His father turned to leave, smiling with the satisfaction of hearing precisely what he expected to hear.
Isolde had teetered blindlyin place after Jacob thundered off, like a jouster who’d sustained a near-killing blow. Her being felt mortally scalded.
Moments later she staggered forward. When she found her footing, she strode faster and faster. as if by doing so she could outpace the feeling she was about to fly into pieces.
She broke into a run, skirts gripped in her hands, heedless of who might see, realizing she was reflexively following Isaiah’s secret path.
She stopped abruptly after she plunged through the trees.
What was shedoing? What was shethinking?
It seemed ridiculous to go to a picnic, of all things, after such an emotional assault. Moreover, she could hardly burst out of the woods into the Redmond rose garden. This path was Isaiah’s secret. She would not betray it.
But Maria would worry if she didn’t appear at the Redmond house.
And the other ladies would speculate about her whereabouts.
Perhaps they’d talk about her and Isaiah. If Jacob had been in London for all of one day and he’d heard rumors in Smithfield Curtis, in all likelihood all the other ladies present would have heard them, too.
This sent a fresh wash of panic through her.
So she remained frozen, secluded with the wayward roses. For the first time in her life, nowhere in the world seemed safe.
She took a few more indecisive steps into the garden.
And that’s when her furious propulsion gave out and her face dropped into her hands.
She couldn’t face it. She could go no further.
Presently, the thud of footsteps running toward her made her fling her hands up in front of her in reflexive defense, as if the goal of this day was to deliver one terrible shock after another.
“Isolde.”
Her heart skittered in her chest.
What a balm it was to hear Isaiah use her first name, in a voice aching with urgency and warmth. She dropped her arms and turned toward him.
“Isolde.” he confidently, tenderly claimed the intimacy of her name when he saw her expression. “I saw you from an upstairs window…and I… your face...” He took a breath, visibly gathering his composure. “What’s wrong? You're very upset,” he said firmly.
Hesounded upset.
“I’m not,” she lied, reflexively.
He snorted.
Something about his disdain for the lie almost made her smile.
“It's nothing…Isaiah. Honestly. I’m sorry to distress you. Please do not worry.”
“Isolde.”
He’d said this so fiercely her eyes widened.
He drew in a breath. “I cannot seem to help it. I…I cannot bear to think you’re unhappy.”
His voice cracked. It sounded like a plea. As if she alone could explain to him why he felt this way.
She knew why.