Garrett took a step back. “Feelings?”
“Yes. We’ve been in each other’s company a great deal in London of late and I—I’ve come to care for you.”
Garrett cleared his throat. “I hope you won’t be offended when I tell you this is a surprise to me, Isabella.”
She arched a brow and stepped back, folding her arms over her chest. “Don’t play coy, Garrett. You must have noticed my interest in you.”
He nodded. “Since we’ve been here in Surrey, yes, but earlier, in London—”
“I’m telling you now.” She stamped her foot, but then smiled at him sweetly and allowed her arms to fall to her sides. “Don’t you think I’m beautiful, Garrett?”
Sweat beaded on his forehead. “That is hardly the point, Mrs. Langford.”
“You called me Isabella before.” She quickly moved around the table in a swish of skirts and pulled his hand to her bosom. “Don’t stop.”
Garrett pulled his hand from her grasp. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
Her chest rose and fell. Her eyes searched his face. “Why? Because you feel guilty for falling in love with me? Because of Harold?”
Garrett stared off, out the window. “I do feel guilt, terrible guilt, but it’s not for the reason you think.”
“What reason then?” Isabella demanded, staring up at him, her lips quivering.
Garrett cursed under his breath and turned his head sharply to face her. “Isabella,” he whispered, “it’s high time I told you. Your husband died saving my life.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Isabella’s face drained of color. Her pale pink lips continued to tremble and her eyes searched Garrett’s face as if she’d learn the rest of the story there.
“What do you mean?” she whispered sharply.
Garrett shoved his hand through his hair and paced toward the window. “It’s true. He died saving my life. Your husband is dead because of me.”
“I don’t understand.”
Garrett closed his eyes. The guilt pummeled him. “As you know, we were at Zornova. I went down, a bullet in my shoulder and another in my thigh. It was bad, but I was able to crawl.”
Garrett expelled his breath in a deep rush. It all came back to him, the haunting memories, the awful screams of men dying around him, the acrid smell of the thick, nearly impenetrable smoke. And the sickening sweet smell of … blood.
“I was wheezing, grabbing at my chest. I looked up through the smoke to see another French soldier with his rifle aimed at me. I was wounded too badly to move quickly. I said my prayers.”
Isabella gasped.
Garrett took another deep breath. “Harold saw it too. He ran toward me. He launched himself in front of the fire. He saved my life, the brave, mad fool. He gave his life for mine.” Garrett turned to look at Isabella. Would she hate him? Could she forgive?
“It sounds like something Harold would do.” Her voice sounded more full of pique than hatred.
Garrett hung his head. “He was the best man I ever knew. I owe him my life.”
“And that’s why you refuse to have anything to do with me?”
Garrett furrowed his brow. How could she be worried about that after what he’d just said? “You haven’t known the truth about me, Isabella. Now you do. I expected your hatred or at least your anger. I deserve both.”
“What if I told you I forgive you? If I said I still want to be with you?”
Garrett shook his head. “I’d say I don’t understand. But regardless, when I see you, I’m reminded of Harold. There are few moments when I’m not reminded of Harold but you’re his widow and I just can’t—”
“I understand,” Isabella said. She picked up her skirts and swept away down the corridor, leaving Garrett with the distinct impression that she didn’t understand at all.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Jane stared at the sparkly silver gown that encased her body. Tonight’s grand dance wouldn’t rival the one to be held the following evening, but it would be unforgettable just the same.
“That gown looks stunning on you,” Lucy declared.
Jane nearly blushed. “It’s far, too, ahem, tight. Even after Eloise helped me with the seams.”
Not only was the décolletage far more risqué than she would normally wear, the sparkle was far more sparkly than anything she’d ever owned. Of course she couldn’t help smiling at herself in the reflection in the looking glass. Would Upton think she was stunningly beautiful tonight?
“It looks much better on you than it ever did on me,” Lucy added. “Now, here, take this.” She handed Jane the vial of lilac perfume.