Page 73 of The Lover's Eye
The topics instead focused on the workings of Ridgeway House and the surrounding estate.It seemed old debts and the lack of an heir were age-old stressors for Lord Ridgeway, and Giles managed to ease his mind, looking over ledgers and offering practical solutions to increase yield and revenue.
By the time Isobel rejoined them at dinner, her father was droning on about mutual connections he shared with Giles’s late father.He regaled them with tales of his younger years, laughing until tears dampened his potatoes.
“What happened while I was upstairs?”Isobel asked at the end of the evening, when she and Giles were retreating to their rooms.“You seem to be squarely in Papa’s good graces.I’ve never heard him speak more happily about the future of the estate.”
“I think I proved to him I’m not a dunce, that’s all.Oh, and I snuck his cat some of my scraps, when I was sure he would see.”
Isobel burst into laughter.“You’re a wag!An ingenious wag, however.”
Giles smiled, finding her sweetness positively contagious.“I know how important it is to you that we remain in good standing with your father.I hope I’ve aided in the cause.”
They reached the landing and wavered there, knowing their prepared rooms were on separate ends of the house—a father’s clever design, no doubt.
“You have,” Isobel said, touching his arm.“You’ve made a tremendous effort with him, and I thank you.”
“It is not necessary to thank me.”
He longed to reach out and hold her.He had been resisting every desire to be close to her since their wedding night.He could not cut loose the memory of her disappointment and reserve, or the feel of her hot, teary cheek beneath his touch.Isobel had let him know she was willing to give him a chance the first time; he must wait for the second—however damnably difficult it was.
“I suppose this is good night,” she said, backing away from him.
His heart sank with the weight of an anchor.“Goodnight, Isobel.”
As she grew distant down the hall, she called back, “His cat’s name is Beatrice, by the by.”
Giles wondered if Lord Ridgeway had decided what room he should stay inbeforethe pair had discovered their mutual interests.The chamber waiting for him was small and cramped, overfull with furniture of different wood types and contrasting styles, most of it useless to the space.
As he washed the travel dust from his body, he heard a dull scratching sound amid the splash and drip of his warm water.He stilled to listen.Was that a mouse?
As if in answer to his question, a fat grey creature scurried out from under the washstand, fled across the threadbare carpets, and disappeared under the bed.Bloody hell.
“Where’s Beatrice when she’s needed?”Giles mumbled to himself, sighing in relief that the rodent had not included his feet as a stop along its path.
He didn’t need to cause a scene; Isobel was delighted with the fragile goodwill he’d just built with her father.So instead of ringing the bell pull for a servant, Giles begrudgingly climbed into bed.
No sooner than he adjusted himself over the lumpy mattress and shut his eyes, the scratching resumed.An irregular, grating sound, deafening against the quiet.And was that chewing?It sounded like the mouse was directly beneath his pillow.
Giles groaned, covering his face with his hands.An active mouse was an assurance he would get no sleep whatsoever—it came difficult enough when he was in the sweet silence of his own chambers.
Feeling he might be making a grave mistake and overstepping some undefined boundary, he put on his dressing robe and eased the door open.Finding the corridor empty, he made a quiet progression toward Isobel’s room.
He had stared after her long enough to see what door she disappeared through.He paused when he reached it, nearly turning back.He had to force his hand to raise, and squeeze his eyes shut to rap upon it.
Giles had only suffered two gentle knocks when, to his surprise, the door flew open.Isobel’s eyes were large in question, and her raven locks spilled around her shoulders, wavy and rumpled.He tried to prevent his eyes from drifting downward to her thin cotton nightdress.He had never seen her in so much undress, and the sight set him aflame.
“Is something the matter?”
“No,” he said, “I’m sorry to bother you.I shouldn’t have come—”
She backed up a step, widening the door.“No, that’s all right.Would you like to come in?”
He could only nod as he crossed the threshold, his heart starting a heavy thrum when she closed the door behind him.The room was one of neat practicalities, outfitted in shades of faded pink that did not suit her.The most notable traces of Isobel lay in the subtleties: books with cracked spines had been arranged by color in a modest case, and an unfinished needlework project sat taut in its frame, depicting a forest and lush flora.His chest squeezed with fondness, adoring her familiarity.
Isobel was looking at him expectantly, probably wondering why the devil he was here.He cleared his throat.“I think your father has been scheming to torture me.”
“What do you mean?”she asked, cracking a smile to match his.
“There’s a very healthy rodent who’s quite at home in my chamber, and there could hardly be more distance put between us.Perhaps it sounds silly, but I’ve already grown accustomed to sleeping next door to you.I don’t wish to change that.”
