What You Deserve (Anything for Love 3)

Oh, the gentleman knew what to say to unnerve her.

Isabella straightened and stepped away. Feeling a blush rise to her cheeks, she brushed the skirt of her dress as though it was somehow to blame for her carelessness.

She thought to make an apology but for a reason unbeknown she said, “If I wanted to show my appreciation I would find a more pleasurable way of doing so.”

Tristan raised a brow as he folded his arms across his broad chest. “Now you have my full attention. What sort of thing did you have in mind?”

Exchanging flirtatious quips with him had always proved entertaining. “Well, with these nimble fingers,” she said, holding her hand up and wiggling the digits, “I could entertain you for hours.”

He cleared his throat and moistened his lips. “What a delightful thought.”

“Of course, I shall need to dust off the pianoforte as it has not been played in years.”

The smile touching the corners of his mouth caused a shiver of awareness to race through her.

“I have always found music soothes my soul,” he said in a rich tone. “Indeed, I am confident that once you find your rhythm, I shall be thoroughly entertained.”

A snigger burst from her lips. It felt wonderful to laugh again.

His eyes sparkled like the sun’s reflection on water. When he laughed she knew it to be genuine for his smile illuminated his face. In that moment, he was just as she remembered. The faint creases around his mouth, and the bronzed tint to his skin proved to be the only evidence that any

time had passed.

“Do you remember the day you chased me around the fountain, and you slipped and fell in.” She chuckled again at the memory. His coat had clung to his muscular arms; his boots squelched when he walked. “I laughed until it hurt. An hour passed before I could breathe properly again.”

He nodded. “I remember. I wanted to scoop you up in my arms until you were soaked through, too.”

“You did? Why … why didn’t you?”

He contemplated her question. “I suppose I wanted you to think me a gentleman.”

His answer surprised her. She’d always thought him respectful, considerate. That was until he abandoned her. Even now, that decision still seemed so completely out of character.

“Well, only a gentleman would give up his time to save a damsel in distress,” she said choosing to show her gratitude for his intervention instead of dwelling on the past. “Only a gentleman would listen to stories of ghosts and phantoms without declaring me insane.”

His arms fell to his side as he straightened. “We will find a plausible explanation for the strange events here.”

“Then let us begin our investigation this instant.” She turned, closed her chamber door and gestured for him to follow her along the landing. “I thought it best to start with a tour of the house unless you have other ideas.”

“I have spoken to Jacob. He informed me that a Mr. Blackwood is employed to manage the estate. With your permission, I would like to speak to him.” He stopped and turned to face her. “If I am to help you, I need you to tell me everything,” he whispered.

Isabella swallowed. “Everything?”

“Everything involving your personal situation.” He coughed into his clenched fist. “If I am to attempt to discover a motive for murder, then I must know what financial arrangements were made for you upon your husband’s death.”

“A motive for murder,” she repeated. He sounded so confident in his ability to succeed. It brought to mind an earlier comment. He had not spent his time in France in pursuit of pleasure, but in catching criminals.

“You will need to be completely honest with me,” he said, averting his gaze to glance at the floor. “There can be no secrets between us.”

Being honest with him had never posed a problem for her. “What do you want to know?”

He paused, swallowed audibly. “The nature of your relationship with your husband. Details of his relationship with his son. Who owns Highley Grange? Why it is Henry Fernall maintains control? Can you trust the staff here?”

“Goodness.” She placed her hand to her chest. “Why did you not just say you wanted to know every intimate detail of my life. I am surprised you’ve not asked if I have a lover.”

The comment was made in jest, purely to express her shock at the depth of information required.

His expression darkened. “Do you have a lover, Isabella?” His penetrating stare made her shift uncomfortably. “Your husband has been dead these last two years. It would be a natural assumption for anyone to make.”