Times like these, she could almost believe he wished it too.
Nicholas heard her before he saw her.
The whisper of silk drifted down the staircase, followed a heartbeat later by Isadora herself.
He had commissioned the gown with every intention of repairing the offence of that faded relic in which she had first come to Winchester.
He had not anticipated this.
Creamy lilac shimmered around her like the last light of evening, gathering beneath her bosom before gliding over the gracefulsweep of her hips. The neckline dipped just enough to reveal the delicate ivory curve above her breasts, where a rivière of diamonds rested on milky skin. A sprinkle of auburn curls escaped the elegant coiffure at her nape, threaded with tiny sapphire blossoms that served only to draw the eye toward the woman wearing them.
Somehow, the jewels looked borrowed from her, rather than the reverse.
His heart gave an uncomfortable lurch, and he did his best to suppress the feeling that swelled in his chest.
This was entirely his doing. His bride had been a mildly pretty girl when he had first encountered her, and somehow in the course of their short marriage, she had turned into the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance.
Or perhaps she had always been, and it was only now that they were to re-enter society together that he’d allowed himself to see it.
But no, that couldn’t be it either, because even on their wedding night, in her nightgown, he had been stunned into silence by her pretty face and magnificent curves.
He cleared his throat. “Isadora.”
“Nicholas.” She floated to stand beside him, the jasmine in her perfume already threatening to send him wild. He lockedeverything back and merely offered her his arm with no more comment. If he revealed even a hint of what he thought about her dressed up like this, he would risk unleashing everything.
“Do you think I look well?” she asked, self-consciously patting the tiny blue blossoms nestled amongst her locks.
Well?He almost laughed.
She looked capable of undoing years of discipline with nothing more than a passing glance.
He nodded, waiting until he was certain of his voice before saying, “You look… like everything a duchess ought to be.”
“Oh.” Her voice carried the trace of disappointment, but she said nothing more until after he had handed her into the carriage. “Have you ever been to one of Lady Carmichael’s balls?” she asked when they were seated.
“Some years ago, yes.”
“Years?” She blinked in surprise. No doubt she had been expecting him to be some sort of social butterfly, when in reality, he had locked himself away after Grace’s passing. Showing his face in public without her on his arm felt like a betrayal, every single time. Frankly, if he could have had his way, he would not have attended this ball, either.
But he had married. This was his role as husband, and while he could not give her everything a husband might, he could at least give her this.
He understood she needed it.
She was quiet for a while, her gaze lingering on the passing streets beyond the carriage window. “I see,” she said at last. “I hope I have not erred.”
“Not at all.”
In the face of the finality in his tone, she let the silence keep them company for the remainder of the journey.
Lady Carmichael’s townhouse blazed with light long before the carriage drew alongside the curb. York could not rival London for grandeur, but wealth had found comfortable lodgings all the same. A line of elegant equipages stretched the length of the street beneath the shade of Summer elms, as liveried footmen darted between them while music floated into the warm evening air.
Nicholas stepped down first and turned to offer his hand. Isadora’s fingers slipped into his. She sucked in a small breath as her eyes lifted to the grand house.
Nervous.
Before he’d thought better of it, his thumb brushed lightly across the back of her gloved hand.
“You’ll do very well,” he said quietly.
