Nick winced at the words, and the memory they brought with them. “I’ve already married her.”

“Then you are halfway there.”

A vision flashed of Isabel at her stone keep in the sunshine, surrounded by children. His children.

Raw desire flared and Nick scowled. “I hate it when you are right.”

Ralston grinned. “As I am rarely wrong, I imagine it is quite a problem for you.”

Nick considered his options. They were married, for God’s sake. He could not stay away from her forever. Indeed, he did not want to stay away from her. He wanted to get on his horse and rush back to Yorkshire and grab her by the shoulders and shake her. And then he wanted to kidnap her to the old stone keep and make love to her until she took him back. And then he wanted to spend the rest of his life making her happy.

If she could not love him now, perhaps, someday, she would learn to. But she would never love him if he stayed in London.

He needed her.

He looked up, determined. “I am going back to Yorkshire.”

Ralston slapped one hand to his thigh. “Excellent!” he announced, standing. “But first, you must attend this damned ball, or my wife will never forgive me.”

Nick stood, as well, feeling invigorated by his decision.

He would go to the ball. And then he would go to his wife.

“Nick!”

Nick turned from the refreshment table, where he was pouring himself a lemonade and wishing it were a scotch, to find his sister-in-law bearing down on him.

He made an elaborate bow. “Lady Ralston,” he intoned, “What a crush! What a success! You are certainly the greatest hostess of the ton.”

Callie laughed and lowered her voice. “Do not let Lady Jersey hear you. She’ll never invite us to Almack’s then.”

He raised a brow. “And that would be a terrible pity.”

She smiled broadly. “I am happy to see you. Ralston told me you were in town, but little else.” Her smile disappeared. “How do you fare?”

Nick considered Callie’s serious tone for a moment before saying, “It appears my brother told you plenty.” At Callie’s telling blush, he smiled. “I am much better now than I was a few hours ago.”

Callie’s brows rose. “It is not the ball that turned you round? ”

Nick laughed at the preposterousness of the statement. “No, my lady.”

She joined him in laughter as his sister approached, a happy smile on her face. As he leaned down to place a kiss on the back of her hand, Juliana said, “I cannot believe I did not know you had returned to town! What kind of a brother does not seek out his sister immediatamente?”

One side of Nick’s mouth kicked up at Juliana’s sprinkling of Italian. “A very bad one, indeed.”

“You must come and visit us tomorrow, no?”

He shook his head. “I cannot, I am afraid. I must leave town again at first light.”

Juliana’s mouth made a perfect moue. “Whatever for? You have barely said hello!”

He hedged, not willing to share news of his marriage with his unsubtle sister in such a public setting. “I have some extraordinarily important business to which I must attend,” he said, “but I assure you that you will be very, very happy with the results once my trip is complete.”

“Well. I hope it involves a lavish present,” Juliana teased, her attention moving to a spot over Nick’s shoulder. “Callie, who is that? ”

“Who?” Callie stood on her toes, following Juliana’s line of vision.

“Shh!” Juliana waved a hand. “I want to hear her announced.”

Nick rolled his eyes and reached for a quiche, barely registering that the two women were grinning like idiots.

“Lady Nicholas St. John.”

A hush came over the crowd and Nick froze. Surely he had misheard. He turned slowly toward the stairway leading down into the gardens, where guests were entering the ball.

There, resplendent in the most stunning scarlet gown he had ever seen, stood Isabel.

What was she doing here?

He could not take his eyes from her; there was a small part of him that thought that perhaps he had conjured her up. That she was not actually here. In London. In his brother’s garden.

Juliana poked him in the side with one long, bony finger. “Nick. Do not be un idiota. Can you not see she is terrified? You must go to her.”

The words unstuck him, and he was moving toward his wife, first walking, only to find that that was taking entirely too long. And so he began to run. Which was almost certain to cause a scandal, but he did not really care. He would apologize to Callie later.

Because all he wanted to do was reach Isabel.

And touch her.

And confirm that he was not, in fact, mad. That she was really there. That she had really come for him.

There was a benefit to running through a ball; a shocked crowd tended to move out of one’s way, and he was at the foot of the stairway in seconds, bounding up the stairs to meet her. She watched him the whole way, her brown eyes wide with nervousness and surprise and excitement and something that he dared not name.

Once there, mere inches from her, he stopped, drinking his fill of her.

He watched as she took a deep breath, her br**sts rising beautifully beneath the edge of the flowing silk gown she wore. “My lord.” She dropped into a deep curtsy and whispered, “I have missed you.”

When she finally met his gaze, he saw the truth of her words. “I have missed you, as well.” He reached for her, but before he could touch her, a firm, pointed throat clearing stayed his movement. “Nicholas,” Gabriel said from nearby, his words quiet but clear, “perhaps you should escort your wife inside? ”