Isabella's Secret Summer

by Tabetha Waite

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ridge was due to meet Logan at the rendezvous point in twenty minutes, and yet, as he shut his chamber door, his pack thrown over his shoulder, he found that he couldn’t move. He glanced across at Isabella’s door and debated whether he should even go to her, but considering the way they had parted, perhaps it was for the best if he just left things as they were.

  With a sigh, he started to leave, but then a flash of something caught his eye. He frowned, walking over to her door. He bent down and picked up a scrap of fabric — and suddenly every sense went on high alert. A fear like nothing else he’d ever known before clawed at him from the inside.

  He pounded on the door. “Isabella!”

  No answer.

  He tried several more times, until the commotion awoke Claudia. The ladies’ maid appeared in the doorway of her rooms. “Mr. Claymoore?”

  He wasted no time in demanding, “When was the last time you saw your mistress?”

  “About… six o’clock, I think?” She hesitated. “She told me when she went down to dinner that I could retire early, that she wouldn’t need me for the rest of the evening. Why?”

  For answer, Ridge merely shoved open Isabella’s door. He had a feeling about what he would find, but something still withered inside of him when he saw the state of her rooms. Items were scattered in a haphazard manner, indicating that someone had been looking for something. Without a doubt, Isabella wasn’t responsible for this disarray.

  But he knew who was.

  “Blimey,” Claudia breathed from beside him, and then she covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my God, do you think she—?”

  “I have to go,” he said curtly. “Stay at the castle.”

  She nodded, but he was already on his way to the master’s quarters. He pounded on Liverpool’s bedchamber door. He had retired, leaving the quest at hand to his agents, but this was a development that Ridge needed to relay to his superior.

  The door was wrenched open by the earl, who faced him in a long nightshirt and cap. When he saw Ridge standing there, his brows drew together. “What’s happened?”

  He hated to even say the words. “Isabella is missing.”

  “What? How?” the other man demanded.

  Ridge stated the obvious, but it still infuriated him, because it meant that this was one mission that he’d failed. “The viscount found a way to slip inside the castle undetected.”

  “Blast!” Liverpool sighed heavily. “I imagine you know where he will be going next.”

  He nodded. “I was on my way to meet Montgomery when I discovered she was gone. I will get her back.”

  “I know you will, Claymoore. I have every confidence in your abilities. You haven’t let the Crown down yet.” He paused. “I just hope you know that the lady can never be yours.”

  Ridge wanted to argue with that remark, but he knew it to be true. Not only was she married, but they were also from two completely different social classes. Her family would never accept a union between them, and he wouldn’t do her the dishonor of suggesting she ever tie herself to a man like him.

  But in the end, all he said was, “I’ll send word when I have an update.”

  The moment Ridge arrived on the beach, Montgomery was waiting for him, but as he drew closer, Logan winced. “I know that look. Something’s wrong.”

  Ridge clenched his jaw as he pushed the skiff into the water. He didn’t speak until they were inside. As he picked up his set of oars to row to the cutter anchored along the cliffs, he said, “Simon got to Isabella. She’s gone.”

  Logan appeared to digest this, and then he said, “I’m quite sure he will come to regret that decision.”

  “Indeed.” Ridge stared at his fellow agent. “He will. Because he’s about to have an encounter with the infamous, One-Eye.”

  ***

  Isabella groaned as she clutched her head. She’d never had such a splitting headache before. It took a moment for the pain to recede enough for her to recall exactly where she was. When she did, her eyes popped open, but her vision was cloudy and distorted. Likely thanks to the ether.

  But as things started to become clear, she realized that she was in a skiff and being tediously rowed away from a cave tucked into the side of the cliffs. She moved her arms, though she expected her wrists to be bound. Since there was no such impediment, she started to stir.

  “You’re already awake, I see.” She turned to glare at Simon, who was looking at her in a similar, annoyed manner. He let go of one of the oars and reached into his pocket then withdrew a handkerchief and a bottle. “I think what you need is a bit more sleep—”

  That was all he got out before Isabella found her chance. While he was distracted pouring the ether onto a rag, she grabbed one of the neglected wooden oars and swung it like a cricket bat. Simon howled in pain as it connected with his left shoulder.

  She didn’t wait for him to recover, but threw the oar over the side of the boat as far as she could manage, and then dove over the side. Dark waves swallowed her, but she kicked furiously and broke the surface with a large gulp of air, losing her shoes in the process, but that was the least of her worries. Simon was shouting an obscene amount of curses as he reached out and tried to grab her, but she eluded him, using her arms to scissor toward freedom.

  Thank God she was a strong swimmer, but even so, the weight of her skirts wanted to drag her down, the tight lacings of her corset making it difficult to hold her breath longer than a few minutes. At least with just one oar at his disposal, it would be harder for the viscount to follow her. That gave her a fighting chance to make it to the shore where she could go for help. It would be a struggle to get there, but she’d rather drown than be at Simon’s mercy.

  But then, like a beacon of hope, a cutter rounded the bend, its white sails unfurled to the breeze. The ship was closer than the shore, so she changed direction and headed that way. It wasn’t flying any colors, but surely she would have better luck making up a story for the French forces rather than having Simon do it for her. Just so long as she could make it there before it took to the open waters where she would have no chance of catching it.

  Using all the strength she could muster, she still faltered several times, her arms starting to give out from the strain as she went under and swallowed sea water, but she dug down deep in that restless, determined part of her and pushed forward. She kept her focus by thinking of her family and how she would tell them she was sorry for everything she’d put them through. Whether they accepted, or even cared about her apology, didn’t really matter. At least she would have absolved her conscience.

  She thought of her friends–Triana, Rowena, Alyssa, and Korina — and how she would tell them how much their friendship meant to her, and let Korina know that, now that she had her freedom and her dowry, she would travel to America and start a new life in the New World. She might not even choose to keep her name. She could use her middle one and go by Calliope Claymoore. It had a certain ring to it.

  But most of all, she thought of Ridge and everything she wanted to tell him if they ever came face to face again.

  By the time Isabella was close enough to grasp on to the rope ladder hanging over the side of the cutter, her arms were weak and trembling. It took three tries, but she was able to hang on to the coarse hemp. She wasn’t even sure if she could pull herself up, but she’d come this far, so she wouldn’t stop now.

  With the perspiration of her exertions mixing with the water dripping down in her face, she took it one careful step at a time. When she reached the top, she paused and peeked over the side to see what sort of enemy she might be facing. Her heart stopped as she saw a man in a black shirt and dark trousers and boots shouting orders to several other men who looked just as disreputable.

  Dear God. Surely she hadn’t just boarded a pirate ship?

  It wasn’t until the captain turned and she saw the black eye patch over his face that she almost cried out in relief. She was about to summon the strength to do s
o when she saw the shining silver blade of a rapier enter her line of vision. She didn’t move, but shifted her gaze to the side and met the grinning gaze of a man with a scarred face.

  “Wot do we have ’ere? A stowaway?”

  He grabbed her arm and hauled her rather effortlessly over the side. She tried to remain upright, but her legs would no longer support her weight. Her hair fell forward in a bedraggled, wet mess, her breath heaving in great gasps and pants as she stared at the wooden deck. Now that the journey was over, Isabella had nothing left to fight with, but if she could just get the captain’s attention…

  “’Aye, Cap’n! I caught a rather temptin’ fish!” The man chortled merrily as a pair of black boots entered her line of sight.

  She wearily lifted her head and focused on that black eye patch, the one that had given her such a fright the first time she’d laid eyes on it, but now gave her a sort of comfort, because she knew the man behind the façade.

  But when he spoke, it wasn’t the man she’d come to adore, but the raspy voice of a man in charge of a crew of miscreants. “Take her to my cabin.” His dark eye narrowed and he added, “I’ll tend to her directly.”

  ***

  Ridge approached Logan and pulled his first mate aside. There were a handful of crewmen working on this particular vessel, but he didn’t care to share this delicate information with anyone but his comrade. “Isabella is here.”

  As long as he’d known Montgomery, he’d never seen his eyebrows reach his hairline before. But as they almost disappeared in his coal black hair, he murmured, “I guess she got tired of waiting for you to rescue her.”

  Ridge didn’t find his words very humorous. “We have to turn back.”

  Logan shook his head with a snort. “Not possible.”

  “She can’t go to France on this vessel! It’s too dangerous. I’m taking her back to Walmer.” He started to walk away, but the other agent stopped him with a firm hand on his arm. This time when he spoke, there was no trace of mirth, just a complete seriousness in those ice-blue eyes. “You know we can’t do that. We have a job to fulfill. If we wait any longer, that chances of rescuing our spy will be even less.”

  Ridge exhaled heavily and shoved a hand through his hair. “She doesn’t know about One-Eye’s reputation. I told her I’d worked on a merchant ship.”

  Logan shrugged. “I suppose a privateer is basically the same thing, except it’s all illegal in the grand scheme of things, even though you were working with the EIC.” When Ridge merely glared at him, he sighed. “If what she thinks concerns you that much, then I suppose you’d best go talk to her and tell her the truth.” He looked up at the sails billowing in the breeze. “If this wind holds steady, we should be docking in Gravelines in about two hours.”

  Ridge didn’t reply, just turned on his heel and headed down into the interior of the ship.

  When he opened the door of his cabin, he saw Isabella lying on his crude, single bunk, her damp hair spread out around her like a copper wave. She was still dressed in the blue silk gown, but after her swim in the sea, there was likely no hope to restore it.

  Her face was turned away from him, but as he sat down next to her, he realized that her breathing was deep and even. She was asleep.

  He couldn’t hold back a smile, as he brushed a strand of her hair away from her cheek. It was enough to cause her to stir. Her eyes fluttered open and she turned her head to look at him. “Ridge. Is it truly you?” she whispered.

  “It’s me.” He lifted the eye-patch to show her his eye beneath, but then he settled it back in place. It wouldn’t do for anyone to catch him without it. It had been part of his dark persona for some time. For anyone to find out it was all a lie would effectively ruin his fearsome reputation — the one he hoped that Isabella would never learn of.

  She struggled to sit up, so he pressed her back down with a firm hand on her shoulder. “You should rest while you can.” He swallowed heavily. “We’ll be reaching France in a couple hours, but while I have to leave the ship, I want you to stay here, where you’ll be safe.”

  Her dark eyes widened. “I want to come with you. What if Simon should return?”

  Ridge shook his head. “Impossible. This vessel has a reputation for housing cutthroats and ne’er-do-wells.”

  She appeared puzzled. “But, you’re here.”

  “Indeed, I am.” With his gaze steady, he said, “I may not have been entirely forthright with you about my past, Isabella. I didn’t just work on a simple merchant ship. I was employed by a crew of English…” He stumbled over the word. “Marauders.”

  She gasped. “Are you telling me you were a pirate?”

  “I’m not sure it was quite that specific…” he hedged.

  She put a hand to her head, and then looked at him again, except this time, even more closely. She waved a hand to indicate his eye-patch. “So is that what all this is about then? And the reason you were so curt to me on deck?”

  “Yes. It’s important that I keep up appearances for the mission.”

  She frowned. “I thought your mission was to capture Simon?”

  “It is,” he explained. “But when Liverpool arrived, Logan and I were tasked with freeing a captured spy from the Smuggler’s City at Gravelines. At the moment, he’s our priority. And since I don’t want you anywhere near that place, it’s why I’m telling you to stay here.” He paused. “What I want to know now is how Wistenberry ended up at the castle.”

  “After we… parted ways—” She glanced away. “—I headed to my room. He surprised me. He said that you weren’t the only spy who could slip past an enemy’s defenses.”

  Ridge scoffed at that, but he remained silent as she relayed the rest of the story.

  “He tried to subdue me with ether, but I managed to fight him off. I was close to freedom when he slammed my head into the door.”

  As she reached up and touched an area of her head, Ridge clenched his fists. He wished with every fiber of his being that the bastard was there right now. He’d learn what a mistake it had been to treat Isabella in such a fashion. But he forced his anger aside and prodded gently, “What then?”

  “I woke up in a boat. While he was distracted, I took one of the oars and hit him with it, and then I jumped over the side. I saw the cutter, so I swam toward it since it was closer than the shore.”

  He shook his head and said softly, “What a surprise you’ve turned out to be, Lady Isabella.” He abruptly rose to his feet and headed for his pack he’d tossed in the corner of the room near the captain’s desk and rummaged around until he found a dark shirt and trousers. “You need to get out of those wet clothes. Granted, it’s not a dress, and these will be rather big, but—”

  “I’m not married.”

  He froze as he straightened and turned back to her. “What did you say?”

  She was sitting up; her hair falling over her shoulders like an enchanting waterfall. He thought she had never looked more beautiful.

  “I’m not married,” she repeated.

  “Who told you that?”

  “Simon did. He said that—” She paused and appeared to gather herself. “—it was all a lie. That the marriage certificate, the blacksmith at Gretna, was all staged so he could get to my dowry. There’s no truth to any of it.” She glanced down at her hands and frowned. “It’s rather ironic, that for as much as I hated bearing the title of the Viscountess of Wistenberry, I’m not sure I like being restored to boring spinster, Isabella Resenfeld, any better.”

  Ridge immediately strode across the room and captured her chin in his hand. “Look at me,” he ordered on a husky demand.

  When she lifted her dark eyes, he said, “You are not boring. But I can’t say I’m not relieved to hear that you don’t belong to him. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, you’re mine, Isabella. And someday very soon, I’ll prove it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Isabella didn’t know what to say to such a passionate — and alluring — promise. So,
she did the one thing she could to show him that his feelings were reciprocated.

  She kissed him.

  It was just a light brush of her mouth against his, but enough to set her blood racing through her veins, the earlier weariness dissipating.

  She leaned back with a sigh, with but a slight distance separating them. She yearned to see both of his eyes, but was satisfied enough when his singular gaze caressed her face. “Thank you.”

  His brow furrowed. “For what?”

  She smiled. “For being a better man than Simon. For showing me that men can be kind and considerate.”

  And just like that, his expression changed, the shutters drawn over his true emotions. Ridge straightened his posture. “Don’t put me in some sort of hero category, Isabella. I’ve done some rather corrupt things during my tenure as a spy, things I’m not proud of, but they were necessary for survival.”

  “I’m sure that’s true, but—”

  He paced the room and continued on as if she hadn’t even spoken. “I don’t deserve to even be speaking to someone as pure as you are, but I can’t seem to stop myself. From the moment I met you—”

  He broke off abruptly and she sat forward, eager for him to continue. “You what?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head. “It’s not important.”

  “It is to me.” She rose to her feet and at once regretted her decision, for the room began spinning.

  He was there by her side in an instant, steadying her. He urged her to sit back on the bunk and then lie down. “We can talk another time. You need your rest, and I should be getting back—”

  She held on to his hand. “But what if I don’t want you to go?”

  His jaw clenched. “Isabella, I’m the captain of this vessel. I have duties that I need to attend to and a crew to manage.” He kissed the top of her head as if she was a child. “I will return as soon as I can. I promise. But I doubt it will be until after dawn. The moment we anchor at Gravelines, I’m heading out with Logan. Lock the bolt behind me when I leave.”