Nora slapped him. But he yanked her head and kissed her roughly, all wet and possessive. She threw her arms back, shaking off his hold, but not running away. She would never run away.
“Business would me-mean you are searching for Daniel. That is why I a-agreed.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, brows pinched. He looked more like a cornered dog than a fiancé discovered in a compromising situation. “You are not that stupid, Nora. No one is looking for Daniel. My uncle had him put away, and he deserves to be put there. He’s unnatural.”
Unnatural? That was all Nora needed to know. It was far more than he had disclosed before. “Go to dinner, Stuart.”
He pinched an errant curl of hers, yanking as he sauntered around her, before letting go.
“And st-stay away from my sister.”
He buttoned his shirt. “So many demands for someone with so much to lose.”
Nora strode to the door and shut it, unable to stomach the sight of him. She pressed her back to it, then slid down to the floor and cried for the words she’d never hear, for the words she held inside.
For the cruel trick of it all.
Chapter 4
Isaac would have preferred to spend the evening alone, but he was forced to admit the company at Mrs. White’s dinner party were a merry lot.
All but Nora, that is.
She had kept to herself, entering dinner late to sit at the far end of the table. She had moved her peas from one side of the plate to the other, never touching a bite of her food. Her beautiful sapphire eyes had been empty, void of that spark they normally possessed. Everyone else seemed occupied with their conversations, sparingly including her throughout the seven courses, and she had smiled in return. But it was a false smile, one pasted on for others’ comfort.
He hadn’t been fooled.
And as the night wore on and brandy and cigars were announced, Isaac did what he could to slip away, eventually succeeding after only a couple of glasses. He searched out the rest of the party, bidding farewell and thanking Mrs. White for being a wonderful hostess.
That is, he was ready to leave if he could make one final goodbye. Nora was nowhere to be found.
“She’s gone home with a headache, poor dear,” Mrs. White said.
Isaac glanced to Mrs. MacAllen and Maeve in the parlor beyond, the two playing a heated hand of whist. The doors were open to the garden outside, he thought he saw the sheen of silk moving along the pathway under the filtered light of the lit torches on the terrace.
“Well, thank you again for the invitation, Mrs. White.”
Isaac limped to the carriage Mrs. White so kindly lent him to convey him home. He knew she was outside, when she was supposed to be home. No one thought anything of Nora returning to Esslemont Abbey in the dark.
Damn it, he couldn’t leave.
Isaac slowly unfolded his body, awkwardly to the leaping to the ground and used his cane to help navigate him past the drive into the dark garden.
“Miss MacAllen?”
The night air ate his words. It returned a heavy silence.
“I don’t bite, only growl.”
A rose bush just beyond his reach rustled.
“I am only here to ask if you’d like to be escorted home. Mrs. White offered me a carriage. And she told me you had already left, then I happened to see—”
The bush shook, then a gasp and the sound of fabric ripping before the hard thud of a body colliding with the earth filled the night around him.
Isaac fought back a grin. There was no dignity in falling, yet it seemed something they both excelled at. He strode over, parting the rosebush with his cane to discover Nora sprawled on the ground, one arm thrown over her eyes.
At first, he thought she was crying as her body shuddered in the inky darkness. But no, she was laughing, and by God, the sound drove straight to his chest, causing something within him to crack, and soon he joined in.
“We should stop meeting like this,” he said, stretching out his hand.
She reached up, then paused, instead pushing herself up onto one elbow.
He sobered, narrowing his eyes on her while she studied him. It was just as well, for she was an angel fallen from heaven. The way the light hit her face, the way her dark sapphire eyes bloomed with something akin to hope. Her hand curled into his, soft. Isaac pulled her up, and they stood toe to toe as their smiles melted back into the dark night, until something else was there between them. Something much like how the setting sun pulled the moon into the sky each night just so it could shine.
Her dark curly hair came loose, framing her face. Glorious.
“Are you well?” His voice was husky.
She’s about to be married, he reminded himself. She’s engaged. I’m too late.
Nora nodded, then gazed down at the dress, brushing her hands over the torn lace by the bustle.
“Can I see you home? It’s far too late to walk alone.”
She skirted around him, setting off down the drive as if just to prove a point. But that’s where she was mistaken. He had no doubt she was capable, even as night claimed the highlands in a total, consuming darkness. But if he let her go, what kind of gentleman was he?
Everyone had dismissed her, and Isaac, though he was not at all in the mood for company, still found himself chasing after her. He cursed his new limp as he hobbled forward, leaning on his cane to keep up with her pace.
“Please, I—”
She swung around, holding her hand up as the other fished at her skirts. She pulled out her pad, then it sounded as if she muttered under her breath.
“You can talk?”
Nora glared at him, turning out her pockets. No pencil.
“Well, it’s night and I can barely see as is. No use for a pad and pencil.”
She shrugged, turned, and continued on her way. She tugged on the skirts of her dress as the breeze picked up, fluttering the fabric enough for him to assess the damage.
“We hardly know each other, yet you’re fleeing with a tear in your dress. If I didn’t know any better, I’d hazard you’re about to turn into a pumpkin.”
Once more, she swung around, this time the wind catching her hair, pulling it wild. The curls slipped free and as he approached, he swore her blue eyes had turned to fire. “Please,” she said, not in a polite plea or in warning, but in mockery.
He couldn’t help it, he laughed. He hadn’t often been put off before. Perhaps the highlands had turned him soft. “I’m offering you a way home without you airing your backside to the rest of Scotland.”
Nora marched up, shoved his chest, then stormed past him, climbing into the carriage. When he followed, she crossed her arms in a huff, turning away so she didn’t have to face him.
“Now, it wasn’t so hard to accept help, was it?” he said, closing the door. He settled on the opposite bench, then reached over, grabbing a blanket. She yanked it from his hand, throwing it over her lap and staring out into the night. Isaac signaled the coachman.
“It can be our secret. I won’t tell a soul.”
“They won’t c-care,” she said. Then her eyes popped wide as she swung her head to meet Isaac’s stare. Her lips parted, as if waiting.
Her voice was just as sweet as her humming, spiced brandy and sugar.
“I do,” he said with a shrug.
For a moment, her features softened, the sadness lifted from her eyes. But she settled back into the bench seat, holding the blanket tight.
“You don’t know me, Mr. Barnes. And I h-hardly know you. No need to be k-kind.”
“I wasn’t aware kindness had limitations.”
“That isn’t true in my experience.”
“And what experience is that?”
“I f-fell from a horse when I was t-twelve and badly injured my neck. I developed a stutter. I recovered, but ever since, I’ve repelled g-good company.”
“Then I’ll strive to be better company.”
“You don’t have to be polite, Mr. Ba
rnes. I’ll survive just l-like any other without it. I choose not to speak.”
He sat back, drumming his fingers over the seat. “And what a pity to spend life just surviving.”
Again, she shrugged, but as the moonlight poured into the carriage, he noticed her hastily wipe at her eyes.
“Even the moonlight loves your face.”
Damn it. That had been meant for him, and him alone. He hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable.
“I shouldn’t have, that is, I mean no—”
“—I’m to be married in two months, Mr. Barnes. I s-s-shouldn’t be here with you.”
While that was true, Miss MacAllen’s fiancé hadn’t said a word to her throughout the entire dinner. If pressed to guess, Isaac would say the man barely even looked at her all evening. No one had, and shame on them.
“I’m sorry for tonight, and I’m sorry for the years no one has seen you.“
Nora twisted a curl between her fingers, pretending to focus on the passing fields and rocks, but he noticed her side glances. “Do you always like playing the martyr?”
“The truth?”
She nodded.
“It only ever seems to get me into trouble.” He inched closer. “But trust me, Miss MacAllen, I’m no saint.”
* * *
The words skimmed over Nora, brushing off the night’s chill, and settled into her bones like a fine whiskey. She might as well be a viper for the way she had behaved, but she couldn’t shake the anger still brewing after walking in on Maeve and Stuart.
Here she was, in a carriage alone with a man who was kind and perhaps a little too charming. Under the moonlight, she felt just a little carried away by the way he would wet his lips from time to time as he fought back a smile at her unfair jabs.
“Have you ever heard of shadowboxing, Miss MacAllen?”
She would listen to almost anything if Mr. Barnes would keep speaking. That voice, that mouth, those eyes. No doubt she was a better woman than the one she was in this instant, but she didn’t feel inclined to keep her mouth shut around this handsome stranger.
“No,” she said, her voice a whisper.
“Well, I feel sorry for anyone you deem worthy of fighting fair with.”
With a sigh, she sat back, reclining her head as she stared up at the ceiling. She lowered her eyelids, giving in to the gentle rocking motion as the carriage worked its way over the road to Esslemont Abbey. It wouldn’t be long now, another ten minutes perhaps. It would have been quicker to walk, but forced to say it, she wouldn’t admit her present company was lacking.
“Dinner was delicious,” he said from across the carriage.
She nodded, unsure if he could see.
“But I’m not sure I could stand another minute of Mr. Rockwood arguing with your father over taxes.”
The laughter started low in her belly, and just like in the garden, it raced up her body and exploded. She wrapped her arms around herself and laughed, only laughing harder as Mr. Barnes joined in the merry chorus.
Though sleep pulled at her body, though she had had a horrible evening, and though Stuart had finally revealed his true intentions, Nora laughed. She laughed and felt as though she had somehow shaken off the invisible chains that had buried her deep to suffocate on her own anger.
For one blissful moment as she locked eyes with Mr. Barnes, she was the woman she had been born to be—the one who spoke freely and without fear, the one who owned her presence at the dining table instead of remaining invisible out of comfort and habit.
The laughter slowly died between them, the two now leaning forward, their eyes locked.
“Thank you,” she whispered, “for seeing me home.”
“Of course. May I?” he asked, gesturing toward her head. “You’ve something…”
She held her breath as his fingers brushed over her hair, untangling something from it.
“I’m only a stranger, Miss MacAllen. I don’t expect to be here long.” He removed a small twig from her hair, his voice remaining soft as his eyes met hers, “I can promise I’m a fair fighter, but you should know, I’m not looking for a fight.”
“A friend then?” She cursed the night for robbing her of seeing the green of his eyes fully. Being with Mr. Barnes was a bit like being home, like climbing up her mountains.
That mouth of his, that charming hint of a smile teasing the corner of his lips. She was a wicked woman for wishing it, but heaven above did she find herself curious what kissing him would be like. Something deep within told her it wouldn’t be like kissing Stuart.
It made her want to try it all the more.
But she was an engaged woman. Her heart might be broken from what she discovered this evening, she wouldn’t break the promise she had made. Let Stuart be the dobber, she would still have her honor.
“A friend.”
Nora certainly was in need of friendship. Could friends kiss? Could she remain friends with someone she wanted to kiss?
He leaned forward, their noses all but touching. He smelled of rich red wine and leather and oil paint. She tilted her head, inhaling as his nearness all but consumed her. She closed her eyes, picturing his lips approaching hers and his hand ready to support her head.
The door clicked open.
The fresh, cool air poured in as Mr. Barnes grabbed his cane and removed himself from the carriage. He held out his hand toward her. “Home, I believe.”
Of course, how foolish. Mr. Barnes hadn’t taken her home so they could kiss. What had she expected? Mr. Barnes wouldn’t kiss her, and she shouldn’t be thinking of kissing him.
The brash air was rough against her warmed cheeks as she peeled back the blanket and stretched her legs to exit the carriage. He had been kind to her, and she had spoken without care for once in a very long time.
That would be enough.
Yet her dress fell open, her leg peeking out from beneath the large rip in the seam. She glanced from it to Mr. Barnes, who quickly looked away. Nora bit back a smile.
He had been looking, and she had wanted him to. Maybe he had thought of kissing her?
Her hand slipped into his warm palm, his long fingers folding over hers as she jumped from the carriage, supported by his strength.
Just one moment longer, she thought, relishing his touch. One more moment of feeling as if she were worthy of being touched, even out of politeness.
Their eyes met and she flashed a quick smile, slipping her hand free.
“Good night, Miss MacAllen.”
She bowed her head, smiling to herself as she stepped onto the granite stairs of Esslemont Abbey. It would be hours before her parents and sister returned home, and she was likely to be hiking as they settled into bed.
As Mr. Barnes climbed into the carriage, about to close the door, she peeked over her shoulder. “Tomorrow,” she said.
“Pardon?”
“I like to hike the mountain in the m-morning. You can paint me then if you wish.”
Even under the moonlight, the man was devastatingly handsome. “I do,” he said, his voice rough, “wish for it very much.”
Chapter 5
Isaac shifted from his seat on the large boulder at the foot of the mountain, rolling a strand of grass between his index finger and thumb. A bird flew over, drawing his attention to the bright sun. Brilliant and yellow, not sleepy like the sun that breaks through dawn. And almost directly overhead. Close to afternoon.
He had been sitting here for hours now, not having slept. He couldn’t. Not after last night. With Nora.
Nora.
The thought of her sent another rush of excitement coursing through him.
He had wanted to kiss her, and she held her breath as he neared. She had wanted to kiss him too. But she was to be married, and Isaac was to leave Scotland and continue doing whatever Grembly ordered.
Even if he wished to spend his days painting. And now, perhaps, spending those days with Nora. Kissing.
She had the mouth for it. And her hair was so soft. He wa
nted to explore her with his hands and lips, sink into her, and lose himself in her and her fierceness. He feared once he tasted those lips, there would be no return.
Bly often told Isaac his heart was too easily won. It was true.
Nora told him he could paint her, but she still hadn’t arrived. After two hours, Isaac hiked the mountain himself to be sure no harm had come to her. It hadn’t. He returned, fearing she would find him searching for her. He had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the concern.
That’s what drew his interest—her quiet resolve. She was a woman who didn’t seek pity, even if she did deserve the attention of others. He was struck by everyone’s lack of involvement with her, when, she seemed to be the only person in the room with the most to say.
Isaac wished to listen.
“Well,” he said to the empty stretch of land before him, “she isn’t coming.”
The disappointment wrung his heart as he packed up his paints and returned to the cottage. But he didn’t feel like losing himself in painting there either. And though his leg was stiff and his body sore from the hike, he decided to pay Mrs. White a visit to thank her again for the dinner the evening before. Another long walk might quiet his mind, though he doubted he would stop thinking of Nora.
As he knocked some time late, a commotion erupted from within the house. An exasperated footman answered, sticking his head out as shouting commenced behind him.
“Hello,” Isaac said. He leaned heavily on his cane, his leg smarting. “Bad timing?”
“Terrible, sir,” the man replied, his features frozen in apathy.
“I’m here to see Mrs. White, if possible.”
“No, sir, I’m afraid she is not taking—”
More yelling, then the man ducked as though someone had hurled an object.
“Who is it, Mosley?” Mrs. White asked from within.
The footman raised his eyebrows, and Isaac snickered.
“It’s me, ma’am, Mr. Barnes. I came—”
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