The relief was so overwhelming that Isobel felt her knees weaken, and she had to lean against the wall for support.
“Are you all right?” Richard asked, his hand coming to rest on her elbow to steady her.
“Yes,” Isobel managed. “I just... I did not realize how worried I was until just now. Seeing her awake, speaking to her – it felt like a miracle.”
“It is a good sign,” Richard agreed. “If she has awakened, it means the poison has worked its way through her system. She should make a full recovery with rest and proper care.”
“Thank God,” Isobel breathed, relief practically spilling out of her.
They began walking back toward her room, the silence between them heavy with unspoken things. Every few steps, the back of Isobel's hand would brush against Richard's, and each time it happened, she felt a jolt like lightning race up her arm and straight to her heart.
She wanted to pull away, to create distance between them. But to her utter annoyance, she also wanted to close that distance entirely, to take his hand in hers and never let go.
It was maddening, this push and pull between what she wanted and what she knew she could not have.
Richard seemed to be struggling with something as well. His expression was tense, his jaw tight, and he kept glancing at herfrom the corner of his eye as though he wanted to say something but could not quite form the words.
When they reached her door, they both stopped. Isobel turned to face him, and the dim light in the hallway cast shadows across his handsome features, making him look almost dangerous.
“I should...” Isobel started, gesturing vaguely at her door.
“Wait,” Richard said, his hand shooting out to catch her wrist. Not hard, but firm enough to keep her from retreating. “I have a plan.”
Isobel's heart skipped. “A plan?”
“For finding out more about your aunt. About Deborah.” His voice was low, urgent. “We do not have much time left. The wedding is in two days, and if we do not uncover the truth before then –”
“What is your plan?” Isobel interrupted, her pulse quickening.
“Tomorrow,” Richard said. “We will discuss it properly tomorrow. But I wanted you to know – we are not giving up. We will find whoever did this, Isobel. I swear it.”
The conviction in his voice, the intensity in his eyes – it made something in Isobel's chest ache with longing. She wanted so badly to believe that the “we” he had spoken of was permanent,that they would face this challenge together and then continue facing others side by side.
But she knew better now.
“I trust you,” she said quietly, and meant it.
Something flickered across Richard's face – surprise, perhaps, or gratitude. His grip on her wrist loosened, his thumb brushing over her pulse point in a gesture that felt far too intimate for the empty hallway.
“Get some rest,” he murmured. “Tomorrow will be... challenging. You will need your strength.”
Isobel nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She slipped her wrist free of his grasp and reached for her door handle, desperate to put some barrier between them before she did something foolish.
Like kissing him. Or begging him not to marry Bridget. Or something much worse.
“Goodnight, Your Grace,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Goodnight, Isobel,” Richard replied, and the sound of her name on his lips sent shivers down her spine.
She fled into her room before she could change her mind, closing the door firmly behind her and leaning against it as though she could physically hold back the feelings threatening to overwhelm her.
This was torture. Sweet, exquisite torture.
And she had no idea how much more of it she could endure.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Isobel’s mornings at the Gramfield estate had a way of filling her with an air of frustration. She would wake up, hopeful that things would be different, but unfortunately, the outcome almost always remained the same.
