Could she manage to look within the treasury while they were at Marnis?
Would Amaury trust her more if she gathered such information for him?
Because on this morning after her nuptials, Isabella found herself not just wanting all from their union but prepared to contribute to that result. She had thought the consummation would be physical, no more and no less, but in that moment of release, she had felt as if she glimpsed Amaury’s truth. She loved his suggestion of how they might confer together and forge a marriage upon trust – indeed, she had never heard a more alluring offer.
His vow to his father was chilling, given that he spoke with such resolve. She did not doubt that he would do as he pledged. She had to help in unveiling the truth, regardless of the cost to herself.
What had her family’s involvement been, if any?
It was all too easy to believe that her father would choose some expedient means to gain his objective, which had always been possession of Montvieux – and the elimination of his old rival, Lucien de Montvieux.
But murder?
Surely, if so, someone else would have been dispatched to perform the deed itself. Who? Denis? Did she dare to ask Denis for the truth? Would he answer her?
If the truth was unpalatable, would she tell Amaury? Surely if his worst fears were realized, Amaury would cast her aside and forget her.
The curious thing was that Isabella did not wish Amaury de Montvieux to forget her. She wanted his undivided attention, again and again. She wanted his trust – and she would becontent to strive to fill Montvieux’s halls with sons. They had been together only a matter of hours, yet she was already greedy for more time in his presence.
More nights together.
More of what they had done only once.
And yet on this morning, Isabella felt a pronounced sense of dread, one that she could neither ignore nor dispel.
They ate in silence, Roland looking between Amaury and Isabella as if he sought to solve a riddle. Isabella discovered that all had been prepared for their departure without Amaury granting a single command. Even Denis’ white destrier was brushed and saddled, stamping with impatience to return home.
If only their errand had been more likely to end merrily.
When Amaury strode toward her, Isabella’s unruly heart leapt in anticipation of his touch. He smiled at her, then lifted her to her saddle with ease, his hands locking around her waist with reassuring strength. Their gazes locked for a potent moment, and Isabella felt herself flush with awareness.
This man. Had she ever met anyone more alluring? When he turned his attention upon her, Isabella could deny him naught at all.
“We did not parlay this morn,” he noted instead of relinquishing his grip upon her.
“I beg your pardon?”
“We had agreed to confer this morning, but we did not.”
“You were gone.”
“Because you slept, and that is fair, but still I would consult with you, Isabella.”
“I have naught to confide.”
Amaury smiled. “I suspect you always have a view or a truth that you could share.”
Isabella felt herself blush, feeling suddenly aware of the attention of the others.
“Promise me this, my lady, that whenever I err, you will tell me my offense, that I might see it repaired. Tell me what you know whenever you know a detail I do not, that I might act upon it.” Amaury lifted a dark brow, his gaze clinging to hers. “Parlay with me, Isabella, as kings and emperors do, that we might find accord and agreement.”
His entreaty sent a jolt of pleasure through her. The grip of his hands upon her waist ensured that she was oblivious to every other detail of her surroundings. There was only Amaury, the weight of his expectation, the memory of his caress, and a yearning for more that shook Isabella to her toes. As beguiling as his presence was his request: when had anyone asked for her thoughts and views? When had anyone believed she had aught of merit to share?
Only this man.
Even if he deceived her apurpose, she feared he could convince her of whatever he desired. She stared into the blue of his eyes and wanted only to do as he requested, to grant him what he desired, to act as his helpmate and partner.
And therein was the peril of Amaury de Montvieux. She knew he desired only his family holding, at any cost, but he could convince Isabella to forget as much. Indeed, snared beneath Amaury’s spell, she was tempted to discard her father’s warnings, even to believe that her new husband desiredher.