Chapter Two
Isabella awoke with a start, as some foul concoction was waved beneath her nose,the scent strong enough to breakthrough the haze of the drug that hadseeped into her brain.
The first thing she noticed was that she was in a moving carriageand the afternoon sun was stillhighin the sky, so she must not have been unconscious for too long. The second wasthat she was sitting across from the man from the inn, although the eye-patch had been discarded and revealedtwoperfectly normal brown eyes.
While it might have been rather inconsequential to say at the time, she couldn’t help but blurt out, “You don’t need the eye-patch.”
His lips quirked upward,as he stoppered the vial of smelling salts and tucked it away in his jacket. “No. But it makes a ratherimpressiveaddition, don’t you think?”
Isabella had no reply, for she couldn’tvery well deny his claim. Combined withthatcommanding air of authority,the slight scruff on his strong jawline, and the intensity of his dark gaze and thattall, muscular build, he had been quite an intimidating sight to behold when he’d walked into the Cellar.
She rubbed her arms as gooseflesh broke out on her arms, but as before, she wasn’t sure if the chill wasaltogetherdue to fright. “What happened to the other man?”
Her companionregarded herevenlyfrom across the expanse of the vehicle.“My associate is dealing with him.”
She could imagine whatthatmeant.She swallowed hard.“Whatis it thatyou want from me?”
“Answers.”
She froze.“What kind of answers?”
“Tell me aboutyour husband,Viscount Wistenberry.”
Isabella’s stomach clenched in alarm. She’d learned too late exactly how much of a scoundrel Simon was, but if he’d left her to clean up a gambling debt…”I don’t know how much he owes you,” shesaid with asigh,“but my father is the Marquess of Ashfield. He will pay you for my release.”
He smiled in a tolerant manner.“This doesn’t have anything to do with the viscount’s markers, although, from what Iunderstand,thoseare quite numerous.”
She frowned. “Then what—?”
“While youundoubtedly won’t believe me,” he interrupted smoothly,“I’mactuallyhere to protect you.”
“You’re right. I don’t believe you.” Sheput a hand to her temple, her head starting to pound. “I’m suremy fathercan clear up any sort of misunderstanding. If you’ll just take me to number four—”
He sat forward,and she tensed. “I can’t find any easy way to say this, forI fear subtlety has never been my strong suit.” His eyes weredirect anddeadlyserious as they met hers. “I can’t allow youtogoto yourparents’home.At least…not yet.It’s too dangerous.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not surehow much you know about your husband, butother thanbeingaknownbounder,he’salsoa French spy.While he might havedisappeared for the moment, hewill return for you.When that day comes,I intend to be waiting.” A smug, half-smile twisted his lips. “You, Lady Wistenberry, are the bait.”
Isabella blinked. And then blinked again. Surely she hadn’t heard right.“You intend to use me to coerce the viscount out of hiding?” She laughed, ignoring the fact it sounded almost maniacal. “I’m afraid your plan has a dreadful flaw, sir. Simonabandonedme.Do you not know what that means?He made it quite clear when heleft formy father’s house toabscond withmy dowrywithoutreturningthat he would not be committing to this sham of a marriage any longer.”
Themanin front of her didn’t appear to find humor in her statement. In point of fact, his jaw clenchedevenharder. “I’m not saying that he will look to renew your vows of weddedbliss,” hesaid dryly. “Webelieve that he means to retrieve you,because he plans tosellyou to the French.”
While Isabella probably should have focused on the factthatSimon meant to hand her over to the enemy without a second thought, she narrowed her eyes and asked, “What do you mean bywe?”
***
Thathe could easily answer. Giving her what he hoped was his most charming smile; he offered a grand sweep of his arm and said dramatically, “How remiss of me! Of course, you would want to know that you are in good hands, and I assure you I am more than capable of the task. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Ridge Claymoore, agent of the Home Office of His Majesty, King George III.”
Silence, then, “Is that supposed to impress me?”
He winced. “I had rather hoped so, yes.”
“In that case, you can keep your flattery to yourself.” She drew herself up.
He switched to a straightforward approach.“Lady Wistenberry—”
“Don’tcall me that.”
