A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(56)

She squeaked with surprise. “Toby!”

“Oh, I like that noise,” he said, holding her in his arms as he crossed the shallow stream. “Can you make that one again?” he asked, lowering her to her feet. “Later tonight?”

She dismissed his teasing with a little wave of her hand and walked on ahead.

“That’s rather bold of you,” he said, grinning at the enticing sway of her hips as she marched away. “How do you know you’re not walking the wrong direction?”

“Am I?” she asked, without pausing to look back.

“No.”

“Well, then.”

He watched her walk a few paces more before starting after her. Following her path at a leisurely pace, he twisted a length of ivy from a nearby branch and worked it with both hands.

“Wait,” he called. “Hold right there.”

She paused, framed between two trees—standing in the doorway between this small, shaded grove and the sunlit world beyond. A corona of golden light surrounded her, caressing every lush curve of her silhouette.

“What is it?” she asked.

Toby couldn’t even answer. He just stood there, blinking, awestruck by the vision of loveliness before him. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he slowly approached his wife. One by one, he pulled the pins from her hair as she looked up at him, adorably befuddled. At last her dark tresses tumbled free, and she arranged them about her shoulders with an unconscious toss of her head.

“There, that’s better.” Grinning like a fool, Toby adorned her gleaming ebony crown with the ivy wreath he’d fashioned, then framed her bewildered smile in his hands. “Isabel, I know I’ve told you this a hundred times or more. And now I regret not saving the words for this moment. For that matter, I regret ever speaking them to anyone else, because now the words seem too paltry, too common. Completely inadequate. But I promise you, I’ve never meant them more honestly than I do right here, right now. You are … beautiful. Truly, you take my breath away.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, my. Now that was impressive indeed.”

“Was it?”

“Yes,” she laughed. “Even I’m breathless, and I’m not romantic by nature. I can’t imagine what that little speech must have done to your young, impressionable ladies.”

Toby felt his grin fading. He’d never made that speech to anyone else. The crown of ivy nonsense, countless times—but never that speech. Those words were for her alone.

“You do realize I’ve already married you?” she asked. “And here you are pulling out all your best tricks. Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. What an astute question she posed. Why, indeed? Out of habit? Simply for sport?

No. No, it was because he knew—they both knew—he might have stolen her away from Gray, wedded and bedded her, even rescued her from certain peril, but he hadn’t yet engaged her heart. He, who had female hearts flung at him with all the frequency, and velocity, of cricket balls—hadn’t secured the adoration of his own wife.

And she was his wife. For what ever shallow reasons he’d begun this courtship—for the first time in his life, Toby was out of his depth. Isabel was a woman of strong principles and simmering passions. It would take more than adolescent flirtation to touch her heart. But her heart was the only one that mattered. He had to win it before he lost the election, or he might never have a chance again.

She looked out at the sloping hillside beyond the woods. “I think we must be nearing your estate.”

“That stream was the property line, as a matter of fact. How could you tell?”

“Your whole manner has changed,” she said, placing her hands on his chest. “You’re …

boyish. Carefree. Full of mischief.” She smoothed his waistcoat with her palms. Toby knew it wasn’t wrinkled. She simply wanted to touch him.

And God, did he want to touch her. It was all coming back now, the rush of desperate need.

“Full of mischief, I’ll grant you.” Sliding his hands to her backside, he backed her up a step, so that she stood braced against the trunk of a tree. “But boyish?” He ground his hips against hers, eliciting her small gasp. “I have to disagree with you there.”

“Toby,” she said, her voice tight. Her open palms pressed against his chest. “We really should keep moving.”

“Oh. Very well.”

He released her, but stayed close—denying her the space to walk away. Heart pounding with lust and brain churning with confusion, he stared down at his wife’s flushed countenance. She wouldn’t even meet his eyes. Something was wrong, but damned if he knew how to name it. He couldn’t understand why one minute she could be so passionate, even flirtatious, drawing him near—and the next, pushing him away. As she said, they were already married. And today he’d used all his most impressive tricks, and invented a few new ones in the bargain.

“Someday,” he said, “I’ll take you back to visit Tortola.”

“Why would you do that?”

“It’s your home. Don’t you miss it?”

“Not today.” She tried to wiggle past him, but he had her boxed in.

“I’d like to see your childhood home. I wonder, would I see the girlish Isabel there? Carefree, full of mischief?”