Page 35

thirty-five

D usk had fallen slowly on the island as if the sun were reluctant to set on the beauty of the sea.

The night brought a fresh breeze to Isabella’s cheeks as she stood in front of the open window in her bedroom. The lanterns shed a golden glow over the paths in the garden and the large terracotta amphorae filled with overflowing geraniums. She couldn’t see the secret garden from there, yet it should be right in front of her.

That garden held more than one secret.

Anthony entered the room, and a whiff of his clean scent reached her. She turned around, smiling. Her body started to tingle the closer he came. Another man would sport a smirk of triumph or confidence after today. Instead, his expression was shy and adorable and started butterflies in her stomach.

“Can’t sleep?” he said.

“I was wondering why I can’t see the secret garden from here. I should.”

“The secret garden is too close to the shore to be seen from here. I’ll show you the perfect spot.” He laced his fingers through hers and led her up the stairs.

They walked past the servants’ rooms to go to the top floor. He opened a door, revealing another flight of stairs going up. The passage gave way to a veranda closed by glass walls. Dust covered the floor, and white sheets were draped over chairs and sofas.

He closed the door behind them. “Another place where the servants don’t come. My grandfather wanted to turn the attic into a scenic sunroom, but he never finished the project, and Grandmama found the room impractical because of the steep stairs. But look.” He turned towards a corner. “You can see the statues we cleaned up.”

She craned her neck until she spotted the white marble of the statues shining in the moonlight. “Yes, how lovely!”

“Once the garden is all cleaned up, there will be a grand view from here.” He hugged her from behind, wrapping his strong arms around her. “I like that this room isn’t open to everyone so only we can enjoy the secret view.”

She rested her head on his chest, savouring the warmth and sense of safety he made her feel. Those feelings were better than the deep pleasure of a tumble.

They stood there, watching the moonlight shining over the Greek heroes in the garden and listening to the sea’s song.

“I want to give a ball here on Mytos,” he said. “I want to invite all the guests Grandmama couldn’t invite to our wedding.”

She craned her neck to stare at him. “Why?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Celebration. I want everyone to know how happy we are. Would you like that?”

He looked so hopeful that she wanted to make him happy, and the idea of a proper celebration, without the burden of her sadness, appealed to her.

“Yes. Let’s give a ball.”

“We’d better start sending the invitations. Some people are spending the summer not far from Mytos, but others will need a couple of weeks to come here. The warm weather and the large garden will make for a spectacular night.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

She couldn’t suppress a yawn. The day had been filled with too much excitement after the past dark weeks.

“You’re tired. Let’s go.” He hauled her up and gathered her in his arms.

She loved it when he held her like that.

He put her down after the first flight of stairs, a mischievous glint in his gaze. He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the lower floor. “Look at that.”

“What?” she asked.

“I want to try.” Grinning, he mounted the bannister of the next flight of stairs backwards.

“Anthony, it’s not a good idea. If you haven’t done it before, you can get hurt, and this flight of stairs is quite steep.”

“But a short one.”

“You can’t see properly.”

“I don’t need to.” He released his grip on the bannister before she could say more.

“Anthony,” she half-hissed, half-whispered.

He rushed down the polished bannister. Too fast. He let out a ‘ whoop ’ that echoed off the walls.

She chased him down the stairs and couldn’t shout a warning in time. At the bottom of the stairs, the Dowager stared at her grandson aiming at her.

“Anthony!” Isabella and the Dowager said together.

He managed to slow his descent but slipped to the side and ended up at the Dowager’s feet with a loud thud. She winced when Anthony groaned, a hand on his back.

“Are you all right?” Isabella knelt next to him.

The Dowager’s eyebrow was so arched it reached her hairline. “Have you lost your mind?”

He groaned again, sitting up. “A slight miscalculation. That’s all.”

Lawson, Rogers, and other servants came to the landing from different directions.

“His Grace fell,” Lawson shouted over her shoulder.

“I’m all right.” Anthony waved dismissively.

“What happened, sir?” Rogers helped Anthony up.

“Nothing, just insanity.” The Dowager pressed a finger to her temple. “I don’t even want to discuss what just happened. We shall never mention it to anyone.”

“I want to host a ball, Grandmama,” Anthony said with an air of triumph. “Everyone is invited.”

The Dowager stared at him in confusion. “You? Hosting a ball? Did you hit your head?”

“Spare no expense. Let’s invite as many as we can from London!”

The Dowager frowned. “We’ll see if tomorrow you still want to host a ball. I’ve had enough odd things to deal with for one day. Good night.” She headed to her bedroom, muttering under her breath but paused. “Isabella, a word?”

Swallowing, she followed the Dowager to her bedroom as Anthony instructed Rogers to send the invitations straight away.

When they were out of earshot, Isabella fiddled with her hands. “I know it wasn’t appropriate, but it was a silly game Anthony and I played.”

The Dowager patted her cheek. “I’ve never seen my grandson so happy. Thank you.”

The shock made her speechless.

“I was worried about him,” the Dowager said. “He’s always been serious, but his brooding character has worsened since his parents’ deaths. But you make him happy, and I hope you are as happy as he is.”

“I am.”

When the Dowager hugged her, she remained frozen. It was a quick, shallow hug, but still a hug. The Dowager released her and cleared her throat.

“A ball. Unbelievable. Now off you go. I need to lie down.” The Dowager waved her off before retiring to her bedroom.

When Isabella returned to the landing, more servants crowded it.

“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Rogers asked.

Anthony scratched the back of his head, looking like a boy. “Yes, thank you. You may all return to your rooms.”

After everyone left, he burst out laughing. “It was one of the most enjoyable things I’ve ever done.”

“You could have hurt yourself. And your grandmother.”

He kept smiling and gathered her in his arms. “Lovely night, innit?”

She closed her eyes while he walked down the corridor to her bedroom. He laid her on the bed and stretched out next to her, never leaving her side.

“We should change,” she said.

“I don’t want to call Wilson and Lawson.”

“Fine. I’ll help you, and you’ll help me.” She craned her neck to see his face. The naughty glint he had before rushing down the bannister was still there.

“Excellent suggestion. I’ll start.” He tried to unbutton her gown and tugged at her petticoats at the same time, making a mess.

“Wait. You’re doing it wrong.” She laughed when he didn’t listen but managed to pull down her gown anyway.

With a lot of unnecessary tugging and pulling and her swatting his hands away, she was finally in her chemise and drawers.

“See? Easy.” He ran a slow hand over her body.

“Easy? The room is a mess. My clothes are all crumpled, and I need my nightgown.”

He exhaled dramatically. She chuckled again when he removed her chemise and drawers…and then she didn’t laugh. He stared at her in the same way one would stare at a masterpiece.

He dragged one of his big hands down her body, leaving a path of fire on her skin. He paused on her ribs, a frown appearing on his brow.

“Don’t look.” She snatched the nightgown from the bed and covered the physical signs of the past months.

He let her cover herself before lying next to her. “You can’t possibly be ashamed of your body.”

“It changed, and not for the better.”

“After you rest and eat properly, it’ll return as it was before. You don’t have a scar that will stay there forever. But you don’t have to hide from me.”

She gazed up at him and put her hand on his ruined cheek. He was right. His face was scarred for life. Her body would flourish again.

“I’m sorry. I always say or do the wrong thing with you.”

“Not true. You taught me how to dash down a bannister. I won’t ever forget that.”

She felt all the bumps and edges of the scar with her fingertips. “Neither will your grandmother.”

He let out a deep laugh. “Come here.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer.

“You’re still dressed.”

“Right.”

He sat up on the bed and started with his waistcoat. Just as he’d made a mess with her clothes, he tugged and pulled, discarding the clothes on the chair, or trying to. Half of them ended up on the floor.

When he was in his undergarments. The thin fabric of his undershirt showed his powerful body, and she pressed herself against him when he held her again. He stroked her head and removed the hairpins until her tresses were loose and free.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.

As he held and caressed her, she drifted off to sleep, aware she was the luckiest duchess in the world.