Odysseus’s transformation.His strength was inspiring, borne more of wisdom, humility, and perseverance than of raw force.Flipping through the scrawled pages, remembering the weeks of frightened confinement during which she had written them, Isobel felt profoundly grateful for where she sat now.
She, like Odysseus, seemed to be finding her way home.
It was only when their conversation turned back to their wedding that Isobel felt a hint of nerves return.
“Right,” Giles said, setting down his empty cup and crossing an ankle over his knee.“We’ll keep things quiet then, just Pemberton and your sister.”
“And you feel certain that will not be an issue with, um, with Reverend Gouldsmith?”Isobel played with the printed cotton of her gown.“I cannot guess at the nature of your relationship, given …”
Giles’s posture changed as she spoke, and she let her sentence die off.He smoothed his hands over his coat, a habit she was beginning to realize denoted his discomfort.“He will perform the ceremony without any difficulty or malice.I have no doubt of that.I also have no doubt you have … heard things, about me.”
Isobel was gripped by a desire to ease his fears, even at a little expense to the truth.“Oh, not really—”
The cold look he gave silenced her.“I know you have.Hell, everyone has.”He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath.
“That does not mean I believe them.”
“Then you are giving me a kindness I’m not worthy of.I have done things I’m not proud of, things I never wish for you to know.Things I do not want to bring into our life together.”When he opened his eyes, the intensity of his gaze was enough to startle her.“Perhaps you will not think it fair of me, but I would be grateful if you made me a promise.”
Isobel’s lungs began to burn, and she realized she had quit breathing.“What?”
“Not to meddle in that part of my history, nor ask about it.”
“What part of your history?”she asked, even as her stomach dropped, as she acknowledged she was goading him, and would not like what came next.
A muscle in his jaw ticked.“Anything that pertains to Miss Gouldsmith.”
♦
By the time Giles’s carriage was returning to Cambo House, the sky was heavy with storm clouds, flickers of lighting turning them violet as they crept in and headed toward the coast.What a day.
He reached into his pocket, drawing out the little parcel he’d gotten from the jeweler that morning.Wrapped in delicate silver paper was an emerald cut sapphire.The stone reminded him of the sea at its darkest hour, positioned east to west in a curious, rectangular shape perfect for his bride.
