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With all the difficulties in their lives and all Isabel’s duties, she’d completely forgotten how much she enjoyed spending time teaching Sam.
Isabel had always wanted to have a daughter. When circumstances had changed, and she was forced to embrace spinsterhood, she’d forgotten about her dreams, but they were always there at the back of her mind. And now perhaps she could finally have her dream.
Isabel approached the woods about ten minutes later. She looked around, wondering if she had missed her husband somehow. There was no one nearby, and she did not see footsteps leading back to the house.
If her husband was still at the stream, she’d go and meet him then. She stepped into the woods and proceeded toward the picnic place, hoping that would be where he chose to swim.
Only once she arrived on the spot did she understand her folly.
Her husband was bathing in the stream!
What was she supposed to do once she found him? Help him wash? She giggled, her face heating at the idea. Perhaps he was already done.
She searched the bank but did not see Vane there. Had he already left? Had she missed him?
She turned toward the water and instantly spotted him. How could she not?
He stood waist-deep, splashing his face and shoulders.
Isabel’s mouth went dry. Her husband was absolutely magnificent. His corded muscles glistened, his shoulders were large and powerful, and his chest was covered with dark hair that thinned at his flat, corded stomach. Her gaze followed lower, but water covered the rest of him. Isabel couldn’t help but wish she could see more.
She caught herself on the wanton thought and squeezed her eyes shut. What was she doing?
She heard more splashing and opened her eyes just in time to see Vane emerging from the water. He walked toward the shore, water running down his slick body in rivulets. Her gaze slid lower to the place between his legs of its own accord. A patch of hair covered a tiny appendage.
Oh.
Isabel had only seen that part of male anatomy once, and she did not remember it too much. Somehow she thought it’d be larger.
As Vane walked further out of the water, her gaze got distracted by his thighs—the powerful thighs of an expert rider.
Isabel stood frozen in place, watching her husband in all his naked glory. A few more steps, and he reached the bank.
Oh, Lord! What am I doing?
Isabel turned away and covered her eyes with her hands. Her face felt hot to her touch, and acute embarrassment settled in her chest. She needed to leave and fast. Before Vane figured out that she was watching him like a complete wanton!
She made a step and tripped over her skirts. She caught herself against the nearby tree, but it was too late.
The noise must have caught Vane’s attention because he called out, “Who’s there?”
Isabel grimaced. She couldn’t very well keep hiding out from him and then hope to outrun the man back home. She picked up her skirts and stepped onto the bank.
“It’s just me.”
To her relief, Vane had already put on his breeches and boots, although he was still naked from the waist up.
Vane looked around. “What are you doing here?”
Isabel could not take her eyes off his muscled chest. His nipples hardened into peaks from cold, and his skin was covered in goosebumps, but he looked deliciously appealing. “I needed to talk to you,” she said to his chest.
Vane slowly bent down, took his shirt, and hauled it over his shoulders. Isabel mourned the loss of the sight of his slick, bare skin. She wouldn’t have minded peeking a look at it again as they talked.
He put on his coat, not bothering with the waistcoat, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well?”
Isabel tried to concentrate. “Why are you bathing in the stream? It must be uncomfortably cold.” She drew the ends of her shawl closer together because just as she said so, the wind cooled her arms and heated cheeks.
“Because my room is yet to be decorated, and it is just as bloody cold there as it is here. By bathing here, I am sparing the maids from heating the water and preparing the bath.”
