His voice was low and liquid. “I am disappointed in you. I had hoped you would be a formidable opponent. And it seems you shan’t be a foe at all.”
Her gaze snapped up at the words, softly teasing. She watched the hint of a dimple in his cheek flash and decided then and there to put an end to his teasing.
“Where did you get your scar? ”
The words were barely out when she desperately wanted to take them back. What was she thinking?
He grinned wide and took a sip of brandy. “Good girl. I knew you could do it. You know, no woman has ever asked me that question before.”
She was instantly eager to dismiss the question. “I’m sure they barely notice—”
He raised a lone eyebrow, and the movement stayed her words. “Do not ruin my newfound view of you, Isabel. I acquired the mark in Turkey.”
She shook her head once, as if to clear it. “I—I didn’t mean—”
“Of course you did.” He held up his glass in a toast. “Now that we’ve settled that, how much do you need? “ Isabel’s thoughts were racing with additional questions.
He had opened the door…
“I’m not sure. More than we make off the estate. When?”
He did not pretend to misunderstand. He dangled his glass haphazardly from one hand, the liquid inside casually forgotten for the moment. “Nine years ago. Are you saying the estate cannot take care of itself?”
Isabel drank again. She leaned back, pressing herself into the soft chair. “Some months, it can—when we have the livestock, the crops to be self-sustaining. But there is nothing left. Nothing for school for James. No new clothes …”
“You would like new clothes?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m talking about new clothes for James … for—” She stopped. For the girls. She met his eyes. “Did it hurt?”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Worse than a four-inch-long gash on your cheek?”
He shook his head slowly. “It’s my turn. For the record, I would like you to have new clothes. I’d like to see you in bright, bold colors. I think they would suit you—certainly better than the colors of mourning. I’d like to see you in red. A deep, welcome rose.” Whether from the brandy or his thoughtful tone, Isabel felt warmer all of a sudden. She waited for him to speak, wondering what he might say next, eager for him to continue the conversation even as she feared the topics he might broach. “Why haven’t you married?”
The question was not at all what she had expected. “I …” She paused, uncertain. “What does that have to do with anything?”
One side of his mouth twitched in a crooked, knowing smile. “Ah. I see we have found a topic of interest.”
“I assure you, my lord, I am not at all interested in it.”
“No … but I am.” He stood, moving across the room to refill his glass. She tracked his movements, wide-eyed, and when he returned with the bottle and offered her more of the brandy, she did not refuse. “Marriage is the answer to your problems, Isabel. Why not marry? ”
She hadn’t thought there was a topic she wanted to discuss less than the estate’s finances. It seemed she had been wrong. “It’s never been an option. How did it happen? ”
He sat again, facing her once more. “Wrong place at the wrong time. I do not believe that marriage has never been an option. Try again.”
“The only men who have ever expressed an interest were friends of my father. If you knew my father, you would not consider marriage to any of his acquaintances an option, either.” She drank again, the liquor smoother—more pleasant—this time. “I do not believe that you were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. Try again.”
A smile flashed as he recognized his own words. “A palpable hit, my lady.” He leaned back in his chair. “I shall tell you, but then you shall have to be honest with me. Are you certain you are up to the challenge? ”
No. But, in that moment, there was nothing she would not promise to hear his story. “Of course.”
He raised one eyebrow, but spoke, nonetheless. “By a stroke of immensely atrocious luck and a fair bit of bad judgment, I landed myself in a Turkish prison while in the Orient.” She sucked in a short breath as he continued, “I was there for twenty-two days before Rock found me and brought me to safety. The fact that I walked away with a single visible scar is rather impressive, I think.”
How horrid. How lucky he had been that Rock had found him. What if he had not been saved? What if he had gone a month? A year? What other, more sinister scars might there have been? Might there be?
He leaned forward then, reaching one arm out toward her. She started when his long fingertips brushed the space between her brows, smoothing the furrow there that she had not noticed. “I can see your imagination running away with you.”
She shook her head at the words, pulling back from his warm touch. “Nonsense. I am only happy that you were able to escape your captors. How horrible that must have been. How lucky you were to have Rock.”
“Do not romanticize it, Isabel,” he said. “I assure you, I deserved the scar.” The words fell like stone between them. What did that mean? How could this man, this lord, this … antiquarian … have done something worthy of such a wound? Isabel’s mouth opened, but Nick continued before she could ask any of the questions racing through her head. “It’s your turn.”
She blinked once, twice. What had he wanted to know?