She winced as Nick and James shared a laugh in the hallway outside the door. She should not have agreed to his silly request. She felt like a complete imbecile.

And then he entered.

Without a cravat.

The collar of his shirt was open, leaving a wedge of warm bronzed skin, framed by white linen and the dark green topcoat he had been wearing when he had arrived the previous day. When he and James entered the dining room for dinner, Isabel’s attention was drawn immediately to that tantalizing triangle of chest, and it took her a second or two to recover from the surprise of it.

When she raised her attention to his face, she realized that he was staring intently at her, his eyes raking over the bodice of her gown, lingering on the spot where its edge gave way to the slope of her breast before traveling up to meet her gaze. She recognized the masculine admiration there, and, blushing, she redirected her attention to her brother.

Only to discover that he was wearing an equally unlikely dinner ensemble: short pants, a dirty linen shirt, and an elaborately tied—if hopelessly wrinkled—cravat. Nick’s cravat. He’d taught her brother to tie a cravat.

Warmth spread through her and she smiled at her brother. “What a fine knot!” The boy preened beneath her praise, and she met Nick’s eyes. “Thank you.”

He was making it very difficult not to like him.

Rock noticed his friend’s missing neckpiece and laughed, a great booming laugh. “You seem to have forgotten something, St. John.”

Nick grinned. “I hope you will forgive me my strange attire, Lady Isabel,” Nick said, teasing in his tone as he stepped forward and lifted her hand to his lips, the caress scorching through her glove. “You see, I found that I had an avid pupil in neckwear this evening.”

An image of James and Nick working together to tie the cravat flashed in Isabel’s mind, and it was a powerful fantasy—in which James had a man to guide him through these complex and uncertain masculine hoops, and in which Isabel had a partner to help her navigate the challenges of raising a young earl.

A partner.

What a lovely word.

She met Nick’s eyes for a long moment, lost in the idea of him here, able to help. Shaking her head of the thought, she said, “Not at all. I am certain we can find you another cravat now that yours has been … appropriated.”

“Given freely, my lady.”

He had a remarkable smile. One that made her feel as though there was too little air in the room.

“Well, there is no reason for us to stand on ceremony this evening. I am happy for you to go without the neckwear if you are.” Isabel held her breath, considering this man and her brother and the charming portrait they made. Nick was instantly more accessible. More endearing. More attractive.

Too attractive.

Clearing her throat, Isabel said, “Shall we eat?”

They moved to the table, which had been elaborately set—at Gwen’s orders, Isabel would wager—and the gentlemen helped the ladies into their seats. There was an intimacy to the movement as Nick held Isabel’s chair for her, the way he leaned in, bombarding her with heat and the scent of sandalwood. She turned her head fleetingly in his direction to thank him, and his whispered, “It is entirely my pleasure,” barely loud enough for her to hear. She felt the soft touch of his breath on her bare shoulder as he added, “I knew you would be stunning in red.”

A flood of pleasure shot through her.

He was a dangerous man.

She shook herself of the thought, entirely inappropriate, and was rewarded by the arrival of dinner. Gwen had outdone herself tonight—creating a meal of simple, hearty food that had come almost entirely from Townsend lands. It was not extravagant—certainly Lord Nicholas had had more sophisticated meals—but it was well seasoned and well cooked, and a feast by the standards of Townsend Park.

As she surveyed the mutton and jelly that had arrived as part of the second course, Isabel was overcome with uncertainty. This meal was far too simple to entertain these men— men who had traveled the world developing sophisticated minds and palates. What could they possibly find enjoyable about a quiet evening meal in the wilds of Yorkshire? What could they possibly find entertaining about the company of two uncultured young women and a ten-year-old child?

The thought festered as the meal went on, and Isabel drifted into silence, shutting out the conversation around her.

As Rock and Lara quizzed James on his lessons and the events of his day, Nick leaned close to Isabel. “You are not with us.”

She straightened at the words. “I was thinking about the meal.”

“It is an excellent meal,” Nick offered, and Isabel’s uncertainty grew.

“I am sure it is rather less extravagant than that which you are used to.”

“Not at all.”

“Certainly not as sophisticated as you have had.”

Nick gave her a serious look, one that did not tolerate self-deprecation. “On the contrary, Isabel. This meal is the ideal end to an … extraordinary day.”

And there, in the deep, welcome tenor of his voice, was the thing that chased Isabel’s doubts away. His words were a dark promise that conjured images and emotions from their interaction in the statuary, making her wish that he would kiss her again. Making her wish that they were alone once more.

But they were not.

They were at dinner.

With people.

With children, for heaven’s sake.

She dipped her head, hiding her blush in her plate. “I am happy that you are enjoying it, my lord.”

“ … and then Lord Nicholas and I had our meeting.”