When the Duke Returns(61)

Isidore’s head fell back and she clung to him, letting the touch of his mouth shimmer through her body like shards of fire. She pressed closer to him, knowing that what she was feeling was lust. Good, old-fashioned lust. Lust, she discovered, made her tremble and melt inside. It made her forget that he was showing signs of being as tight with money as his father.

Lust made her mind reel and the only thought that went fuzzily through her head was some sort of repetition of don’t stop.

Of course, he stopped.

“I spent all these years avoiding kisses because I was told they led to nothing good,” she managed, pulling herself together. She kept her tone light, as if she wasn’t struggling to keep her spine straight.

His eyes were fierce, like a preacher’s eyes. She groaned and let her forehead fall onto his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’re going to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For kissing me. You have a look about you as if you thought you’d committed a sin.”

“No.” But she thought he sounded unconvinced.

“Do you ever lose control?” she asked, suddenly interested.

“In what way?”

Even his responses were cautious and thought out.

“Do you swear?” she asked hopefully. “Take the Lord’s name in vain? Become blasphemous?”

He thought about that.

She thought about the fact he had to think it over, and decided to try to stop using her favorite epithet, bastardo. Though it reminded her of her mother, a good Catholic woman…

“On occasion,” he decided.

“What sort of occasion are we talking about? Is this a lion-chasing-man occasion, or a hit-elbow-on-doorframe occasion?”

There was a glimmer of a smile in his dark eyes and she thrilled to it like an Italian hearing an opera. “Lion-catches-man occasion.”

She quirked up the corner of her mouth. “I thought so.”

Just like that, his eyes went serious again. “If you’re prepared for all eventualities, there’s no need to react with fear or anger to the unknown.”

“Because there is no unknown?”

“Exactly.”

“So you’ll never shout at me?”

“I hope not. I would be ashamed to shout at my wife. Or at an underling of any kind.”

Isidore’s brows snapped together and her back straightened all by itself. “An underling of any kind—one of those kinds being the spousal variety?”

“There’s nothing unusual about my position on marriage, Isidore,” he said. “I do not mean any lack of respect. From what I’ve already learned of you, I think that you are better at managing people, better read, and more generous than I am. I would be honored to serve under you, were you the captain of a ship.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“But I am worried.” He seemed to be picking his words carefully. “It would not have been my choice to throw money in the direction of Mopser’s store.”

Isidore stood up and then said, “In addition to paying him for the wool, I also gave him twenty-seven guineas.”

Simeon’s mouth fell open for a moment. “You—what?”

“I gave him twenty-seven guineas. For delivering the wool.”

“You—you mean ha’pennies, don’t you? You gave him a—you gave him twenty-seven guineas?”

Being a great screamer herself, Isidore had never believed anyone who claimed never to shout. She whipped around. “You’re howling at me,” she pointed out, with some satisfaction.

Simeon had surged out of his chair, but he caught himself. His voice calmed, but his eyes were searing with anger. “Do you know how much money twenty-seven guineas is?”

“You never returned to claim me as your wife,” she said. “Therefore I took over management of my estate when I turned nineteen.”

Simeon stared at his wife. “I’m proud of you,” he said woodenly. This was a disaster. A total disaster. Isidore was like a walking version of a succubus, the kind of woman who twisted a man’s resolution and manliness and turned him into porridge.

“You’re not proud of me!” she shouted at him. Suddenly she sounded much more Italian than she normally did.

He pulled his mind away. So what if her voice had a kind of husky tinge that made him quiver, like a dog hearing its master? That was it, exactly. She was going on about her dowry.

Simeon took a deep breath, centered himself, reminded himself that he was nothing more than a small pebble on the shores of eternity.

“I apologize for not returning and taking care of your dowry myself,” he said.

“It wasn’t just my dowry!” she shouted.

“You’re raising your voice.”