Twenty-Two

Marcus pushed from the table to stand. Isabelle’s heart sank. When he walked her way, her pulse beat a quick tattoo. As he reached her side, he held out his hand. She wiped her mouth on the cloth napkin, scooted away from the table and also stood, slipping her hand into his. Warm fingers wrapped around hers in comfort, but her quaky nerves wouldn’t settle.

He led her into the drawing room and waited while she settled onto the settee. “Would you like an after-dinner drink?” he asked.

“Thank you, but no. I’m quite all right.”

He grinned. “I think it will help calm your nerves.”