Page 85 of The Betrothal

“Done unloading,” he growled.

“Great, I’ll be going then.” I’d made it one step before I was reeled back in by the hood of the coat.

“That’s not quite on the cards for you tonight, Isabelle.” He spun me to face him.

“It bloody well is. It’s twenty minutes max without the windows, and honestly, Alex, I do not want to be here with you.”

“Better here with me than there with them,” he gritted.

“For whom?” I snapped in response.

“Everyone.” He smirked.

“Alex,” I groaned. “Please just drop whatever this is. You hate me. I get it. You want me away from Ben, and I will be soon, but it’s a week.” I paused at that. “Weeks tops. Can’t you just let it be?”

He watched me calmly, attention shifting behind me then back to my face, a smile ghosting his features. This guy was infuriating.

“First, I don’t hate you. And second, I’m not stopping you. That is.” He pointed over my shoulder.

Sighing I turned. Sure enough the trees behind the manor were swaying, the large branches bowing in the winds, the howling groans of the gale ratcheting up.

I opened my mouth to argue when one of the saplings along the treeline groaned, leaning perilously then falling with a loud crack, the length of it cutting off the exit around the property and the avenue back to the cottage with it.

Shit.

Alex was smiling. He strolled over to the door and slammed it closed, the sound jarring and final.

He rounded on me wearing a look of triumph at my being unable to leave. His hands tucked into his pockets, then he observed me quietly, judgement briefly replaced with something like curiosity, but I sensed he was gearing up for something.

“So, seeing as we are trapped here for now. How about you tell me why I have received a call from a man named Christian who seemed desperate to speak with Isabelle Blackthorne. The same Isabelle Blackthorne who assured me that absolutely no-one knew where the hell she was?”

Oh, fuck.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ALEXANDER

Ihad expected her to look guilty, maybe even caught out.

But no, Isabelle Blackthorne’s innocent features contorted into a look of absolute panic. And I felt like a total dick. Again.

“Christian?” she asked.

I realised that she didn’t look too dissimilar to how Ben had earlier this evening.

Had I managed to do the same thing twice?

“Yes, Christian.” I was careful to remove the accusation I’d laid on a moment earlier. I had no interest in heightening the fear she was radiating.

“I didn’t hide caller ID,” she muttered.

Her cheeks were warming with colour, either from the coat and being indoors or at whatever emotions roiled within her. Or both.

I realised she’d fallen silent and worked on how to rouse an actual response from her without spooking her further.

“You called him from our phone?” I offered her an opportunity to pick up the story from there.

“When I arrived. He’s the person I was meeting in town,” she continued for me. “I was meant to call him three weeks from when I arrived. Did I miss it? What day is it?”