“They sound like remarkable people.”
“They were.” Isobel's smile was bittersweet. “They loved us all so fiercely, even me, although I had not been born to them. I never felt like anything less than their true daughter.”
Richard felt something twist in his chest at her words, at the pain beneath them. Because of course, there was an unspoken contrast there – the parents who had chosen to love her and protect her, versus the father who had chosen to abandon her.
“I am sorry,” he said, meaning it. “For what Gregory did to you. For the childhood you should have had.”
Isobel looked at him, surprise flickering across her features. Then she shook her head slightly, as though dismissing the moment of vulnerability.
“Well,” she said, her tone becoming brisk, “Fortunately, I learned some useful skills during that childhood. Such as how to treat bruises. I need to apply it directly over the affected area.” She looked at him expectantly. “Which means you need to remove your coat and shirt so I can apply this properly.”
Richard's eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your coat and shirt,” Isobel repeated, as though it were the most natural request in the world. “Take them off.”
“Miss Wightman –”
“We are well past formality, Your Grace,” Isobel interrupted, and there was a glint of mischief in her eyes now. “Considering what occurred between us yesterday. Or would you prefer I remind you of the details?”
Heat flooded through Richard, along with a surge of desire that was entirely inappropriate given his current state. This woman – this bold, brazen, utterly shameless, beautiful woman – was going to be the death of him.
“You have no sense of propriety whatsoever,” he muttered in mock complaint, but he was already reaching for his coat buttons.
“I am Scottish,” Isobel replied cheerfully. “We are known for being practical rather than proper.”
Richard could not help it – he laughed. A real, genuine laugh that seemed to surprise them both.
“Is that so?” he chuckled.
She had a look of utter surprise on her face for a few seconds, then she smiled as well, making a dismissive motion at him with the wave of her hand.
“Absolutely. Now stop stalling.”
With a shake of his head, Richard shrugged carefully out of his coat. The movement jostled his shoulder, and he hissed slightlyat the pain. Isobel immediately stepped closer, her hands hovering as though ready to help if needed.
“Slowly,” she murmured. “There is no need to rush.”
Richard managed to remove the coat, draping it over the arm of the chair. Then he reached for the buttons of his waistcoat, acutely aware of Isobel's gaze on him. There was something oddly intimate about this – nearly even more so than what had transpired between them the day before. Although he couldn’t quite explain why.
The waistcoat joined the coat, and then he pulled his shirt over his head. The fabric caught on his shoulder, and he could not quite suppress a grunt of pain as he tugged it free.
“Careful,” Isobel scolded softly, taking the shirt from him and setting it aside.
Then she went very still, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of his bare chest and shoulders. Richard wondered if it would be too prideful of him to show off the evidence of his good physical condition a bit more. Instead, he watched as a pretty blush settled across her face while her eyes ran over his form with varying expressions of awe and concern.
He knew the source of the concern was a result of the many scars he had collected over the years, and he wanted to reassure her that he was all right, but then her gaze strayed to his right shoulder, and she gasped at the dark bruise that was already beginning to bloom across his skin.
“Oh, Richard,” Isobel breathed, and the concern in her voice made something in his chest ache. “This is worse than I thought.”
She moved around behind him, and Richard felt her fingers ghost over the bruised skin, feather-light and careful. The touch sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature in the library.
“It looks quite painful,” she murmured.
“It is not as bad as it looks,” Richard lied.
“Do not.” Her voice was firm. “Do not pretend with me. Not about this.”
Richard exhaled slowly. “All right. It does hurt,” he admitted. “But I have endured worse.”
