Fallen (7 page)

Julian closed his mouth, greeting unuttered. He was stunned by her casual affection toward Tristan, who was a great snorting brute of a stallion. Most people, with the exception of the massive Timothy, gave the Thoroughbred a wide berth.

He dismounted, handing the reins to Timothy—the stablehand had climbed down from his nondescript gelding—then followed Izzy, who had stopped before the dainty gray mare Timothy had on lead.

"Aren't you the darling lady?' Izzy crooned. "Aren't you just the prettiest little girl?"

Stepping close, she breathed gently into the inquisitive mare's nostrils. The horse shook its head, then lipped Izzy's tousled coif. Chuckling, Izzy caressed the mare's nose and began running knowledgeable hands over her body.

Well, she certainly knew horses. Julian studied her for a moment.

Izzy looked different, somehow. It was not the gown, for this one was even worse than the last, and filthy from gardening to boot. Perhaps it was that he had never seen her working out of doors before. She looked windblown and relaxed, the faint blush across her cheeks a sign of how long she had been out without a bonnet.

There, he had it. She wore nothing on her head but a great mussed cap of pinned locks. Her hair gleamed, even in the pearly light of the clouded afternoon. He gave himself a moment, but could come up with no word to describe the varied hues of her hair.

Brown, yes, absolutely. Also bronze, red, and perhaps even some black. She looked very different without the hideous cap, younger and not quite so plain.

Stepping closer, he cleared his throat. As amusing as it was to be ignored by a woman, enough was enough.

Looking up sheepishly from her examination, Izzy smiled.

"I am sorry, Julian. I am glad to see you, you know. I was simply a bit distracted."

Still trailing her hand over the mare's back, Izzy approached him.

"She's lovely. A touch of Arab, yes? Those dainty hooves, the nose—she's perfection."

He shook his head, wondering why he was surprised. If Izzy was predictable at all, it was in always doing the unexpected.

"How do you know horses, Izzy? I thought the Marchwells didn't keep a stable."

"Oh, my mother was quite the horsewoman. I began riding before I could walk."

Seeing his startled expression, she laughed.

"Really, Julian, did you think I sprang half-grown from the earth? I did have a childhood, you know. A wonderful childhood." Her smile turned wistful.

Actually, he had not given her past a thought. He could see her as a child, all pointy elbows and pixie smiles. "How did you come to live at this house, Izzy? Was there nowhere else to go?"

"No, though not for lack of wishing."

She lay her cheek against the mare's, then took an eye-closing breath.

"I love the smell of horse, don't you?"

Julian almost let her change the subject, then decided he really wanted to know. "What happened to your parents, Izzy?" he asked gently.

She opened her eyes and raised her gaze to his.

"They died crossing the Channel. I was just turning twelve. They had gone to Paris to bring home a birthday present. I wasn't to go, so to be surprised, of course.

"I was in the kitchen, teasing Cook about my cake, wanting a taste. Two men came and told me my parents were never coming back."

Pain flashed in her eyes, and for a moment she seemed very far away.

"Do you know, I have never felt the same about birthdays since."

She looked so sad. Julian felt an unfamiliar ache within him at the thought of that elfin child being left so alone.

Seeing his face, she patted his hand.

"It's quite all right, Julian. It was many years ago."

"Comforting me, Izzy?" He smiled crookedly at her. "Ought it not be the other way about?"

"No. Tears are not for a beautiful day and such good company."

She caressed the mare's neck and grinned mischievously. "And you, as well, Julian."

He laughed, letting it go. He could satisfy his curiosity later. He decided to have his man-of-affairs ask about her family. He smiled at her. "Do you still dislike birthdays, my dear? I'd hate to offend you by offering a gift if you refuse to celebrate them."

Looking up at him, admiring the way the slight breeze mussed his unruly hair, Izzy thought back to her last birthday. That day had begun with nothing more unusual than arriving at a house party by belated invitation.

Young Sarah Cherrymore had decided her newest bosom friend, Millie Marchwell, must join the party and nothing would do for the ecstatically ambitious Hildegard but their immediate departure for the country.

Exhausted from a night of packing for her cousins, Izzy had spent a long uncomfortable coach ride facing the rear, since Hildegard and Millie had claimed the front-facing cushions for the entire journey.

Once installed in their rooms, she had devoted the remainder of her day to unpacking the extensive number of gowns brought by both women. Little Betty, Hildegard's maid, had had all she could do with helping the two change several times during the day, and dressing their hair according to the styles worn by the elegant ladies pointed out by an excited Millie through the windows overlooking the lawn.

At last, the two had sailed out the door, ruffles bouncing, silk trailing grandly on the floor.

Although Izzy was officially a guest and had been given a small room of her own, she was quite content to stay away from the evening's entertainment of charades and midnight supper. It was all she could bear to make her appearances during the day, when the other ladies wore simple day dresses.

Instead, Izzy had fallen into an exhausted slumber the moment her head had hit the pillow, only to be awoken in the middle of the night.

Woken by warm seeking hands invading her dreams.

She smiled up at Julian now, thinking of all that had happened since that night. All in all, she thought, it had been one of the best birthdays of her life.

"Well, I suppose there is no point in asking if you like her." Julian chuckled as she shook her head in denial.

To Timothy he said, "Go around back and see if there is any stable to speak of."

Julian took the reins of Tristan and the mare while Timothy strolled away with his gelding in tow.

"Oh, are you staying? I shall have rooms made up at once." Turning to go, Izzy halted as he caught her hand. His hands were so very large and warm. Her fingers were quite lost in them.

"
I'm
not staying, Izzy." He gave her an odd look. "The mare is. She's yours."

Izzy was glad he still held her hand, for she was so surprised she stumbled. Pulling her against him, Julian barely saved her from falling flat. He looked down and gave her that devastating grin.

"Close your mouth, Isadora. It's only a horse."

Izzy snapped her jaw shut, but could not seem to find her feet. She went breathless as she was pressed intimately to Julian's hard build. His arm clamped about her waist, pulling her lower body into close contact with his. His other hand still held the reins of two horses.

He smiled down into her eyes and her mind went blank. The sensations flowing over her from his nearness left her stunned and trembling. His scent rose to fog her mind with sandalwood and warm male. She simply stayed, hands pressed to his rocklike chest, with her face tilted up to his.

Julian's expression turned to concern.

"Are you frightened of me, Izzy?" he asked softly.

She realized he was thinking of that night. A deep breath restarted her lungs, and she firmly suppressed the longing for more of his touch that rose within her. She pushed away and straightened with an apologetic smile.

"No, of course not. You simply surprised me." She looked down at his arm, which still encircled her waist. "You may let go now. I am quite all right."

Julian remembered his arm with some surprise. Odd, it seemed almost natural… He slid it away, then handed her the mare's lead.

"Shall we go see what Timothy has found?"

"I am afraid what Timothy has found is my potting shed, and a couple of old stalk that have seen more years than horses," she said as they rounded the house to the mews.

Izzy was correct. Timothy stood in front of the elderly stable, shaking his head.

"I dunno, milord. Ye might be better knocking 'er down and building anew."

Without thinking, Julian handed Tristan's reins to Izzy and pulled Timothy aside. After a few moments of whispered conference and the passage of a purse to Timothy's guardianship, Julian clapped the young man on the back and returned to Izzy.

Only then did he see that he had left her with his stallion, a horse that accepted no other rider and few to care for him. Julian watched in near awe as Izzy stood between the two horses, midnight stallion and moonlight mare, and alternately cooed at and petted them.

Tristan was acting like a puppy before a steak. All eagerness and huffing impatience, he waited obediently while Izzy gave the mare her portion of the attention.

"He really is a greedy boy, isn't he?" Izzy smiled. "I imagine he is the pet of the stable."

"More like the terror of it. Well, Timothy will have two stalls refurbished by tomorrow, and the grain delivery should arrive then, as well."

"Julian, I adore her, and I am very touched by your thoughtfulness, but I cannot keep her. Hildegard will never agree to the expense, and I do not know if I can care for her on top of my other duties. I wish I could."

She stroked the mare wistfully.

He grinned. "You won't have to. Not only am I giving you the mare, I'm giving you Timothy to care for her and to ride with you when I cannot." He decided not to mention the many pounds it would take to repair the stable and stock it for the next four months.

"Hildegard will be put to no expense. Timothy's pay comes from me." Taking Tristan's reins, he tucked Izzy's hand into his elbow and began walking to the stable. "As do instructions to concern himself with the horses and only the horses. And you, of course. But he knows not to allow Hildegard to put him to work washing the pots, or some such. He's a good man, and if you need help with the heavy work in the garden, you're to ask him."

Izzy was looking at him as if she had never seen him before.

"What are you thinking?" he asked her. Her expression was so strange, he was not sure he wanted to know. But of course, Izzy told him.

"I am wondering if you are real," she said absently. Then she flushed. "Oh my, that did sound odd. I mean that I wonder why I find you so easy to be with. You
are
rather above me, you know."

"Well, my dear, it's not my fault you stopped growing," he teased. He did not want her to think about the difference in their stations. It wouldn't matter soon, but he could not tell her that.

"No," she said softly. "It doesn't signify, I suppose. We are who we are, and we are friends."

She gave him a smile of such aching sweetness that he was taken aback. For a moment she had been almost… pretty.

She lay her hand on his arm and gazed earnestly up at him.

"I am glad we are friends, Julian. Truly glad. You make me happier than I have been in years."

He was stunned, and a little alarmed. He had expected gratitude, even effusive thanks for his gift. Pretty words or, from any other woman, perhaps even a kiss. But not this candid avowal.

In his world, one simply did not express one's inner feelings the way Izzy did. It made him feel a bit overwhelmed and, dammit, responsible. He had no illusions about his own soul. He was a selfish bastard, a self-serving black-hearted devil, not the shining knight he saw reflected in her eyes.

He didn't want the burden of her expectations. He didn't want to be responsible for anyone's happiness but his own.

"Well, of course we are friends, Miss Temple." He disengaged her clasp on his arm and gave her hand an avuncular pat before releasing it and stepping back. Her eyes became uncertain but he ignored it, rushing on.

"But one shouldn't make too much of a few visits and a gift. Simply a gesture of appreciation, after all. You've done me a good turn. And as I was there anyway—" He stopped himself. He was blathering, he knew. And somehow in that nonsense, he had hurt her. He felt it as if it were himself injured. No, this depth of communication was more than he was prepared for.

Izzy pulled away with a jerk. Then she smiled a stiff little smile. "But of course."

With relief, Julian recognized that the moment had passed. Still, as she took a step away from him, he felt a small stab of something that somehow echoed of loss.

After leaving the horses and stable in Timothy's competent hands, Julian had no reason to stay. So he had difficulty explaining to himself why he did.

They walked in the greenhouse for a while and Izzy explained her current endeavors. Julian smiled indulgently at her justifiable pride in her geraniums, which waved grand, heavy heads of brilliant scarlet. When she explained the use of the many scented flowers she was planting, he blinked when she casually admitted her skill with the hives in the bee garden. And although the many seedlings looked alike to him, he nodded attentively as she recited the list of vegetables that her labor would provide for the Marchwell table.

He tried to remember ever meeting a woman like Izzy. The women of society were no doubt industrious in their way, but he had never seen any sign of it. Still, the world of women was largely a mystery to him.

Izzy's world, however, seemed uncommonly sensible. She thought about such things as the weather and seasons, and good horseflesh.

He thought it almost a pity, really, that she must marry someone like him. She would likely be happier setting out into the American frontier, as she dreamed of. What a wife she would make for a man striking out into a new land! Skilled and competent, she would be a partner, a helpmate, in an exciting world.

Her abilities would be largely useless as the duchess of Dearingham. She would not have the running of the house, aside from a general sort of supervision, nor could she be permitted to actually soil her hands in the garden.

He would allow her to ride, he decided. A lady could be expected to ride occasionally.