When they returned to England, he would be sending her off to Hampton Park with a settlement and hopefully an heir to raise just as they’d agreed. Only now, to his surprise, that plan lacked its former luster. When he asked himself why, he refused to listen to the niggling voice in his head.
It simply would not do.
Especially now, with the possibility of Isobel’s nemesis having followed her here. But surely there was only a slim chance of that.
Surely, Lennox couldn’t have found out where they had gone.
The thought of Sir Harry Lennox only served to remind Beckett of the danger Isobel might be in—both here in Barbados, and back in England. There was still that murder charge to be taken care of. And if Alfred was unable to find proof of Lennox’s guilt in the matter, there was a possibility that Isobel could be arrested upon their return.
It was his duty as a husband to protect Isobel. And the best way to do that was to distance himself from the dangerous feelings that were gaining a foothold in his heart.
For if Lennox ever put his filthy hands on Isobel, Beckett would never forgive himself. Just the thought of that blackguard touching her made his stomach harden into a dangerous knot.
Beckett turned and saw Isobel coming up over the rise, her golden hair blowing in the wind. She wore a simple gown of palest pink that only accentuated her extraordinary beauty.
Damnation! Why did his heart feel so confused? As she came closer, his mind bucked from the answer.
Isobel smiled brightly when she reached him, and pushed her windswept curls back from her face. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“Have you?” he replied.
“I missed you at breakfast, and now it is past luncheon,” she said. “Shall we go back? Josephine has made a lovely cucumber soup.”
He stepped away from the tree and offered his arm to her.
Isobel curled her hand around his bicep. They strolled down the wind-swept beach in silence. From the corner of his eye, he noticed her looking up at him questioningly.
“You seem rather preoccupied,” she said.
He kept staring at the sea, as if in its depths he would somehow find his answers. “You are most observant, my dear,” he said, finally. “Being an artist, that is quite natural for you, I’m sure. I am indeed, preoccupied.”
“What is it, Beckett?” she asked, touching his arm tenderly, just like a loving wife would.
“I expected to hear from Alfred by now,” he explained. “I must confess, I am concerned for his safety, especially since we cannot rule out the possibility that Lennox could have learned our location.”
He felt Isobel stiffen.
“And there is something else that I must speak to you about,” He said, turning her to face him. “This has gone too far, Isobel. And we must put a stop to it.”
“What has gone too far?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”
“This. This sham of a marriage that we are starting to pretend is real,” he retorted. “And we must stop it, now, before one of us gets hurt.”
She held him with a steady gaze, and said, “One of us? Oh. Me, you mean.”
He swallowed. She was not going to make this easy, was she?
“Yes. I suppose I do,” he said.
“Because you feel nothing,” she asked, calmly. “That is why you make love to me every night with such passion it threatens to turn us both to cinders? Because you feel nothing.”
“I didn’t say that I felt nothing,” he responded. “Only that we have been playing at a dangerous game. And we would be deluding ourselves if we continue.”
He looked out over the water in a bid to escape Isobel’s accusing expression.
“I’ve been looking ahead to our eventual return to England,” he continued. “We shall have to discuss your settlement, as well as other matters. Depending on the situation at home—whether or not you’ll be required for appearances at court or that sort of thing—you may accompany me or go to Hampton Park directly, as you like.”
“Is that what you want?” she asked.
Beckett fought the tightness in his chest, replying, “Of course it’s what I want. It is what we agreed upon. And though we have proven to be suitable bed-mates and do not lack for conversation, we must remember the terms of our arrangement. This is a marriage of convenience. It is not, and never shall be, a love-match. That is what I want.”
Her eyes flashed with accusation. “I know why you never sought a career on the stage, my lord. You are a very poor actor.”
Isobel turned on her heel, but Beckett seized her arm and spun her back to face him.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.
“I mean to say that you are liar, my lord,” she said. “Yes, you heard me. A liar. It’s obvious this marriage doesn’t suit you. That is why you are trying to deny the truth of it.”
“I am doing nothing of the sort,” Beckett retorted. “I am merely trying to remind you of the arrangement we made—”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Afraid?” he said. “I am not afraid.”
“Oh, yes you are,” she replied. “It’s a strange thing, Beckett, but in my experience, a man doesn’t run away from something unless it’s got him scared witless.”
Anger puled through his veins.
Good God, but the little chit could irk him! Didn’t she know that he was doing this for her own good? It seemed he would have to make it very clear to her.
“What do you want from me, Isobel?” he asked, gripping her shoulders and pulling her closer, as if that would make her understand. “You want me to profess my love to you? I gave you fair warning when we struck this bargain. Love would have no place in our marriage. I have held true to that. I have kept my promise. And I can’t help it if you haven’t.”
“I know what you’re trying to do, Beckett,” she continued. “You’re trying to push me away—to make it easier on yourself somehow. So you won’t have to risk anything.”
“Why would I do that when there is nothing to risk?” he said, coldly.
He saw the shock in her eyes—the hurt. But she did not look away. She took a deep breath, and went on.
“Of course, you are right,” she replied. “There is nothing to risk for you. But for me, there is much more than you could know. I am not supposed to love you, Beckett. It is regrettable—but I do. And though you have said you don’t want my love, I cannot simply end such feelings. They live within me, like something we created together.”
Beckett cleared his throat, as it had somehow become uncomfortably thick.
So, he had her love, did he?
He’d wanted her body, her passion, but never her heart. And yet somehow he had won it.
Beckett took a deep breath and said, “I am sorry if I gave you false hope that I might one day return the sentiment. Even if I could love a woman again—it could never be you, Isobel. How could I love someone who lied to me about your past, as you did?”
Isobel closed her eyes and stepped back as if he had struck her. She took a moment, then opened her eyes to look at him again.
“You have a right to say that,” she said. “It’s true, I did lie to you before. And perhaps that will always stand between us. But there is something I want you to know. I want you to understand that even now, hearing these hurtful words coming from your lips—lips which have kissed and loved me in the night—even now my feeling for you is still as strong. It is still there.”
Her eyes burned brightly with emotion as she said, “You are in my heart. You are there every moment. I cannot get you out. Do you not think I have tried? But there is no cure. You are my heart.”
Beckett fought the urge to take her into his arms and crush her to him. “Then I pity you,” he said.
He thought she might have slapped him, then.
In fact, he wished that she would.
The hurt and anger he saw swirling in her eyes was more painful than any blow she could have given him.
> Isobel turned to leave, but in her haste, she stumbled over a rock and almost lost her balance.
Beckett stepped quickly to help her, but she shook him off.
“Leave me alone!” she warned.
“Isobel—”
“Don’t touch me,” she said, icily.
She stalked up the hill, and Beckett followed behind.
Oh, why did his heart pound painfully in his chest—as if it were actually punching him from the inside out?
Isobel stopped short, turning to face him. “If you want to push me away, that is your choice. But make no mistake, Beckett. It is I who pity you.”
He let her walk on alone.
Isobel’s indomitable spirit astounded him. So, she would not be frightened off by his attempts to hurt her. If only she could understand that he was pushing her away for her own sake. Surely, she would come to see that.
He looked up ahead. Where was she? He couldn’t see her anymore. Trying to catch up, he broke into a run and dashed down the path to the road. He came around the trees, and his heart froze at the sight before him.
There, in the middle of the road, Isobel stood surrounded by…pirates.
Chapter 19
Isobel ran down the path, eyeing the rocks upon it with the thought of stopping to hurl a few at Beckett. But that would only prove to him that he’d hurt her. And she would rather eat broken glass than embarrass herself further.
He had every right to say what he did. Love hadn’t been part of their arrangement. But she had fallen in love with him, anyway. Though she’d known it was foolish, she’d nurtured the fragile seed of her love, hoping that one day Beckett would feel the same. But all hope was lost now.
He would never, ever love her.
Her heart burned with hurt and anger. She wanted to kick herself! How could she have let herself fall for a man who was nothing more than a good-looking block of ice?
She heard Beckett calling from somewhere behind her on the path, and picked up her pace. She didn’t want him to catch up with her now, because if he put his arms around her and tried to comfort her she would let him.
Isobel turned onto the road and ran headfirst into someone rather tall.
She looked up and saw a huge man with shaggy red hair and a beard that had been twisted into braids. He looked down at her and smiled. He was missing several teeth.
A thread of fear shot through her and she turned back toward the path, but it was blocked by three other men who looked just as scraggly and menacing as the one in the road.
Isobel’s heart raced as the realization hit her.
Pirates!
“Hello, my dear,” A silky voice said from behind her.
She knew that voice.
But it couldn’t be!
Isobel turned and her stomach lurched.
Sir Harry Lennox walked toward her, looking for all the world like a gentleman just stepping out of a London club. His eyes were dark and glittery, and a smile snaked across his thin lips. “Happy to see me?”
“Can’t you tell?” she retorted, trying to appear fearless.
“And after all the trouble I went to in order to find you,” Sir Harry said, eyeing her reproachfully. He grabbed her arm and jerked her towards him. “You’ve led me a merry chase, my dear, and I intend to make you pay for such foolishness. In very interesting ways.”
“You’re a murdering swine,” she said. “Let go of me!”
Annoyance flashed in Sir Harry’s eyes. “I advise you to behave, my dear. We are, after all, in public.”
“Isobel!” Beckett shouted.
She turned to see her husband at the end of the road being over-powered by Sir Harry’s men.
“Ah, the dutiful husband has made an appearance, I see,” Sir Harry said, smirking. “How considerate of him.”
“No!” Isobel cried.
One of the pirates punched Beckett in the face and Isobel saw his head snap back. He staggered, but stayed on his feet, even broke free to land a punch of his own in the man’s face. But then the others had him and the bellowing pirate struck Beckett over and over in the stomach.
“Please, don’t hurt him,” Isobel begged.
“Don’t hurt him?” Sir Harry replied. “But my dear, I intend to kill him.”
Isobel felt the color drain from her face and forced down the nausea that whirled in her stomach. She looked at Sir Harry, beseeching him with her eyes. All this time, she’d thought she had the courage to face this man when the moment came. But seeing Beckett being beaten made her courage drain away like blood from a wound. “Please… I’ll do whatever you say.”
“You’ll do whatever I say anyway,” Sir Harry said, looking quite unconcerned. “And when I do kill him, you will watch every moment of it. Bring him here, Fergus!”
Isobel stared helplessly as the men dragged Beckett toward them. He was hunched over, obviously in pain from the blows to his stomach, and Isobel had to struggle to remain in control as they approached. One of the other pirates held Isobel while Sir Harry stepped away from her.
The pirate named Fergus grabbed Beckett’s hair and wrenched his head back. Isobel’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a cry.
Beckett’s eye was already swelling, and blood dripped from his mouth.
He glared at Sir Harry and growled, “If you touch her, I’ll—”
Sir Harry smashed his fist into Beckett’s face, then hit him in the ribs. Isobel screamed as her husband finally crumpled to the ground. Sir Harry bent down toward Beckett and put his hand to his ear.
“Sorry—you’ll what, old chap? I didn’t quite catch that,” Sir Harry said, lifting Beckett’s head, and seeing no response, let it drop. “The man’s at a loss for words, it seems. Oh, and just so you know, I do plan on touching her.”
“I’ll kill you first!” Isobel spat, struggling hopelessly against the pirate who held her. She stared down at Beckett’s lifeless form and felt her heart break.
“Still my little spitfire, I see,” Sir Harry said, smirking. “Just as I like you.”
Isobel lunged at him with an unknown strength, suddenly breaking free of her captor’s grasp. She dug her fingernails into Sir Harry’s face as they both toppled to the ground. Isobel yelled in rage, thrashing and clawing at him like a wildcat. Sir Harry let out a howl as Isobel drew blood.
Sir Harry struggled for breath as the men pried Isobel off him. He stood up unsteadily, trying to straighten his disheveled clothing. Reaching up to touch his face, he stared with disbelief at the blood that stained his fingers.
“I hope I’ve left you a nice scar, you loathsome blackguard,” Isobel said.
“You will pay for that, as well,” he warned. “Very dearly indeed.”
“As you will pay for your crimes,” she replied.
He glared at her, saying, “We’ll see about that.”
Motioning to the men, Sir Harry led them down the road and onto another path. Soon they reached a secluded cove that Isobel didn’t recognize. A large rowboat waited for them in the turquoise water, its front pulled up onto the sand like the nose of a sleeping dog.
The pirates dumped Beckett into the end of the boat as if he were no more important than a sack of potatoes. Two of them lifted Isobel in and she decided not to struggle. There was no question now of attempting to escape. Beckett was unconscious and she had to stay with him. Sir Harry climbed into the boat and the last pirate pushed them off, taking his place at one of the oars.
Isobel twisted around to watch Beckett, who lay unconscious at the back of the boat. The sight made her heart tighten with wretched pain.
She watched the shoreline recede and suddenly felt she was going to be sick.
This couldn’t be happening!
Now, Beckett’s life was in danger because of her. Perhaps there was a way to change Sir Harry’s mind. Perhaps she could convince him that Beckett should live. She would do anything—submit to any vulgarity that Sir Harry wished to inflict upon her—if it would save her husband’s life.
The rowboat came alongside the ship and a rope ladder dropped down next to them. The pirates clambered up the ladder, as agile and quick as monkeys. One of them, the big red-haired man, hoisted Beckett over his shoulder and climbed up easily despite the extra weight.
Then it was Isobel’s turn. She stood, and when Sir Harry tried to play the gallant gentleman and assist her, she shook him off, wishing her eyes were daggers. Apparently it had some effect, because Sir Harry allowed her to climb up by herself.
When Isobel reached the top of the rope ladder, the red-haired pirate pulled her aboard the ship with thick arms and set her down on the deck.
Her eyes searched for Beckett and she caught sight of him being dragged down below. She whirled around to face Sir Harry, asking desperately, “Where are they taking him?”
“To the brig, my dear,” he replied. “Don’t worry, no harm will come to your husband until I am good and ready to inflict it.”
“Please, leave him out of this,” she begged. “It’s me you want, and now you have me. You don’t need Beckett. Let him go.”
“Ah, but I don’t have you, yet, precious one,” Sir Harry pointed out. “I cannot make you my wife while your husband still lives. So I intend to see that you are widowed before this voyage is over. Then we shall retire to Hampton Park, and live out our lives in perfect happiness.”
“That is what you think these twisted plans will bring you—happiness?” Isobel asked, incredulous. “How can a man without a heart ever be happy?”
“Make no mistake,” Sir Harry answered, “I have one, and it beats only for you, Isobel. You’ll understand that one day.”
As she stared at Sir Harry in disgust, another man approached them. He possessed a fierceness and an effortless air of command, which made Isobel assume he was the captain. Though he only looked to be in his forties, his hair was white as snow. He wore it tied back in a blood red ribbon.
He held a cat curled in one arm and Isobel recognized the animal at once—Captain Black!
Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) Page 15