Nick held Rock’s gaze for a long while, the truth of his words sinking in. Finally, Nick swore quietly and clasped his friend’s shoulder. “You care for the girl?”
“I do.”
“Well, that seems to me that it should be enough. Hang the rest of them.”
A small smile crossed Rock’s lips. “It is easy for you to say such things. Second son of a marquess, planning to marry the daughter of an earl.”
“She hasn’t said she’ll have me.”
“She will have you. She would be mad not to. But promise me something. Promise me you are marrying her for more than your own insane desire to save her.”
Nick considered the words. He knew what Rock was asking. Was Isabel his way of repairing the damage that Alana had wrought? Could this brave, unmatched Englishwoman erase the memory of her wicked Turkish counterpart?
He recoiled at the comparison of the two. “It is not the same.”
“I am not certain you could survive at the hands of another woman whom you cannot help.”
“What makes you think I cannot help this one? ”
“Only that you have never been able to help them, Nick. Not in all the time I have known you.”
There was a long moment of silence before Nick gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Not in all the time before that, either.”
“You can help the girl without giving up your life. That is all I am saying.”
Nick considered the words, playing them over in his mind. Was that all he wanted? Simply to help Isabel? Certainly that was a part of it—certainly he wanted to ensure her safety, to give her the peace of mind that came with knowing that her house would stand, that her girls would thrive, that her brother would succeed. But Rock was right, of course, he could give her all of those things without marrying her. He could leave here and go back to London, track down Densmore and convince him to turn over the guardianship of Townsend Park to him. If he guessed correctly, Densmore would happily relinquish the responsibility.
So why was it that marriage was there, looming so large in his thoughts?
What was it about this woman that had him tied in knots and willing to sacrifice everything for her?
What made him want to help her so very much?
An image of Isabel flashed, fresh and beautiful and relaxed—happy and certain that her world was not going to come crashing down around her. He had never seen her that way. He had seen her beautiful and teasing, beautiful and bold, beautiful and concerned for those around her, beautiful and coming apart in his arms, but never beautiful and sure of herself. Of her future. Of him.
He wanted to give her that.
Perhaps it was his weakness for women. Perhaps this was Turkey all over again. Perhaps Nick was destined to be trapped by this woman in the same way he had been trapped by his mother, by Alana. But he found it difficult to believe that Isabel was anything like them.
She seemed infinitely more honest.
She threatened to become infinitely more dear.
This was more than his history.
It was his future.
He met Rock’s eyes. “I am going to marry her. We would make a good pair.”
Rock nodded once. “Fair enough.” There was a long silence as they both looked out the window, into the darkness beyond. “You know you can’t do it without telling her the truth.”
The words fell like lead between them. Of course Nick knew. He had known from the beginning that he would have to confess his relationship with the Duke of Leighton. He would have to tell Isabel that he was looking for Georgiana. And he would have to bear the full weight of her anger and interrogation.
But there had been a small part of him that had hoped that he might convince her to marry him and get the deed done before he had to admit his less than honest actions.
He was not entirely certain that it was not still possible.
There was something very tempting about wedding her, tying her to him, and only then, when she could not leave him, telling her everything.
Rock read the thought. “Your telling her is far better than her discovering it for herself sometime in the future.”
“I know.”
But he did not like the sound of either option.
Fifteen
The next morning, Isabel found Nick in the statuary, working.
She had gone looking for him after breakfast, telling herself that she was doing the gracious thing by seeking him out to inform him that the roads were once more passable after the rain. The excitement she felt when she saw him bent over his notebook in the brightly lit statuary, however, indicated a slightly different motivation for her coming to find him.
His hands flew across the paper, strong and sure, and she felt a fleeting envy at the complete attention he was giving his work. She watched as a lock of midnight hair fell, catching in the frame of his spectacles, and her breath hitched.
He was really very handsome.
And she was becoming an utter ninny.
The thought brought her back to reality, and Isabel cleared her throat delicately, gaining his attention. He turned his gaze on her, and she felt his scrutiny; she clasped her hands in front of her skirts to refrain from smoothing either her dress or her hair.
“I did not want to bother you, but I thought you might like to know that Rock has returned to town—to fetch your belongings. We are happy to host you here … at Townsend Park … for as long as you need lodging.”
He removed his eyeglasses, and Isabel felt a pang of remorse. There was something about the spectacles that she found compelling—something that underscored the intelligent, honest man beneath the handsome, overwhelming façade.
He smiled, a warm, welcoming smile that weakened her knees. Yes. She much preferred him with the buffer of the eyeglasses.