Page 25 of The Notorious Dashing Viscount (Love Beyond Expectations #3)

“It’s really too wet to walk in the gardens, James,” Isolde pointed out. “Why don’t we go inside? We can play chess, if you want.”

James said nothing, but a muscle in his cheek jumped. She supposed he was still shaken over the incident at the club last night.

Beatrice had cried when James told them about what he’d overheard from Lord Raisin. Richard’s face went pale. Isolde, however, only felt a sense of relief.

At long, long last, she was free. No more being nudged towards wretched Lord Raisin. If she was going to be ruined, then she would be ruined. Nothing more for her to worry about. What would be, would be.

There was a sort of lightness inside her now, like she’d been carrying something very heavy for a long time and was only just now allowed to put it down. Perhaps the next few weeks and months would change her life beyond recognition, but at least she’d be free. Happy, and free.

Well, free, at least. It was hard to be happy when wet earth was soaking through one’s slippers.

“Really, James, I’d like to go back inside,” Isolde repeated. “Look at that sky. It’s going to rain at any moment. Why did you insist on a walk today? What’s wrong with you?”

James gave a sigh, the sort of annoyed huffing sound he’d made when they were children and he couldn’t get his own way.

“Look, I have a reason for us being out here, but he’s late, and I can’t…”

“Wait, what? Who? Who is he? What are you talking about?”

With impeccable timing, the trellis climbing up the outside of the wall to their left began to jump, and a man slowly began to heave himself up onto the top of the wall. Isolde and James watched in stunned silence.

“Clayton,” Isolde said, feeling that she ought to be more surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Clayton, out of breath and a little dishevelled, straddled the top of the wall, and glanced down at them. There was a twig in his hair.

“James invited me,” he answered. “I want to talk to you about what happened.”

Isolde shot her brother a glare. “I see. And any particular reason why you’re climbing over our garden wall?”

“I didn’t think I’d be allowed in the front door.”

This was a fair point. Isolde sighed. “And what if I don’t want to talk to you?”

“Well, that is your prerogative, of course. I’d leave, naturally. However, I would like you to decide whether you want to talk to me or not before I drop down, if that’s all the same to you. It’s a taller wall than I expected, and once I drop in, I’m not sure I can climb back out again.”

There was a short silence while Isolde thought this over.

“What exactly are you going to tell me, then?”

“I think I owe you a hefty apology. Several, in fact.”

Isolde swallowed hard. The sensible thing to do, she knew quite well, would be to politely thank him for his apology and tell him to go away.

But then, she hadn’t made too many sensible decisions over the past few days, so why bother starting now?

“Very well,” she replied. “You may descend. James, if you would be so kind as to remove yourself, I require a moment with Clayton. You have five minutes.”

He dropped nimbly down, and it was hard not to be impressed. She noticed that while he was wearing sturdy boots and a sensible suit, he had paired it with a lime green and canary yellow waistcoat that was frankly hurting her eyes to look at.

James shuffled away, glancing over his shoulder at them. Isolde waited until he disappeared around a corner before she spoke.

“Do you have any idea how much you’ve humiliated me?” she said at last.

Clayton hung his head. “I have an idea. I know that a simply sorry isn’t going to fix anything. It was wrong of me to take the wager, and every day I let slip by without ending it made me into more and more of a coward, and less and less of a gentleman. I’m disgusted with myself, truly I am. I don’t deserve your forgiveness – or indeed, anything from you – but I came here because I had to tell you the truth.”

“The truth?” she echoed. “Some honesty would be nice.”

He drew in a breath. “I love you, Isolde. I never thought I’d fall in love. I thought I was above it, I think. I never knew a happy marriage when I was a child, and I suppose it just made sense to avoid it. And then, Isolde, I met you. I had that ridiculous wager in the back of my mind, but it was so apparent that you were the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met.”

“I am not the most fascinating woman in London, Clayton.”

“You are to me. You’re intelligent, beautiful, kind, and so wretchedly stubborn. I think I fell in love with you the moment you tripped into my arms.”

Isolde’s cheeks burned at the memory. “That,” she said firmly, “was an accident.”

“I’m sure it was. But so was my falling in love with you. I told this to James, and I’ll tell it to you. Of course I regret making that wager, it was vile and ungentlemanly, but at the same time, I can’t regret it. Because if I hadn’t accepted that foolish wager, I would never have met you, Isolde. I would never have fallen in love with you, and now I cannot imagine my life without you.”

She bit her lip, turning away. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do. Isolde, please, look at me.”

She glanced back, and when she did, he dropped onto one knee.

“Your breeches!” she yelped. “They’ll get wet.”

“I don’t care. I’d roll around in the mud if you requested it of me. Isolde, I love you. I have lost my heart to you and I cannot get it back. If risking my heart means winning yours, then it is a wager I am willing to take. Will you please marry me?”

He took her hand, his fingers rough but gentle against her skin, and Isolde felt goosebumps break out over her skin. He watched her face closely, anxious and hopeful, and her heart pounded against her ribcage.

“I… I want to marry you, Clayton,” she ventured at last. “When you told me that you were falling in love with me at Vauxhall, I felt a sort of happiness I’d never expected to feel. It was dizzying. But…”

“If it’s the business of the wager, Isolde, then let me tell you I’ll wait as long as you want. On the other hand, I would marry you tomorrow if you wished it. I’ll proclaim our engagement to everybody I meet until everyone in London knows it, or I’ll keep it a secret. Whatever you want. I’m a rich man, and I don’t want your money. Not,” he added, “like Lord Raisin.”

She bit back a smile, but there was the old, familiar worry fluttering at the back of her mind, and she could not let it go. The clouds were more threatening overhead, and she could smell rain on the air.

“I have a secret, too,” she said at last. “I… I have never told anyone. My family know, of course, but…” she swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes closed. “The Duke and Duchess of Belbrooke are not my parents. They are my aunt and uncle.”

There was a brief silence. The first few drops of rain fell, soaking into the thin material of Isolde’s dress.

“What?” Clayton managed.

She didn’t dare open her eyes. She ploughed on, desperate to get the words out.

“My mother is the Duchess’ sister, and her name is Dorothy. The scandal is old, but not forgotten. She ran away, shaming the family. I am not… I am legitimate. I don’t even know who my father is. My mother died in childbirth, and so my uncle and aunt adopted me as their own and kept it all a great secret.”

Isolde let out a long, slow breath. When she opened her eyes, Clayton was on his feet again, a light frown between his brows.

“You are serious?” he said, and all of Isolde’s worries came flooding through in one great, overwhelming flood.

“I should never have told you,” she gasped, and tore her hand away from him. The rain began to fall as she sprinted across the lawn, light slippers digging deep into the wet earth, the groundwater soaking through to her skin. She was already wet by the time she reached a tiny folly near the wall, designed to look like a small Grecian villa.

And then Clayton was right behind her.

“You can’t tell anyone!” she burst out. “Nobody can know. I’ll say you’re lying, I’ll bring up the business of the wager, I’ll…”

“Stop, stop, Isolde!” he reached out and grabbed her shoulders, his palms warm against the damp fabric.

She drew in a ragged breath, wiping her eyes.

“Isolde,” Clayton said quietly, curling a finger under her chin and tilting up her face to look at him, “Do you think this would change my feelings for you?”

She went still. “My parents – uncle and aunt, rather – always thought that it would change a man’s feelings for me. It’s a great secret. It’s a sin.”

“A sin? Not as great as mine, wagering to win a young woman’s heart. Although, I did win that, didn’t I? Lord Raisin might have bragged about your dowry, but he’d overlooked the true treasure. Isolde, your illegitimacy is not your fault. It never was. Society is unforgiving, true, and I understand why you might need to keep it a secret. But it doesn’t change a thing about you. Not a single thing. And it certainly doesn’t change my feelings for you.”

She swallowed hard. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, no more than you knowing what a stupid man I am has changed your feelings for me. I have a great deal to change about myself, but you… you are perfect.”

“I am not perfect,” she managed. “Neither of us are. We never will be, and that’s quite alright.”

He smiled down at her, and Isolde’s insides did a sort of loop.

“And there you go, already making me a better, cleverer man. I love you, Isolde, and I want to marry you, if you’ll have me.”

“But marrying an illegitimate woman…”

“I am Viscount Henley, with an independent fortune, and very much my own man. If you don’t wish for people to know the circumstances of your birth, that’s your choice, but if it ever comes out, I guarantee you that nobody would ever dare speak badly of you in my presence.”

She let out a long, slow sigh.

“Then my answer is yes,” she said, and her voice wobbled. “I will marry you, Clayton.”

He grinned down at her, almost wolfish for a moment, then bent his head and kissed her full on the mouth. Isolde wrapped her arms around his neck, too enthralled to think about propriety, or even whether anyone could see her from the windows of the house.

They could, as it turned out.