Page 15

But then she realized he was only partly jesting.

He added, “And if anyone trespasses or tries to harm my family, well...”

“Out comes the boiling oil?”

“Whatever is required.”

The back of her neck prickled with some combination of thrill and fear.

What must it be like to have the money and social power to quietly avenge wrongs and bury transgressions?

She’d never had to worry about either of those things outside of a Shakespeare play.

She recalled what her father had said about the potential ruthlessness of self-made men.

But she was surprised to realize that a part of her yearned toward the unequivocal safety and certainty and solidity Mr. Redmond described.

The Sylvaines had known more than a few alarming upheavals in fortune before her father inherited money.

The Eversea lineage contained a fair number of colorful rogues, none of whom seemed ever to meet any significant consequences. Perhaps the Everseas protected their rogues, too. Or perhaps they were, as Jacob had more than once maintained, deucedly lucky.

“And do the Redmonds lock their rogues in their own castle dungeon?” She pressed.

“What rogues?” he repeated patiently.

This probably wasn’t the moment to mention that she’d heard the whole Eversea-Redmond feud had begun in the tenth or eleventh century when an Eversea allegedly stole a cow (or was it a pig?) from a Redmond. Or perhaps the other way around, depending upon whom one asked.

“So, when the other day you said fairness is relative , you meant it literally.”

He gave a short, startled laugh. “Perhaps.”

“Did you like A Venetian Romance ?”

His hesitation suggested he was giving this some thought. “I was not unmoved by the plight of our characters.”

She gave a soft laugh. “In other words, you merely endured the book.”

His mouth quirked at the corner. “I enjoyed it! I’m probably not a very good judge of novels. I seem to be better at prosaic things, like numbers.”

“Why do you like numbers?”

They were now sitting about Violet Llewellyn’s final resting place as though they were on a picnic.

Isolde’s already dusty-hemmed skirts were flared out around her; her bottom rested half on moss and half on dirt.

It was cooler; the sun had shifted. It had grown quieter, too.

Over the past few days, she had become intimately familiar with the ambient sounds of the heart of Pennyroyal Green—birdsong, carriage and cart wheels and hooves over cobblestones, the distant rise and fall of laughter and conversation, dogs barking.

The quiet reminded her it was now well past the time she ought to have set out for home.

“I suppose it’s because even though the rules binding them are ancient and unchanging, I can use them as a sort of crystal ball to forecast the success of an investment in the future.

They can help create order from chaos. With them, I can measure how far I’ve come and how far I need to go when it comes to growing the kind of wealth that will keep the family I raise, and all the Redmonds, safe and prosperous for generations to come, and…

” he waved a hand almost helplessly. “There are so many reasons.”

“So, numbers are your way of fortifying your castle.”

“I suppose they are.” He sounded pleased.

“It doesn’t sound dull at all. You’ve made it sound almost like poetry.”

For a moment she merely basked in his slow, warm, relieved smile, moved that such an impressive young man had clearly been worried about impressing her.

“Mr. Redmond, I’m afraid I must leave for home now. I am expected.”

He scrambled to his feet at once.

After the briefest of hesitations, he extended his hand to her.

It would have been churlish not to do it.

And yet.

How absurd that it felt like a dare.

She eyed it hesitantly.

When she finally slipped her hand into his, a current raced through her body.

He felt impossibly strong, and she felt gossamer, as he raised her to her feet.

She was blushing furiously again by the time she was upright.

She released his hand at once and cast her eyes on the ground.

The quality of the silence suggested they were both shaken by this brief intimacy.

She knew how Jacob would feel if he’d ever learned Isaiah Redmond had held her hand.

Piercing guilt and a surprisingly muscular rebelliousness batted her heart between them.

Jacob wasn’t here.

Mr. Redmond cleared his throat. “I will escort you home.”

This was another predicament: as a gentleman, he could hardly abandon a lady. But they both knew that if even one person saw her promenading through town alongside the Redmond heir, within hours it would be all Pennyroyal Green talked about.

Furthermore, propriety demanded that she protest.

“Mr. Redmond… that’s a very kind offer, but there’s no need. Quite truthfully, I can find my way home blindfolded, in the dark.”

He drew in a breath. “Miss Sylvaine…I understand and share your concerns. I know of a path that diverges slightly from the main street, if your toe is equal to it. And we are friends, are we not? I should not be able to live with myself if I did not see you to at least the start of your road.”

She was the girl who had crossed fast-moving streams over stones as Jacob led the way. She was, at heart, a taker of risks.

“Well, I should loath to be the reason for your demise,” she said gravely.

They set out into the falling light.

All along the far edge of the churchyard, through the clearing where two oaks spent eternity entwined, between the trees lining the river, and across a short, ancient wooden footbridge, Isaiah felt as though his heart was dancing on a tether, struggling to gambol ahead of him.

This path was as familiar to him as his own hand, but he suddenly had no idea where it would lead.

How odd that a walk should feel like an insurrection.

Just days ago, the idea of veering from his proscribed future would have seemed as outlandish as the characters of A Venetian Romance leaping from the confines of the book.

At any moment he could turn his head to see Isolde’s face alight with curiosity and the delight of discovery, which felt like a rare luxury.

And while they saw no one else along the way, he knew it didn’t mean they remained unseen by any villagers.

But the intoxication of each other’s company made this concern seem as distant and irrelevant as the sound of carts clattering down the main street’s cobblestones while they were working in the churchyard.

When they reached the place here Isolde ought to turn and walk up to her home, he pointed to an ancient tree stump tucked between the trees lining the road.

“That stump marks a little trail that meanders right through the trees and leads to our family’s rose garden. A few escapee roses from our garden bloom along it every year. I think I might be the only one who’s ever noticed them. I might actually be the only one who knows about this path.”

“Oh, that’s delightful! Are any blooming now?” She craned her head to peer through the trees.

“I haven’t yet looked this season.” He hesitated. “Would you like to investigate?”

She stared at him. “Of course, I do.” She sounded almost indignant, which made him give a short laugh. “But Mr. Redmond…a walk is one thing. I feel it needs to be said that I’m not the kind of girl who plunges into shrubbery with men.”

“I know you aren’t. And I’m not the sort who.

..” heat rushed his face. “…leads young ladies into shrubberies. You are safe with me. I just…” he made a sort of encompassing gesture.

Just want this day to never end. I know my all of my secrets are safe with you.

Things he didn’t dare say aloud. Things that might in fact frighten her.

Her eyes searched his face while his heart ticked faster.

Her skirts whipped her ankles when she whirled and dove into the trees and onto the path.

“Are you coming?” she called over her shoulder.

“Of course.” Exultation almost dizzied him.

They couldn’t walk side by side on the narrow path, so he simply enjoyed watching her head swiveling to and fro to take in the sights, the way her shoulder blades moved beneath her dress, the way the leaves stippled her with little shadows. The remains of the day were as softly warm as a shawl.

She stopped abruptly about twenty meandering feet in. “Mr. Redmond, look!”

One of the wayward rose bushes sported a dusky pink bloom the size of a baby’s fist. In a matter of days, it would unfurl to a size that would fill his palm.

How furious his father would be if he’d known one of his prize roses had escaped.

Isolde touched it gently. “It’s the color of the dress I’ll be wearing to the assembly. You’ve only ever seen me in colors that match dirt.” She twitched her skirts ruefully.

He fell mute. He expected his eyes told her she would look lovely in anything, because her own eyes went soft.

“You must have it then.” He gently plucked it and handed it to her. He was stunned to realize his hands were trembling.

A shade the color of the rose spilled into her cheeks as she accepted it with pretty gravity.

She ducked her head to bury her nose in it.

Longing surged in him so violently he nearly swayed.

If only this interlude were a story he could read whenever he wished. If only he was a character in a book who could sweep her into an embrace and mold her lithe form against his hard body. The skin of his arms hummed at the very notion of holding her.

What would happen if he did it now? To both his thrill and horror, his cock stirred.

“Friends of our family are coming to visit Pennyroyal Green. They will likely be attending the assembly, too.”

His words emerged almost hoarsely. He’d needed to say it in order not to hate himself. Though of a certainty he’d already breached the fine line between honor and dishonor and he could not undo it.

Something flickered in Miss Sylvaine’s gaze as she searched his face: puzzlement, a question. Then caution. For while his words sounded like a non sequitur, she would likely conclude that they were not.

“How lovely,” she replied with evident sincerity, after a hesitation. Miss Sylvaine was neither a fool nor na?ve. But she was kind. Dear God, how he yearned toward her kindness, even as he felt he did not deserve it.

“I must dash,” she said swiftly. “Thank you for the adventure, Mr. Redmond.”

“Until tomorrow?” he called on a rush.

She didn’t reply, but her smile flashed like a shooting star over her shoulder just before she disappeared from view.