Isabella's Secret Summer

by Tabetha Waite

  He laughed. “No.”

  Her face fell. “Really?” But then she nodded. “Oh, yes, I remember. You don’t have any weaknesses, right?”

  Ridge looked at her beautiful face and realized that when he’d told her that it was a complete lie. If he was honest with himself, he did have one weakness.

  It was her.

  And if she, or Simon, or anyone else were to learn of it, it could become deadly territory. For both of them.

  In spite of this new revelation, he spoke a bit more curtly than he intended. “Play time is over.” He started to swim back to shore.

  She groaned. “But we just got here!”

  He turned back and said firmly, “I allowed you to go swimming. I never said how long it would be. It’s time to go.”

  “Are you angry with me? Is that what this is about?”

  “No,” he countered, growing restless with this argument. “It’s because every minute we spend out here in the open is dangerous.”

  She scoffed at that. “You honestly believe that Simon is going to come running down the beach after us? If so, then you don’t know the viscount very well.”

  He clenched his jaw. “He’s a criminal wanted for high treason. That’s all I need to know.”

  “While I’m nothing more than the lure,” she snapped. “Yes, I remember.” She took a deep breath. “You know, Mr. Claymoore, you’re absolutely right. It is time to go, for I no longer feel like swimming anyway.”

  Chapter Seven

  Isabella would not cry in front of him. She refused to do so. She had never given the ton the satisfaction of breaking down in the face of their jeers, and neither had she shed a single tear when Simon left her, other than a brief moment of self-pity when she realized he’d left her at the inn.

  The moment her feet touched sand, she sloshed on shore, shivering as the cool, evening air touched her damp clothes. Then again, perhaps if she did weep now, she could blame it on the rivulets still clinging to her skin.

  She picked up her slippers and kept walking, not even bothering to glance behind her to see if her escort followed, for she knew that he was. She could sense his presence like a weight tied around her neck, pulling her down into their combined personal misery.

  It was rather ironic that she’d only known of Mr. Claymoore’s existence for two days, and yet he had a specific talent for getting under her skin. One minute he was charming, and the next it was as if he was a completely different person. She’d heard of unusual cases like this, of course, but whether he suffered from a true affliction or not, the point was, he unnerved her greatly, and not just because he yearned to make her scream into a dark void.

  The moment he’d removed his shirt and the moonlight highlighted the muscles rippling along his chest, she had realized that his clothing had hidden more than she’d thought. Well-defined lines creased his abdomen and arms, chiseling them with power and strength, and although his lower extremities had been partially covered, it hadn’t taken her long to figure out that his entire body was just as firmly built. She certainly had never considered a man’s feet to be handsome, but truly, every inch of him was impressive.

  She shook her head. Perhaps, upon reflection she was the one who was mad and not him. She certainly shouldn’t care what he looked like, for she intended to keep as much distance as possible between them from now until she was released from this prison.

  She made it back to the castle before he spoke. “We need to talk.”

  She kept walking. “I don’t think there’s anything else to say, Mr. Claymoore,” she shot back over her shoulder. “You made yourself perfectly clear.”

  With an impatient sigh, he caught up to her and stood directly in her path. She sucked in a breath, for while he was carrying his boots, he’d managed to don his trousers and shirt, the latter hanging open to reveal his lightly furred chest. She didn’t want to look, but she found her gaze drifting downward, just the same.

  “You mistook my meaning just now,” he said evenly. “I meant to imply that Wistenberry is the goal, but you aren’t just the ‘lure,’ as you so eloquently put it.”

  She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Then what am I?”

  His eyes dropped to her mouth and then shifted away, but he didn’t speak.

  “I see.” She attempted to move past him, but he grabbed her shoulders before she could escape.

  “Dammit, woman!” His tone was harsh. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that you’re a beautiful, attractive woman and that Wistenberry was a bloody fool to have left you.”

  Isabella blinked. And then blinked again. What did someone even say after such a shocking statement?

  But then, perhaps there didn’t need to be any words.

  Tentatively, she reached out and dared to put her hands on his naked chest, still damp from his swim, and yet warm from his body heat and wonderfully solid beneath her touch. He didn’t even move as she gently ran the tips of her fingers down his abdomen, his eyes never wavering from her face.

  “Mr. Claymoore…” she whispered.

  But she was interrupted as a sudden noise broke the stillness around them.

  Ridge stiffened, on the alert in an instant. He shoved Isabella behind him and scanned the darkness around them. He uttered a soft curse as he reached into his boot and pulled out his dagger. “We need to get inside the castle,” he said firmly.

  Isabella nodded, and he grabbed her hand, but when he pulled her behind him this time, the carefree abandonment was gone, replaced with their perilous reality.

  He didn’t release her until they were safely ensconced inside the stone walls. Standing in the kitchens, he walked over to the table and removed something attached beneath it. “Go to your room and bolt the door and don’t leave until morning unless I come to you and say otherwise.”

  Her eyes widened when she spied the pistol in his grip. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to take a look around and do a perimeter check.” He checked the weapon to make sure it was primed, and then he shoved it in the front of his trousers and walked over to her. He grasped her upper arms, his tone and his eyes firm, but pleading. “Do as I say, Isabella.”

  She swallowed. “I will.”

  With a satisfied nod, he was gone.

  ***

  Ridge cursed himself for a fool the entire way out to the gardens. There, he paused and forced himself to take a deep breath. Things were getting entirely too complicated between him and Lady Isabella. Their attraction was moving way too fast.

  He definitely hadn’t meant to say something so personal, but she’d looked so hurt and injured, and after everything she’d been through, he couldn’t let her continue to think that she was merely just a means to an end. He refused to treat her in the same manner as her husband had.

  But then, he hadn’t been expecting that answering look of desire in those lovely, brown eyes either.

  Time and time again he’d told himself that nothing could come of an affair, other than to satisfy a natural human urge. While that wasn’t without its merits, he wouldn’t disrespect her that way. She a married woman and also extremely vulnerable right now. She might think that she wanted him, but she was merely searching for a way to fill the void in her heart, and repair her pride after Wistenberry’s desertion. It would be entirely too easy to break her spirit, and while Ridge may be many things; he wasn’t a bounder who would intentionally set out to ruin a woman’s life.

  And tonight, he’d almost made the worst mistake of all, allowing himself to become distracted.

  A rustle in the bushes ahead put him back on alert, when his concentration had been threatening to lapse yet again. He held his gun at the ready, and stayed close to the shadows as he scanned the area ahead. The scent of danger surrounded him, but it was familiar. This is what he’d been trained for. It was what he knew.

  A few more steps and he would encounter the culprit.

  He tensed, pulling back the hammer and waited—

  A Manx shea
rwater hopped into sight, its dark eyes peering up at him as they faced off against one another. With a loud screech, it lifted its black and white feathers as a warning that Ridge was getting too close to its nesting grounds. He exhaled heavily and lowered his pistol, as one side of his mouth kicked up in a grin. “Don’t worry, I’m not after your young,” he murmured.

  The bird didn’t seem convinced, however, merely let loose another sharp cry. Ridge tucked his pistol away and turned to head back toward the castle. While his suspicious mind hadn’t encountered anything of concern this evening, that didn’t mean there wasn’t any threat to be found. He still believed that Wistenberry would come after his wife, and with time running against him, Ridge vowed that he would be ready.

  ***

  Isabella spent a fretful night pacing her room until exhaustion finally set in and she drifted off into a restless slumber. When she woke, she dressed without waiting for Claudia, for she was anxious to hear what, if anything, Mr. Claymoore had found the night before.

  However, that wasn’t the only thing she was curious about.

  Last night he’d paid her one of the highest compliments she’d ever received. All those years she’d pined after Simon, she had always seen herself as a pitiful, dowdy spinster. She realized now that she’d settled for someone who hadn’t been worthy of her affections, believing that he was the moon and her stars. Instead of lifting him up in her esteem, she should have been doing it for herself.

  But even with all of Simon’s empty flattery and praise, he had never once told her that she was beautiful. Lovely and adoring, and any other adjective that she’d kept close to her heart for so long, but never… beautiful.

  So naturally, it made her question whether Mr. Claymoore was sincere or if he was just using such flowery prose as a way to distract her.

  Either way, she intended to tell him that she didn’t have time to play these foolish games. But what would happen if she found that his words were genuine? She certainly couldn’t entertain the thought of taking him on as a lover, even if something told her that her disastrous wedding night wouldn’t be repeated with a man like Mr. Claymoore. He was handsome and virile and highly… compelling. A man with his past, who had lived such a torrid lifestyle, would certainly know a thing or two about pleasing a woman. And if she did decide to begin an affair with Ridge, at least she would be in control.

  Heading downstairs, she set out to get some answers from her wayward protector. She went to the kitchens first, where she found him shrugging on his coat and preparing to head out as if nothing was wrong. It immediately sparked her ire, for he was calmly going about his day while she’d been working herself into a frenzy half the night. “Why didn’t you come and see me this morning? I was worried sick!”

  He glanced at her, but didn’t pause what he was doing. “I didn’t come to your room, so that should have told you there was nothing to concern yourself with.”

  She crossed her arms. “We need to talk.”

  “I’m afraid it will have to wait. I’m busy.” He started for the door, and she rushed forward to block his path.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  He sighed heavily. “To the stables to help Mr. Hopper.”

  “So nothing happened last night?” she persisted. “Simon wasn’t lurking under the hedge?”

  And with that, she got more of a reaction. He stiffened, his dark eyes sparking with warning. “I don’t take my job lightly.”

  “I never said you did.”

  He stared at her for a moment more, and then attempted to leave. “Seeing as how you are well and unharmed today, I have other duties to attend to—”

  “Did you mean what you said on the beach?” She hadn’t intended to blurt it out like that, but he was in such a hurry that he wasn’t giving her much chance to speak.

  He hesitated with his hand on the door, but didn’t look back at her.

  “Did you?” she persisted.

  “It was a way to divert your attention.”

  Her gaze narrowed, although her heart plummeted. “From what?”

  “The possibility of danger,” he snapped, his glittering gaze turning on her once more. “I’m here for one reason only, Lady Isabella, which I believe I’ve mentioned more than once. The moment Wistenberry is in my custody, we will part ways and I doubt we shall cross paths ever again.”

  With that, he brushed past her and walked out the door.

  Isabella’s ears stung as the deafening silence surrounded her, so she headed for the one place that had offered her any sort of true solitude.

  She went upstairs to the salon in the main quarters and stared out at the sea beyond.

  Last night, for one liberating moment, she had been reminded of how good life could be, of how simple it was to be with someone who could elicit genuine laughter. Before her brother had gone off to school, they had shared many such moments in their youth. And, while it had all been superficial, she had been happy with Simon at times.

  She’d had fun for a short time with Mr. Claymoore on the beach, and she’d imagined he had felt the same, but after their recent exchange, she had to believe she was merely spinning fantasies yet again.

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the windowsill with a deep sigh.

  What she wouldn’t give for some of Triana’s sage advice right now, or Korina’s sharp wit. Even Rowena’s mirthful laugh and Alyssa’s mischievous gaze wouldn’t be unwelcome. Her chest ached, for she missed her friends as much as she missed her family. She just wanted the nightmare to be over so she could return to her father’s estate and walk the grounds at dusk, when the world around her was still — and she could forget that anything else even existed.

  ***

  Ridge paused to catch his breath. The day had turned rather warm, and even with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, sweat was rolling down his face. With one arm propped on the pitchfork that he’d shoved into the dirt, he lifted his other and wiped his forehead. At least his efforts hadn’t been for naught, for the stables had been completely cleared and made ready for fresh hay.

  While Mr. Hopper normally hired a couple of the stronger village lads to help him with this particular task, Ridge had been more than happy to devote his time and his services. He hoped the hard labor might have helped to keep his mind off Lady Isabella’s stricken expression, but it haunted him even now.

  He hadn’t wanted to hurt her even more, but he didn’t have much of a choice if he intended to keep his distance, knowing it was best for both of them. He’d been a fool for giving in to the impulse to say such a thing in the first place, regardless if it was the God’s truth. The point being that it wasn’t his job to make her happy, only to keep her safe.

  So then, why the hell did he feel so awful?

  “Women can be rather hard to figure out, can they not?”

  Ridge straightened and turned to face Herb, who was leaning against a stable post a short distance away. He shook his head with a chuckle. He’d long come to realize that Mr. Hopper and his wife were rather perceptive and it was difficult to hide anything from them. “Indeed, they can. But after growing up around several of them, you would think I’d have some sort of inclination as to the intricate workings of the female mind.”

  Herb inclined his head with a wink. “I’ve been married for forty-two years. I still don’t have a clue what Ethel’s thinking.”

  Ridge laughed richly. The moment he’d met Isabella, he found that they were coming a bit easier now. It was another fact he wasn’t too keen to dwell upon.

  “Come on. I think we could both use a stiff drink. If nothing else, I’d say we deserved it after today.”

  Ridge followed the older man into the stables, where he moved a wooden slat on the wall and withdrew a bottle of French brandy. Ridge lifted his eyebrows. “I never pegged you for the smuggling type, Mr. Hopper.”

  The man couldn’t quite hide the smile that curved the edges of his aged mouth. “I suppose we all have our sec
rets.” After he took a seat on a bundle of hay, he took a bracing drink of the brandy and handed it to Ridge.

  After Ridge sat down and imbibed a bit of the fine liquor, his companion wasted no time on small talk, but said, “So what seems to be bothering you about Lady Isabella?”

  Ridge had to work to relax the sudden tension in his shoulders. “What makes you think she’s the issue?”

  Herb took a drink. “Call it male intuition. Besides…” He shrugged. “She’s not too bad to look at.”

  Ridge couldn’t very well deny that, but he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with the way this conversation was heading, so he did what any good agent would. He lied. “Lady Isabella isn’t the problem.”

  Mr. Hopper shrugged and handed Ridge the bottle. “I see.” Ridge hoped that would be the end of it, but he should have known it wouldn’t. “Are you sure about that? I can’t help but notice that you seem different with her.”

  He felt different with her as well, but he wasn’t about to offer that information. It was bad enough that Mr. Hopper was able to see through the emotions that Ridge always tried so hard to suppress. The brandy probably didn’t help with that. “How so?”

  “It’s the way you look at her, like she’s the only thing that matters in the world.”

  Some of the tightness in Ridge’s chest unfurled a bit as he handed the bottle back. At least this was easy enough to explain. “That’s because, at the moment, she is. I’m tasked with her safety, and you know I don’t fail in my missions.”

  Herb eyed him steadily. “That’s not really what I was meaning.”

  Ridge scowled, as he tapped a finger against his thigh. He’d told Isabella he wasn’t good with subtlety and that was the truth. “Is there a point to this inquisition?”

  Herb held his hands up. “I merely wanted to offer a friendly ear in case something was troubling you. Forgive an old man for overstepping.”

  With one last drink in the bottle, Herb handed it to Ridge, who downed the rest and rose to his feet. “I appreciate the brandy, Mr. Hopper, but rest assured, if I need advice in the future, I will come to you.”