“Well, I can’t wait to see it,” Nicholas laughed, splashing his face.
“I like Isadora.” Sophia gave him a sly look from under her lashes. “I’m glad you married her, Papa.”
Nicholas felt his chest lurch, and searched for the correct thing to say. “Yes,” he settled on finally. “I am too.”
“But we met a nasty man,” Sophia went on, and he suddenly straightened, heat and awareness pulsing through him. “He knew Isadora, or he said he did, and he wasn’t very nice to her. She said he’s not a very nice man, and I think she’s right.” She pursed her lips.
“Do you know who the man is, dear?”
“I can’t remember his name.” Sophia shrugged, unconcerned, and not seeming to notice the darkness that Nicholas felt was emanating from him. “But Isadora said she was supposed to marry him before she married you. Only she’s glad she didn’t, because he’s not very nice and he doesn’t like her very much.”
It was only for the sake of his daughter that Nicholas did not immediately turn on his heels to find Isadora. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say—only that there was a tight, possessive, angry feeling in his chest at another man having stopped her.
No, not just another man:Nathaniel Windham.
Nicholas had done his research into this Mr. Windham. His pockets were well and truly to let, with debts scattered across theentirety of York and further afield. No doubt he hadn’t married Isadora either because he deemed her dowry insignificant, or because he had been recovering from a hard night and hadn’t risen in time.
Either option was a coin toss with him.
Nicholas didn’t care much for the reason, only that it had humiliated Isadora. And knowing how much it had hurt her—desperation had sent him into her arms, hoping to sell her wedding gown for a chance to reach London—made him all the more furious. If she had been that hurt, she must have cared alittleabout him.
He found that thought deeply unwelcome.
He listened to Sophia tell him more about her day, then told her a little about his—which was far less exciting—and played a brief game of chess with her before the nursemaid arrived. The moment they left, he went to his wife’s dressing room.
Isadora sat before the mirror with a string of pearls at her throat, her fingers struggling with the clasp. Nicholas came to stand behind her and fastened it without a word.
She jolted at his touch, but soon regained her composure, keeping her eyes on her own reflection rather than his.
“Do you have anything to tell me?” he asked after a moment or two of silence.
Her shoulders tensed, just slightly. “If you’re asking whether the trip was a success, I believe it was. Sophia had a wonderful time.”
“I know. She’s been talking my ear off about it for the past half hour.” He smiled slightly, but the thought of Windham knocked the smile off his face entirely. “But I wasn’t referring to Sophia.”
“What, then?”
“The gentleman you encountered after you left the shop.”
“Ah.” She sighed and twisted in her chair to face him. “I suppose Sophia told you?”
“She said you met a man who wasn’t very nice, and who didn’t seem to like you very much.”
“That more or less covers it,” she said, a wry note in her voice. “Why he ever agreed to marry me in the first place escapes me, although he clearly still thought little enough of me back then to abandon me at the altar. All’s well that ends well, I suppose.”
“Did he hurt you?”
Her brows rose slightly. “In public? No, he did not, and if he had, you may be sure I would have told you immediately.”
“Why didn’t you tell me the moment you came back home?” He gripped the back of her chair, his knuckles white with the strain, and recognized the inflexible note in his voice. “Unless you have something to hide,” he murmured, knowing well he was being silly now but unable to stop himself.
“Is that the only reason a lady can keep her own counsel?” She rose, spinning so she was directly facing him, her eyes flinty.
Ever since they had married, it seemed she had gained her confidence, and for better or worse, she now stood up to him with alarming frequency. Notalarmingon the surface of it—he knew even as he was making these demands that he was being unreasonable and autocratic; nothing in Sophia’s story had suggested to him that Isadora had done anything she ought to be ashamed of—but because when she raised her chin in this way, he had the absurd, almost overwhelming desire to kiss her.
Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “When it comes to…him, I would prefer it if you were more forthcoming. I don’t wish to rely on Sophia to feed me information.”
Isadora passed a hand over her face. “If something of notehadhappened, then I would have told you—although I hardly see why I should.”
