Isabella's Secret Summer Read online

  Claudia and Mr. Hopper’s attacks weighed heavily on her mind, even though the physician had claimed all would be well. Her maid had even awoken for a short time and relayed what had happened. Of course, it was no surprise to learn that a mysterious man had jumped out and tried to abscond with her but then shoved her to the ground when he realized she wasn’t his intended target. At that point, she’d struck her head on a rock.

  Isabella had closed her eyes, for she’d never felt so deserving of her fate with Simon as she had in that moment. Everything Ridge had told her had been true, but because of her need for a few minutes of indulgence, she’d compromised the safety of those around her. If she had just remained within the castle walls for one more day, her husband might now be in Mr. Claymoore’s custody and this nightmare would be over.

  She paused to clutch the doorframe of the study, her mind whirling with guilt. Of course, her rational side had wanted to argue that it was an honest lapse in judgment, a natural human error, but that was nothing but a poor excuse.

  Once she regained her bearings, Isabella walked over to the shelves of books. Although she trailed a hand along the leather spines, the titles began to blur, so she walked over to the window. It had stopped raining, but there was a certain chill that continued to permeate the stone, so she hugged herself against the lingering dampness as she stared out at the sea.

  Surely there was something she could do to rectify this entire situation. She certainly couldn’t just stand by while Simon continued to be a threat for those she cared about, for God only knew who he might strike at next. The possibilities caused her to shudder.

  While Simon had never exhibited any outward violence during their brief time together, looking back, Isabella could tell there was some sort of… cruel depravity lurking just beneath the surface of that cool exterior. Today proved that either his sanity was unhinged, or he truly was a villain of the worst kind without any sort of scruples.

  Then again, everyone in London, including her closest friends, had seen the warning signs while she’d chosen to ignore them — all for the sake of love.

  She closed her eyes and dared her mind to travel back to their wedding night, the day that had changed everything.

  Their vows had been exchanged over an anvil, presided by the local blacksmith in Gretna Green. Isabella had noticed Simon’s aloof behavior, but she’d continued to imagine that his nerves were playing a part in his distance toward her. Now she realized that cool exterior had been in place the moment she’d climbed into his coach bound for Scotland. It was as if, by that last act in giving herself to him, he had lost all respect for her. But she’d been so excited at the prospect of being his wife, that she hadn’t given a second thought to his reticence.

  Once he’d procured a room at the inn, he’d ushered her inside and said he would return shortly. Maidenly nerves had fluttered in her midsection, but she’d taken her time readying herself for bed. At first she’d pulled the covers up to her chin, but since that seemed entirely too virginal, she changed position. She didn’t know how many times she’d obsessed about draping her hair a certain way to appear the most becoming.

  When he’d come into the room at long last, reeking of ale and perhaps even a slight whiff of perfume, her heart had lodged in her throat. She jumped as he’d kicked the door closed with his boot and started unbuttoning his trousers as he walked toward the bed.

  It was over almost as fast as it had begun.

  Afterward, she’d lain there staring at the ceiling, tears stinging her eyes, and wondering how she’d been so stupidly naïve, while he stumbled to the washstand and removed the evidence of their union.

  That was when something inside of her had broken. It wasn’t her heart, although that was certainly bruised, but rather her dignity that had taken the brunt of her shame. She didn’t allow the tears to fall when Simon took pleasure in boasting about how he’d just left the arms of their serving wench in order to ‘prepare’ himself for her, because the idea of laying with her had sickened him. Thus, when he’d walked out of the room and left her alone, she’d breathed a sigh of relief that such a horrible experience wouldn’t be repeated.

  The next day, when they arrived in London and he’d dumped her off at the inn, she did as he asked without complaint, for something inside of her had gone numb. She’d told herself that she was going to close herself off, that her heart would no longer ache with such helpless abandon. Never again would she find herself in a situation where she would give everything and gain nothing in return.

  Isabella opened her eyes, gripping the windowsill with her palms, as a single tear trickled down her cheek, just like that day at the inn. But she refused to allow the others to fall. She told herself she was stronger than that, and God knew Simon wasn’t worth it.

  The fine hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end, and her breathing hitched. She was no longer alone.

  Carefully, she turned around and saw a shadowed outline in the doorway. A gasp rose in her throat — until she realized that form could only belong to one person. Ridge held a pistol in his hand, but he lowered it to his side as he said hoarsely, “Isabella?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  He exhaled heavily, as if he hadn’t been sure she was real, or some sort of spectral being. He laid the pistol on a nearby table and walked toward her. As he drew closer, she could see a hard glint in his dark eyes, but she wasn’t certain if he was angry with her, or… something else. “What are you doing here at this time of night?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “For the same reason you’re still awake, I imagine. I couldn’t sleep.” She walked back over to the bookshelves, finding it too confining to be in this small room with his overwhelming presence hovering so close, especially when the haunting reminder of Simon still whispered through her mind. “I came to find a book to read.”

  “Isabella—”

  She didn’t even read the title of the tome she pulled blindly from the shelf. She just held it up. “I found what I was looking for. I’ll be going now.”

  Isabella took a handful of steps before her wrist was encircled in a gentle, but firm grip. He carefully pried the volume from her hand and read the title aloud. “A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful.” He scoffed. “I had no idea a gently bred lady of the beau monde was so interested in a treatise on aesthetics by Edmund Burke.”

  She lifted her chin and removed her arm from his grasp. “How would you know? For a man who’s been drinking as much as you have, I should think you couldn’t perceive much of anything.”

  “I may have tried to lose myself in the bottom of a bottle.” He returned the book to its original place on the shelf, and then his gaze returned to her face. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t tell when a lady is upset. How about you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

  This time, it was her turn to scoff. “You can honestly ask me that after what happened today?”

  He frowned. “I agree that it’s regrettable about Mr. Hopper and Claudia, but they were aware of the risks when I brought you here. They knew Wistenberry might try to abduct you.”

  Her jaw went slack. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “No,” he returned firmly. “Just to make you stop berating yourself. I would think being tied to that miscreant for eternity is punishment enough.”

  Isabella stilled. Until that point, she had convinced herself she was strong, had vowed that she would keep the tears at bay, but with a single sentence, a desperate sob escaped. She covered her mouth and spun around, intending to flee to her room before the dam burst free.

  But apparently, he wasn’t allowing her to retreat.

  He grabbed her shoulders, and although she fought against his hold, he held tight. “Let me go!” she cried, her breath coming out in short bursts of emotion.

  He turned her to him, his expression steady and calm. “You don’t need to be alone right now, Isabella.” He paused… then added, “And neither
do I”

  It was the vulnerability that she read in his eyes, the same one that was likely mirrored in her own, that caused her to break down.

  She covered her face with her hands. And wept.

  ***

  Ridge held Isabella tight against his chest, close enough that he could feel her heart beating in time to his own. He closed his eyes as he ran a hand down her long copper hair while she cried as if her very heart was breaking.

  His own vision turned blurry, so he closed his eyes. He couldn’t allow emotion to overcome him, because he had to be strong for her. She needed to have a steady foundation to stand on as her world fell apart.

  But the sobs literally tore at his cold soul, where another chunk of ice fell away.

  After the worst had passed, he reached into his pocket and offered her a handkerchief. “Thank you,” she said, but she had trouble meeting his gaze, as if embarrassed by her watery outburst.

  He took her hand and led her over to the settee. They sat down next to each other where he put an arm around her and pulled her back against him. She didn’t resist as she wiped at her eyes, releasing a deep sigh, as if the weight she’d been carrying around had at long last been lifted.

  After a time, he asked, “Feel any better?”

  She nodded. “A little. I suppose sometimes all we need is a good cry.”

  “Indeed.” He smiled against the top of her head. If there was one thing he’d learned about growing up with a bunch of women, it was that they generally needed to shed a few tears now and again to face the dawning of a new day.

  Isabella sat up and turned her head to look at him. She was fully composed now, even if her eyes were a bit red-rimmed. “I still feel as though all of this is my fault.”

  He allowed his gaze to roam over her face, the urge to kiss those soft, pliant lips almost overpowering. However, he resisted the impulse, hoping that his voice was convincing enough when he said, “You had nothing to do with what happened today. I knew that, at some point, Simon would appear.”

  “But if I hadn’t insisted on going to the village, you would have been here to intercept him.”

  He frowned. “True, but there was no way to know when he would attack. Now that he’s given away his cards, we’ll be even more cautious when he decides to strike next.”

  She glanced down at her hands. “I suppose so.” She exhaled heavily. “I still can’t believe I ran off and eloped with such a man. I was so… desperate for love, for his love, that I imagined I could change him, that in time he would come to feel the same…”

  As her words trailed off, Ridge reached out and grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Wistenberry was a dolt that didn’t know a good thing when he had it in his possession.” He released her. “But he doesn’t matter anymore. Soon, he will no longer be your problem.”

  Her lovely eyes widened. “Surely you don’t mean to… kill him?”

  He clenched his jaw. “It is either me or the noose. You forget he’s still a traitor to the Crown.” As she appeared to digest this, he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Does it bother you to think of his demise?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “But it does when I think of yours.”

  ***

  Isabella wasn’t sure what had possessed her to admit such a thing, but the moment the words left her mouth, the air shifted and changed — the statement becoming a tangible being in the room.

  For all of Mr. Claymoore’s faults, his brooding moods, and his contentious ways, she found that she’d come to rely on his cool, commanding presence in the past few days. He’d become the rock she could cling to in the midst of her sinking foundation, even though he tested the limits of her patience more often than not.

  Then, of course, there was the rather dangerous attraction she felt toward him.

  She bit her lower lip, wondering if it would be too much to ask him to kiss her again. While she liked to imagine she was smart enough not to make another terrible mistake, now that she was alone with Ridge, all she could think about was the memory of his heated embrace as it flared back to life.

  No doubt Simon had already broken the empty vows he’d made to her. Not that he’d ever meant them to begin with.

  When she saw Ridge’s eyes lower to her mouth, his nostrils flaring, she dared to lift her hand and press her palm against his chest, directly over his strong, steady heart. “Ridge…” she breathed.

  That was all she had to say, as he reached for her.

  Isabella sighed as his lips met hers, her fingers curling to bunch the fabric of his shirt. She yearned to rip the cotton barrier from his body and feel the bare heat beneath. She gasped against his mouth when he reached around her waist and drew her closer. She wound her arms around his neck as he flattened her breasts against his chest.

  It didn’t take much for Isabella to realize that things could rapidly spiral out of control, but she was on fire for him, her body pulsing with a need she didn’t know how to command. When he left her mouth to nibble his way down the side of her neck, she moaned. “Please.” She wasn’t even sure what she was begging for, but she knew that he could satisfy her every need.

  When his hand slid down the side of her ribcage, she sucked in a deep breath. Her nipples ached for his touch, and as he lifted her to straddle him, one leg on either side of his waist, she was rewarded with his hands on her breasts. His thumbs toyed with her hardened nipples, and she moved her hips in time to his exquisite teasing. “More,” she demanded, surprised at her own boldness.

  He said nothing, but the sensation of her gown being lifted, the cool air hitting her exposed legs, made her shiver. She wasn’t sure what he intended to do, but then his fingers brushed her core. The fire that had been fanned earlier was now set ablaze.

  She clutched his shoulders as he groaned, “God, you’re so wet.”

  She looked at him while he stroked the most intimate part of her, his expression appearing as though he was in pain.

  “Is that… good?” she panted.

  He grinned. “It’s very good.”

  He took her lips in a demanding kiss, rapidly driving her senses higher. With every flick of his fingers, she crept closer toward something… amazing. When she was sure she couldn’t take the sweet torture any longer, he tore his mouth from hers and growled in her ear, “Let go for me, Isabella.”

  As he gently bit her lobe, she exploded in ecstasy. Her entire body quivered as the waves rushed through her body like the tide crashing on the beach. It was heaven, it was magical — it was like nothing she’d ever known before.

  As a pleasant, languid warmth permeated her limbs, Ridge withdrew his hand and stood, lifting her into his arms. “And now I think it’s time for bed, my lady.”

  “But what about you?” she murmured sleepily. “Surely you must need release?”

  Again, he had that expression as if he was being tortured, but he said gruffly, “I think it’s best if we refrain from any further activity this evening. You’re vulnerable, and I don’t want you to regret anything that might happen between us.” His eyes glittered with a certain devilish light. “If the time ever comes when we do copulate, I intend to take my time and not take the risk of being disturbed, because it won’t be over in a few minutes.”

  A certain thrill shot though her midsection at his dark promise, but since nothing else was going to happen tonight, she contented herself with what was yet to come.

  ***

  Ridge knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep with such a pulsing erection, but instead of heading down to the sea to ease his body’s need for sex, he returned to his chamber and relieved himself. But any pleasure he might have gained from taking himself in hand faded with the memory of Isabella’s passionate responses. He wanted nothing more than to return to her room and recreate those sensual sounds until dawn broke over the sky, but already he had broken his promise to retain his distance.

  He realized what a foolhardy mission that had been. From the moment he had seen her, he’d wante
d to bed her, but it wasn’t until he actually got to spend some time with the lady that he found her to be a rather lively and witty companion. Wistenberry, along with the rest of society, had been oblivious not to see what a treasure Isabella was.

  But he saw what they had overlooked.

  And he wanted her. All of her.

  Ridge ground his teeth and walked over to the modest, wooden desk in his room. Since his thoughts still wouldn’t allow him to sleep, he decided to pen a letter to Montgomery with an update. With any luck, his fellow agent would be able to arrive within a day or two, and some of the pressure he’d been feeling to distance himself from Isabella would cease. Although he’d never felt such a strong physical attraction to any woman before, no doubt it would pass soon enough once he was free to focus on something else other than that brilliant red hair or those expressive, dark eyes.

  And now that he’d had a taste of her sweet delights, it would be even more difficult to stay away from her.

  He sealed the letter and set it aside. He’d hire a messenger from the village in the morning to deliver it to London posthaste.

  He walked over to the bed and lay down, forcing himself to close his eyes. After a time, merciful rest claimed him.

  Chapter Ten

  Isabella’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of the drapes opening. As she adjusted to the morning’s light, Mrs. Hopper bustled about the room. Clouds still hung heavy over the horizon, but a quick glance at the clock said it was almost ten o’clock. She sat up in bed, surprised that she’d slept as late as she had. Then again, she couldn’t believe that she had done such intimate… things with Mr. Claymoore either.

  However, she shoved such lurid imaginings out of her mind as the previous day’s events came crashing through her brain. “Claudia—?”