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Authors: Marina Myles
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Her stress melted away momentarily as she leaned her head against the polished porcelain and captured a cloud of frothy suds in her sponge. Purring like a kitten, Isabella released a rich cascade of water between her breasts.
A feeling of unease skittered across her neck and raised goose bumps on her arms. Clenching the sides of the tub, she glanced around but noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Still, she was unable to brush aside the feeling that someone—or something—was watching her. She turned to look in a standing mirror that sat on a nearby ledge. In the reflection, she saw a human eye between the stones of the wall. Donning her robe, she rushed into the hall and ran headfirst into Draven.
He looked dashing in a finely cut, blue waistcoat and snug-fitting breeches tucked into a pair of polished Hessians. Although his well-groomed appearance contrasted with the tousled, fiery man she had encountered last evening, defiance still shadowed his face.
Pulling the cords of her robe into firm knots, she stared up at him. “Were you watching me, my lord?”
“Watching you do what exactly?” was his arrogant response.
“I was taking a bath just now and I saw someone watching me between the stones in the wall. If it was you, I thought you weren’t interested in seeing me without my clothes.”
“My dear wife, I am the first to admit my longing for female company at this secluded mess of an estate,” Draven said, “but I am no Peeping Tom. My guess is that some young hall boy has become fascinated with you. If I find him, I’ll have his position without recourse.”
“I don’t see a hall boy about,” Isabella said. Giving him a hard frown, she mumbled something else under her breath.
“Pardon?”
“I said: you would never admit to spying on me.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Believe what you want.”
Isabella wrapped a hand around her damp neck.
“You’re creating quite a puddle out here,” Draven remarked as his expression softened. “Let’s dismiss this unpleasantness, shall we? Why don’t you get dressed since I’m here to accompany you to breakfast?”
Refusing to be charmed by him, she lifted her chin. “I never agreed to that. I’ll meet you in the breakfast parlor, although I have little to say to you until you are willing to discuss the ultimatum I presented you with.”
Draven’s eyes narrowed. In a stiff motion, he tucked one hand behind his back and bowed. “I will go ahead, if you wish.”
Feeling no need to impress her unpredictable husband, Isabella stepped back into her suites and slipped into a simple muslin dress. She exited her chambers once more then retraced the complicated hallways and staircases she had conquered yesterday. When she entered the sunny breakfast parlor, the clink of china and the smell of baked bread greeted her.
Helena was seated at the head of the polished table. The noblewoman merely nodded her head in Isabella’s direction before resuming the preparation of her tea.
Isabella decided not to complain about Helena taking the seat designated for the mistress of the house. After all, she didn’t care to start an argument this early in the morning. She did, however, make a mental note to speak with Draven about his mother’s presence here when breakfast was over.
Accepting the chair Rogers pulled out for her, she stole a look at her husband. He’d chosen a chair at the opposite end of the table from Helena. The intenseness of his gaze allowed Isabella to see that, in the illumination of morning, his eyes appeared colder than ever. Black as a chalkboard, they possessed no spark of warmth. She glanced down and fussed over her tea, but his stare continued to vex her nerves.
As the trio ate, the subdued noise of breakers washing over boulders provided the only sound. Isabella tried to raise her teacup without her hand shaking as her husband continued to scrutinize her.
“I have taken the liberty of having some dresses made for you,” he said.
A feeling of unease skittered across her neck and raised goose bumps on her arms. Clenching the sides of the tub, she glanced around but noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Still, she was unable to brush aside the feeling that someone—or something—was watching her. She turned to look in a standing mirror that sat on a nearby ledge. In the reflection, she saw a human eye between the stones of the wall. Donning her robe, she rushed into the hall and ran headfirst into Draven.
He looked dashing in a finely cut, blue waistcoat and snug-fitting breeches tucked into a pair of polished Hessians. Although his well-groomed appearance contrasted with the tousled, fiery man she had encountered last evening, defiance still shadowed his face.
Pulling the cords of her robe into firm knots, she stared up at him. “Were you watching me, my lord?”
“Watching you do what exactly?” was his arrogant response.
“I was taking a bath just now and I saw someone watching me between the stones in the wall. If it was you, I thought you weren’t interested in seeing me without my clothes.”
“My dear wife, I am the first to admit my longing for female company at this secluded mess of an estate,” Draven said, “but I am no Peeping Tom. My guess is that some young hall boy has become fascinated with you. If I find him, I’ll have his position without recourse.”
“I don’t see a hall boy about,” Isabella said. Giving him a hard frown, she mumbled something else under her breath.
“Pardon?”
“I said: you would never admit to spying on me.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Believe what you want.”
Isabella wrapped a hand around her damp neck.
“You’re creating quite a puddle out here,” Draven remarked as his expression softened. “Let’s dismiss this unpleasantness, shall we? Why don’t you get dressed since I’m here to accompany you to breakfast?”
Refusing to be charmed by him, she lifted her chin. “I never agreed to that. I’ll meet you in the breakfast parlor, although I have little to say to you until you are willing to discuss the ultimatum I presented you with.”
Draven’s eyes narrowed. In a stiff motion, he tucked one hand behind his back and bowed. “I will go ahead, if you wish.”
Feeling no need to impress her unpredictable husband, Isabella stepped back into her suites and slipped into a simple muslin dress. She exited her chambers once more then retraced the complicated hallways and staircases she had conquered yesterday. When she entered the sunny breakfast parlor, the clink of china and the smell of baked bread greeted her.
Helena was seated at the head of the polished table. The noblewoman merely nodded her head in Isabella’s direction before resuming the preparation of her tea.
Isabella decided not to complain about Helena taking the seat designated for the mistress of the house. After all, she didn’t care to start an argument this early in the morning. She did, however, make a mental note to speak with Draven about his mother’s presence here when breakfast was over.
Accepting the chair Rogers pulled out for her, she stole a look at her husband. He’d chosen a chair at the opposite end of the table from Helena. The intenseness of his gaze allowed Isabella to see that, in the illumination of morning, his eyes appeared colder than ever. Black as a chalkboard, they possessed no spark of warmth. She glanced down and fussed over her tea, but his stare continued to vex her nerves.
As the trio ate, the subdued noise of breakers washing over boulders provided the only sound. Isabella tried to raise her teacup without her hand shaking as her husband continued to scrutinize her.
“I have taken the liberty of having some dresses made for you,” he said.
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