by Laura Landon
As if her father knew her thoughts, he tightened his grip on her arm. His attempt to prevent her from escaping wasn’t necessary. It was Alex who would pay the price for her cowardice. She could save her life, but it would cost Alex his.
The music changed, and Isobel’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t think she could take that first step down the aisle, but her father gave her arm a rough jerk, then led her forward.
The Duke of Balsam waited for her at the front of All Hallows. He wore the same salivating expression a hungry cat might wear when awaiting a mouse to be served up for his dinner. Isobel thought she might be ill.
When she reached the chancel, His Grace extended his arm to take hers. She put her arm out but did not place her hand on his coat sleeve as expected. She couldn’t bear to touch him.
He saw her distaste and his eyes blazed with anger.
She ignored the hostility and turned away from him.
Reverend Moss paused until he was sure the congregation was seated. With a raspy clearing of his throat, he began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted by . . .”
Isobel shut out the words that echoed in the marble hall. She knew she could not promise before God to serve the man she was about to marry, or love him, honor him, and forsake all others. Not when she loved Alex with her whole heart. Not when a marriage to the Duke of Balsam was a betrayal of everything she held dear. Not with murder in her heart.
She lifted her gaze and focused on the white-robed man standing before her. She prayed he would see the frantic look in her eyes. The desperation on her face. But the Duke of Balsam’s overpowering dominance made her silent pleas for help futile.
Isobel stifled a strangled laugh when the reverend reach the final words before the vows—vows that would escalate this unholy nightmare into something even she could not fathom.
“Therefore if any man can show just cause why these two may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
Reverend Moss paused as if wanting to give someone . . . anyone . . . time to speak.
“Get on with it,” His Grace growled.
“Yes, of course.” The reverend cleared his throat. “If no one has an objection, then—”
“I object to this marriage,” a voice said from the back of the church.
The Duke of Balsam spun to see who was speaking, as did her father.
Isobel didn’t turn. She knew who had spoken. She gasped in relief then clutched her hand to her stomach, where the life growing inside her was sheltered.
“What’s the meaning of this?” His Grace bellowed. “Remove this intruder. Get him out of here.”
Isobel turned as Alex slowly made his way toward her. He hadn’t recovered yet, and Lady Claire walked with him to support him.
Tears formed in Isobel’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She’d told him not to come after her, had begged him to stay away, yet she’d never been happier to see anyone in her whole life.
“What is the meaning of this?” His Grace bellowed.
“I’ve come to stop this wedding.”
Alex faced the Duke of Balsam with more courage and strength than Isobel thought it was possible for him to exhibit. He wasn’t well enough to be out of bed. His features were pale, and his breathing seemed labored. Nothing in her life had ever moved Isobel so greatly.
“You have no right to interrupt this ceremony,” her father thundered.
“I have every right, my lord. Even though you have chosen your own financial gain over your daughter’s welfare, I have not. I refuse to allow Lady Isobel to marry a murderer.”
The congregation shared an audible gasp of shock and astonishment.
The Duke of Balsam’s features turned livid. “Lies,” he bellowed. “Your accusation is a lie!”
“I am speaking the truth. And I have proof.”
There was an even louder gasp from the congregation and the rustle of movement as everyone leaned forward so as not to miss one titillating word.
Alex reached into his pocket and held out a folded piece of paper.
His Grace snatched it out of Alex’s hand and began reading. His face paled, and he took a staggering step back. “Where did you get this? It’s a fake.”
Alex took the paper from the Duke of Balsam’s hands and handed it to Reverend Moss.
“No,” His Grace said, trying to grab the paper out of Reverend Moss’s hands. The minister pulled it out of Balsam’s reach and stepped behind the rail.
“Lies,” His Grace argued. “Those are all lies. None of what’s written is true.”
“They are not lies. The original letter was written in Her Grace Lady Genevieve’s own hand and given as proof of His Grace’s cruelty, should anything happen to her. Which we know did.”
The color of Reverend Moss’s face paled to match the color of his white robe. The expression on his face showed how severely he was shocked by what he read. He leveled the Duke of Balsam a look of righteous disdain. “May the Lord have mercy on your soul.”
“No one will believe this,” His Grace said, his bravado crumbling, even as he tried to display a renewed show of boldness.
“You will know in the morning when every paper in London and the surrounding towns print a copy of your late wife’s letter.”
The shock on Balsam’s face turned to burning fury. “You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed between clenched teeth.
“Copies of this letter have been delivered and will be in the hands of every member of Society in the morning. What your late wife wrote will be believed, and you will be destroyed,” Alex said, stepping closer to the Duke of Balsam so he wouldn’t be overheard. “If you want to avoid being ostracized by every member of Society, as well as being evicted from every club to which you belong, including the prestigious Fortune Club, my suggestion is that you book passage on any ship setting sailing before nightfall.”
“You think you can make me flee from a scandal?”
“That is up to you,” Alex said. A devilish grin lifted the corners of Alex’s mouth. “You can, of course, stay behind and face what you deserve. But if you do, prepare to have a short life. As soon as Society reads about the hell you put your wife through, and the questionable manner in which she died, I guarantee you will find yourself challenged by every male member of your late wife’s family. If I recall, the Lady Genevieve had four brothers, all of them expert marksmen. You may survive the first challenge or perhaps a second. But I doubt you will survive all four.”
The Duke of Balsam clenched his teeth until the muscles at his jaw bulged. His eyes burned with savage hatred . . . and fear. “You’ll not ruin me. You’ll not force me from my home, from . . . from my life!”
“Then by all means stay. I will enjoy hearing of your death.”
The Duke of Balsam growled as a savage animal, then turned on his heel and fled from the church. There were gasps of surprise from the members of the congregation, and murmurs of confusion grew louder.
Isobel watched the Duke of Balsam exit as she stepped close to Alex and wrapped her arm around his waist to support him. Overexerting himself was taking a toll on him. When he attempted to turn toward her, he lost his balance. Isobel tightened her hold on him.
When he regained his equilibrium, he turned toward her father. “If you are wise, you will follow His Grace and book passage on the same ship.”
A look of alarm covered her father’s face. “You can’t frighten me. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Haven’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but you can’t frighten me.”
“Then you won’t mind if Clancy—you remember him, the Gilchrist stable master—and Huey, his stable hand, tell everyone what they know about Viscount Harbinger’s death?”
The Earl of Gilchrist’s eyes opened
wide in fear, then he focused on the two men standing with Major Samuel Bennett in the rear of the church.
“I . . . I . . .”
“And I’m sure everyone here would be quite interested in the order you gave your man of business, Mr. Rutherford, concerning the Earl of Springton.”
“I . . .” Gilchrist cast a frantic glance to where Linus Rutherford stood with Lord Barnaby on the other side of the church.
“I . . . I . . .”
Alex leaned toward her father. “Flee while you can, Gilchrist. If you can, that is. The authorities are already poised to hunt you down like the rabid animal you are.”
Her father’s expression turned from fear to terror. Without a word, the Earl of Gilchrist darted past the altar and disappeared into the back of the church.
Isobel watched until her father was out of sight, then leaned her head on Alex’s chest as another wave of tears spilled from her eyes. Her nightmare was over. He had saved her.
Alex kissed her on the forehead, then reached into his pocket and removed a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Reverend Moss. “This is a special license. As long as the church is filled with such beautiful flowers, and the congregation has arrived, expecting to see a wedding, I would hate to disappoint them.”
Alex took her hands in his and looked her in the eyes. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife, Belle?”
She fought back the tears that wanted to overtake her. “Here? Now?”
Alex stifled his own tears. “I won’t wait another moment. Marry me!”
She felt breathless, full to bursting with the joy she saw mirrored in his face. “You know I will, my lord.”
Reverend Moss beamed. “Should we proceed then, Lady Isobel?”
Isobel smiled through her tears. “Oh yes.”
Reverend Moss nodded, then began. “Dearly beloved, we are—”
“I think we can skip that first part,” Isobel said, as she dropped the slender box she’d hidden in the folds of her gown. One small kick sent it skittering across the marble tiles and into a dark corner. “I’ve already heard it.”
There were several snickers from the congregation.
“I believe you are correct,” the reverend said. Then, he looked at the names on the special license and began. “Alexander Edward Andrew Linscott, Seventh Marquess of Halverston, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to—”
“I will,” Alex interrupted.
Reverend Moss smiled. “Yes, well . . . ahem,” he said, clearing his throat. “And Lady Isobel Thomasina Culver, wilt thou have this man—”
“I will.”
“Ah. Well done. Do you have a ring, my lord?”
Alexander reached in his pocket and removed the diamond-and-ruby ring he’d given her earlier, and slipped it on her finger. She spread her hand and watched the ruby spring to life as it caught a vibrant ray of light that streamed in through the beautiful stained glass window. Isobel lifted her gaze and focused on the man she loved more than life itself.
“Forasmuch as Alexander and Isobel have consented together in holy wedlock, I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”
Isobel locked her gaze with Alex’s and knew that she’d married a man more precious than the rare ruby he’d placed on her finger. Her marquess was truly a gem of indescribable depth and devotion. He was the only ransom her heart would ever require.
Epilogue
“How long does something like this take?” Alex asked as he paced back and forth across the floor. He’d already worn a path in the thick Aubusson rug that covered the sitting room. He didn’t think he could wait much longer before he went mad.
“Sometimes as long as a week,” Major Samuel Bennett answered. “Even two, I’ve heard.”
Thankfully, the glint in Sam’s eyes when he looked at Barnaby told Alex the major was exaggerating. But Sam should know better than to tell such lies. It hadn’t been that long ago that Sam had endured this same hell. Claire had been delivered of a healthy baby girl only a month earlier, and he had been at Sam’s side until their babe had shown her face to the world. But Alex didn’t remember that it had taken Claire this long. And her delivery didn’t bother him nearly as much as Belle’s did.
What if something happened to her? It wasn’t all that uncommon for a woman to die giving birth. What if he lost Belle? Alex wasn’t sure he could go on without her.
He froze in his footsteps when another muffled moan came from Belle’s room. He turned, then took three long steps toward the door. He needed to go to her. He needed to be there should she need him. He needed to be there in case—
Sam’s hand clamped down on his shoulder and stopped him from leaving the room.
“Here.” Sam handed him a small glass of whiskey. “Drink this.”
Alex took the glass, then sat in the nearest chair. He threw the contents of the glass to the back of his throat, then rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the pattern on the rug beneath his feet.
“This is the hell we have to endure for the pleasure our women give us,” Sam said, sitting in the chair next to him.
“I’m never going to touch her again. Never.”
Sam and Barnaby bellowed in laughter. “Then you’ll be the first man in history to keep that promise,” Sam said, reaching over to slap Alex on the shoulder.
Barnaby brought the whiskey decanter over and poured a bit more into Alex’s glass. The glass was midway to his mouth when Belle’s cry of pain rent the air. Alex gulped the liquor, then paused when another cry shattered the silence. It was the lusty cry of a newborn babe.
“Thank the Lord,” Alex cried, then bolted to his feet and ran from the room. He made his way across the foyer, then up the stairs, then down the hall, to the room where Belle was. “Belle,” he cried out when he entered the room.
“Not yet, Alex,” his sister said, pushing him from the room. “Give us time to make Isobel presentable.”
“Is Belle all right?”
“Yes, Alex. She’s tired, but she’s well. And so is your son.”
“A son?”
“Yes, my lord. A son.” Claire pushed him into the hall. “Now, wait out here until you’re called.”
Alex turned and collided with the smiling faces of both Sam and Barnaby. “A son,” he said in disbelief. “I have a son.”
“Yes, my lord,” Sam said as he clapped him on the back.
“Congratulations, Alex,” Barnaby greeted, grabbing him in a big hug. “It’s a fine day indeed.”
“Yes, it is,” he agreed.
After what seemed an eternity, the door to Belle’s room opened, and Claire let him in. Alex rushed to the bed and looked down on Belle holding their son.
“Oh, Belle,” he whispered past the lump in his throat. He leaned over and kissed his wife on the forehead, then he reached out and let his son place his tiny hand over his mammoth finger. “Oh, Belle, he’s beyond imagining.”
“Of course he is,” she whispered. “We made him.”
Alex leaned down and kissed his wife on the forehead. “I love you, Belle.”
She smiled at him. “I love you, too, Alex. As I always will.”
. . .
Isobel paused inside the doorway of the formal receiving room and studied the guests who’d gathered for their son’s christening. This was her family. The people closest to her. Her heart swelled with emotion, then leaped for joy when she focused on her husband.
Alex’s sister, Lady Claire, sat on the sofa with Belle’s sister, Vanessa. Major Bennett, Barnaby, Lord Partmoore, and Alex stood on the other side of the room, deep in conversation.
She and Vanessa were safe now. Thanks to Alex, Barnaby, and the major, the horrific threats to her happiness—and Vanessa’s—had been eliminated. Barnaby and the major had watched to make sure her father and the Duke of Balsam boarded ships bound for countries far from England.
The two monsters were out of their lives forever. And Society’s outcry ensured they’d not dare try to slink back on England’s soil.
Isobel breathed a sigh of relief, then turned her gaze to where Alex stood. As if he knew the moment she focused on him, he turned, then smiled. Her heart swelled in her breast. It was impossible to love anyone more than she loved Alex.
“Come, join us, my love,” Alex said when he reached her.
He extended his arm and she took it. When they joined the others, Alex handed her a glass of wine.
“A toast,” he said, lifting his glass. Everyone in the room lifted their goblet. “To my wife, the most perfect woman in the world. And the son she gave me. I am the most blessed man on earth.”
“Here. Here,” everyone said as they raised their glasses.
When the toast was over, Barnaby approached them.
“Congratulations, Alex,” he said, clasping his brother on the shoulder. “And congratulations to you, too, my lady.” He executed a perfect bow.
Alex smiled. “Thank you, Barn. So when are you going to join the wedded ranks? Belle and I will both attest to the fact that marriage is a wonderful institution.”
Barnaby laughed, then took a swallow of his wine. “I’m sure it is. It’s obvious by how happy the two of you are. Unfortunately, I don’t have time or desire to devote to such a state.”
Belle placed her fingers on Barnaby’s arms. “Perhaps if you gave up your assignments from the government, you’d have time to look for the perfect girl to settle down with and start a family. I’m worried about you,” she added. “And so is your brother.”
“There’s nothing to worry over, my lady. Since the war has ended, the only assignments I’m given involve escorting some general’s wife or daughter to the country.”
The expression on Alex’s face told her he doubted Barnaby’s lie as much as she did. It was obvious that Barnaby didn’t want to worry them, but she wanted to tell him that it was too late. They both worried overmuch about him.
“At least promise me you’ll think about retiring from service,” Belle said, placing her hand on Barnaby’s arm. “There will always be a place for you here, or in the country. Wherever you prefer.”
