Once a Rake by Rona Sharon

Author:Rona Sharon
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: 0
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 18

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Your voice alone declares your flame,

And though so sweet it breathes my name,

Our passions still are not the same.

—Lord Byron: To Caroline

Once again Isabel refrained from coming to see him—for a whole bloody week! Nursing a piss-poor disposition, Ashby poured his frustration and sweat into sanding the new project he'd begun since his return from Ashby Park. It smacked of servitude, as it was a surprise for Isabel, but he kept at it anyway. He enjoyed creating things for her. Her delight in whatever he gave her was exhilarating and highly addictive. He couldn't recall which Muse inspired him before Isabel reentered his life five weeks ago. Now he could hardly stand it when they were apart. Will once told him that people instantly grew accustomed to good things and never to bad things. Isabel Aubrey was the best thing that ever happened to him—and the worst, if it didn't happen.

The first two days Ashby assumed she was too busy converting the pretty town house he'd purchased for her charity into a proper agency. Then came Saturday, and as he failed to show up for their designated ride in the park, he allotted her two more days for sulking. The sixth day, when he sent her a note, inviting her to have luncheon with him, and was cordially refused, he knew the truth: Isabel didn't miss him half as much as he missed her.

He felt like those women he used to seduce. He, too, was frequently otherwise engaged to spare time for those he didn't care to see again or as often as they would have liked to see him. If this was how they had felt, then he had put them through hell. He'd never felt anything remotely similar to this choking need before, this constant pain beneath his ribs. Being unable to see her, touch her, or talk with her was transforming him into a pitiful wreck. He hated the feeling.

He strongly suspected she was making a statement. The little extortionist thought she could twist his arm into making a grand public appearance. She might settle for a private one, so long as it didn't feature a mask, but then he'd risk losing her altogether. In all fairness he should have let her see him by now. Each time he considered doing so, however, his hands grew clammy and a sensation similar to panic gripped him. If her friends' compassionate looks were any indication, then they, too, were concerned about Isabel's reaction. Hence, before he unmasked himself in a brighter setting, he needed to make certain that she cared for him enough to see past…

Hell and damnation. It was her damned fault that he felt pathetically insecure. All that talk of love and alterations was turning him into an antithesis of the hardened rake he once was. He'd served enough years as a field commander to be able to tell when the balance of power shifted against him. It was the damnedest thing.

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