“Aye, he helped you to claim your desire.”
That was precisely what Amaury had done. He turned toward her and smiled that she conferred with Thierry, then continued with his task. He did not rush to intervene. He trusted both her and Thierry. He was not one for jealous rages or insistence that his will be done, and Isabella found her own confidence stronger after Thierry’s confession.
She had power in this marriage. She knew she had it abed. She knew Amaury would do whatsoever she asked of him, whether it be more or less, but given Thierry’s tale, Isabella now believed that influence extended beyond mere intimacy.
Her heart’s desire was a marriage precisely like the one she could have. The choice was hers to make.
Isabella found herself smiling back at Thierry, who was watching her. “You are a good friend,” she said quietly.
“You have the power to make Amaury happy, my lady, and I have never known a man who deserved that more.”
“I thank you for sharing your counsel,” she said, and reached to kiss his cheek. Thierry looked startled and then, to her amazement, he flushed, deep red color rising on the back ofhis neck. He averted his gaze, so discomfited that she almost laughed aloud.
To think that her charms were so powerful was absurd.
She glanced up in that moment to find Amaury’s gaze upon her, a knowing smile curving his lips. She smiled back at him, and his smile broadened. She watched him excuse himself and rose to her feet by the time he stood before her.
“You look like a lady with a secret,” he teased and she laughed.
“Perhaps I am.” She took his outstretched hand and leaned closer, noting how closely he studied her. “Perhaps I might confess it to you, in private.”
Amaury’s brows rose. “Whatever you have been telling my lady wife, Thierry, I wish you might have done as much sooner.”
“She knows the worst of you now, Amaury,” Thierry said lightly and they laughed together.
“Good,” Amaury said, his eyes glowing. “A marriage is best built upon a foundation with no room for surprises.”
Isabella gave his hand a little tug in the direction of the red tent and Amaury followed so readily that it might have been his objective all along.
Perhaps their thoughts and inclinations were already as one.
Isabella had yearned for love, but truly, this husband of hers who had no belief in love treated her with more courtesy than anyone she had ever known. She would be happy with Amaury’s honor and duty, and be glad of her good fortune.
Aye, she would look at the light and not the shadow from this point forth.
Sons. They had need of a hall crowded with sons.
Something had changed.Amaury did not know what it was, and in truth, he did not care. There was no reticence in Isabella since her injury. Her desire was easily read in her eyes, her welcome to him could not be disguised. He felt as if he could see the truth of her heart, and he loved that she was radiant with confidence. Whatever Thierry had told her, whatever she had decided, the resultant change cast a spell over him that bound him fast to her side.
They loved with new urgency that night, each demanding more of the other, their hunger for each other almost impossible to appease. They each urged the other higher, to new heights, then took turns in easing away that the fire could be conjured to greater power. He thought their passion might destroy him and he willingly surrendered to all she desired of him.
And when the tumult came, searing his very soul and stealing his breath away, Amaury suspected that his greatest fear would come to be — and that to love one’s wife might not be such a fearsome fate, after all.
Isabella’s eyes were closed, her features flushed, her breath sweet against his shoulder. He cradled her close and eased her hair back from her brow. Her lashes fluttered and she smiled at him drowsily, the most beguiling sight he knew. Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed as she nestled against him in contentment. He held her as she slept, content as he had never expected to be.
Could it be that he had surrendered his heart to Isabella? It was his worst fear realized, if so, though in truth, he could only find joy in that realization in this moment.
It must be a secret, Amaury resolved, for then his vulnerability could not be used against him. If his love for his wife was unknown, Isabella herself would always be safe.
CHAPTER 17
Isabella dreamed.
It was a clear summer’s day and she was following Denis along the road through the forest. Denis was perhaps seven summers of age, curious and active. That there were no other children at Marnis meant that he often entreated Isabella to join him in some game or another. Nine years his senior, she also lacked companions, and though Denis was inclined to cheat – or protest unfairness if he lost – he was better company than none at all.
Denis was fascinated by the river, though forbidden to approach it when the water was high in the spring. This was the first day he had been permitted to explore it since the previous fall and Isabella could scarce keep up to him. He ran ahead, shouting that she should hurry, then vanished from view. Isabella stopped to watch a grouse gather her chicks, the entire family only discernible when they moved.
By the time she reached the point where Denis had disappeared, there was no sign of him. Another might have feared for his fate, but she knew he would go to his favored spot. She followed the course of the river, hearing his voice precisely as she had anticipated.