by Laura Landon
He stopped with his arm raised, then lowered it as if he realized marring her features wouldn’t be to his advantage. He glared at her with even more hatred than any father should show toward his daughter, then turned to a side table and poured himself a crystal tumbler of liquor. After he threw a swallow to the back of his throat, he carried the half-full glass to his desk and sat.
“Sit,” he ordered, lifting the hand that held the glass and pointing toward one of the two chairs in front of his desk.
Isobel ignored his order. “I have no intention of staying any longer than necessary. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise I’m going to—”
“You’re going to do as I say!” he bellowed. “Now sit!”
Isobel glared at him, then slowly moved to the chair and sat. She wanted to ask what he wanted from her but didn’t. She enjoyed seeing his anger grow from her lack of interest. More importantly, she feared she already knew the reason he’d sent the threatening note.
Isobel kept her gaze focused on her father. She wanted to pretend she was oblivious to the contemptuous grin on his face. An expression she imagined a cat would wear when closing in on a mouse it had trapped into a corner. A mouse that didn’t have long to live. And that thought terrified her.
The eerie silence in the room gnawed at her insides, making her more uncomfortable by the second. When she thought she couldn’t survive one more moment, her father emptied his glass and set it down on the desk with a thud.
“You have inherited all of your mother’s traits,” he said as he leaned back in his chair.
“Thank you,” Isobel answered, knowing her father didn’t mean it as a compliment. “I’d hate to think I’d inherited any of yours.”
Her father’s eyes turned cold with a glint of stony anger. “You also inherited her weaknesses.”
“Mother was hardly weak. She put up with you for most of her adult life. That required greater strength than most women I know possess.”
The expression on her father’s face smoldered with fury. Why had she never noticed how easily she could read his emotions? How easily she could spark his anger?
Her father glared at her, then leaned forward in his chair. “Aren’t you interested in knowing what fatal trait you inherited from your mother?”
“No, I’m only interested in why you tried to kill the Marquess of Halverston.”
The Earl of Gilchrist lifted his chin until his eyes locked with hers. Then he smiled. “The reason I attempted to eliminate Halverston was because you fell in love with him. I intend for you to gain me admittance into the Fortune Club. That can only happen if you marry the Duke of Balsam. If you refuse to become Balsam’s duchess, I’ll make sure the next time there’s an attempt on Halverston’s life, he won’t survive.”
The blood flowing through Isobel’s veins turned to ice. “Have you forgotten how old I am?” she said as bravely as she could. “It is past the day of my twenty-first birth date. I have reached my majority, and you have no control over me.”
Her father smiled. “Then you have condemned Lord Halverston to die. Your refusal may deny me what I want, but it will also deny you your dreams.”
“How can you make such a demand of me? You know what kind of person Balsam is. You know the life I’m destined to have.”
“All I care about is what your compliance will gain me.”
Isobel stared at the monster before her. How could her mother have loved him? Or hadn’t she ever? Did she suffer an unbearable marriage because she had no other choice? The same as Isobel would suffer if she agreed to marry Balsam?
“You’re a monster,” she said with the bitterness she couldn’t hide.
“I’m a master at getting what I want,” her father countered.
Isobel wanted to tell him what she and the world thought of him, but a commotion from the foyer stopped her words. There was a rap on the door, and the door opened.
“The Duke of Balsam to see you, my lord,” the butler announced.
“Show His Grace in.” Her father rose to his feet, then waited until the Duke of Balsam entered. “Welcome, Your Grace,” her father greeted effusively. “Allow me to present my daughter, Lady Isobel . . . your bride.”
Isobel didn’t intend upon rising from her chair or turning to face the vile beast her father intended to force her to marry, but pride drove her to face her enemy.
She rose, then narrowed her gaze and glared at the Duke of Balsam.
“My lady.” Balsam closed the distance between then and took her hand in his. “You are truly a beauty. Although a temperamental beauty.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “I so look forward to . . . our time together.”
She wasn’t sure she could do this, but Alex’s bruised and injured body flashed before her. She had no choice but to do whatever she had to do to keep him safe.
Isobel pulled her trembling hand from the Duke of Balsam’s grasp and breathed a shuddering sigh.
Even if it cost Isobel her life.
Chapter 28
“What do you mean, Belle isn’t here?” Alex bellowed as loudly as his injured body would allow. He struggled to get out of bed but failed. Barnaby rushed to his side to help him. He managed to swing his feet over the edge of the bed, but when he attempted to stand, Barnaby placed his hand on his shoulder to keep him from rising.
“Channing said she had an errand to attend to and called for a carriage.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
The hesitation he’d heard in Barnaby’s voice and the silence that followed was all Alex needed to confirm she’d gone to her father. “We must go after her.”
“Sam went for her.”
“I need to go.”
“How much good do you think you’ll do? You can’t even get out of bed.”
Alex raked his fingers through his hair. Damn Gilchrist! “What made her do something so senseless?”
“Maybe she thought she could talk to her father. Convince him that now that she’d reached her majority he had no control over her.”
Alex shook his head. “No. She knew the risk she took if she went near her father. She’d never go near him if she didn’t have a good reason.”
A soft knock stopped him from further outburst. One of the upstairs maids slowly opened the door, then timidly took a hesitant step inside.
“What is it?” Alex demanded.
“I . . . I found these . . . in Lady Isobel’s room when I was cleaning,” she stammered. “I can’t read, so I showed it to Channing in case they might be . . . important. He said to show them to you right quick.”
The young maid held out a sealed envelope with his name written on the front and a wadded piece of paper. Barnaby rushed to get it.
“Thank you, Mary,” Alex said while he waited for Barnaby to give him the paper and the envelope.
He read the crumpled note first.
Halverston is a dead man. I may have failed the last time, but I won’t fail the next.
There’s only one way to save him. You know what that is.
When he finished reading the note that had caused Belle to do the unthinkable, he tore open the envelope. The diamond-and-ruby ring he’d given her to mark their engagement fell to the floor.
Alex,
You know I love you, and I take your love with me to battle the evils that threaten our happiness. If you care for me even a little, please don’t risk your life to save mine. Do this for me. I could not survive if you died in your attempt to rescue me.
Please, I beg of you. Don’t come after me. I will come to you if I can. If not, you will know I have failed, and you will learn to go on without me.
Belle
The sound of heavy footsteps nearing his room caught his attention. He turned his gaze to the door, praying that it was Sam, and that he would have Belle with him.
The door opened, and Sam entered . . . alone.
“Did you see her?” Alex asked.
Sam shook his head. “She�
�s there, but there are enough guards both inside and out to keep the queen’s army from entering. Gilchrist’s butler handed me this, though.”
Sam held out a crumpled piece of paper, and Alex took it.
“Did anyone see him give you this?” Barnaby asked.
“No. He shoved it at me as if he were demanding that I leave. It took me two or three shoves before I realized that he was trying to hand off something.”
“What does it say?” Barnaby asked.
“It says Lady Isobel is going to marry the Duke of Balsam on Thursday at All Hallows by the Tower,” the major answered.
“Bloody hell!” Alex bellowed. “Tomorrow! Why?”
Alex lifted his tear-filled gaze. “Gilchrist and Balsam are both dead men.”
. . .
Isobel stared at her reflection in the mirror. Today was her wedding day. What should be the happiest day of her life was the worst.
She refused to acknowledge the finality of it. Going through this sham of a ceremony would save Alex. But that’s all it was. A sham. A travesty. Her future lay with Alex, not Balsam. She knew that with every beat of her heart. It was etched into every fiber of her being. It was the only thing that kept her breathing.
She thought what she might feel if she were marrying Alex today. His face appeared in her mind, and she failed to hold back the tears that sprang to her eyes. She swiped them away. More than enough tears had flooded her cheeks since her father had forced her hand.
Isobel rested her hand on the box in her lap and breathed a heavy sigh. Her breath caught in the back of her throat when a knock sounded at the door, and she glanced at the mantel clock. It wasn’t time to leave for the church yet. It was a short ride to All Hallows. She needed more time to gather her courage.
At the third knock, she called for the maid to enter.
The door opened, but instead of a maid to tell her that her father was waiting for her, the Duke of Balsam stood in the open doorway.
“Greetings, my lady,” he said, stepping into the room and closing the door with an ominous thud. “How lovely you look.”
Isobel slid the box from her lap and into the folds of her gown, hoping he had not seen it, and rose to her feet, careful to hold the slender box in place. She curtsied as was proper when greeting someone with Balsam’s title. “Your Grace.”
“Please, sit down,” he said, indicating she should sit again on the dressing table bench. He reached for a chair and placed it before her. His eyes feasted on her as if he were undressing her before the wedding even took place. Her blood turned to ice.
The bloody bruises Genevieve had worn because of his cruelty flashed before her, and she tightened her fingers around the box where it remained hidden.
“I know some people consider it bad luck for a groom to see his bride before his wedding, but because of the speed with which our nuptials are taking place, I considered it more important that we use the little time we have to discuss a few important details, as well as get to know one another better.”
“How considerate of you,” Isobel said. Unfortunately, her words didn’t sound sincere even to her own ears. The sharp look Balsam gave her told her they didn’t sound sincere to him either.
“I realize that you, as most other gently bred females, have dreamed of the wedding you would have and must be disappointed at the haste with which we are marrying. Much of the usual celebratory events that come before a wedding are unavoidably absent. But please be assured that I have taken steps to make the day seem as festive as possible.”
Isobel flashed him a narrowed look. “I hardly consider our marriage a festive occasion.”
His gaze hardened. “That is up to you, my lady. But I refuse to let Society believe that I am not pleased to be marrying. Or regret having chosen you as my bride. I have therefore filled the church with flowers and made arrangements for a lavish wedding breakfast to follow the ceremony.”
She lifted her brows and gave him a questioning look. “Just who do you expect to impress with your flowers and food? I have sent out no invitations.”
Balsam smiled. “I took care of that for you, my lady. Do not fear. The church will be packed to standing room only.”
“Do you think I want the world to witness this farce?”
The Duke of Balsam’s expression turned even angrier. “You might want to learn to curb your tongue, my lady. Such talk could be dangerous.”
“Is that a warning, Your Grace?”
“I issue no warnings, my lady. Only consequences. And you don’t want to know what those might be.”
“You forget. I was a close friend of your second wife. I am entering this marriage with my eyes wide open. I know exactly the consequences of which you are capable.”
“Then it might behoove you to take care not to rile me.” His Grace smiled, but it was more a terrifying grin that said he anticipated what was to come after they were married and he had her to himself.
Cold shivers raked her spine. Isobel doubted that she could go through with this. What would happen if she didn’t was the only thing that gave her the courage to do what she had to do. She focused on Alex’s image and refused to allow her fears to overwhelm her.
“You imagine yourself to be quite brave, don’t you? I would think that if you were such close friends with Genevieve, you would take more care not to anger me.”
“Or you will make my life unbearable, too? Or worse?”
Balsam’s eyebrows shot up. “You think I made my wives’ lives unbearable?”
“Since you are still alive and neither of your wives are, the answer to that seems obvious. It would appear that any female unfortunate enough to marry you goes to an early grave.”
The look in his eyes turned hostile. “You have a great deal to learn, my lady.”
“Which you no doubt intend to teach me?” Isobel glared at him with narrowed eyes.
“Which I will take great pleasure in teaching you.”
The threat was obvious. So be it. She’d known it would come to this before long, and she had no intention of allowing him to believe she would submit to his cruelty like Genevieve had. She clutched the box hidden in the folds of her gown even tighter.
Isobel studied the Duke of Balsam. He was as dark as she imagined the Devil incarnate. He was handsome in an almost pretty way, and was tall, with a stately physique. His smile was breathtaking and had caused more than one female to clutch at her breast and sigh when he graced a smile in her direction. But any female foolish enough to believe there was a hint of kindness behind that smile was naïve beyond salvaging. One had only to look into the Duke of Balsam’s eyes to realize he harbored nothing but brutality and cruelty.
The Duke of Balsam rose to his feet. “I will leave you to make your final preparations. I have called for a carriage to transport you to the church. It should arrive shortly, along with a small army of guards . . . should you think it possible to escape even at this late hour.”
“I will never cease my attempts to escape you,” she said.
He glared at her. “And you will fail in each attempt.” He walked to the door, but she stopped him before he left.
“It is not too late to call off this farce.”
“Oh no, my lady. I have made the perfect choice.”
Isobel thought she saw a smile on his face. “Why have you chosen me as your bride?” she asked before he left. “You know I will never love you.”
He turned. “Love? Ha! Only fools believe in love. I desire an heir. And you will provide me one.”
“But you could have had a son with Genevieve. Or your first wife.”
“No! I couldn’t have allowed either of them to be the mother of the Balsam heir. They proved themselves to be pathetically weak. Both of them. If only I would have realized such fatal flaws in their character before I married them.” A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “But you, Lady Isobel, are far from weak. And the sons you give me will be a credit to the Balsam dynasty.”
He paused for s
everal moments and studied her with an evaluative gaze. Isobel hoped he didn’t see the shiver of revulsion that shook her body.
“Perhaps you will conceive the next Balsam heir tonight.”
The Duke of Balsam closed the door, and Isobel heard his laughter as he walked away from her.
She slowly removed the box from the folds of her gown and lifted the lid, then peeled back the thin paper wrapper. Her fingers closed around the ivory-handled dagger nestled inside, and she gripped it in her hand.
She would never find herself unarmed in that man’s presence. And she would never hesitate to use the lethal dagger. Because she could never allow the Duke of Balsam to touch the child already growing inside her. The child Alex had given her.
Chapter 29
True to his word, the church the Duke of Balsam had chosen for their wedding looked like an overstocked greenhouse. Flowers of every shade and variety adorned the nave of All Hallows. Their fragrances blended into the air with sickening sweetness. Isobel prayed she wouldn’t lose the little she’d eaten this morning.
Also true to his word, an invited guest filled every open spot absent of a pedestal supporting a floral bouquet. Every pew was filled to crushing capacity, and Isobel doubted there was room to squeeze one more gawking spectator into a spot against the wall.
Half the ton wanted to witness the next female to sacrifice her life at the altar of Balsam’s cruelty. His brutality was common knowledge. No doubt most of the people witnessing her marriage were aware of his violent temper. Except no one was brave enough to shine a light on his depravity.
Even the man of the cloth Balsam had paid to officiate the ceremony appeared as if he were asking God’s forgiveness for the wedding he was about to perform. If Isobel remembered correctly, this was Reverend Moss, the same man who’d performed Genevieve’s funeral service.
Isobel stood at the back of the church, struggling with the prospect of becoming the Duke of Balsam’s bride. She wanted to run from the church. She was desperate to escape the nightmare that might well be her future.
