Isabella's Secret Summer

by Tabetha Waite

  Lord Liverpool wiped his mouth with his napkin, apparently not noticing that anything was amiss, that the more he spoke, Isabella’s expression became even further downtrodden. “I took the liberty of calling on Lord and Lady Ashfield as well. Naturally, they were also concerned for your wellbeing, but your mother asked me to remind you that it was your impulsive nature that ended in this regrettable outcome, and that the whole ordeal of your elopement has them both terribly overset.”

  Ridge watched as Isabella took quite a bit more than a delicate sip of her wine this time. “I should imagine Mama would have been forced to abstain from shopping on Bond Street for at least a week,” she murmured.

  A slight crease formed along Liverpool’s brow as if he was in serious thought. “No, I do believe she said she remained in near isolation for at least a fortnight.”

  Ridge heard Isabella snort, but their host didn’t seem to notice. And while Montgomery lifted a brow at her response, for he was as observant as Ridge, he was wise enough not to comment.

  As Liverpool continued to droll on about London society, obviously under the belief that the lady cared, Ridge watched Isabella for her reaction. He noticed that she relaxed once the topic had moved away from her family, although there was still a marked tension in the set of her shoulders.

  It wasn’t until Mrs. Hopper brought forth the last course that Liverpool breathed deeply and said, “And what do we have here?”

  “It’s apple pie, my lord, with a few figs, raisins, pears, and spices added for an extra touch of sweetness.”

  As Isabella met the older woman’s gaze, Ridge saw her express her first genuine smile of the evening.

  “My mouth is fairly watering,” the earl returned with a hearty chuckle, as he placed a hand over his heart. “It sounds delicious. Well done, Mrs. Hopper.”

  “The honor was mine, Lord Liverpool.” Mrs. Hopper bowed and took her leave.

  Isabella must have thought it was the perfect time to make her escape, for she rose to her feet. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I regret that I must retire for the evening. I feel a slight headache coming on.”

  “Of course.” Liverpool stood and bowed over her hand. “I know very well how delicate a lady’s constitution can be. My wife has taught me that females are often overset by various maladies.”

  Isabella would not have taken kindly to such a veiled insult to her sex. Nonetheless she swept from the room as graciously as a true lady.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Isabella burst out into the night air, taking several bracing, deep breaths. She ran over to the edge of the nearest castle wall and gripped the cool stone. As she stared out over the vast horizon of the sea, she was tempted to scream, or else continue running down to the beach where she could allow the waves to carry her away. She certainly couldn’t imagine going back to such an empty life, even if it was the one she’d been born into. The very thought was enough to make her ill, the meal she’d just partaken of turning sour in her stomach.

  She’d all but forgotten how much she’d hated the “social niceties,” which were nothing more than derogatory comments wrapped up in flowery prose. And that was all it would be if she returned, the sympathetic murmurs followed by nasty, snide comments behind her back.

  As much as she might have longed to see her family, she had no doubt that the earl’s remarks rang true, that her parents and brother had all reacted in that very manner, for an untarnished reputation was essential to being accepted among the upper ten thousand. It was a fact that had been pounded into her head from the time she had been taught how to sit properly.

  While she had been grateful for the things she’d had growing up, when so many people had suffered with so much less, the ease of a simple life was all she wanted now. She yearned to be able to visit with whomever she wanted without fear of retribution. The class distinction was one of the reasons Isabella had considered moving to America when her friends had originally introduced the idea. The idea of freedom had appealed to her, but just not enough where she was willing to give up her dream of Simon. She had believed that if she could just get him to fall in love with her, things would be perfect. But little had she realized that her hopes had been doomed from the beginning.

  She lost track of how long she stood there, but her skin prickled with awareness the exact moment she was no longer alone.

  It was strange how two people, who knew so little about each other, could share such a magnetic connection.

  She smiled, not even trying to hide the fact he was there. “Mr. Claymoore.”

  Isabella heard his boots treading on the stones, drawing closer to where she stood. “How did you know it was me?” His deep voice penetrated every nerve ending of her skin.

  She shrugged. “Call it intuition.”

  There was the light brush of his fingers as they trailed across her neck. She shivered.

  “And what would you call this?” he asked softly.

  Heavenly. She swallowed. “Ticklish.”

  He breathed on her ear. “And this?” he murmured.

  Her heart lodged in her throat. “Teasing.”

  “And what about this?” His mouth connected with the pulse beat at the side of her neck. “What would you call that?”

  She inhaled sharply and said, “Tantalizing.” He gently turned her to face him and she saw that wondrously wicked grin on his face.

  She sighed. “What are you doing out here? I was under the impression that we should keep our distance from each other.”

  “I did say that, didn’t I?” He shrugged. “In that case, I suppose I can’t be trusted.”

  “As if that was ever in question.”

  He laughed — a rich, throaty sound. “I suppose I deserved that.” He turned serious and ran a light finger down the side of her face. “I know what Lord Liverpool said upset you.”

  There was no use denying it. “It doesn’t matter if it did. There’s nothing that can be done about it.” She moved away, adding the distance that she needed to think around him. “My family relies on the approval of the ton. It’s just the way of society. I didn’t expect any less after what I did.”

  Ridge snorted. “That doesn’t make their actions any less reprehensible. They are still your blood.”

  She turned back around to face him. “In London, position is thicker than blood.”

  He paced back and forth in front of her, his agitation clear in his abrupt movements. “I’ll never understand the nobility and their ridiculous ideals of what is acceptable and what isn’t, when no one really abides by the rules anyway.” He sighed heavily and shoved a hand through his hair. Turning his face to the sea, his handsome face in stark profile, he whispered so softly that she nearly didn’t hear him. “I wish I could take you away from all of this.”

  ***

  Ridge hadn’t meant to speak his true thoughts aloud, but when he heard a light gasp from behind him, he realized that he had. Was he upset about speaking from the depths of his chest? Not really. But then, he had no cause to be this woman’s hero. There was nothing to be gained by offering a false hope that he could save her from the heartache that would eventually come. She’d already suffered from Simon’s ill treatment. He could give her nothing but the same.

  And yet, when he thought of her returning to the same shallow life that she’d endured before, knowing that she was worth so much more than what society allowed her to be, it made him angry. He wanted to shout at the heavens and call down the rain and drown the enemies that had made her life so miserable.

  Unfortunately, as he didn’t have the power of the Gods, he had to settle with tracking down Wistenberry and finishing what he’d started. At least that was something he could do. For her.

  “I’m leaving for France tonight.”

  He hadn’t intended to say it so abruptly, but now that the words were out the open between them, it wasn’t as if he could retract them — nor what it implied.

  “I see.”

  Ridge waited for her to s
ay something else, but when her voice fell silent, he turned on his heel. He would rather leave with her anger or frustration, rather than her tears.

  When he would have strode away from her, though, he heard her say, “Ridge, wait.”

  He pulled himself together, and then turned back to face her. The way she moved toward him, as if in slow motion, her copper hair escaping its pins to fly about her face, it was as if he had encountered a siren that had come on land for the sole purpose of enticing him to his death. It would be a demise he would gladly endure, if it meant he could live with her in eternity.

  He didn’t move as she placed a tentative hand upon his chest. Her eyes caught the moon’s glow and shone with the same dark passionate fire that resounded in his soul. “Kiss me?”

  She was giving him the choice to accept or deny her request, but it wasn’t as if he could have resisted her. It had been like this from the moment he set eyes on her in that inn, looking forlorn as if the entire world had come crashing down around her shoulders. He wanted to be her savior then, and dammit, he still did.

  He swept her into his arms and brought his mouth down on hers. In all his life he’d never had a drink that was as intoxicating as the sweet taste of her lips. And her instant response made him crave more.

  Ridge backed Isabella against the stone, shielding her from view in case Logan or Liverpool decided to take an evening stroll, and let his hands start to roam. He loved hearing the slight catch in her breathing, for he knew the same desire was coursing through her veins.

  Twice now he’d touched her and brought her to completion while he’d denied himself, but he was content just allowing his hands to caress her body. If this was all he ever had of her, it would be enough to send him to his grave. And he would go gladly.

  He dared to pull down a section of her bodice and let his gaze take in her soft, creamy breast with its hard, rosy peak. His cock kicked urgently against his trousers, almost painful in his need to sink into her wet heat. But before that time came, if it ever did, he didn’t want any barriers between them — no regret, no reservations, and certainly not Wistenberry.

  The very idea that the viscount had given up such a woman made Ridge yearn to slit his throat the moment he was in his grasp, but because of Isabella he wouldn’t act on the impulse, even if Wistenberry deserved nothing less than a cold-blooded end.

  But right now — this moment — was all about Isabella.

  He lowered his head and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. She clutched the lapels of his jacket. “Ridge…” She moaned his name and so he rewarded her by freeing her other breast and feasting on them both.

  He could see the fluttering pulse beat at the side of her neck, but when he started to lift her skirts, the sound of male voices caused him to freeze in place. He waited until he heard Logan and Liverpool moving in the opposite direction before he released the air in his lungs on a harsh exhale.

  He reluctantly covered her beautiful body and said, “Come to my room with me. I’ll finish what I started in a more private setting.”

  The color was high on Isabella’s face, her lips parted as if still anticipating his kiss, but as his words penetrated her consciousness, he could tell the moment she pulled away from him, and not just physically. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?” he prodded.

  “Both.” Her eyes were misty. “But I…” She lifted her chin. “I can’t seem to resist you. But I must. I can’t go through this again.” She took a step away from him. “Goodnight, Mr. Claymoore.”

  She walked away and Ridge let her go, but something inside told him that she had said more than goodnight.

  She had told him goodbye.

  ***

  Isabella covered her mouth with her hand to try to hold in the torturous sobs that wanted to escape. She had known Ridge Claymoore for less than two weeks, and yet, in that time, she had broken down in tears twice, whilst she had shed but a single tear when her husband had abandoned her.

  Either the man was either completely unbearable, or she was in danger of falling in love with him.

  She stopped halfway to her chamber and put a hand out on the wall to steady herself as her breathing ceased entirely. Could it be? There was absolutely no inexplicable reason she should give her heart to Ridge, and yet, she was in true danger of succumbing to that emotion. It was almost laughable at how she had imagined that the fascination she’d expressed for Simon could have been misconstrued as to what she was feeling toward Ridge. There truly was no comparison.

  She closed her eyes. This was very bad, indeed. How might two, such very different worlds coexist together? Granted, Ridge wasn’t a servant, but he was a commoner and without a fortune at his disposal, it might as well be the same category. Then again, it wasn’t as if she cared about the opinions of society, she never had, but even if Ridge might reciprocate her feelings, there was nothing to be done for it. Any possible romance had been doomed from the beginning because she was a married woman, and he was an agent for the Crown.

  And yet…

  The thought of never seeing him again was like stabbing herself in the chest. She had been foolish to walk away from him.

  “I’m leaving for France tonight.”

  His words pierced her heart — until she realized this didn’t have to be the end. She had made the choice to walk away. She should rush back and grab on to him with both hands, holding happiness in her grasp for as long as she could.

  Smiling through the tears, she turned around and started to return to the man she’d left behind, but the moment she did, she stopped, as there was someone blocking her path. “Hello, darling,” a familiar voice crooned. “Did you miss me?”

  Isabella opened her mouth to scream, but the moment she did, Simon grabbed her and pressed a cloth over her nose. The familiar scent of ether drifted into her senses and she sagged in her captor’s arms. Before the darkness claimed her, he withdrew the drug and hissed, “Where is my money?”

  Isabella blinked. It was difficult for her to concentrate, although she was still able to process that she was in a perilous situation. While she might have attempted this very outcome the night she’d ridden to Sandown, when she was actually faced with the prospect of going anywhere with Simon, the very thought terrified her, now that she was aware of what sort of man he truly was.

  He gave her arm a shake. “Answer me!”

  It was a struggle to speak, every word uttered as though her mouth was full of cotton. “How… did you… get here?”

  He snorted. “Your lover isn’t the only one who has resources. You seem to forget that I’m also a spy. I just work for the other side because I’ve found the benefits are much greater.” He glanced around them. “Let’s head to your chambers, shall we? It wouldn’t do if we were seen out here in the open.”

  Isabella stumbled along next to him, her legs not wanting to cooperate with her brain’s demand, but she had to do something. She knew it would be too late to try to escape once they reached her room, but try as she might to fight off the effects, the drug refused to abate. When she heard the firm slam of her door, her heart sank.

  He pushed her toward the bed, where she collapsed in a rumpled heap, while he walked around the room and emptied drawers. Her room was a mess by the time he walked back to her. He grasped her chin in his firm grip and put his face directly in front of her. How could she have ever thought this man was so handsome and charming, when it was apparent he was nothing more than a monster?

  “I will ask just one more time,” he snarled. “What have you done with my money?”

  Isabella thought of the dowry Ridge had returned to her that was tucked away in the bottom of her trunk. But she wasn’t about to give Simon the satisfaction of telling him that. Instead, she mumbled, “Ridge… has it.”

  The viscount uttered a foul curse and then shoved her away from him in disgust. “The one thing you had been useful for, and even that has been taken away.”

  Instead of being hurt by
his words, Isabella was angry. At this point, she rather hoped that Ridge ran him through with a sword, rather than giving Simon a swift end at the end of a pistol or a noose. She wanted him to suffer as much as she had, to feel the same powerlessness.

  “To think that I paid an exorbitant amount of money for that false license, to have it achieve nothing.” His hands clenched at his sides as he paced about the room and grumbled, “I should like to flog that man for being so careless.”

  Isabella narrowed her gaze, knowing that she was missing something important here. “False license?” she breathed.

  He paused in his tirade and looked at her with all the contempt she might have expected. “As if I would wed someone like you in truth,” he sneered. “It was all staged so that I could get your dowry. Even the blacksmith at Gretna was paid to make our lovely little ceremony merely appear official.”

  Isabella’s heart started to race. “But…” She swallowed, nearly afraid to hear the answer. “What about our… wedding night?”

  His smile was cruel. “I have a particular penchant for taking virgins.”

  She was finding it hard to breathe, and she feared she might very well be sick. She put a hand to her stomach. “You… stole my innocence?”

  He laughed. “As I recall, you gave it quite freely. Rather eagerly, even.”

  Something inside of Isabella snapped. With renewed strength, she shot up from the bed — and attacked. She clawed his face, feeling a certain satisfaction when her nails scraped along his jawline and left behind three perfect bloody marks. He let out a roar and raised his arm to strike, but she reacted first. She lifted her knee, like her brother had taught her all those years ago, and raised it to his midsection. He instantly coughed and doubled over in pain.

  It was enough of a distraction for her to race to the door and yank it open. But before she could take more than one step out into the hall, her head was slammed against the oak. She sighed Ridge’s name — and then she crumpled to the floor.