It would soon be dusk. Would he keep his promise? Her heart began to pound. It was madness! She should not have come! He was a gentleman. He would never accept Isobel as a lady. Not after what had passed between them on the top of that tower. It was absurd to be waiting here, indulging her foolish dreams yet again. Yesterday she had worn that indecent chemise gown, dampening her muslin skirts in daring self-indulgence. She had even unpinned her hair and kicked off her shoes. She had thought herself totally alone, enacting her fantasy, her last moment of freedom before she had to give herself to duty and a loveless marriage. But then he had appeared, like a fairy-tale prince, taking her proffered hand and… That kiss had been no fantasy. It had been delight, and desire. It had been glorious. And utter wickedness. She should leave here before he came, before it was too late. She must not meet him again. A woman of almost twenty could not afford to dally in the unattainable dreams of childhood.
