Isabella's Secret Summer

by Tabetha Waite

  She made sure to keep her distance from Mr. Claymoore as she curled her legs to the side, spreading her mauve traveling dress over them. She hadn’t bothered to don the bonnet that had been sitting on the seat next to her, finding it no point to stand on ceremony when none of this was part of any custom she had been taught was proper.

  But then, who would have imagined the staid, boring life of Lady Isabella Resenfeld would have taken such a drastic and unexpected direction? If someone had told her, when she’d attended her last social event before Simon had whisked her away to Scotland, that she would be sitting here now, nearly a month later in this very predicament, she wouldn’t have believed it.

  Oh, how she wished she could turn back time and take the pact she’d made with her friends more seriously!

  Lady Triana Abernathy had first approached the subject to the rest of them — Lady Rowena Freeham, Lady Alyssa Breyton, Miss Korina Aberswyth, the only American among them, along with herself — in that they would travel to New York once they had all reached the age of five and twenty that very year.

  Korina was an heiress from the New World and intended to abandon her parents’ pursuit of landing a titled gentleman. Thus, with all their prospective dowries in hand, they intended to become independent women, away from the strictures placed upon them in England.

  Perhaps if Isabella hadn’t been so set on securing Simon’s affection with stars in her eyes, her heart wouldn’t be bruised now, and she would be looking forward to the winter season. She certainly didn’t know what to expect now. Her hopes were dashed, for her dowry must certainly be long gone, in the hands of the miscreant who’d used her for his own ends.

  “You seem rather involved in your own thoughts.”

  Isabella glanced up at Mr. Claymoore, who was watching her with that unnerving, steady stare where he reclined on his side, his upper torso propped up by his elbow.

  He nodded toward her hand. “You’ve been staring at that piece of bread for more than ten minutes.”

  “I didn’t realize my eating habits were of interest to the Crown,” she snapped. To prove her point, she bit off a chuck of the item in question and chewed purposefully.

  Instead of appearing chided, he chuckled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

  Thankfully, that appeared to be the end of their brief exchange, for Isabella wasn’t in a chatty mood. She just couldn’t find it within her to speak of the empty, mundane topics that proper ladies were expected to talk about, such as the weather or the latest on dits.

  Apparently, Mr. Claymoore wasn’t inclined to accept her sullen reticence, for he said, “Tell me about your family.”

  “You don’t already know?” she countered almost sourly.

  He shrugged. “I do, but I was just trying to make idle conversation.”

  As he fell silent, a wave of guilt swamped Isabella. She had never been a cruel hearted person, and while she didn’t yet have faith in Mr. Claymoore, it seemed his intentions to make her feel more at ease were genuine. She dusted her hands together and picked up her glass of wine. “I’d like to know more about you, Mr. Claymoore. From whence do you hail?”

  He reached up and scratched the stubble on his jaw. “I grew up in London, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “And your parents?”

  He glanced off toward the distance. “My mother died when I was young, and I never knew my father.”

  She frowned. “Do you still not?”

  “No.”

  She waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she prodded, “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  He snorted and looked back at her. “Why would it? It doesn’t really matter. While I could have used the guidance when I was younger, I had a thorough education at Millicent’s.”

  She choked on her wine. “Don’t tell me that you were raised in a… brothel?”

  “Why?” His eyes glittered with amusement, and something a bit darker. “Would that shock your tender sensibilities as a gentleman’s daughter?” He shook his head. “And here I thought you were a married woman, Lady Isabella.”

  She stiffened, the cold wash of unpleasantness surrounding her new reality reminding her why she was here. “It may have been a wedding, but I daresay there was nothing to recommend our union other than a brief, painful affair.” She rose to her feet, careful to keep her gaze averted. “I think I’ll return to the carriage now.”

  Chapter Three

  Upon finding himself momentarily slack-jawed, Ridge snapped his mouth closed. Watching Lady Isabella walk away from him, he couldn’t help but focus on what she’d just revealed regarding her“… brief, painful affair.”

  She was referring to her abandonment by the viscount, for surely Simon hadn’t been so much of a ne’er-do-well that he’d taken his virginal bride without any sort of thought for her pleasure.

  Ridge clenched his hands into fists. The very idea that her introduction into the world of carnal delights was devoid of ecstasy was unthinkable. If he were her husband, he would have taken his time and loved Isabella the way she was meant to be.

  A sense of possession rose within him, but with a deep exhale he forced himself to relax, for there was nothing he could do about it now. Or ever. The damage had already been done.

  The question was, just how far had the damage gone?

  As he gathered up the remains of their outdoor supper, Ridge reminded himself that it wasn’t up to him to set things to rights with the lady. He was here for one purpose alone — to see that she was protected from Wistenberry. After the wretch was caught, he would take Isabella back to her family and hopefully, inform them that she was a widow, whereas she could try to pick up the pieces of her failed union and find happiness with someone else.

  It didn’t matter that the thought of her being bound to another worthless wastrel made his eye twitch. The point was, he certainly had no business thinking of her in any other manner than what she was — his current mission. The single reason he was with her now was because the Crown wanted Wistenberry in custody, and Lady Isabella was the best chance in accomplishing that without spending hours combing the entire English countryside for any sign of him.

  From here on, Ridge intended to keep things strictly professional and any other thoughts of Lady Isabella pushed firmly out of his mind.

  As he climbed into the coach, Ridge noticed that her head was turned to the side and propped against the carriage wall. Obviously, she meant to sleep for the rest of their journey and block him out. It was just as well that those lines had been drawn.

  Once he’d settled himself and they set into motion once more, he could be thankful that at least one of them was being sensible.

  ***

  Thankfully, the next time Isabella opened her eyes, it wasn’t because of any horrible scent. In truth, she wasn’t sure what had disturbed her slumber. But now that she was awake, she found her eyes were drawn to the man in the seat across from her. His head was lowered and bobbed a bit with the movement of the carriage. She was confident that he was asleep, but how could anyone be comfortable in such a position?

  She considered leaving him to his fate to awake with a crick in his neck, but while he’d been nothing but kind to her thus far, she’d been less than charitable. And that just wasn’t in her nature. At least, it hadn’t used to be, but the moment Simon had taken her to his bed with such a cold detachment; the bubble of hope that she’d built around her heart had burst, leaving a cynical woman in her place. For so long she’d put the viscount on a pedestal, but ever since his true nature had been revealed, she wasn’t sure what to believe in anymore.

  She sighed as she moved over to the opposite side of the carriage. For all of Simon’s failings, Mr. Claymoore wasn’t to blame for them.

  But when she held up her hands, she paused. What would she do with his head once she held it? Lean him toward the other side of the carriage, perhaps?

  While she was contemplating the best way to arrange him, the man dared to shift posi
tion. She held her breath as he wrapped an arm around her midsection and quite contentedly — if his easy, sleepy expression was anything to go by — leaned against her breast like his own personal pillow.

  Well, drat. Now she was well and truly caught.

  With her hands still poised in the air, Isabella lowered them until they rested lightly on his wide, muscular shoulders. She hardly drew breath as his steady exhales warmed her through the material of her bodice. For some odd reason, while she had looked at Simon as though he was the answer to her long awaited prayers, she’d never felt this… intensity, this heated reaction when she was around him.

  Even though the summer season was closing in, the nights were generally cool. But with Mr. Claymoore’s head resting on her, his arm encircling her like a protective band, something foreign began to flare to life inside of her. It was like a desolate fireplace just before a tinder match was struck, and it roared to life.

  Her mind began to catalogue the differences between her husband and this man. While Simon had been muscular, it wasn’t enough where she could feel his triceps straining through his jacket. His athletic build had been because of his enjoyment of riding and boxing at Gentleman Jackson’s. Mr. Claymoore’s physique was composed of something else entirely — something particularly dangerous. He’d told her he was an agent for the Crown, and she could imagine that there had been several times he’d have to face off with a foe, perhaps to the death.

  A shiver ran through her as if someone had just walked over her grave.

  Mr. Claymoore shifted as well, but it was to lift his head and nuzzle her neck. She closed her eyes as sparks shot through her midsection and a bead of sweat trailed down her spine.

  “Selena…” When he spoke, his voice was deep and husky, and at any other time it might have made Isabella’s pulse race — if it wasn’t for the fact he was dreaming about another woman.

  Irritated, she shoved him with all of her strength…

  And sent him crashing to the floor.

  He pushed up onto his elbow and blinked as if he wasn’t even sure where he was. “What the devil—!” He broke off when he caught Isabella staring at him. Then he cleared his throat and added, “Oh. Excuse my language, my lady.” He dusted himself off and sat on the seat across from her. “I must have dozed off.” Again, he paused and looked between them in puzzlement. “When did we switch sides?”

  “Never mind,” Isabella returned curtly. “Just go back to sleep.”

  She thought she caught a glimpse of a smile touch his lips before she curled up in the corner and put her back to him.

  ***

  Dawn was peeking above the horizon as they pulled onto High Street in Sittingbourne to change horses and partake of some breakfast. Ridge was feeling rather jolly for having spent the night in a cramped carriage. But then, his lovely companion had a lot to do with his mood.

  It had been entirely too easy for her to allow him a few liberties when she thought he was sleeping. He actually had dozed off for a time before his face had encountered a sweet smelling bosom to rest his weary head on. He’d quite enjoyed the scent of roses and woman until he had realized he was treading down a very dangerous path. While he wouldn’t mind an illicit rendezvous, he had the feeling Lady Isabella wouldn’t be quite so taken with the idea. So, he’d murmured another woman’s name — and earned himself a sore arse for it.

  But although the lady had a flash of anger in those lovely dark eyes, he’d felt the accelerated heartbeat and the shallow breaths before she’d tossed him to the floor. She might pretend that she was immune to him, but her body’s reaction told another story entirely.

  Unfortunately, that budding desire would have to be left unattended.

  As they walked in the front door of the Red Lion, Ridge led Lady Isabella to a private dining area. He held out her chair and she gingerly sat down. It appeared that she was still not inclined to trust him.

  He didn’t press the issue as he took the seat across from her.

  As a serving maid came in and took their order, he asked for two pints of ale and whatever they could bring in the way of food. At the moment, he didn’t care what it was. He’d even eat blood pudding; he was that hungry. But then, he’d always had a voracious appetite when it came to his stomach — or any other aspect of his nature.

  As if his eyes had trouble landing on anything else but his lovely companion, he looked at Lady Isabella. Even though her traveling dress was wrinkled, and her copper hair was doing its best to escape its pins, she was still one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. But when she unexpectedly glanced up met his gaze, he shifted his attention to the table. It would be better to focus on the scarred wood rather than allow her to see his inner thoughts.

  “Can I ask you something, Mr. Claymoore?”

  He was rather surprised that she was willing to begin any sort of conversation with him, so he said, “Indeed.”

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  Her query made him look up once more, to find that she was twirling the simple silver band on her finger.

  He clenched his jaw, memories that he’d rather never revisit, threatening to rise from where he’d locked them away. “No.”

  Her eyes clashed with his. “Never? Not even with Selena?”

  He barely kept his lips from twitching. If he didn’t know better, he might think she was jealous. “Sharing someone’s bed isn’t the same as being in love.”

  His lungs halted when a pretty pink blush stole into her cheeks. “But it’s such an… intimacy. Surely you must feel… something.”

  “I do,” he admitted, as he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “Pleasure.”

  She shook her head at that. “I imagine the act is wonderful for men.”

  Again, that sense of possession rose within him, but he tamped it back down. “It can be just as enjoyable for women too.”

  Her brows lifted, but she didn’t appear convinced. “I’m sure it is.”

  Rather than elaborate on a subject that would cause him extreme discomfort in the region of his trousers, knowing that he couldn’t act on the impulse to demonstrate, he withdrew a faded coin from his pocket and began to weave it through his fingers. He found that it helped him to concentrate, and considering the deep conversation they were having he needed the extra assistance to stay focused.

  “What are you doing?”

  He shrugged. “It’s something of a habit.”

  She tilted her head to the side and watched his actions, as if fascinated. “How do you do it?”

  He paused and handed the coin to her. “Would you like to try?”

  She hesitated but then accepted the offering, making sure to pluck the item from his grasp without allowing their fingers to brush each other. He smiled in spite of himself and watched as she tried to mimic the way he’d threaded the coin. She set it on her right pointer finger — where it promptly fell onto the hard wood surface of their table with a noisy clank.

  Her disappointment was so adorable that he couldn’t help but reach out and place it back on her outstretched hand. “Try to balance it on your finger first.” They both watched as it stayed in place this time. “Now, slowly, lift your finger and allow it to flip onto the next one.” She did. “After it’s balanced again, repeat the motion until you get to the last finger.”

  “And then what?” she asked.

  “Go the opposite direction.”

  Ridge didn’t watch the coin after that. He was too fascinated by the way her face scrunched up in determination. All at once, her features transformed into something of wonder. “I did it!” She lifted her gaze and it was as if someone had punched him in the gut. Those brown eyes were alight with happiness, her smile one of absolute brilliance, bright enough to rival the sun in the sky itself.

  “Good job,” he returned huskily.

  As if a curtain was dropped, her happy expression faded, and she handed him back the coin. “Thank you for the temporary diversion, Mr. Claymoore.”
>
  He grunted in reply and tucked the coin out of sight. It would likely be some time before he dug it out again. The memory of her delight would linger, too acute to forget.

  At least they would arrive at the castle today, where he would be able to put some much needed distance between them.

  He could certainly use a diversion.

  Soon afterward, their food arrived, so he was spared any further conversation as they ate in quiet companionship.

  ***

  Isabella wasn’t sure what had changed between her and Mr. Claymoore. One minute they seemed to be getting along, and the next, he’d shut himself off from her, leaving her no choice but to do the same.

  If this was the way he intended for the rest of their acquaintance to go, it was going to be a very lonely, isolated stay on the coast. Granted, she had spent most of her lifetime fading into the wallpaper at society events in London, but at least she’d been surrounded by something other than this dreaded silence.

  Picking at most of her food, she eventually just shoved her plate away, any appetite she might have had vanishing with her current distress.

  “What do you intend for us to do at the castle to pass the time while we wait for Simon to appear?”

  He didn’t look up but kept his attention on his nearly empty plate. “Whatever you want, I suppose. It’s a vast area, so you can explore as much as you like, so long as you remain with the walls of the fort.”

  She winced. “It sounds like more of a prison.”

  This time he lifted his eyes, but there was only a mocking glare within. “We’re not exactly on holiday, Lady Isabella, although it is a rather impressive structure.”

  She drew an invisible pattern on the wood with her finger. “And what will you be doing while I walk in solitude?”

  He ate the last of his meal and pushed his plate aside. After downing the last of his ale, he wiped his mouth with a cloth and tossed it down. “Working.” He rose to his feet and said, “We should be going. I’ll make sure that the coach is ready. Stay here. I’ll return in a moment.”