Page 75 of The Lover's Eye
He was forced to take her silence as acquiescence as she settled back onto her pillow, the distance separating them seeming greater than before.Giles knew he must say something to soothe her.He wanted to quiz her on just what Finch had said—the rotten old bastard—but that could be handled upon their return.What was needed now was reassurance.
“Isobel,” he began, moistening his lips.He had yet to remove his hand from her limp arm.“I consider it the most fortuitous work of my life that I married you.When you accepted my proposal, I … I can’t even begin to explain.I was consumed with happiness.I still am.”He trailed his fingertips down to her hand and squeezed the cool softness of it.“I care for you deeply.You must believe me when I say there is nothing else.”
There was so much more he wanted to say to assuage her doubts.Isobel had possessed a part of him since that first day when he’d walked in on her in his library.An inexplicable connection, a link unperturbed by distance and rationality.
And slowly, with each glance, each conversation, each insuppressibleI wish she were here—the claim had grown to be his whole heart.
Giles loved her.
A part of him had known it all those months ago, when a few words from Pemberton had been enough to send him running to Cumberland for just a glimpse of her.For just the opportunity of offering his help.Isobel’s pain had long been his pain, along with her struggles, her joy, her dreams.
It gutted him to see that, just now, she was pained.Because of him.His past and his fool promise.
Giles squeezed her hand again, debating whether he should just tell her—that he loved her, that he had only ever loved her—but the profession would feel cheapened, somehow.Isobel’s mind had drifted to that dark corner of disbelief.She was likely to hear his words as nothing more than a desperate act to cleanse her mind of Aurelia.
“I care for you, too,” she said at length.“And that is precisely why it hurts.”
Giles detected a faint tremble in her voice and his heart clenched in answer.“Come,” he said, reaching for her.To his relief and deep satisfaction, she inched into his open arms.He wrapped them snugly around her until her head rested against his chest, the length of their bodies brushing against each other.
“If you feel such things, why have you not come to my bed?”
The words momentarily stunned him, inciting fast growing heat in his body.He had wanted this for ages; to lie with her until all other cares faded from importance—but had Isobel been wanting it, too?
“I haven’t wanted to rush you,” he said.
Her hand slid between them, smoothing over his chest and up the side of his neck.Her thumb found his lips and traced them, her voice a whisper.“It’s not rushing if I want you to.”
The blatant encouragement was enough to drive Giles mad.He reached up to cradle her face and the silky feel of her hair spilled over his forearms, eliciting a pang of yearning.All his thoughts were for Isobel.
He lifted her face and kissed her, his movements restrained to feathery, slow touches.No matter how feverish his desire, how urgent his need, he was only capable of these tender grazes, as though fearful too much of her might break him.Her mouth was precious sweet against his, her responsive lips even more gut-wrenchingly provoking than he remembered.
Isobel pressed into him, robbing his pace of both its gentleness and lightness.She kissed him like she was trying to quench her thirst, like she needed him.Like shewantedhim.
Her hand slipped under his shirt and trailed up his back, and the feel of their bare skin meeting was enough to make Giles groan.He pulled himself away.“Isobel, are you certain?”
She took one of his hands and pulled it slowly down, pressing his fingers into the swell of her breast.Her heart was racing beneath the thin cotton, and his answered in wild concert.
“Yes,” she said, her smile palpable in the word’s shaping.“I’m certain.”
26
“You … know what to expect?”Giles asked.In the dim light, Isobel saw his throat convulse on a swallow.
“Yes.Marriane told me.”
“And about children?”
She ducked her chin, assailed by a spark of self-consciousness.“Yes, about that.I … I should like to wait.I want to know you, first.”
Giles ran the side of his thumb along her temple and smiled.“Darling, I would never expect you to be ready for that.You’ve been through enough change.”
“Many of them good changes,” she whispered, squeezing his shoulder.“I am your wife, aren’t I?”
A warm stir of desire shone in his eyes, and his hand trailed down her side, cupping her bottom and pulling her close against him.“Yes,” he said.“You are.”
Isobel could feel the shape of him against her, and the low simmer of heat between her legs scorched into something new and urgent.She wanted this.
There were enough barriers between them—Finch’s routine interruptions, the ceaseless reminders of who came before, and the fact they could discuss poems with more ease than their feelings.Suddenly, and with immense fervor,clothesbecame a boundary Isobel couldn’t condone.Something tangible she could rip out of the way and savor being in closeness with him.
