Chapter Nine
Isabella sat in a chair next to theblazing firein her maid’s chamberwith a warm cup of tea in her grasp. She couldn’t even remember if she’d taken one sip.Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was Claudia lying on the ground and the intense fear that she was dead. Relief had surged through her when Ridge assured her that Claudia was still alive,merelyunconscious.
By the time Ridge had lifted the maid into his arms and carried her inside the castle,they were all soaked through.Ethelescortedher husband to theirquarters while Isabellafollowed Ridge to Claudia’sroom.He left to send Mrs. Hopper up so thattheycouldchange Claudia into some dry clothes andsettle her under the covers. Once that was done,Ethel saidquietly, “I’m going downstairstochange into some dry clothes and thenmake some tea.I would suggest doing the same if you don’t wish to catch a chill.”
Thirty minutes later,Isabellahadn’tmoved.
Mrs. Hopperreturned, took one look at her andreleaseda heavy sigh. Shepresseda warmcup intoIsabella’shands,but she remained sitting perfectly still, leaving the tea untouched.
“Mr. Claymoorewentto fetch the doctor,”said Ethel.
The words barely registered.Shebecame awarethat Ethellaid a blanket acrossher shoulders when her trembling ceased, but little else.
Regrettably, nothing would chase awaythechill inside ofherheart.
Silence surrounded them for several minutes, and then Isabella whispered, “I did this.It’s my faultthatClaudiaand Herb were hurt.”
Mrs. Hopper sat down in the chair across from her, but Isabellacontinued to stare into theflickeringflamesinthe fireplacewithout meetingher gaze. She was too ashamedto do so, fearing the condemnation she would see there.Instead, the older woman said firmly,“I don’twant to hear that sort of talk. It’s thisvillainthatis to blame.In truth, youshould count yourself lucky that you weren’t here for him to abscond with.”
Isabella’s throat tightened.“Maybe it would have been for the best if I hadbeen.None of you asked for this sort of trouble, and yet I’ve brought it to yourfrontdoor.”
“No, you didn’t,” Mrs. Hopper corrected. “Mr. Claymoore brought you here to keep you safe, and for good reason it would seem.You’re in real danger.”
Isabella shook her head,everything leading up to this point stillfeeling like a bad dream. “Mr. Claymoore was right,” she whispered. “ButI didn’t believehim. OrperhapsIjustdidn’twantto believethat the man I’d vowed to spend the rest of my life with, who I promised to love, honor, and cherish, could be such a contemptible blackguard.”Shesighed andlifted her gaze to the woman across from her. “And yet, it’s true.How could I have been so blind?”
“Men have a certain way about them when it comes to getting what they want.” Her companion shrugged. “They’ll say anything to make you believe they’re sincere. There’s no way you could have known his true nature until hechose to revealit.Unfortunately, it was too latebefore you realized it.”
“But that’s just it. Ididknow.” Isabella stood and walked over to the window, the tautness in her chest making it hard to draw a breath. The rivulets of water on the glassdistorted the scenery outside, and she traced one of the lines with her finger. How ironic that it seemed to mock hercurrent circumstances, where somany lieshad beenoffered up as the truth.
“Simon was awell-knownlibertine in London,” she continued softly. “Most of the debutantes wouldn’t even stand up with him forsomething as simple asthe quadrille, even if it meant their dance card would have to remain empty for the rest of the evening.”Her lips twitchedin distaste. “But when he askedme, I went willingly, almost gratefully. I chose to wear blinders and pretend that he singled me out because I was different,that I wasspecial,when I was nothing more than afool and ameans to an end.” She turnedbackand faced Mrs. Hopperonce more, her smile wobbly when sheadded, “So, while I appreciate your efforts,there’s no point in trying tomake me feel better when I know the blame lays directly on my shoulders.That’s justsomething I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my days.”
***
Ridge sat inLiverpool’s salonlong into the night, nursing abottleof brandy.At this point he’d given up even pouring it into a glass, drinking it straight from the source. While his vision was starting to get a bit blurry from his efforts, and he would most likely nurse a devil of a headache in the morning, at least he was doing his part to dull that day’s events.Exhaustion tried to penetrate his consciousness, but the insomnia refused to relent long enough for him to close his eyes.
The worst part of it was that he wasn’t as upset aboutClaudia or Mr. Hopper’s injuriesas he should have been. Itwastrue that the attackswerehighlydistressing,butthe doctor had assured him thatthey wouldfully recover.Thatshouldhave been enough to ease his mind.
But no, it had to be theblasted memory of Isabella’s sweet mouth that refused tolet him rest.
It had been a mistake to give in to the urge to kiss her, butwhen the opportunityhadpresented itself, he couldn’tresistthe impulse.He’d fought his attraction to herfor the past week, and he didn’t know if it was the threat of danger that had caused him to act rashlywhen they’d been in the village, or the idea that Wistenberry had been foolish enough to give up such a prize, buthehadn’t been able togo on any longer without knowing the gentle taste of her lips. And now, that’s all he could think about.
He scrubbed a hand down his face and blew out a heavy exhale, and then took another drink. Of course he’d tried to tell himself that he was duty bound to protect Lady Isabella and that thesolereason he’d kissed her was because he was trying to distract her from impending danger, just like when they’d been on the beach and he’d told her she was beautiful.
Ridge snorted.What a terrible liar you’ve become.As if his jobdescription demanded that he go around seducing married women.He might as well be honest with himself if no one else, that Wistenberry had never deserved the devotion of someone like Isabella.
And yet, he believed he did?
He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. He remembered, quite vividly,themomenthe’d dragged her into his embrace, knowing thathe was a man with no scruples.He wasn’t led by anything more honorable than his cock, for the instant he met those fascinating, darkeyes,thesolitarything he could think of wassomethingeven more dangerousthan the threat that Wistenberry posed.
Possession.
Mine.
He’d lowered his head,givingin to the demons that surrounded him,teasing him with the possibility of her delectable body. She’d tormented him without even knowing it, and so he meant to retaliate by making her ache for him as much as he had been burning for her. But when his palm had found her breast and he heard her pleasure filled moan, another piece of his hardened heart broke away.
At lasthe’d found a woman he could see himself giving up everything for—and yet, she was out of reach, marriedto atreasonous bastard.
With an ironicsmirk, Ridge downed the last of the bottle and cursed fate and her miserable sense of humor.
