Lady Isobel's Champion Read Free Page B

beyond counting. Her betrothed.
    She dropped into a curtsy. ‘Lord d’Aveyron.’
    Taking two swift strides, the Count lifted her hand in a firm grasp. As he bowed over it and kissed it, a tremor shot through her. At last. Count Lucien might not be used to being kept waiting, but he hadn’t hesitated to make her wait. I have waited nine years for this moment.
    ‘My guard mentioned that you rode to Ravenshold this morning,’ he said. ‘I apologise that you were turned away, but I didn’t look to see you until Advent.’
    Hearing censure in his tone, Isobel felt herself flush. ‘Once my father received your letter, he was anxious that I should come without delay.’
    Blue eyes studied her. ‘I trust your journey was not too taxing? You are recovered?’
    ‘Yes, thank you, my lord. I enjoy riding.’ Had Count Lucien always been so tall? For a moment he was a complete stranger rather than the man Isobel had been betrothed to so long ago. His eyes met hers and then she knew it was he. She had never forgotten that he had the bluest eyes, they were warm as a summer sky. The colour was unexpected in someone whose features were otherwise so dark. Unforgettable. As for the warmth—that had faded from her mind with the slow turn of the years. Seeing it again, she was emboldened to add, ‘It has been a long time.’
    ‘It has been too long. I know it, and am sorry for it. However, I am delighted to see you again.’ He led her towards the light, holding her at arm’s length while he continued his appraisal of her. ‘I would have come for you sooner, but...’
    ‘You were occupied with your lands, with tournaments.’ Isobel kept her head high, appalled to feel herself flushing as he ran his gaze up and down—hair, mouth, breasts... This was her betrothed of many years, yet he was making her feel nervous—edgy in a way she didn’t understand. Why did his gaze make her feel so self-conscious? She wished she could read him. What was he thinking?
    And why was Elise hovering out in the corridor when she had made a point of stressing that she would welcome some support?
    ‘You have grown into a strikingly beautiful woman,’ Count Lucien said, softly. ‘I find myself regretting the duties that have kept us apart for so long.’
    Isobel sent him a direct look. It had been a relief when she had heard that finally Lord d’Aveyron’s summons had arrived at Turenne, and she wanted him to know that she had not enjoyed the wait. He ought to know. ‘Duties, my lord?’ Conscious of Sister Christine hovering by the door, she lowered her voice. ‘It has been nine years. My lord, I know you have become a great tourney champion, but must you attend every tournament in Christendom?’
    She caught a slight grimace, quickly concealed.
    ‘A thousand apologies, my lady. King Henry and King Louis disapprove of tournaments, which means that sometimes one must travel long distances to find the best of them.’ He lifted his shoulder. ‘The prize money can be good.’
    Isobel stared at him. Lucien Vernon held so much land it was hard to believe that he struggled to raise revenues. He had estates in Champagne, Normandy and the Auvergne—plenty of resources, surely? Something felt wrong. Was he so ambitious—so avaricious—that he must win every prize in Christendom? And if so, why had he not married her sooner? She was an heiress.
    Later, I will go into this with him later. I cannot ask revealing questions with Sister Christine hanging on our every word.
    Count Lucien smiled and she felt it in her toes. His eyes were not pure blue, they had black and grey flecks in them and they were very penetrating. Disturbing. Isobel did not remember them being quite so disturbing nine years ago.
    She steeled herself against him. It stung to look into those thick-lashed eyes and recall that he had not cared to visit her in nine years. Their match might have been arranged by their fathers, but from the moment Isobel had met him she had been drawn to