Bella often felt much younger than her twenty-four years. She missed her family. Especially now, when she desperately needed someone to talk to about her handsome viscount. Her mother or brother, Beau, would know what words to use to settle her unease, or rather what Scripture.
Oh, Lord, she prayed, guide me.
Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ. Then, I will know you stand firm….
The words from Paul to the Philippians gave her confidence. Changing out of her costume would give her more. Bella bit back a sigh. With unsteady fingers, she quickly shed Isolde’s medieval costume and changed into the dress she’d worn to the theater. The locket William had given her hung beneath the lace collar, warming her skin and reminding Bella of the viscount’s deep affection, a tangible symbol of his love for her.
Sighing, she removed her stage makeup and laced up her boots. There was nothing left to do but wait.
As if on cue, the expected knock came at the door.
In spite of her efforts to remain calm and mature, a jittery surge of excitement tickled the base of her spine and she fingered the locket. “Enter,” she said on a breathy whisper.
The door swung open. Bella’s pulse drummed in her ears as her gaze connected with the man she loved. William Gordon. Lord Crawley. As she drank in the sight of her viscount immaculately dressed in black tails, she tried to look past the title and straight to the man.
He was tall and lean, his face aristocratic with a strong cut of cheekbones under deep-set blue eyes. Even the stark white of his shirt set off his dark good looks.
An unhurried smile drifted along his lips and he reached out his hand to her. Her pulse tripped, slowed to a near stop then quickened again. Tossing her head back, she started toward him.
He shut the door with a jab of his elbow and then lifted a single eyebrow at her.
Alone. They were all alone. Her stomach rolled over itself, but Bella continued forward. The click of her heels echoed across the parquet floor.
William was so appealing she wanted to rush her steps. She restrained herself. A moment like this required confident, liquid grace.
Tenderness and genuine appreciation mingled in his gaze before he covered his reaction with an unreadable expression. Her heart leapt to her throat and stuck. William Gordon was always kind, generous, quick-witted and charming. The sort of man a woman waited all her life to find. But he was also a man filled with hidden depths. And staring at her now, with such intensity, she realized he had a suggestion of danger about him.
With that thought, her steps slowed. She stopped a foot away from him and placed her palm in his.
“My beautiful, talented Bella,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips. “You were magnificent this evening.”
A jolt of impatience whipped through her at his standard compliment, but Bella hid the emotion behind a dazzling smile. Pleasantries first, sincerity later. That was their pattern. “Thank you, William.”
He stared at her for a long moment, saying nothing. Seconds ticked by with only the sound of their breathing filling the barren silence. Bella’s lack of experience with men made her unsure how to fill the awkward moment.
Searching for a clue as to how to proceed, she stared into his handsome face. A sudden gust of wind threw open the window behind her, blowing out the candles closest to her. Shadows filled half the room, concealing William’s face. She thought she saw a flicker of something different in his eyes, something a little dark. A little unsettling.
A shiver iced across her skin and she felt the first stirrings of concern. Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she wheeled around, shut the window and quickly relit the candles. As she moved through the room, she reminded herself that this was her William. She knew him well. The realization settled her nerves.
“Where would you like to dine this evening?” His gaze shifted to the divan as he strolled toward her. “Or would you prefer to stay in?”
Bella looked around her dressing room. She eyed the soft lighting, breathed in the scent of a spring garden, noted the many pillows strewn on the divan. From a certain perspective one might mistakenly believe she’d prepared for something…illicit.
“I think we should go out,” she said, flashing him a bright smile. “Celebrate my magnificent performance.”
She’d hoped to make him laugh but his face remained impassive, and his shoulders stiffened. He drew her close to him and took both her hands in his.
“Tonight could be very special for us, my dear.”
The sleepy charm in his manner pulled her a step closer.
He tightened his fingers around hers and commanded her gaze. “A beginning, if you will.”
In spite of his pleasant tone, Bella couldn’t shake the notion that something strange was creeping into their conversation, something sordid. She withdrew one hand and then another. “I—”
“Let us drop these pretenses at last.” He shoved shaking fingers through his hair and started pacing along the edge of the Venetian rug. “You are too good for the theater.”
He took her elbow and steered her to the divan.
Unsure of his motives, she slid away from him and perched against her dressing table instead.
“I have always dreamed of more,” she said, her voice sounding as tentative as she felt. Where was this leading?
He opened his mouth to speak, then clamped his jaw shut as though he was considering his next words carefully. His breath came out in a ragged sigh. She feared his next words would define their fate and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the outcome.
At last, he nodded as if he’d come to some decision, rubbed his hand across his mouth and resumed his pacing. “It’s good you want something other than the theater.”
The satisfaction that shone in his eyes was at odds with the tenseness in his movements. She’d never seen him quite so edgy. “William?”
“Let me provide for you properly,” he blurted while never missing a step. “In the style and comfort you deserve.”
His words staggered her and she found she had to clutch the side of her makeup table to steady herself. “Are you asking for my hand?” she asked, but she feared she already knew the answer.
He stopped pacing, turned to look at her with a frown marring his brow. “Marriage? You thought I came to offer marriage?”
His voice held genuine shock, as though the notion had never crossed his mind. She had to fight a wave of hysteria as she stared at him.
“You said you loved me,” she said at last, touching the hidden locket with her fingertip.
He rushed to her, knelt at her feet and clasped her hands in his again. “I do love you, Bella.” His breathing came in hard, shallow spurts. “It is why I offer my protection. It is the greatest gift I have to give.”
He was no longer the suave viscount, but a man too desperate to have his way to remember his rank. The thought brought her no comfort, no hope. Only anguish.
She pressed her lips together to keep from sobbing and closed her eyes. Her heart pounded in her ears. “You think that little of me, of us, that you would make me your mistress?”
He squeezed her hands gently. “Look at me,” he coaxed with his low, soothing baritone back in place.
She didn’t think she had the courage, yet she forced open her eyes. The sincerity in his returning gaze gave her hope.
She held her breath.
“You deserve better than marriage, my love. I would never relegate you to the role of wife. It’s nothing