Nick watched as the turtle emerged from his shell and tore a chunk from a nearby leaf, chewing leisurely, unaware of any external upheaval.
Oh, to be a turtle.
He turned back to Isabel, who was staring up at the hole in the ceiling. And then he saw it. One lone tear tracked from the corner of her eye down her cheek. She brushed it away immediately, so quickly that it was almost as though it had not happened.
But he had seen it.
Hell.
“Isabel—” he said, the uncertainty in his tone sounding foreign to him.
With a deep breath, she turned to him. “There isn’t much we can do about it now, is there? We shall just have to hope that the rain stops before we must build a bathing room here.”
And, in that, he recognized how much he admired this woman. Every other female he had ever known—from his mother, to the women he took to his bed—used tears to manipulate.
This one hid them.
And that made her even more remarkable.
He wanted to pull her to him. To give her a chance to let down her guard. She had an immense amount of responsibility. He did not blame her for feeling overwhelmed. But he knew implicitly that she would not want him to mention the tears, so he didn’t. “All the very best houses in London are installing bathing rooms. They’re spending small fortunes to do so. You would be the very height of fashion.”
There was something in her eyes when she met his gaze—something between relief and gratitude. “Well, how lucky are we, then, to have such an accommodating roof? ”
She chuckled then, a ripple of sound that teased his senses. He allowed himself to join her, and they laughed for a long moment, enjoying the companionship and the release.
When Nick’s humor ebbed into silence, it gave way to a realization. He liked this girl. Far more than he would like to admit, frankly.
A sobering thought. One that inevitably led to pain. Or shackles.
He cleared his throat. “I wondered at James’s nervousness about your safety, but now I see that he is not wrong to be concerned. Danger does have a way of seeking you out.”
Her brows snapped together. “James is nervous about my safety?”
“Yours, his governess’s, Lara’s … ‘the girls,’ as he refers to you.” She looked away instantly. “Isabel, is there something you should tell me? ”
Tell me. He willed her to confess everything. If she did, he would do everything in his power to keep them safe. But she had to trust him.
She didn’t say anything, of course, instead moving across the room to fetch a pail in which to put the large chunks of plaster that had shot across the room upon impact.
“Isabel … I can help you.” He heard the words come out even as he knew he should not speak them.
“What makes you think that we need help?” Her tone was light, but Nick heard the thread of tension there. He was too aware of her to miss it.
He crouched low, across from where she had stooped to clean up the plaster. He put one hand out, settling it on her wrist, letting his bare hand linger on the band of skin between her glove and her sleeve. “Do not push me. I can tell there is something amiss.”
She looked at the place where they touched, then farther, to meet his eyes. There was steel in her gaze. “It is not I who is doing the pushing, my lord. All that is amiss is a leaky roof and a visitor who will not leave well enough alone. Stop attempting to understand us. We are not your problem, Lord Nicholas. You would do us both well to stop pretending that we are.” Silence fell in the wake of her tirade. She pulled her hand from beneath his, and resumed her cleaning. “I can take care of us. I always have.”
There was a wealth of pain in the words.
“I never suggested that you couldn’t.”
She turned on him then, her voice rigid. “Yes, you did. Everyone does. But I’ve been here for years. Alone. Keeping the house together. And I shall be here long after you leave. Leaky roof and child earl and all.”
The wicked rise and fall of her chest underscored her frustration, and he said the only words he could think. Words that were utterly wrong. “Let me help you.”
Her gaze narrowed on him, the rise and fall of her chest violent in the still room. “You want to help? Appraise the damned marbles.”
She turned away again, and he watched her, fists clenched in irritation.
There was something going on in this house. He had faced enemies too vicious to recount—men who could inflict pain with scientific precision. Women with cold hearts to rival any of their male peers. Villains with more wealth and power than any evil man should have. He knew with an unwavering certainty that he could conquer whatever demons Isabel faced—that he could save this girl. This earldom. Without question.
But he did not know why it was so important that he do it.
What was it about this woman, this house, this place … that made him want to stay when his whole life, even a hint of permanence, of responsibility, even the threat of remaining too long in one place, had sent him running for the next adventure?
He wasn’t leaving her. Not until he was certain they were all safe from whatever evils they were facing.
He simply had to convince her to let him do what he did best.
One of them had to stop lying.
And so he told her the truth.
At least, part of it.
“For God’s sake, Isabel. I know about the girls.”
Eleven
Lesson Number Four
Enlist allies.
Wooing your gentleman is waging a war. You will need superior strategy, time-tested tactics, and a trusted company of men (or women) to ensure victory. Strategic alliances will be necessary—nay, critical to your success! Consider friends, family, servants, and others who might help to bring you together. Do not discount the power of a willing host or hostess; a true gentleman will never ignore a hint to waltz, and it is a small step from a waltz in a ballroom to a walk in the gardens … And from gardens filled with strains from a ball, chapel and aisle are no distance at all!