Isabella's Secret Summer Page 9

  Isabella was struck with her first twinge of conscience. “I appreciate your consideration, Mrs. Hopper. I certainly don’t intend to cause any further trouble for you.”

  Ethel waved a hand. “I daresay it will be nice to see some familiar faces, as it’s been several months since I’ve been here. And on Saturdays they have a particularly charming outdoor market.”

  Once they arrived, Ridge set the parking brake on the barouche. He helped them alight, and Isabella couldn’t resist lifting her face to the sun, relishing the comforting warmth of the brilliant rays. But it could have been pouring rain and it wouldn’t have bothered her. Even the sound of the gulls near the shoreline sounded sweeter.

  Isabella glanced around at the quaint surroundings, the shingled cottages laid out on the sandy downs near the sea, with the chalky white cliffs of Dover to the north. It was a rather modest hamlet, but the people they encountered carried easy, friendly smiles, even if Mr. Claymoore looked as if he’d bitten into a ripe persimmon.

  Although the kaki fruit wasn’t well known in Europe, it was quite popular in Asia, known for its botanical uses for fever, cough, and even certain stomach ailments. Once Isabella’s father had read of its benefits, he’d ordered a crate from China for the kitchen gardens at his estate. As far as she was aware, they still retained the lone tree in England.

  Even with Mr. Claymoore remaining close to her side, Isabella was excited to see all the vendors lined up along the main thoroughfare, their carts showcasing everything from fresh vegetables and fruit, to fish, small game, and even various homemade items like soaps and jewelry. An older woman greeted Mrs. Hopper, and as they became engaged in conversation, Isabella continued to meander through the growing crowd.

  She walked over to one stall where a particular bit of gold ribbon had caught her eye. As Isabella touched the delicate length of woven material, the lady said, “Good day, miss. Are ye interested in tha’ bit o’ ribbon? I’d be willin’ t’ make ye a good deal on it.”

  Growing up in London, Isabella was used to negotiating with various shopkeepers. While most were perfectly fair and respectable, a few would charge a ha’penny more for the unsuspecting buyer. “How much?” she asked.

  The woman eyed Isabella, her gaze shifting to her staid companion and quoted a price that was more than reasonable. “Perhaps yer gentleman friend would like t’ purchase a yard o’ two for his ledy?”

  Isabella could feel her cheeks warm at the insinuation that they were a couple. She was about to refute the fact when Mr. Claymoore’s deep voice intervened. “We’ll take four yards.”

  The seller’s eyes lit up as she measured out the selected amount. Once Ridge had paid for the ribbon and handed it to Isabella, she put it in the concealed pocket of her skirts. As they walked away from the booth, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Claymoore, but truly, it wasn’t necessary.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he returned evenly.

  He led her through the assemblage with his hand on the lower part of her back. It was a simple enough gesture, but one that claimed, quite clearly, who she was with.

  After several moments, Ridge said, “I don’t see, Mrs. Hopper.”

  Isabella frowned and ordered herself not to panic, but she couldn’t stop a seed of doubt from creeping in. Ridge was convinced that Simon was intent on capturing her, but surely he wouldn’t stoop so low as to use someone like Mrs. Hopper against her?

  The very idea was sickening, and Isabella put a hand to her queasy stomach.

  Her eyes darted around nervously, but then her gaze landed on the woman that Ethel had been speaking with earlier. She rushed forward, darting between various patrons. “Excuse me,” she called out to the lady, who was in the middle of helping a local villager who had two small children clinging to her skirts. “Do you know where Mrs. Hopper might have gone?”

  The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, miss, but I don’t ’ave any idea.”

  Isabella’s heart sank. She wasn’t sure if they should wait there for Mrs. Hopper in the hope she would come back this way, or if they should continue searching through the crowd. As she turned around, that was when she realized that Ridge was no longer by her side.

  Anxious, she tried to retrace her steps, but the moment she passed by a narrow alleyway between two brick buildings, someone grabbed her arm. Her breathing hitched as her back was wrenched against a solid chest, a terrified scream hovering on her lips until a strong hand clamped over her mouth.

  “Don’t scream. It’s me.” Her knees weakened in both relief and fright, as Mr. Claymoore’s familiar baritone drifted to her ears.

  He turned her around to face him.

  “Did you find Mrs. Hopper?”

  His expression was grim. “Not as yet. I was too busy trying to find you.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it had gotten so congested.”

  He nodded. “We should be returning to the castle.”

  While Isabella had been anticipating this outing all morning, now she realized that it was for the best if they headed back. What had begun as a beautiful day was marred by the anxiety still tripping through her veins. She still found it hard to believe that Simon wasn’t already on a ship bound for the New World about now, but Ridge had worked at convincing her that danger lurked around every corner until she was starting to believe it.

  She looked at him. “Should we split up to try to find Mrs. Hopper or—?”

  Without any sort of warning, he bent his head and kissed her.

  Isabella froze, shock turning her immobile at the first brush of his mouth against hers, but fire soon exploded in her midsection. Her core throbbed with wanton desire, as his mouth slid over hers in a sensual dance.

  As he deepened the embrace, his lips taunting and teasing hers, his hand wandered upward and cupped the underside of her breast through her gown. When he brushed the tip of her nipple, she whimpered at the sheer torture of it. He was tempting her in ways that she hadn’t dared, had never wanted before. She thought of his firm chest, and yearned to feel his naked skin against hers.

  Simon had never made her feel like this.

  And that was when she understood the truth. She had never been in love with Simon. She’d merely harbored a childish infatuation toward him, for if she were truly devoted to her husband, this man’s touch wouldn’t affect her like this. She would have pushed him away and declared her adoration for her husband. But she didn’t. In truth, she wanted more.

  “Isabella?”

  Ridge broke away as Mrs. Hopper’s frantic voice sounded nearby. Isabella swallowed deeply and managed to call out a reply. “Over here, Mrs. Hopper.”

  Ethel hastened down the alley toward her. “Thank goodness! I was searching everywhere for you both.” She put a hand to her chest, visibly relieved.

  “I trust that you have procured everything you need?” he asked crisply. When she nodded, he said, “Then I think it’s time we took our leave.”

  “I’ll gather my things and meet you at the carriage.” Mrs. Hopper rushed off the way she’d come, as Ridge led Isabella out into the bustling street.

  A sudden gust of wind had Isabella holding on to her bonnet as he helped her inside the vehicle. A quick glance at the dark clouds rolling in off the sea proved that a squall was blowing in. She prayed that it wasn’t a precursor of things to come, but some inner intuition warned her that the storm was just beginning and the urgency to return to the castle was palpable with restless inner energy.

  Isabella could imagine what her mother might say if she were here, that she’d always been too headstrong for her own good, and that was the reason she was feeling so apprehensive. After spending the past few years as the timid spinster of society, she admitted that it hadn’t taken much for Simon to convince her to run away with him. She wanted to blame all her impulsiveness on him, but the truth was she’d always had a restless spirit, she’d just shoved it aside because it was what she had been expected to do. At the moment, that same unsettled nature had return
ed with a vengeance.

  When Mrs. Hopper returned, Ridge took care of the supplies as she climbed inside the carriage. “It looks like quite a tempest is brewing.”

  “It does.” Isabella looked out the window and forced herself to breathe. Stay calm. Everything is fine.

  Ridge took a seat and snapped the reins; the horses jerking the vehicle into motion. He must have been feeling the effects of uncertainty as well, for it didn’t seem like it took as long to return to the castle as it had to depart. And here, more ominous thoughts tumbled through her mind, as the incoming rain clouds appeared to be the heaviest.

  Isabella was sure that it would start pouring the moment Ridge led them to the stables, but it held off as he unhooked the horses and took the provisions Mrs. Hopper had purchased. Her belly was still churning with dread, but as they entered the kitchens, nothing seemed amiss.

  However, the moment Ethel opened the door to the gardens, she gave a cry and immediately lifted her skirts and ran forward. Ridge and Isabella were right behind her.

  Isabella gasped when she saw Mr. Hopper sitting on the ground and holding his head. His wife bent down beside him.

  When he tried to stand, Ridge settled a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Take it easy, old man,” he instructed firmly. “We don’t know the extent of your injuries just yet.”

  When Herb turned his head, Isabella could clearly see the line of blood that ran from his hairline down his cheek. She paled as all the blood abruptly drained to her feet.

  “What happened?” his wife asked, unshed tears clogging her voice, her face pale.

  “’Twas a man,” he said grimly. “He was waiting near the hedge when we came outside, not long after you left.”

  Isabella put a hand to her abdomen, abruptly realizing that someone was missing. Fear clenched her heart to the point she had to press a fist to her chest. “Where’s Claudia?”

  Mr. Hopper’s gaze turned to her, and then he pointed toward the line of bushes where she saw another body lying still on the grass.

  Isabella screamed — just as the heavens opened up.

  Chapter Nine

  Isabella sat in a chair next to the blazing fire in her maid’s chamber with a warm cup of tea in her grasp. She couldn’t even remember if she’d taken one sip. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was Claudia lying on the ground and the intense fear that she was dead. Relief had surged through her when Ridge assured her that Claudia was still alive, merely unconscious.

  By the time Ridge had lifted the maid into his arms and carried her inside the castle, they were all soaked through. Ethel escorted her husband to their quarters while Isabella followed Ridge to Claudia’s room. He left to send Mrs. Hopper up so that they could change Claudia into some dry clothes and settle her under the covers. Once that was done, Ethel said quietly, “I’m going downstairs to change into some dry clothes and then make some tea. I would suggest doing the same if you don’t wish to catch a chill.”

  Thirty minutes later, Isabella hadn’t moved.

  Mrs. Hopper returned, took one look at her and released a heavy sigh. She pressed a warm cup into Isabella’s hands, but she remained sitting perfectly still, leaving the tea untouched.

  “Mr. Claymoore went to fetch the doctor,” said Ethel.

  The words barely registered. She became aware that Ethel laid a blanket across her shoulders when her trembling ceased, but little else.

  Regrettably, nothing would chase away the chill inside of her heart.

  Silence surrounded them for several minutes, and then Isabella whispered, “I did this. It’s my fault that Claudia and Herb were hurt.”

  Mrs. Hopper sat down in the chair across from her, but Isabella continued to stare into the flickering flames in the fireplace without meeting her gaze. She was too ashamed to do so, fearing the condemnation she would see there. Instead, the older woman said firmly, “I don’t want to hear that sort of talk. It’s this villain that is to blame. In truth, you should count yourself lucky that you weren’t here for him to abscond with.”

  Isabella’s throat tightened. “Maybe it would have been for the best if I had been. None of you asked for this sort of trouble, and yet I’ve brought it to your front door.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Mrs. Hopper corrected. “Mr. Claymoore brought you here to keep you safe, and for good reason it would seem. You’re in real danger.”

  Isabella shook her head, everything leading up to this point still feeling like a bad dream. “Mr. Claymoore was right,” she whispered. “But I didn’t believe him. Or perhaps I just didn’t want to believe that the man I’d vowed to spend the rest of my life with, who I promised to love, honor, and cherish, could be such a contemptible blackguard.” She sighed and lifted her gaze to the woman across from her. “And yet, it’s true. How could I have been so blind?”

  “Men have a certain way about them when it comes to getting what they want.” Her companion shrugged. “They’ll say anything to make you believe they’re sincere. There’s no way you could have known his true nature until he chose to reveal it. Unfortunately, it was too late before you realized it.”

  “But that’s just it. I did know.” Isabella stood and walked over to the window, the tautness in her chest making it hard to draw a breath. The rivulets of water on the glass distorted the scenery outside, and she traced one of the lines with her finger. How ironic that it seemed to mock her current circumstances, where so many lies had been offered up as the truth.

  “Simon was a well-known libertine in London,” she continued softly. “Most of the debutantes wouldn’t even stand up with him for something as simple as the quadrille, even if it meant their dance card would have to remain empty for the rest of the evening.” Her lips twitched in distaste. “But when he asked me, I went willingly, almost gratefully. I chose to wear blinders and pretend that he singled me out because I was different, that I was special, when I was nothing more than a fool and a means to an end.” She turned back and faced Mrs. Hopper once more, her smile wobbly when she added, “So, while I appreciate your efforts, there’s no point in trying to make me feel better when I know the blame lays directly on my shoulders. That’s just something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my days.”

  ***

  Ridge sat in Liverpool’s salon long into the night, nursing a bottle of brandy. At this point he’d given up even pouring it into a glass, drinking it straight from the source. While his vision was starting to get a bit blurry from his efforts, and he would most likely nurse a devil of a headache in the morning, at least he was doing his part to dull that day’s events. Exhaustion tried to penetrate his consciousness, but the insomnia refused to relent long enough for him to close his eyes.

  The worst part of it was that he wasn’t as upset about Claudia or Mr. Hopper’s injuries as he should have been. It was true that the attacks were highly distressing, but the doctor had assured him that they would fully recover. That should have been enough to ease his mind.

  But no, it had to be the blasted memory of Isabella’s sweet mouth that refused to let him rest.

  It had been a mistake to give in to the urge to kiss her, but when the opportunity had presented itself, he couldn’t resist the impulse. He’d fought his attraction to her for the past week, and he didn’t know if it was the threat of danger that had caused him to act rashly when they’d been in the village, or the idea that Wistenberry had been foolish enough to give up such a prize, but he hadn’t been able to go on any longer without knowing the gentle taste of her lips. And now, that’s all he could think about.

  He scrubbed a hand down his face and blew out a heavy exhale, and then took another drink. Of course he’d tried to tell himself that he was duty bound to protect Lady Isabella and that the sole reason he’d kissed her was because he was trying to distract her from impending danger, just like when they’d been on the beach and he’d told her she was beautiful.

  Ridge snorted. What a terrible liar you’ve become. As if his job descri
ption demanded that he go around seducing married women. He might as well be honest with himself if no one else, that Wistenberry had never deserved the devotion of someone like Isabella.

  And yet, he believed he did?

  He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. He remembered, quite vividly, the moment he’d dragged her into his embrace, knowing that he was a man with no scruples. He wasn’t led by anything more honorable than his cock, for the instant he met those fascinating, dark eyes, the solitary thing he could think of was something even more dangerous than the threat that Wistenberry posed.

  Possession.

  Mine.

  He’d lowered his head, giving in to the demons that surrounded him, teasing him with the possibility of her delectable body. She’d tormented him without even knowing it, and so he meant to retaliate by making her ache for him as much as he had been burning for her. But when his palm had found her breast and he heard her pleasure filled moan, another piece of his hardened heart broke away.

  At last he’d found a woman he could see himself giving up everything for — and yet, she was out of reach, married to a treasonous bastard.

  With an ironic smirk, Ridge downed the last of the bottle and cursed fate and her miserable sense of humor.

  After a time he started to fall into the land of unsettled dreams when something disturbed him, a slight sound coming from the direction of the earl’s private study.

  He immediately withdrew his pistol and rose to his feet. He prayed it was Wistenberry so that he could put a swift end to his miserable life where he wouldn’t be a threat to king or country any longer.

  But more importantly, his demise would make Isabella a widow.

  ***

  Unable to sleep, her mind too tumultuous to do anything but allow her to toss and turn, Isabella gave up the pretense and decided to venture to Liverpool’s study to find a book to read, anything to try to keep her thoughts on something other than the fact that she’d let everyone down — including herself.