“Sandwiches, or shepherd’s pie, then?”
“Sandwiches.”
He served them to her, then settled onto one elbow with his own. “Is the orb still where you placed it?” he asked. “I’ve taken to checking beneath my pillow, but it hasn’t reappeared.”
“You’re making fun of me now.”
Adam lifted an eyebrow. “I am not. It’s been on my windowsill and on my dressing table. Beneath the pillow could well be next.”
She needed to remind herself that not everything he said was meant to begin an argument. Just nearly everything. “I checked it this morning,” she said. “As of then it was still safe.” Actually she hadn’t so much checked on it as she had shaken the thing half to death while cajoling it to give her some sign that Geoffrey Bell-Spratt was her true love. Perhaps she’d broken the orb after all, because it hadn’t even glowed when she’d picked it up.
“Will your parents or your grandparents visit you here?” he went on, leaning sideways to offer her a strawberry. “With you just stepping into your position, I can’t imagine you wanting to leave long enough to travel to Florence.”
“Mama and Papa have promised to come for Christmas,” she returned. “They actually offered to travel here with me. I asked them not to. How would I know if I can be the guardian here with either my mother or Grandmama Olivia present?”
“That was brave.”
She couldn’t mistake the sincerity of those three words. He wasn’t being sarcastic, or condescending. He meant it, and as a compliment. She lifted her shoulder a little. “Thank you. A large portion of it was naivety though, I think. I half expected mystical warriors and swords rising out of lakes. That was foolish.”
Adam tilted his head. “Whatever you expected, you’re taking steps to learn how to manage an estate. In all the world where status is inherited, you certainly weren’t alone in being unprepared. But you haven’t been satisfied with remaining that way. And that’s commendable.”
Isabel smiled at him. She wasn’t accustomed to voicing her inner doubts aloud, and he might have used them to skewer her pride and her sense of accomplishment at what she’d learned thus far. But he hadn’t done so. And he hadn’t turned it into a jest, or made a comment about his superior abilities in comparison to hers. “You’re full of compliments this afternoon. I’m more accustomed to arguments from you.”
He sent her a swift grin. “Differences of opinion, perhaps. And I’ve been told that arguing connotes passion.”
“And who told you that?”
“My father, when I wrote him last week.”
Oh, this was becoming very interesting, indeed. She popped a strawberry into her mouth, noting that he watched her every move. It felt…powerful to realize he had so much of his attention focused on her. She hadn’t felt that way in Geoffrey’s presence – but then they’d been dining in public, where every nuance would be noticed and speculated over. And besides, she didn’t want to think about that right now. This was merely a pleasant luncheon. “May I ask what else you discussed? And what prompted your letter?”
“Some of it was private, asking after my mother’s health. She’s been ill, but they went to Bath for her to take the waters, and she feels much recovered. Mainly, I wrote to say that I’d met an impossible female whose view of the most basic facts of the world was completely at odds with mine.”
“Ah. Do I know this female?”
“Quite well. I said that I respected her intelligence and her wit and the interest she’s taken in learning her duties and responsibilities, but that we argued about everything else.”
It was odd to realize that she liked the way Adam Driscoll viewed her. Even with his criticism and skepticism over her beliefs, he seemed genuinely to respect and admire her. He had never brushed aside her questions or attempted to turn her aside with humor or faux self-deprecation. And no, she didn’t wish to think about whom else she might be describing. “And that was what prompted his observation about arguing.”
“Yes. And in response to my question about whether I could continue to work for this female given her very singular view of the world, he said, and I’m quoting because I memorized it, ‘Ask yourself two questions. Firstly, if you can live with those opposing beliefs and secondly, if you can live without this impossible female’.”
Goodness. Beneath everything else, he’d written his father for advice about her. Isabel cleared her throat. “And have you found an answer to those questions?”
Green eyes held hers. “Very nearly.”
“Oh.” She shifted a little, hoping he didn’t notice that she felt as awkward as her eight-year-old tiara-wearing self, or that he would ever suspect that she’d once or twice imagined him in knight’s armor as he rode up on a great white charger to bring her flowers. Trying to shake loose of that image, she sought about for something that wouldn’t leave her gaping like a moonstruck goose. “Perhaps I could tolerate becoming better acquainted with you. Tell me three things about you that you want me to know. Three things I don’t already know.”
Adam lifted an eyebrow. “What? No,” he said around a mouthful of sandwich.
“Why shouldn’t you tell me about yourself?” she demanded. It had been supremely enlightening with Lord Alton.
“You already know about me, Isabel. And why would you settle for three things, anyway? You know I’m pursuing you, so I would only choose things you would look on favorably.” He sat upright again. “Did you put this challenge to Alton?” Adam snorted. “You did, didn’t you? Did you discover you have, oh, so many things in common? That he simply can’t resist small animals in distress?”
Well, animals hadn’t been mentioned, but that was beside the point. And he was more right than she cared to admit. Was she so easily swayed? “Your being pleasant didn’t last for very long,” she said aloud. “I was wondering when the compliments would stop.”
To her surprise he laughed, though his expression remained rather grim. “So you want me to begin agreeing with you at every instance? Just follow along behind you like some yapping dog?”
“You don’t have to agree with me. You could be agreeable more often, though.”
“I am frequently agreeable, and you are perfectly aware of that fact. I’ve also promised to be honest with you. Always.” Abruptly he shifted onto his knees, then went forward onto all fours, putting his face just inches from hers. “I have never once lied to you,” he continued more softly, “not even to make you see me more favorably.” He tilted his head a little. “Generally in a romantic pursuit, it is the man who leads, who holds all the cards, as it were. You’re my employer, and you own a magnificent property. All I have to offer you, then, is myself and my good name. And my heart, of course.”
A kiss. He was going to kiss her again. The fast beat of her pulse thudded in her chest all the way out to her fingertips. When he kissed her, everything made sense – or at least she managed to forget for a moment everything that didn’t.
“I am, as they say, a sure bet, Isabel,” he murmured. “If and when you decide what and who you want, I shall be here.” He looked at her in silence for a handful of ragged heartbeats. “Until our contract is up, that is. Because I’m not a yapping dog, and I will not wait forever.” With a faint grin, as if he knew precisely what he did to her insides, he picked up another sandwich, sat back, and took a bite.
Isabel blinked. Yes, she knew they’d arranged for him to remain at Nimway for four months, and that they’d made the agreement after he’d rather spectacularly kissed her that first time. It hardly seemed likely that he’d had all this in mind then, that he knew he wanted to marry her and that four months would be sufficient to bring her around to his way of thinking. And feeling.
“You’re done with wooing then?” she ventured, deciding she should say something, and trying not to sound disappointed that there wouldn’t be kissing today. “You’ve stated your position and now it’s up to me to decide?”
He reached out to brush a finger along her che
ek. “I can’t and won’t coerce you into liking me. But if this isn’t wooing, perhaps I’m doing it wrong after all.”
“Of course you’re doing it wrong. You make light of something I deeply believe, and write your father to say you like me in spite of my naïve stupidity? My stupid naïveté? Geoffrey Bell-Spratt likes me as well, and he actually believes me. He even believes in magic. Why, then, would I choose you?”
“I would suggest you ask him in front of his cronies if he believes in magic,” Adam snapped. Standing, he left the picnic blanket and strode over to the stream. “I could tell you that I believe. Would you like me better for paying you lip service, or worse for lying in order to impress you?”
As he spoke, sun broke through the thick canopy above them, the shafts of light visible streaks illuminating two of the white carved stones…and Adam. The white of his simple cravat glinted like fresh snow, the green of his eyes as he glared at her becoming a bottomless emerald. As she stared at the only Sir Galahad who didn’t believe in the Holy Grail, clouds slowly moved in again, dimming the boulders but causing the sunlight to linger on him for several more seconds before it faded again.
“Which is it?” he prompted.
If the world was trying to tell her something, she had a large disagreement with it. “I would very nearly be satisfied if you would just accept the possibility of something beyond what you can touch with your stupid hands,” she retorted, and threw a strawberry at the infuriating man.
Adam caught the treat in one hand and popped it into his mouth. It was likely fortunate that he’d spent most of his adult life settling disputes between neighbors and finding solutions for impossible problems. That at least gave him the insight to recognize that as frustrated as he was that Isabel wouldn’t see Alton for who he was, or the world for what it was, she was just as frustrated with him for not seeing things as she did.
Had he backed himself into a corner with his insistence on being a gentleman? If he merely pretended to be one, though, he might as well have been Alton. “I brought lemon biscuits, unless you’d prefer we return to the house now,” he said, returning to sit on the blanket.
“You…are very aggravating. Did Mrs. Dall bake the biscuits?”
“Yes.”
“Biscuits, then. But I’m not certain I wish to continue conversing with you.”
He dug back into the basket and uncovered the plate. “While we’re not speaking,” he said, offering her the treats, “from where does the money come that Alton uses to pay his staff and his taxes at Blackbridge or Alton Park?”
“What?”
“You have your crops and your timber rights. What do his estates produce? He dresses well and rides a horse with twelve names. I assume he affords this somehow.”
“I assume so, as well. The conversation hasn’t come up.”
“I’d wager he knows where your money comes from. You mean income wasn’t one of the three things he told you about himself?”
She frowned around the biscuit. “He didn’t ask me to luncheon to discuss finances.”
Adam had to give the viscount some credit; whatever he’d told Isabel had convinced her that they would suit well. “Ah. Then you talked about where you mean to live after he wins your hand. It will be Blackbridge, I assume, since that estate’s merely a two-hour ride from Nimway Park.”
“You have nowhere else to go, though, do you?”
He looked at her. “No. I wasn’t born first, or with an estate just waiting for me to be old enough to claim it. I could purchase a small farm somewhere, or an apartment in London, I suppose, if I wished to.”
Her fine cheeks paled a little. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I just meant—”
“You have a beautiful estate, Isabel,” he broke in. “I like it here. I like working here, and I like working with you. For you, even. And I know you look for the magic in everything. You see the best in everyone. That’s one of the things I lo— admire about you.” He took a breath. He’d very nearly admitted that he’d fallen in love with her – which he had, but confessing to it now would smack of weakness. Of pleading.
“Alton has his own concerns,” he pressed. “His own properties. I have…this. Here.” However she felt about him, she would have to acknowledge the logic and practicality of that, at least. “The moment I arrived at Nimway, I could imagine being here forever.”
“For four months,” she countered. “You agreed to that, if you’ll recall.”
“I’ll take whatever I can get,” he said, unable to help the…anger, he supposed it was, at the idea that he would have to leave Nimway. Especially when Alton seemed to have an invitation to remain. “Just – for God’s sake don’t ignore the practicality of people’s desires, wants, and needs,” he pressed. “Alton has his own properties that require his attention. You know that. Before you agree to anything, ask yourself what Alton wants here, and why he wants it. Ask why I want what I want. Then do what you can to figure out if what you’re being told is the truth.”
“If you’re too gentlemanly to tell me what you clearly think you know about Geoffrey, then you should stop hurling ominous, vague warnings about him.” With that she brushed off her skirt. “And now I would like to return home.”
God, he wanted to tell her. Every damned bit of it. But he honestly didn’t know the viscount’s side of the tale. And it had been nearly six years. People did change. He could hardly blame Alton for falling for Isabel, and in fact he couldn’t be entirely certain how much of his present venom was due to the fact that he wanted Isabel de Rossi for himself.
“As you wish,” he said aloud, and stood once more. He held down a hand to help her to her feet, trying to ignore the hard thud of his pulse as their fingers touched. He offered his arm, but she fairly obviously pretended not to notice as she stalked toward the wall of brambles.
Snagging one more of the crisp biscuits and chomping into it, Adam followed her. Only part of his father’s letter had directly concerned Adam’s own confusion of feelings about Isabel. The rest had also been about her, but in regard to Alton’s courtship. The old baron had pointed out that while the Driscoll family carried their own well-earned prejudices against the viscount, they were also personal prejudices, colored by their personal views. And it would be unfair to Isabel and to the viscount to apply them to the rest of the world.
“What about the basket and blanket?” Isabel asked abruptly, facing him.
He shrugged, finishing off the biscuit. “I brought them earlier. I’ll come get them later.”
“Nonsense. We’re here now. I may be annoyed with you, but I don’t expect you to make an extra trip to appease my temper.” She stomped past him, heading back toward the picnic blanket.
Utterly unpredictable. “But you wanted to go back to the house.” Stifling an admiring grin, he turned around to catch up to her again.
“Well, despite your unending stubbornness this was very…thoughtful of you.”
“’Thoughtful’. A fairly weak compliment, but thank you for it.”
“You’re somewhat welcome.” What might have been a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth as she knelt on the blanket, picking up plates and bowls and placing them carefully back into the basket.
Adam squatted beside her, helping himself to another biscuit as they packed up the remains of luncheon. This impossible woman aggravated the devil out of him, but at the same time he couldn’t help but admire her more every day.
“The clouds are building,” he observed, looking at the leaf-obscured sky above them. “We’ll have rain by midnight.”
Isabel stood again, hands on her hips, to glare down at him. “You are a man of common sense and commendable character. No one told me this. I know it from seeing what you do every day and how you talk to people.”
He straightened, but she didn’t back away even though he was the one who now loomed over her. “I assume you’re not suddenly bursting with the need to compliment me,” he returned. “What point are you after, then?”
/> “I’m after an answer,” she retorted. “Are you simply…jealous of Lord Alton because I enjoy his company? Or is there something I truly need to know? I demand an answer!”
“Of course I’m jealous,” he snapped, drawing in a hard breath. “As for him, you—” Adam clenched his fist, unable to stifle a growl. “I told you my opinion that no one matters to Alton as much as he matters to himself. Perhaps that’s acceptable to you. I don’t know. Is he a criminal? Not that I’m aware of. Just…listen to him when he speaks, because at the time I last encountered him I learned that he does nothing that isn’t to his own benefit. Nothing. If he’s changed, huzzah, but I will continue trying to win your affection, anyway.”
Her hands stayed on her hips, but her glare became a frustrated grimace. Those lips twisted, and he took a half step forward before he could stop himself. How could it be coercion if he simply pulled her into his arms and kissed her again? Of course she’d more than likely slap him, but he’d never been averse to risk.
“Adam, just tell me.”
He tilted his head. “You need to make your own decision. The wrong he did me was personal and moral, and nothing I could prove even if I wished to. Ask him. But I doubt you’ll get an answer from Alton, either.”
Isabel sighed. “He’s already called you a small, jealous man, and said you misinterpret everything in order to keep yourself blameless. But I’ll ask him again when he comes to Nimway Hall on Saturday for dinner.”
The words were rushed, and as his comprehension caught up to what she’d said, he realized why she’d been in a hurry to spit them out. The bastard. “Did you invite him, or did he invite himself?” he ground out.
“I told him about the orb, and he wanted to see it. Hence the invitation.” Isabel put an unexpected palm over his heart. That touch was all that kept him from stalking out of the bower, himself.
At least they were speaking again. “You want the orb to see him.”
“Yes, I do.”
“And what if your magic orb tells you one thing, and your heart another?”
THE LEGEND OF NIMWAY HALL: 1818 - ISABEL Page 15
