Flaming June Page 15

  He moved closer, watching as she slept. The artist in him itched with the desire to pick up his pencil and paper and sketch her, but he realised that would be a betrayal of trust. She would let him, one day, because Isabella was everything that was kindness and generosity and she would deny him nothing, not even herself. How she could ever have believed herself cruel and unkind, he did not understand. She had been nothing more than a wild thing kept in a cage, snarling to protect herself. It had taken little time to discover the real woman hiding beneath that frightened façade.

  Henry reached out a fingertip, trailing it along her collarbone, and then down, between the valley of her breasts. His breath caught as desire burned and he allowed it. Until Isabella had kissed him that day, he’d thought he had squashed such feelings, buried them down deep where they’d not torment him. The day the hard-faced woman who had worked here had tricked him into a quiet corner and tried to use him had made him afraid of such feelings. He’d wanted to touch her as she’d invited him to, just to see what she felt like. A mixture of curiosity and fear and excitement had struck him, but the woman’s greedy reaction, the way she’d grabbed and demanded and the crude things she’d said had unnerved him. The taunts when he’d refused to do as she’d asked had been worse.

  Now, though, with Isabella, everything was different. She welcomed him with love and trust, and that changed everything. He dipped his head, pressing a kiss to her lips as she sighed, waking under his touch. His lips explored a little further, tentative as she blinked, her sleepy sigh fluttering against his skin as he feathered kisses along her jaw and neck. Her hands found his neck, stroking his hair, and he knew she didn’t mind him touching her in this way.

  So, his questing lips continued their exploration, brushing the skin of her breasts with wonder. “So soft,” he murmured, then found the peak of her nipple stiff and touched it with his tongue. She sucked in a breath and Henry looked up, startled.

  “Don’t stop,” she said, giving him a lazy smile. He sighed with relief and did as she asked, exploring with lips and tongue, his hands sliding over her hips and stomach. The little thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs was fascinating too and he sat up, noting her breathing hitch once more as his fingers discovered the hidden terrain beneath the curls. He touched the tiny nub of flesh he discovered there and then dipped lower, finding her slick beneath his fingertip. Isabella arched, her eyes growing dark as he watched. A smile curved over his mouth as he returned to the soft little bud and discovered the source of her pleasure, moving his fingers over her with gentle, caressing touches.

  He stared, bewitched by the sight of his wife, her skin growing rosy as she murmured, increasingly restless as he touched her.

  “Henry,” she said, holding her arms out to him. “Henry, please.”

  He moved over her, knowing what she was asking for despite the incoherence of her plea, as his body was clamouring, too, desperate to find his place within her. His breath caught as they joined, the moment so perfect, so irresistible, it was almost too much to comprehend. This place was the only one he had ever found where he didn’t feel awkward, or different, but where he belonged.

  She wrapped her arms around him, her legs about his hips, urging him on, whispering words of love to him that were miraculous to one who had believed he would never know what love would be like.

  “Isabella,” he whispered against her skin, the word a prayer of thanks to a God who was perhaps not so cruel as he’d supposed. “Isabella, my love.”

  Chapter 16

  “Wherein fate is cruel and kind in turn.”

  “You look happy.”

  Isabella looked across at Belle and blushed a little, caught as she’d been, daydreaming about Henry. Yesterday was still fresh in her mind. Henry had been as good as his word and loved her again in the orchard. They’d dressed in reluctance, forced back to the house by the lateness of the hour and the fact little Marine needed changing. A fact she’d impressed upon them with some force. But later, in the comfort of Isabella’s bedroom, Henry had come to her again, and he’d stayed. Waking to find him beside her, albeit at an hour of the morning only a six-week-old baby could find reasonable, well, it had been one of the most wonderful moments of her life. It hadn’t taken her long to realise every wonderful moment she’d ever had revolved around Henry.

  “I am,” Isabella said, the smile at her lips confirming that fact.

  Belle returned her smile, though there was caution in her eyes. “I was wondering,” she began, giving Isabella a rather anxious look now. “If you might like to go shopping with me?”

  Isabella started, a panicky, fluttering feeling growing in her chest. She opened her mouth to refuse, but Belle held up a hand. “You don’t have to tell me now, Isabella, just think about it; only … are you going to live the rest of your days confined within these walls?”

  “I like it here,” Isabella retorted, setting her teacup down with something of a clatter.

  “I know that,” Belle replied, her tone kind and soothing. It was impossible to be cross with someone so good-hearted, although Isabella wanted to usher her out the door right now for allowing the real world to intrude. “But do you want your daughter to grow up in isolation, with no friends?”

  Isabella frowned. She wanted everything good in life for her daughter, for her to know what it was to be loved and happy. For that to happen, the child would need to see more of the world than these four walls. That Henry would not share in those experiences was a pain in her heart, but she knew he would not want the girl to miss out either.

  Belle got up, moving to sit beside Isabella, and clasped her hand. “My family are not immune to scandal, you know.”

  Isabella nodded, knowing what the woman referred to. Her sister, Lucretia, had run away with the terrifying figure of Lord Gabriel DeMorte. The world knew DeMorte as a murderer, a dark and sinister man with a reputation for cruelty. That the lovely Crecy had returned with a babe in her belly and DeMorte’s ring on her finger had not stopped the gossipmongers from tattling their tales. Isabella burned with shame as she remembered that she’d been one. How different things looked on the other side of the story.

  “How is your sister?” Isabella asked, avoiding Belle’s eyes for fear she’d see the guilt that dwelt there. She promised herself that she would never think or repeat another ill word about another human being so long as she lived. Cruelty had lost any appeal after witnessing the way life could be with someone as open and generous as Henry.

  “Blissfully happy,” Belle replied with a smile that held a little reserve. “And far braver than I. I was all for her hiding away at home, you see. Living quietly and not giving the gossips any more fuel for their tales … but not Crecy.”

  Belle gave a wry grin which Isabella could tell was full of pride.

  “Crecy took herself and the baby out and about and spat in their eyes, metaphorically,” Belle added with haste. “I thought she was out of her mind,” she admitted with a sigh. “But she had the right of it. Once the world saw how nauseatingly happy she was, they grew bored with talking about her and moved on.”

  “To me,” Isabella said with a snort.

  Belle shrugged and patted her hand. “For now, yes, but eventually there will be another unfortunate young lady to carry the burden of their censure. Until then, however …”

  Isabella gave her a dark look. “I should face them and spit in their eyes?”

  “Quite so.”

  She watched as Belle reached for another cake, her expression placid. The woman would not push her, she knew that much. She also knew she was right. Little did she want to admit it.

  “Marine needs christening,” she murmured, worrying at her lip with her teeth.

  Belle nodded. “Yes,” she replied, taking another bite of her cake. “You said that at least two weeks ago.”

  Isabella huffed. “It’s not that easy,” she said, reaching for her teacup and setting it down again with a grimace as she realised the tea had gone cold. �
�It’s so hard on Henry. When we got married, it … Well, it’s difficult for him.”

  “But he did it.” Belle held up her hands in a peaceable gesture as Isabella glared at her. “I am not making light of the problem, I assure you. But in my experience, if a man wants to do something enough, he’ll do it. Does Henry want his daughter christened?”

  “Yes, of course,” Isabella said, feeling a little irritated by Belle’s placid voice when her own heart was beating in her throat. “More than anything. I think it troubles him she’s not.”

  “Well, then,” Belle said, as if that settled everything. “There you have it.”

  Isabella glowered at her feet, wishing the next words were not about to leave her mouth. “She’ll need a christening gown.”

  Belle grinned at her, a rather devious smile that made Isabella wonder if she’d not just been manoeuvred about like a gaming counter. “Well, do you know, Isabella, I know just the place.”

  ***

  Isabella plucked at the pretty swathes of muslin, casting an anxious look out of the window of the shop towards the park.

  “They’re fine,” Belle said, her voice soothing. “Believe me, if Rachel can cope with my son, your daughter will not be a challenge.”

  Isabella nodded, knowing she was fretting for nothing. They’d only been apart five minutes. “I know, she looked accomplished and capable,” she said, trying to concentrate. “I’ve just never left her before.”

  Belle grinned at her. “I know. Enjoy it while you can,” she instructed, her voice tart.

  She snorted, rolling her eyes at Belle. “Yes, Lady Winterbourne.”

  “Oh dear, am I being bossy? I promised myself I wouldn’t.” Isabella laughed this time and took Belle’s arm as they walked further down the aisle of the shop.

  “No, you are being a dear friend and I’m grateful. I shall stop being such a goosecap, I swear.”

  “Are you sure it’s only Marine you’re worrying about?” Belle teased her.

  Isabella gave a wistful smile and shrugged. She wasn’t worried about Henry, exactly. It was more that she knew he worried about her. Having her out of his sight in a world he thought cruel and incomprehensible had not put him in the best of humours. That he’d supported her despite his misgivings had been just one more reason she was so keen to return to the safety of their little idyll.

  It took the best part of an hour, but they bought the christening gown, along with some new gloves for Isabella and a length of bronze-coloured ribbon.

  “What’s the ribbon for?” Belle asked, and Isabella demurred, murmuring about trimming a hat. That she’d bought it for Henry was not something she would tell Belle.

  The little market town was bustling today, but at least it was the locals, bringing their produce to market and standing around chattering. The ton would put in an occasional appearance here. They would sneer and complain about the lack of style and dull provincial tastes, but local as it was, needs must bring them here on occasion.

  Isabella was enjoying herself, though. She dawdled a little, perusing the shop windows as Belle walked forward to greet a friend. Belle had been right. She’d noticed a few judging faces who recognised her and walked on, quickening their step, but she found she didn’t care as much as she might have believed. So, it was a cruel stroke of luck that brought Isabella face to face with her mother.

  The two women started, and Isabella wasn’t sure which one of them was the most shocked. As ever, her mother recovered first, a look of disgust filling her narrow face as she looked her daughter up and down.

  “I wonder you have the nerve to show your face here, you little slut,” she hissed, turning to see if the people she was with had seen Isabella yet. “Just because you got some half-wit to marry you doesn’t mean you’ve a right to return to society.”

  “He’s not a half-wit!” Isabella retorted, fury replacing the numbing shock that had held her immobile on first seeing Lady Scranford. “Henry is a good man, and a great artist. I’m happy, mother, not that I expect you to care.”

  “Keep your voice down,” her mother hissed, her bony fingers curling around Isabella’s arm and dragging her out of sight of her companions.

  “Let go of me, you’re pinching,” Isabella snapped, trying to drag her arm free. The woman might be scrawny, but she had a vice-like grip, her nails digging into Isabella’s flesh with deliberate cruelty.

  “You’re right about one thing, Isabella,” her mother said with a sneer. “I don’t give a damn if you're happy with your madman, or if your bastard child lived or died. I do care that you not sully my good name any further. So, get out of this place before anyone sees you, and don’t come back.”

  “No.”

  Her mother stared at her, her shock plain, and Isabella realised she’d never defied her before. Never.

  “What did you say?” that bitter mouth demanded, her eyes glittering with malice.

  “I said, no, mother.” Isabella’s heart was beating in her throat, combined fury and embarrassment scalding her cheeks as heads turned in their direction. “I’m Mrs Barbour now, and you have no right to tell me what to do. I’ll carry on shopping here for as long as I wish, and there’s not a single thing you can do about it.”

  Her mother jolted like someone had slapped her, and Isabella felt a surge of satisfaction. “By the way,” she added, raising her voice loud enough, so it carried. “You’re the grandmother to a beautiful little girl. I’m sure that knowledge will please you.” She laced the words with amusement, vindictive as they were, and Isabella snorted as she saw her mother’s friends put two and two together.

  She walked off with her chin up, to discover Belle hurrying towards her.

  “Oh, Isabella, my dear. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see her or …”

  Isabella shook her head as Belle took her arm. “It’s all right,” she said, letting out a breath, though she discovered she trembled as the force of her anger subsided. “I’m glad I faced her.”

  “You were very brave,” Belle said, her tone approving.

  Isabella snorted and held out her hand to show how much it shook. What possessed her to look back, she didn’t know, but she saw two young women gossiping, and pointing in her direction as another gasped, scandalised by whatever she was being told. They laughed, their eyes wide as though looking at a bizarre and shocking exhibit at a fair. A flush stained her cheeks as Belle followed her gaze.

  “Head up, Isabella,” she instructed. “Spit in their eyes, remember.”

  “I think we must get closer for that,” Isabella muttered, walking in the opposite direction as fast as she could. Bravery was best accomplished in small doses, she decided. For now, all she wanted was to run back to Henry, and the peace and safety of the sanctuary they’d found together.

  ***

  “How’s my little lady, then?” Jack crooned as Isabella handed Marine into his arms from the carriage. He kissed the baby’s head before reaching out to help Isabella down.

  “Where’s Henry?” she asked, desperate to see him now. Though the shock of seeing her mother had worn off a little, her cruel words struck her hard now she’d had time to relive them.

  Jack snorted, shaking his head. “Sulking in his studio, of course,” he said, chuckling. “Good God, if the man asked me the time once today, he did it fifty times. I sent him off with a flea in his ear.”

  “Oh dear,” Isabella said, hurrying down the steps.

  “Oh, don’t you fret,” Jack said, as Isabella juggled her purchases into a pile she could carry. “He’s fine, just missed you, that’s all, and that won’t do him no harm.” He gave Isabella an assessing look. “You can’t hide yourself away here forever just because it suits Henry. Won’t do little Marine any good.”

  Isabella sighed as they walked out of the sun and into the cool gloom of the entrance hall. “That’s what Belle said.”

  Jack nodded. “Wise lady, that one,” he said, his tone approving. “I like her.” He shot Isabella a sideways glance, his ey
es on her assessing. “It go all right, then?”

  She swallowed, avoiding his eyes. “I … I saw my mother.”

  “Did you now?” Jack said, his eyes full of concern. “Bet she had a word or two for you, eh?”

  “You could say that,” Isabella replied, the longing for Henry growing now.

  To her surprise, Jack put an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “You’re a brave girl, Isabella. I’m proud of you, and everything you’ve done. You’ve made Henry happier than I dared ever hope, and …” His face softened as he glanced down at the baby in his arms. “And this little princess is a wonder and a blessing.” He sniffed and cleared his throat, his voice growing stern. “So, don’t you let nothing that miserable bitch said make you feel anything less than you are. You’re a good girl, and we love you. Right?”

  Isabella swallowed hard, touched beyond words that Jack should say such things to her.

  “Right,” she whispered, blinking back tears.

  “Run along and find poor Henry, then,” Jack instructed. “Before he frets himself to death. I’ll look after little lady muck here.”

  On impulse, Isabella ran forward and kissed Jack’s whiskery cheek, amused to see a blush stain his cheeks as she turned and did as he commanded.

  Isabella tip-toed into Henry’s studio, wanting to surprise him. To her disappointment, he wasn’t standing at his easel, the work covered with a sheet. That meant he was planning something new he didn’t want her to see. The temptation to peek was strong, but she was content to wait, knowing it was worth the anticipation. Where, though, was Henry?

  It was growing late now, the sun sinking fast, and the room filled with shadows as no candles had been lit. She found him at last, sitting hunched in a dark corner of the room, head bowed, threading the blue ribbon back and forth through his fingers. He was muttering to himself, low, anxious words she couldn’t make out.

  “Henry?”

  He looked up then and let out a breath. “Isabella!” She smiled, holding her arms out to him as he scrambled to his feet. He swept her up in his arms, holding her tight as she squealed.