“It wasn’t sold.”
“But I won’t be pushed about.” Izzy opened her eyes. Good heavens, the man was stubborn.
It must have been the nerves raised by proximity, but she had the uncanny sense that he was looking at her. Or through her. And she suddenly felt very embarrassed for staring at his chest.
She tried gentling her voice. “I know you’re apprehensive.”
“I’m not apprehensive.” He pushed a hand through his hair. His arm muscles bunched and flexed in distracting ways. “Good grief, Goodnight. You are the most vexing woman.”
Despite everything, Izzy smiled to herself.
She couldn’t help it. He’d called her a woman.
“The two of us residing in this castle . . . it’s not possible. If you meant to set up house here, you’d need more than brave words. You’d need furnishings, servants. Most importantly, a companion.”
“Why a companion? There’s Duncan. And there’s you.”
He snorted. “I’m no chaperone.”
“Is it still that silly kiss that’s concerning you? I thought we’d reached an understanding.”
“Oh, that kiss gave me plenty of understanding.” He moved close and lowered his voice to a growl. The air heated between them, and she could have sworn the beads of water on his chest sizzled and became steam. “I understand how your body feels against mine. I understand how sweet you taste. And I understand—precisely—how good we could be together. In bed. Or atop a table. Or against a wall. The problem with understanding seems to be yours.”
The air left Izzy’s lungs in a breathy, “Oh.”
She stared up him. The poor, confused man. He seemed to believe this sort of growly, lewd declaration would send her running and screaming into the countryside. Instead, his words had the opposite effect. With every carnal suggestion he made, her confidence soared to a new, dizzying pinnacle.
He wanted her. He wanted her.
And she wanted to do a little dance.
“Your Grace?” A bright, feminine voice trilled up from the courtyard, like birdsong. “Do be calm. I’m on my way. Whatever it is you need, I’m here.”
Ransom jerked into motion. Whirling away, he reached for a shirt thrown over the sofa’s back. It took him a few seconds of fumbling to lay his hand on it.
“Who is it?” Izzy asked, gathering his coat in advance.
Whoever the visitor was, he wanted to look presentable for her.
“It’s Miss Pelham.” He jerked the shirt over his head, punching in different directions to work his arms through the sleeves, then accepted the coat she offered. “The vicar’s daughter. Another interfering woman I can’t seem to be rid of.”
Good heavens. Even vicar’s daughters were throwing themselves at him? Izzy didn’t find it hard to believe, but she found it a bit disappointing.
Oh, listen to her. It wasn’t as though she had some claim on the man. One kiss in the dark, and she’d become a jealous harpy. She pushed the envy aside.
Then a young woman entered the great hall, and the envy pushed right back.
Izzy had been to Court, many parties, and even a London ball or two. She could honestly say this was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Golden hair, with little ringlets placed artfully about her face. Ribbons streaming from her blue muslin frock. Pleasing figure. Practiced smile. Immaculate lace gloves.
“Your Grace?” The young woman breathed the words as a sigh of relief, pressing a hand to her chest. “You’re well. Thank the Lord. I expected to find you prostrate and delirious from fever, after the tale I heard from Mr. Duncan. It simply can’t be true. Surely you haven’t recently received a visitor by the name of—” Then her eyes landed on Izzy, and she halted abruptly. “Oh it is true. She is here.”
The basket Miss Pelham carried dropped to the floor, and she clapped both hands to her cheeks. “You’re Izzy Goodnight?”
Izzy dropped a slight curtsy.
“The Izzy Goodnight?”