Chapter Seven
Isabella wouldnotcry in front of him. She refused to do so. She had never given thetonthe satisfaction of breaking down in the face of their jeers, and neitherhadshe shed a single tear when Simon left her, other thana briefmoment ofself-pitywhen she realized he’d left herat theinn.
The moment her feet touched sand, she sloshed on shore, shivering as the cool, evening air touched her damp clothes.Then again, perhaps if she did weep now, she could blame it on the rivulets still clinging to her skin.
She picked up her slippers and kept walking, not even bothering to glance behind her to see if her escort followed, for she knew that he was. She could sense his presence like a weight tied around her neck,pulling her down intotheir combinedpersonal misery.
It was rather ironic that she’d only known of Mr. Claymoore’s existence for two days, and yet he had a specific talent for getting under her skin. One minute he wascharming, and the next it was as if he was a completely different person. She’d heard of unusual cases like this, of course, but whether he suffered from a true affliction or not, the point was,he unnerved her greatly, andnotjust because heyearnedto make her scream into a dark void.
The moment he’d removed his shirt and the moonlight highlighted the muscles rippling along his chest, shehadrealized that his clothing had hidden more than she’dthought. Well-definedlinescreased his abdomen and arms, chiseling them with power and strength, and although his lower extremities had been partially covered, it hadn’t taken her long to figure out that his entire body wasjust asfirmly built. She certainly had never considered a man’s feet to be handsome, but truly, every inch of him was impressive.
She shook her head.Perhaps, upon reflectionshe was the one who was mad and not him.She certainly shouldn’t care what he looked like, for she intended to keep as much distanceas possiblebetween them from now until she was released from this prison.
Shemade it back to the castle beforehe spoke. “We need to talk.”
She kept walking. “I don’t think there’s anything else to say, Mr. Claymoore,” she shot back over her shoulder. “You made yourself perfectly clear.”
With an impatient sigh,he caught up to her and stood directly in her path. She sucked in a breath, for while he was carrying his boots, he’d managed to don his trousers and shirt, the latter hanging open to reveal his lightly furred chest. She didn’twantto look, but she found her gaze drifting downward, just the same.
“You mistook my meaning just now,” he said evenly. “I meant to imply that Wistenberry is the goal, but you aren’t just the ‘lure,’ as you so eloquently put it.”
She lifted her chinand met his gaze. “Thenwhat am I?”
Hiseyesdropped to her mouth and then shifted away, but he didn’t speak.
“I see.” Sheattempted to move past him, but he grabbed her shoulders before she could escape.
“Dammit, woman!” His tone was harsh. “I shouldn’thave to tell you that you’re a beautiful,attractive woman and that Wistenberry was a bloody fool to have left you.”
Isabellablinked. And then blinked again. What did someone even sayaftersuch a shockingstatement?
But then, perhaps there didn’t need to be any words.
Tentatively, she reached out anddared toput her hands on his naked chest, still damp from his swim, and yet warm from his body heat and wonderfullysolidbeneath her touch. He didn’t even move as she gentlyran the tips of her fingersdown his abdomen,his eyes neverwaveringfrom her face.
“Mr. Claymoore…”she whispered.
But she was interrupted asa sudden noise broke the stillness around them.
Ridgestiffened,onthealertin an instant. He shoved Isabella behind him and scanned the darkness around them. He uttered a soft curse as he reached intohis boot and pulled out hisdagger. “We need to get inside thecastle,” he said firmly.
Isabella nodded,and he grabbed her hand,but when he pulled her behind himthis time,thecarefree abandonmentwas gone, replaced with theirperilous reality.
Hedidn’t release her untilthey were safely ensconced inside thestone walls. Standing in the kitchens, he walked over to the table and removed something attached beneath it. “Goto your room and bolt the door and don’tleaveuntil morning unless I come to you and say otherwise.”
Her eyes widened when she spied the pistol in his grip. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to take a look aroundand do a perimeter check.” He checked the weaponto make sure it was primed, and thenhe shoved it in the front of his trousers andwalked over to her.He grasped her upper arms, his tone and his eyes firm, but pleading.“DoasI say, Isabella.”
She swallowed. “I will.”
With a satisfied nod,he was gone.
***
Ridge cursed himself for a fool the entire way out to the gardens. There, he paused and forced himself to take a deep breath. Things were getting entirely too complicated between him andLadyIsabella.Theirattractionwasmoving way too fast.
Hedefinitely hadn’tmeant to say something so personal, but she’d looked so hurt and injured, and after everything she’d been through, he couldn’t let her continue to think that she was merelyjusta means to an end. Herefusedto treat her in the same mannerasher husband had.
