Remember Me: A Suspenseful Contemporary Romance (Where There's Love Book 1)

by Wolf, Bree

  Feeling a lump settle in her stomach, Isabella drew a deep breath. She loved her little sister dearly; yet, her misguided, overly romanticised notion of love was trying on most days. However, today, Isabella felt her own resolve weaken, and doubts steal into her heart and mind. What if…?

  No! She called herself to reason. She had made her choice, and she would see it through. After all, what kind of a woman would accept a man’s marriage proposal only to retract it the very day of her wedding? She would be ruined as would her family. Even if her sister were to find the man of her dreams, his family might not approve of the match because of the damage her own refusal to marry Charles had caused. What would Adriana say then?

  “I will honour my marriage vows,” Isabella finally said, sitting down on the settee, her trembling hands hidden in the folds of her skirt. “Charles is a wonderful man. You might consider him dull, but to me, he is the answer to my prayers.”

  “He is?” Adriana asked, taking a seat beside her sister. “How can that be if you hold no love for him?”

  “I care for him deeply, and I believe that as time goes on I will come to care for him a little more each day.” Isabella smiled, feeling the effect of her own words on her heart. A comforting warmth spread through her, and she took a deep breath, feeling herself relax. “You know how we met, do you not?”

  Adriana nodded.

  “I have met many men who believe that a woman’s mind is not capable of rational thought, at least, not in the same way a man’s is.” Isabella shook her head, remembering the many conversations she’d had with men that had made her feel as though she was an empty vessel with no thoughts of her own. “Whenever I speak my mind, these men do not listen or−what might be worse−ignore what I say. They do not care who I am. Their interest never goes below the surface.”

  Remembering, a smile tucked at the corners of her mouth. “Charles was different. From the very day we met, he seemed elated to have found someone he could share his thoughts with, someone he could talk to about what he cared about and have that someone understand how deeply he felt about it.” Taking her sister’s hand, Isabella met her eyes. “I felt the same way. We are a match.”

  Adriana took a deep breath, and Isabella could see some of the determination to argue leave her body. “I never meant to say that he was not a good man,” her sister relented. “I do remember how happy you always looked whenever you met him at an event and how you would spend most of your time talking about dead civilisations.” Adriana grinned, shaking her head, and Isabella couldn’t help but laugh. “However, I cannot help but wonder if that is enough to make you happy for the rest of your days. Is he truly the man you want to marry? Or is he a man you are afraid to lose if you do not marry him?”

  “Of course, I do not want to lose him.” Isabella struggled to find the words to make her sister understand how Charles made her feel. “Without him, I feel incomplete as though something is missing; something vital that I cannot do without.”

  “Are you certain?” Adriana asked. “I mean, I can see that you care about him. A lot. Still, the way you spoke of him makes me think that what you cherish about him is his friendship. From what I can tell, he is a good friend. Maybe the only true friend you ever had, and, of course, you cherish him, but is it enough? Enough for a marriage? For you to be his wife?” Adriana shook her head. “What if being husband and wife ruins the friendship you have built? What if neither one of you can go beyond? In your mind, yes, but not where your hearts are concerned.”

  Eyeing her younger sister carefully, Isabella frowned. “I am not repulsed by his touch if that is what you are suggesting?”

  Adriana chuckled. “Not repulsed? Is that truly your idea of a good marriage? Of the man you intend to invite into your bed?” She shook her head. “Have you truly never felt even the smallest shred of passion? Are you so determined to live without it for the rest of your life?”

  Feeling a slight blush creep up her cheeks, Isabella rose to her feet. Not sure what to say or do, she strode over to the window, keeping her eyes fixed on the beautiful gardens of Bridgemoore. Frankly, Isabella had never contemplated the idea of what it would be like to share her husband’s bed. It was a stipulation of marriage, and as far as she knew, all couples somehow managed this aspect of their union.

  Remembering the many dances they had shared over the course of their engagement as well as before, Isabella knew the lightness of his touch. With delicate hands, he had guided her across the floor, his skin feeling warm against her own. In addition, she recalled him assisting her into a carriage countless times, giving her a chance to feel the strength beneath his gentle touch. One night a mere few weeks ago when they had walked the gardens after a ball held at Bridgemoore, he had brushed a strand of her raven-black hair from her face, his finger lightly skimming her cheek. Even remembering that night, a delicate tingle went through her, and she smiled.

  Yes, she had chosen well. Charles was the man for her, whether or not her sister understood.

  Chapter Three − Vows Spoken

  Bridgemoore’s chapel sat nestled between a grove of maples, a bushy hedge running all the way to the main building. The sun touched the ground with soft hands, its light glistening in the morning dew clinging to the long-stemmed grass, which grew in abundance in the many meadows on the estate.

  Smiling faces met her when Isabella stepped outside, her father’s steady arm guiding her trembling feet. He patted her hand and looked down at her, his eyes shining with a hint of tears. “You are such a beautiful bride,” he whispered. “Just like your mother.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Taking a deep breath, she set one foot before the other, feeling the rest of the procession follow them down the small path to the chapel.

  This was it. Her day had come. Isabella felt a nervous tremble run all the way from her head down to her toes. Had Adriana’s words shaken her resolve after all?

  Nonsense! Even though she cared for Charles and felt certain that a future with him held nothing but joy, it still was a crossroads. Bridgemoore was her new home now, and in a matter of days, her parents as well as Adriana would return home to Elmsmore. The thought of not seeing them every day brought a lump to her throat that she couldn’t quite dislodge, no matter how hard she tried. It was the dark cloud on an otherwise sunny day.

  Entering the chapel, Isabella’s eyes were instantly drawn to the front where her future husband stood waiting, a gentle smile on his face. When he beheld her, his eyes lit up, and the lump in her throat vanished.

  Yes, he was, indeed, the one.

  After everyone had taken their seats, her father slowly led her down the aisle. When they had reached the front, he kissed her on the forehead, smiling down at her with wet eyes. “I am so happy for you,” he whispered, yet, Isabella could feel a hint of reluctance as he placed her hand in her future husband’s.

  Taking a deep breath, she smiled at her father, reaching out with her other hand and squeezing his. “Thank you.”

  As the priest began his usual litany, Isabella found her eyes travelling to her husband. She saw the kind smile that played on his lips, and the affection that shone in his eyes whenever they met hers. Nevertheless, he too seemed to be afflicted by a certain nervousness for Isabella also felt a slight tremble run through his arm and travel into her own.

  Yes, they were indeed a perfect match.

  Slowly, she felt her heart calm itself and the tremble in her arms and legs subside, and before long, the ceremony was over. Turning toward her, Charles took both her hands, then leaned down and gave her a soft kiss on the lips.

  It was soft and sweet, and the last shred of Isabella’s doubts vanished into thin air.

  Turning to a cheering crowd, her eyes swept across the many people who had come to celebrate this day with them. Her mother was crying, dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes, one arm wrapped around her father’s arm. He, too, had a tear running down his cheek but quickly brushed it away. When their eyes met, he nodded his head. Even Adria
na had a smile on her face.

  Deep down, Isabella had expected a worried frown or even an angry scowl from Adriana. Nevertheless, whatever her doubts, Adriana had decided to put them away and allow her sister to enjoy her wedding. Whatever the reason, Isabella was grateful.

  Smiling, she glanced at her husband. Here she was, among the people she loved the most, and she couldn’t be happier.

  Unexpectedly, a sense of being watched came over Isabella, which considering the circumstances was not unusual, and yet, her eyes swept over the crowd looking for the ones that had sent a shiver down her back.

  The instant she found them, her heart stopped.

  Hazel eyes stared back into hers−the same eyes she had seen looking into hers countless times. However, these eyes were different. They had a darker edge to them reminding her of a raging fire burning underneath, instead of a gentle flame.

  Blinking, Isabella tried to focus, forcing her gaze away from the man’s eyes. However, looking at his face only increased her unrest. Feeling her heart hammering in her chest, Isabella knew who he was. She knew not only his eyes, but also his face, his stature. She had seen them many times in the man by her side. Who else could share those traits but the twin brother she had yet to meet? The notorious twin whose escapades were known all over London?

  “Are you all right, my dear?” Charles asked beside her. “You look pale. Do you need some air?” Seeing the weak smile on her face, he did not wait for an answer but, instead, led her through the throng of people and out into the light.

  Breathing in the fresh morning air, Isabella felt her nerves steady as though of their own ac-cord. Her heart, however, was still in an uproar, and when the man that shared her husband’s eyes suddenly came toward them, her whole world turned upside down.

  Everything Isabella thought she knew was proved false. Always had her mind triumphed over her heart. However, now in this very moment as she found herself shamelessly gazing into his eyes, her heart beat in her chest so strongly that she could not ignore it any longer. Who was her perfect match?

  Her heart and mind strongly disagreed, and to Isabella’s great dismay, it was her heart that came out the victor. The battle was swift and short-lived; so short-lived in fact that Isabella hardly noticed what was going on.

  She took a shallow breath, trying desperately to stop the shaking in her legs, and all of a sudden found herself staring in the face of love.

  What if you meet your true love and you find yourself married already? What will you do then? Her sister’s words echoed in her mind, and Isabella closed her eyes, willing the flutter in her heart to stop. Her attempts, however, were futile, and as she opened them again, she found herself looking at the man who held her heart.

  “Robert!” Charles exclaimed. “When I did not see you this morning, I was worried you’d sleep through the ceremony.”

  “Nothing in the world would make me miss my little brother’s wedding,” the man said, his voice, a little raspy and yet oddly melodious, touched her very core, and Isabella felt her hands begin to tremble.

  After greeting his brother, Robert turned his eyes to her, and in an instant, the whole world fell away.

  For a long moment, Isabella forgot her husband’s presence, their guests’ voices no longer reached her ear, and she could not feel the morning sun warming her face.

  As his gaze burned into hers, Isabella almost gasped when his hand touched hers in a formal greeting. Just like his eyes, his touch ignited a fire within her that completely took her breath away. Feeling paralysed, she watched as he bent his head, his fiery hair so long that he could tie it in the back, and kissed her hand.

  The second his lips touched her skin, Isabella was sure she would faint. Only her husband’s steady arm held her upright.

  That thought brought a deep blush to her cheeks, and she quickly averted her eyes lest she do something even more scandalous.

  What was going on? Who was this man? And why did he make her feel so…?

  Again, her gaze shifted upward, daring a glance at the enigmatic eyes that had so captured her soul.

  Fortunately, he was conversing with her husband, his attention currently focused elsewhere. Taking a deep breath, Isabella eyed him from under her lashes.

  Indeed, they did look remarkably alike. From a distance, the only thing telling them apart was the difference in clothing as well as the length of their hair. While her husband looked like the perfect gentleman, neatly dressed, hair trimmed and in order, his brother had a more casual air about him. Even wearing clothes of the same style, he still seemed to rebel against formal etiquette as his collar was unbuttoned, no cravat in sight.

  However, on a closer look, they seemed like fire and water, or rather like a hearth fire and a raging wild fire. Charles was passionate; she knew him to be, and yet, his passion was of a more gentle nature. His brother, on the other hand, appeared wild and untameable as though not even he knew what he would do the next day.

  Why do you care? A voice whispered in the back of her head.

  I don’t, Isabella objected, knowing it to be a lie, yet, unable to admit to it.

  ***

  At the wedding breakfast, Robert could barely eat a morsel. Although he hadn’t eaten since the previous night, he did not dare think about food. His stomach was in knots, and whenever his gaze travelled to his brother and his new bride, more were added. Twisting and turning, they felt like they were about to rip his insides out.

  Moaning under his breath, he reached for his wine glass, downing its contents in one gulp. This won’t do, he thought and reached for the bottle.

  Shaking his head, he closed his eyes, and the second he did, he found Isabella’s dark brown eyes gazing into his.

  His head snapped up, and he almost tore his eyes open, only to find himself staring across the table at the very woman who had turned his world upside down in a single second.

  Inhaling deeply, he swallowed and then quickly excused himself before he could do some-thing stupid.

  The rest of the morning, Robert spent in the corner of Bridgemoore’s enormous hall, watching his brother, or rather his brother’s bride, like a predator about to strike. He knew it was wrong; yet, he could not help himself.

  Was this truly the woman his brother had spoken to him about the night before? After everything Charles had told him, he had imagined her…differently. He had thought her a typical wall-flower, timid and shy, her nose constantly in a book, the real world only glanced at as though it was a monster threatening to swallow her up if she dared meet its eyes.

  But Isabella was different.

  Of course, he hardly knew her. Still, from the many glimpses he had stolen of her, Robert felt certain that a passionate nature rested beneath her somewhat rigid exterior. While her father looked like the typical English gentleman, rather fair skin in tone with light brown hair, her mother, on the other hand, seemed to have her origins somewhere in the European south. Her hair was as black as the night, even darker than Isabella’s, and her skin had a rich olive tone to it that increased Robert’s impression of an unusual match. Where had old Lord Gatsby met his wife?

  Shaking his head, Robert refocused his thoughts on Isabella. She looked nothing like her father; on the contrary, she shared her mother’s southern flair. Only her eyes held a hint of unease that her mother’s lacked. She hardly dared look at him. However, when their eyes did meet, she quickly turned her head away, a deep flush creeping up her cheeks. Why was she embarrassed? Was he not the only one to experience these emotions?

  Unable to stop himself, Robert approached the happy couple when they left the floor after their first dance together. Taking a deep breath, he forced a nonchalant smile on his face and once more congratulated his brother on his marriage.

  “Thank you, Robert.” Nodding his head, Charles glanced at his bride, her hand resting in the crook of his arm, his hand covering hers.

  Robert felt sick to the stomach. He had to fight for composure lest he slap away his brother’s h
and for daring to touch her. The insanity of this thought felt like a punch to the gut, and Robert was certain the whole world, or at the very least his brother, could read his struggle clearly on his face.

  Still fighting for composure, he swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to Isabella. “Our father would have welcomed you into the family with open arms,” Robert forced out through gritted teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a delighted smile spread over his brother’s face, and guilt settled in his stomach, adding to his misery. “Let me do so on his behalf. You make a beautiful bride, and I am certain you will make my brother a wonderful wife.” Again, his insides twisted into knots, and he almost groaned in agony.

  A shy smile began on her face, and her eyes barely met his. “Thank you, my lord. You are most kind.”

  “Please, call me Robert. After all, we are family now.” He knew he shouldn’t, and yet, the desperate need to touch her, feel her skin against his, won over his sense of propriety. Glancing at his brother, he asked, “May I have this dance?”

  While Charles’ face betrayed nothing but true delight, his new bride looked rather shocked. For a moment, her eyes opened wide as though the mere thought terrified her. However, she made an effort to control her fear and with a rather uneasy smile took his offered hand.

  At her touch, a raging fire rolled through him, scorching his insides and igniting a passion so deep, he all but gulped for air. Uncertain whether or not he had just made the biggest mistake of his life, Robert led her back to the dance floor where a country dance had just begun. Finding their places, he reluctantly let go of her hand, experiencing the absence of her soft touch as the greatest loss of his life.