Chapter Five
That night, Isabella ate alone in her chambers. While Claudia had offered to remain with her rather than join Mr.Mrs.Hopper, she’d waved her maid away with a smile. “It’s fine. I’d like some time alone anyway.”
In truth, she wanted the chance to regain her bearings. Mr. Claymoore’s display with his knife that afternoon hadn’t just shocked her—it hadarousedher.Everything told her that such a reaction was nothing short of absurd, and yet, she couldn’t deny it.
She stood at the window in the alcove of her chambersin her night railandgazedout over the sea.With the setting ofthe sun, what had onceappearedwarm and invitingnowlooked dark and dangerous, the fathomless depths capable of pulling an unsuspecting victim to its watery fate. She shivered, wondering if her wayward imagination wasn’t trying to warn her of something even more perilous,and not from Simon, but rather a deeper threatto her heart.
Ridge Claymoore wascertainlyunlike any other man she’d ever knownbefore. She tried to picture him in gentleman’s attire—and failed.It just didn’t suit him. It would be like trying to fit a square peg into a circle. Certainly, none of the men of thetonwould be so crass as to prove their prowess with a blade so close to a lady. They would be horrified to imagine risking injury.But Mr. Claymoore wasn’t worried about that, more focused on proving a point. Which he had done, quite thoroughly.
As the chill ofher thoughtsbegan to penetrate her consciousness, she moved away from the window with a sigh and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. Lying on her side, she wondered what Simon was doing, and if he had any remorse at all for treating her as he had. She doubted it, but perhaps she could find it in her heart to forgive him in time ifso.
It was strange, however, for as long as she’d fancied herself in love with him, this was the first time she’d even given him a second thoughtall day. And even then, it wasn’t to mourn his loss, or their failed union, but rather to grind her teeth,imaginingwhere he might be spending her dowry, or more importantly, what he might be spending it on. Since he was suspected as a French spy, he was undoubtedlygettingthingsready to head for theContinent—once he’d absconded with her as a bit of extra monetary value, of course.
It disgusted her to think that she was forever tied to such a man, that she bore his last name, and the title of Wistenberry. She couldwellimagine what Simon’s father must think of his traitorous son, for she wasn’t thesingleone who would bear the weight of the scandal when she returned to London. If there was anything that she regretted, other than her own situation, it was that his family would be injured as well, innocent asthey all were,for Simon’s misdeeds.
Thesolitarycomfort she could find in any of it was that, as a married woman, she would have certain freedoms that a spinster didn’t. She could haverespectable lodgings of her own, if she found a way to pay for them.Perhaps she could prevail upon Simon’s family to allow her to have a modest stipend to live on.
She sighed heavily. Either way,at the moment,her future seemed rather bleak.
***
Simon sat in the corner of a pub in Kent. He’d managed to track Isabella as far as one of the little towns along the coastline, but he hadn’t yet figured out where the agent had taken her. This annoyed him, for he was due to meet his Frenchassociatein a fortnight.That gave hima meretwo weeksto find his errant wife and take her to the Smugglers’ City in Gravelines.Then again, he was already in possession of her dowry, and with the last, particularly important cargo shipment he’d taken to the French, he could sail to America a rather wealthy man.
However, at this point, it wasn’t just the fact he would receive extra compensation for Isabella. Now, he wanted retribution for chasing her all over the country. After he’d left her at the inn,he’d hired the crewman from theClara Belleto retrieve her without fear of getting caught. Instead, she’dblindlytaken off with that blastedagent,Claymoore,like the whore she was.
He clenched his fist and slammed it against the table. A few patrons glanced at him, but he ignored theircuriousstares. He wasn’t a patient man,and waiting for the man he’d hired to inquire about Isabellawas turning out to be a worthless pile ofrefuse.
Simon snorted as he drained his ale, but then,as if he’d conjuredhimin the flesh,the man he’d been waiting forwalked in the door. He paused a momentthen,upon meetingSimon’s stare,walked overand slid into the seat acrossthetable.
Without waiting for an acknowledgment, he said, “They’re atWalmerCastle.”
Simon narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Their coachman’s tongue was easily purchased.”He paused. “And then discarded, as per your instructions.”
Simontook a moment to digest this information, his finger tapping on the table in contemplation.Perhaps this man had been of some use after all. At least he’d tied up all loose ends.“Liverpool was just electedPrime Minister, which means that place willbea fortresswith the snap of his fingers. It might betricky to infiltrate.” He couldn’t help but laugh.“Well played, Claymoore.I suppose we’ll just have to wait for the right moment.Wait for their defenses to come down.”
Simon rose to his feet and caught the eye of the serving wench who had so generously showed off her cleavage earlier. While he’d been dispassionate about her charms, now he was feeling rather invigorated.Butthen,determination and the promise of coinhad always fired his blood like nothing else.
Asthe woman headed upstairs, Simonwatcheduntilher sashaying hips disappeared from sight, and then heturned to his companion. “Feel free to join us if you’d like.”
With that, he turned and headed for his rooms, grinning asthe sound of determinedfootsteps followed behind him.
***
Isabella stretched as the light of dawn shone through the windowpane and warmed her face. The room had a slight chill, for the fire had died down during the night, but she wasn’t awake long when her maid walked in. “Good morning, my lady. Did you sleep well?”
She wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that. It had taken some time before she’d fallen asleep,andwhen she finally had, her dreams had been filled with visions ofMr. Claymoore. As warmth stole into her cheeks, she nodded. “Quite well.”
Claudia smiled as she started to gather her mistress’ things for the day. “Shall I bring you a breakfast tray?”
Isabella sat up. “No. I think I would like to join ourMr. and Mrs. Hopperthis morning.”
“That’s very considerate of you, my lady. I’m sure they would like that.They told me last evening that they generallytake their morning meal in the maingardens.”
AfterIsabella was attired in a light blue muslin,and her hair wasbrushed and flowinglooselydown her back,shefollowed Claudiato the lowerlevel of the castle.Followinga series of twists and turns that her maid already seemed to know rather well, they entered a lovely and fragrant courtyard. As theyarrived, the older couple gushed with delightupon seeing her, their greetings friendly and sincere.
Once they’d all sat upon thewickertable and chairs,with a cup of tea and some ham, eggs, and pastries between them, Isabella asked, “How long have you beenatthe castle?”
