Strings Attached

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The need to dig deeper into the enigma that was Isabelle filled me with an instant sense of purpose and there was no point in postponing my resolution to erase this distance I'd put between us. That very evening, I sat in the dining room, aware that she was supposed to descend the stairs at any moment. According to Anne, my wife was a creature of habit and she had never once demanded to have her meals brought to her room. Tonight was no different and before I knew it, I was graced with Isabelle's presence. She paused by the door, visibly surprised to find me sitting there. For a moment, it seemed she would turn around and try to flee, but she gave it up and slowly walked to the table.

Though I was aware my attention made her feel uncomfortable, I followed her every move and let my eyes roam the length of her slim body. The clothes she was wearing were worn out and shabby, but it didn't take away from her beauty. Nevertheless, it was inappropriate for my wife to dress in such a fashion and her lack of good taste would have to be addressed. These clothes were so far removed from her new status, that she resembled more of a servant than a spouse of a wealthy businessman. In a few weeks, my parents would be celebrating their wedding anniversary and I planned on asking Helen to take Isabelle shopping and buy her something decent to wear.

Her cheeks were blushing crimson red by the time she took a seat across the table from me and she looked down at the table, avoiding my gaze. It would be safe to say she acted as though she was shocked and threatened by my presence and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Women had always craved my attention and could not wait to get near me. Never in my life did I have to employ tricks to get closer to a woman, not even to take her to bed. They always came willing and eager to satisfy my every whim. I wasn't used to being treated with such coldness and her constant refusal to meet my gaze bothered me more than I'd care to admit. Refusing to voice my concerns, I cleared my throat, alerting her to my presence. It took a short moment for her to acknowledge me, but I didn't mind because she met my demand and slowly lifted her head. I couldn't look away from those sad mahogany eyes. Theresa came to serve our food, but I still found myself staring at Isabelle.

"Thank you, Theresa," I said when she was finished, warning her that it was time for her to leave.

Isabelle gave her a soft smile and then returned to being very serious the moment we were left alone. Not a word had been spoken between us and the room was filled with tension that grew with each passing moment. Breaking the intense gaze we shared, I started eating and Isabelle followed my example. Her hands quivered slightly as she took hold of the cutlery to eat her dish. Unlike the day I'd met her, it was clear she knew what she was doing and she ate with a lot more refinement than that time she'd embarrassed herself in front of everyone. But despite this new knowledge she possessed, she seemed very uncertain; almost frightened that she'd be at the receiving end of a reprimanding comment from my side. I didn't know why, but I wanted her to relax so I did something that was very uncharacteristic of me—I smiled. It was a short and restrained smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. To my disappointment, she didn't return the gesture.

"I see you've got the hang of it," I said when I noticed my attempt to set her mind at ease didn't help.

"I've been practicing," she said in a shy voice.

I remembered when Father told me they'd hired tutors to train her in the basic requirements she'd have to fulfill in order to assume the role of my wife. He'd mentioned something about videotaping her and though I'd refused to see it then, the existence of such tapes suddenly triggered my interest.

"I know." I couldn't suppress the smirk at the thought she might believe I'd seen those recorded lessons.

It seemed my assumptions were true because Isabelle dropped the knife and fork from her hands and settled them sideways on the plate which meant she was done eating. Taking a sip of wine, I watched as her face reddened again and she looked away. She kept fidgeting in her chair and looked around in a nervous manner. Suddenly, she stood up like she was moving away from a raging fire and she made a step towards the door before taking in a breath and turning to face me. Locking my eyes with hers, I kept a calm composure as I waited for an explanation though she didn't need to say anything—it was clear she was desperate to be free from my presence.