Flaming June

by Emma V. Leech

  “Hello,” he said, and Isabella choked back something between a laugh and a sob. She tried to think of a single other man of her acquaintance who would have gotten to his knees and spoken to her unborn child. She couldn’t think of one. That she might have missed this by refusing Henry’s offer for one of those she’d had in mind for potential husbands made her feel ill.

  He moved closer and rested his head against her stomach, both hands holding the child. Isabella smiled as the baby responded, stretching out in its increasingly confined surroundings, pushing at Henry’s hands.

  Henry looked up at her, his eyes sparkling with delight. “She’s saying hello.”

  Isabella swallowed hard, emotion pushing at her chest, filling her heart.

  “It might be a boy,” she replied, the words rather thick now, though she was smiling still.

  Henry gave her a look filled with mischief and put his head back to her stomach. “No,” he said a moment later, his tone serious. “She says she’s a girl.”

  Isabella laughed. It filled her with joy and wonder, and hope, and as the sound echoed around the grand space that had once been a ballroom, a new and incredible thought occurred to her.

  She was happy.

  The thought stopped her in her tracks, her laughter dying, though the sense of peace and contentment remained. She looked down to find Henry watching her, his eyes filled with adoration. It was humbling, to be on the receiving end of that look, and she knew she must treat him with care.

  Before she could consider what to do about it, Henry got to his feet.

  “Close your eyes,” he demanded, sounding excited and nervous at the same time. Isabella went to ask why, but he seemed to grow anxious now, and so she did as he asked, not wanting to upset him. She felt his hand take hers, the other hand at her waist as he guided her where he wanted her. “You can open them now,” he whispered.

  Isabella opened her eyes, about to laugh and demand what game he was playing, but the painting was before her and she could not find the words.

  The emotions that had seemed to fill her chest just moments before seemed too powerful to contain now. She gasped, her hand going to her mouth as she tried to take it in. Tears gathered and spilled over and she sensed rather than felt Henry’s distress as he noticed. She reached out, taking his hand and bringing it to her lips.

  “Oh, Henry,” she said, laughing and crying now. “I … I don’t know what to say, how to thank you … I’m overwhelmed.”

  Henry hesitated, his expression still anxious. “You … you like it?” he queried, and she realised her laughter and tears were confusing him. He couldn’t read what she was feeling.

  “I love it,” she said, holding his hand between both of hers, holding him tight so he didn’t run away from her in his confusion. “It’s so beautiful.”

  He relaxed then, reaching out with his free hand and wiping her tears away. “I don’t like to see you cry,” he said, his voice rough.

  “People sometimes cry when they’re happy,” she said, smiling at him now as he took a step closer. As she said the words, Isabella realised it was true, but she had never done it herself before.

  “You’re happy?” The intensity of his expression told her how much her answer meant to him.

  Isabella nodded, holding his gaze so he could see the truth. “I am. You made me happy.”

  The smile that broke over his face was devastating, crumbling any remaining defences she had erected against this strange and wonderful man. He glanced at the painting before turning back to her.

  “You think it’s beautiful?”

  Isabella nodded, finding her throat growing tight. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  Henry’s smile was the most disarming she’d ever known, and when he moved closer and whispered in her ear, “That’s because you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Isabella knew she was lost.

  Chapter 12

  “Wherein hearts and confidences are shared.”

  The days that followed were the happiest Isabella had ever known. Now that Henry had completed his painting, he returned to them. He sat in the kitchen, drawing whilst Isabella tested her skills with a variety of recipes. She got more adventurous, under Henry and Jack’s extravagant praise, her confidence growing, even though one in three results were disastrous. They never minded, commiserating and eating the stodgy puddings and leaden cakes with no complaints. Jack said she’d eaten enough of his burnt offerings, it was only fair.

  In the afternoon, Isabella would pack up cakes or whatever she had baked, assuming it was edible, and she would go out with Henry. They didn’t go far now; her growing bulk tired her and made her cumbersome. The gardens around the great estate were worth investigating, though. It must have been beautiful once, and still was, though nature was taking over, many of the paths inaccessible and the lovely lawns more like meadows. There was a peaceful spot overlooking an ornamental pond that Isabella liked.

  They had been there for an hour, Isabella laying on the blanket, the late spring sun hot on her face.

  “Aren’t you tired of drawing me yet, Henry?” she asked, turning to smile at him and squinting into the sun.

  “I could never get bored drawing you,” he said, the words quiet and thoughtful, not the throwaway comment that slipped from a glib tongue. “You’re more beautiful every time I look.”

  Isabella sighed, shaking her head. “It will make me impossibly conceited if you keep saying such things. You make me feel like I’m something special.”

  “You are,” he replied, the words honest and simple, and Isabella knew he meant them.

  She sat up then, wanting to return the compliment. Henry was special. Jack had told her he was, and she hadn’t believed it, hadn’t understood. She could see it now, though, in a way she never believed she would understand, but Henry didn’t know it. Isabella looked at him, wondering at the man before her. It was hot for early May and he’d stripped off his jacket and waistcoat, leaving only his shirt, rolling up his sleeves to expose powerful arms.

  “Can I have paper and a pencil, please?” she asked, struck with sudden inspiration.

  Henry gave her a quizzical look, but handed the items over to her.

  “I’ll need your drawing board, too,” she added, crooking her fingers with a rather imperious air.

  “I’m using it,” he objected, frowning now.

  “Well, you can’t.” He blinked at her, his expression doubtful and a little confused. “Please,” she added, realising she was troubling him. “I would like to draw, too, or at least try to.”

  His expression cleared in an instant and he grinned at her, putting his own drawing aside and placing a clean sheet in its place.

  “What are you going to draw?” he asked, eager now as he gave her the board and shifted closer.

  “Well,” Isabella said, struggling to balance the drawing board as her stomach got in the way. “I’m going to draw something special.”

  “What?” he demanded, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

  “You might not recognise it,” Isabella warned him, as the large white sheet now looked rather intimidating. “I’m not very good, I’m afraid. Not like you.”

  Henry sat back on his heels, his expression a little puzzled. “Shall I draw it for you?” he asked as Isabella laughed and shook her head.

  “No!” she exclaimed, trying to sketch out the shape of his face. She paused, biting her lip as she concentrated.

  Henry stared at the page, ever more perplexed by the odd form appearing on the page. “Well, what is it?” he demanded again.

  Isabella frowned, staring at the shape she’d drawn with consternation. His jawline was much stronger than that.

  “Guess,” she replied, distracted as she stared at the paper.

  “Can you see it?” he asked, perhaps wondering why she didn’t look up from the paper, but she didn’t want to give the answer away. It was clear he wouldn’t guess by looking at it.

  �
��Yes.”

  She glanced up to see him frowning as he looked around them, noting the square line of his chin, and the shape of his lips. His lips were full, they looked soft. With difficulty she dragged her gaze back to the paper.

  “Is it pretty?” he asked, still puzzled as he stared about them. Isabella stifled a laugh.

  “Not pretty,” she replied, trying not to smile too much. “Beautiful.”

  Henry scratched his chin, turning around to look behind them and then moving back with a sigh. “Is it the lake?”

  “No. Much warmer and more interesting than the lake.”

  Isabella glanced up, trying to draw the shape of his eyes, glad he wasn’t looking at the drawing. They were large, wide eyes, guileless and full of honesty. They turned their attention back to her, and she tilted the board, so he couldn’t see. With a frown she stared at the paper and her dismal effort.

  “Is it an animal?” He sounded fed up now, annoyed that she wouldn’t tell him. “Or a bird?”

  “No,” Isabella replied, frowning as she realised she’d drawn one eye higher than the other. “Much bigger and far more special than any animal or bird.”

  Henry huffed, frustrated. “Why are you drawing it?” he demanded, startling Isabella with the question.

  She looked up then. “As a present for someone.”

  “Who?” The word was a little suspicious, anxiety in his eyes, and she sighed, realising she’d worried him.

  “For you, Henry.”

  The way his face cleared was almost comical, delight replacing a wary expression that might have been something akin to jealousy.

  “For me?” He moved around, trying to look at the paper, and Isabella turned so he couldn’t see it.

  “I’ve not finished yet!” she exclaimed, laughing as he reached for the drawing board. “No, Henry, stop it.”

  Henry wasn’t to be denied, though, and wrested the board and the paper from her grasp. He sat staring at it and Isabella moved to kneel behind him, staring at her poor effort with a sigh.

  “Oh dear, it really isn’t very good. I’ve made you cross-eyed.”

  Henry was silent, staring at the page, and Isabella rested one hand on his broad shoulder.

  “You’re far more handsome than my pitiful skills can capture,” she said with regret. “I wish I could paint you like you did me.”

  He looked up at her then, his eyes searching hers. “Why?”

  Isabella hesitated, wanting to explain how she felt, so he understood. “Because you’re a wonderful man,” she said, stroking his soft hair, warmed by the sun. “Because I want you to see yourself as I see you. Like how you made me feel when you showed me your painting. You made me feel special, beautiful in a way I’ve never felt before.” She frowned at the rather childish drawing, disappointed. “I’m afraid I’ve failed terribly,” she said with chagrin.

  He put the picture down and reached for her hand, holding it to his face, and it was only now that she saw he was struggling to keep his composure.

  “Henry!” she said, horrified that she’d upset him. “Henry, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean…”

  Henry laughed, a choked sound as he shook his head. “You’re were right, Isabella,” he said, the words thick. “You can cry when you’re happy.”

  Isabella laughed too, the sound quavering a little now. “I know,” she said, blinking hard. “I know.”

  He put his arms around her, his head on her chest and Isabella hesitated for a moment before laying back down on the blanket, taking him with her. With any other man she would have expected him to make a move, to take advantage, but Henry seemed content to lie with his head on her chest as she stroked his hair.

  The sun had moved around now and the shade they’d been sitting under almost gone.

  “It’s hot,” he said, the words a sleepy murmur.

  Isabella nodded, too lazy to reply as the heat sapped her energy.

  “Let’s go for a swim,” he said with a sudden burst of enthusiasm. He sat up, grinning at her. “The lake’s lovely and cool.”

  “Ugh.” Isabella stared at the dark water with misgiving, shaking her head. “The water will be freezing, and muddy, and … no, thank you.” She shuddered, remembering the water of the river dragging her down. Henry reached over and touched a finger to her cheek.

  “I’ll look after you,” he said, understanding at once.

  Isabella didn’t bother to fight the swell of emotion that rose at his words, not anymore. He was sincere, and he wasn’t just talking about going for a swim.

  “I know you will, Henry, thank you, but I’d rather not.”

  He looked a little crestfallen and Isabella laughed. “You can if you want to, though. I’ll watch.”

  A few moments later and Isabella wondered if she ought to have been so hasty as Henry stripped off. Her mouth grew dry at the sight of him, her breath catching at a display of masculine beauty to rival that of any marble interpretation of such perfection. Somewhat to her relief, he kept his smallclothes on before flashing her a grin and running into the water.

  Once the water was up to his hips he dived forward, sleek as a seal, disappearing beneath the surface and reappearing farther into the lake, shaking his head like a dog.

  Isabella laughed, waving at him and wondering at how her life had changed. She had been so close to making a terrible mistake that day at the river, yet somehow her life had turned around. It wasn’t what she’d expected, and it was perhaps a narrow existence, the three of them hidden from the world as they were, but it contained more happiness than she’d hoped for or deserved.

  She squealed, broken from her thoughts as Henry strode from the water, dripping icy droplets over her as he stood shivering.

  “It is cold,” he said, teeth chattering.

  Isabella tried not to stare, but he was impossible to turn away from. He lay down beside her in the sun, pushing wet hair from his eyes as Isabella tried not to notice what little he still wore was all but transparent. He closed his eyes, laying an arm over them to block out the sun, and Isabella sat up a little, free to look her fill. She’d become used to the fact that he was a large man, his presence so gentle, he’d long since ceased to cause her any anxiety. Seeing him like this, however, only illustrated that fact. Huge shoulders, a muscular chest and arms, powerful thighs … he could so easily intimidate. Her gaze lingered on his chest, the coarse hair there was intriguing to her and the urge to reach out and touch hard to resist. She wondered what he would do if she did.

  Her greedy eyes travelled over him, a little unnerved by her train of thought. She’d accepted Henry for what he was, accepted her feelings for him, but that he might be a husband to her in every sense of the word was something she’d not allowed herself to consider … Her breath caught.

  Too late, she realised she was being watched. His dark eyes rested on hers.

  “Have you ever been kissed?” The words tumbled out before she could think them through, and she regretted them at once as a troubled look entered his eyes.

  He nodded, but didn’t answer, and she sensed that whatever had happened hadn’t been a happy experience. Jealousy rose in her chest all the same and she wondered who it had been.

  “A girl worked here,” he said, frowning now, turning onto his side to face here. “A long time ago. There were more people here then.” He huffed out a breath, rubbing his face with his hand. “She was pretty …”

  Isabella swallowed, unsure if she wanted to hear more.

  “But only on the outside. Not like you.” The look in his eyes melted her from the inside out and Isabella reached out, pushing his wet hair from his eyes again as it fell forward.

  “What happened?” she asked, though she suspected she knew. Henry was so handsome; a man that women would desire and might wish to seduce.

  He shrugged, laying on his back and wrapping his arms about himself, such a defensive gesture that Isabella felt a surge of fury at whoever the girl was.

  “Did she kiss you?”
r />   Henry glanced at her and nodded. “I didn’t like it. She … she …” He looked agitated and Isabella put her hand to his face.

  “It all right, just tell me.”

  “She said I … I forced myself on her. She said I should be locked up.” He sat up then, hugging his knees to his chest. “But I didn’t. The girl did it. She was hard and bony and she didn’t smell good, she pushed and said things and … and when I said no …”

  “Henry.” Isabella held his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her. “She wasn’t very nice. Not the sort of girl you want to kiss.”

  “No,” he said, sounding a little calmer now. “Father sent her away. He said she was a … a devious baggage.”

  Isabella smiled despite herself, thinking she would have liked his father a good deal.

  “He was right,” she said, her voice firm.

  He sighed, the tension leaving him, his eyes growing warm as the light of curiosity glittered now. She knew what he was thinking. It was all she could think about herself. Isabella caught her breath as he reached out and touched her mouth with a fingertip.

  “Would … would you like me to kiss you?” she asked, wondering if he would like it with her. Did he even feel that way about her? That she was asking him seemed incredible. After her horrific encounter with Viscount Treedle, ever allowing a man near her was abhorrent. She had promised herself it would never happen again, but Henry wasn’t like any other man. He was gentle and kind and loving and …

  He nodded, his gaze falling to her lips.

  “Close your eyes,” she said in a rush, courage failing her at the last moment. She couldn’t do it if he watched her. He did as she asked, holding himself still.

  Isabella’s heart felt like it would beat itself out of the cage of her ribs, it thudded so, but she placed her palm against his cheek and leaned in. His lips were every bit as soft as she’d imagined, and it was tempting to linger, but she pulled away to see his reaction. She had no desire to upset him or … or to encourage him too far. In her condition, she really must be out of her mind, she scolded herself, but then she saw his eyes.