Isabella's Secret Summer

by Tabetha Waite

  “I suppose.”

  Isabella turned back and narrowed her eyes at him. Perhaps it was his sudden wince, or the fact he hadn’t moved from his position on the doorframe. She tilted her head to the side. “Are you afraid of heights, Mr. Claymoore?”

  He stiffened. “It’s not that I’m afraid,” he countered. “I just don’t have a particular fondness for it.”

  Isabella couldn’t help but laugh. Somehow, knowing that he had a fear, even though he might deny it, made him a bit more approachable. “So the hardened agent for Whitehall has a weakness, after all,” she taunted.

  ***

  Ridge couldn’t very well counteract her statement, but the weakness he was currently feeling wasn’t because of their distance from the ground, although it was true he never had cared much for heights.

  It was the lady before him that caused his heart to stutter in his chest.

  When he’d first turned the corner and seen Lady Isabella standing at the keep’s edge, her long red hair shining like fire in the sunlight, her lavender dress flowing about her legs and the glittering sea in the background, he’d wished there had been a way to capture that moment forever. His chest still ached, even now, for her very presence rivaled the majestic scenery around them.

  Fall in love with me.

  Ridge blinked, the spell abruptly broken. He couldn’t even say where that dangerous and untenable thought had come from, but it wasn’t as though it was an idea he could ever entertain. Even if the lady was available, and she wasn’t, hadn’t he just told himself that he had nothing to offer a prospective wife?

  In spite of the direction of his wayward musings, he yearned to prove to her — and perhaps even to himself — that he was still quite capable of doing his job properly, even if he didn’t care for the current surroundings.

  Without a word, he withdrew the knife that he kept tucked into his boot and let it fly. It landed just inches from her foot, stuck in between two stones.

  She gasped and clutched the edge of the wall behind her with a white-knuckled grip as he walked forward. She was still recovering from her shock as he stopped directly before her and bent down to withdraw the knife from the stones. He wiped it on the leg of his trousers and tucked it securely back into his boot.

  “You have it all wrong, Lady Isabella.” His looked at her steadily. Her face was still pale although she didn’t say a word as he added, “I’m an agent for Whitehall, so you’ll find that weakness isn’t a word that I have in my vocabulary.”

  He allowed himself a moment of indulgence to breathe in her scent as it mixed with the sea at her back, and then he turned and left.

  Chapter Five

  That night, Isabella ate alone in her chambers. While Claudia had offered to remain with her rather than join Mr. Mrs. Hopper, she’d waved her maid away with a smile. “It’s fine. I’d like some time alone anyway.”

  In truth, she wanted the chance to regain her bearings. Mr. Claymoore’s display with his knife that afternoon hadn’t just shocked her — it had aroused her. Everything told her that such a reaction was nothing short of absurd, and yet, she couldn’t deny it.

  She stood at the window in the alcove of her chambers in her night rail and gazed out over the sea. With the setting of the sun, what had once appeared warm and inviting now looked dark and dangerous, the fathomless depths capable of pulling an unsuspecting victim to its watery fate. She shivered, wondering if her wayward imagination wasn’t trying to warn her of something even more perilous, and not from Simon, but rather a deeper threat to her heart.

  Ridge Claymoore was certainly unlike any other man she’d ever known before. She tried to picture him in gentleman’s attire — and failed. It just didn’t suit him. It would be like trying to fit a square peg into a circle. Certainly, none of the men of the ton would be so crass as to prove their prowess with a blade so close to a lady. They would be horrified to imagine risking injury. But Mr. Claymoore wasn’t worried about that, more focused on proving a point. Which he had done, quite thoroughly.

  As the chill of her thoughts began to penetrate her consciousness, she moved away from the window with a sigh and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. Lying on her side, she wondered what Simon was doing, and if he had any remorse at all for treating her as he had. She doubted it, but perhaps she could find it in her heart to forgive him in time if so.

  It was strange, however, for as long as she’d fancied herself in love with him, this was the first time she’d even given him a second thought all day. And even then, it wasn’t to mourn his loss, or their failed union, but rather to grind her teeth, imagining where he might be spending her dowry, or more importantly, what he might be spending it on. Since he was suspected as a French spy, he was undoubtedly getting things ready to head for the Continent — once he’d absconded with her as a bit of extra monetary value, of course.

  It disgusted her to think that she was forever tied to such a man, that she bore his last name, and the title of Wistenberry. She could well imagine what Simon’s father must think of his traitorous son, for she wasn’t the single one who would bear the weight of the scandal when she returned to London. If there was anything that she regretted, other than her own situation, it was that his family would be injured as well, innocent as they all were, for Simon’s misdeeds.

  The solitary comfort she could find in any of it was that, as a married woman, she would have certain freedoms that a spinster didn’t. She could have respectable lodgings of her own, if she found a way to pay for them. Perhaps she could prevail upon Simon’s family to allow her to have a modest stipend to live on.

  She sighed heavily. Either way, at the moment, her future seemed rather bleak.

  ***

  Simon sat in the corner of a pub in Kent. He’d managed to track Isabella as far as one of the little towns along the coastline, but he hadn’t yet figured out where the agent had taken her. This annoyed him, for he was due to meet his French associate in a fortnight. That gave him a mere two weeks to find his errant wife and take her to the Smugglers’ City in Gravelines. Then again, he was already in possession of her dowry, and with the last, particularly important cargo shipment he’d taken to the French, he could sail to America a rather wealthy man.

  However, at this point, it wasn’t just the fact he would receive extra compensation for Isabella. Now, he wanted retribution for chasing her all over the country. After he’d left her at the inn, he’d hired the crewman from the Clara Belle to retrieve her without fear of getting caught. Instead, she’d blindly taken off with that blasted agent, Claymoore, like the whore she was.

  He clenched his fist and slammed it against the table. A few patrons glanced at him, but he ignored their curious stares. He wasn’t a patient man, and waiting for the man he’d hired to inquire about Isabella was turning out to be a worthless pile of refuse.

  Simon snorted as he drained his ale, but then, as if he’d conjured him in the flesh, the man he’d been waiting for walked in the door. He paused a moment then, upon meeting Simon’s stare, walked over and slid into the seat across the table.

  Without waiting for an acknowledgment, he said, “They’re at Walmer Castle.”

  Simon narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “Their coachman’s tongue was easily purchased.” He paused. “And then discarded, as per your instructions.”

  Simon took a moment to digest this information, his finger tapping on the table in contemplation. Perhaps this man had been of some use after all. At least he’d tied up all loose ends. “Liverpool was just elected Prime Minister, which means that place will be a fortress with the snap of his fingers. It might be tricky to infiltrate.” He couldn’t help but laugh. “Well played, Claymoore. I suppose we’ll just have to wait for the right moment. Wait for their defenses to come down.”

  Simon rose to his feet and caught the eye of the serving wench who had so generously showed off her cleavage earlier. While he’d been dispassionate about her charms, now he was f
eeling rather invigorated. But then, determination and the promise of coin had always fired his blood like nothing else.

  As the woman headed upstairs, Simon watched until her sashaying hips disappeared from sight, and then he turned to his companion. “Feel free to join us if you’d like.”

  With that, he turned and headed for his rooms, grinning as the sound of determined footsteps followed behind him.

  ***

  Isabella stretched as the light of dawn shone through the windowpane and warmed her face. The room had a slight chill, for the fire had died down during the night, but she wasn’t awake long when her maid walked in. “Good morning, my lady. Did you sleep well?”

  She wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that. It had taken some time before she’d fallen asleep, and when she finally had, her dreams had been filled with visions of Mr. Claymoore. As warmth stole into her cheeks, she nodded. “Quite well.”

  Claudia smiled as she started to gather her mistress’ things for the day. “Shall I bring you a breakfast tray?”

  Isabella sat up. “No. I think I would like to join our Mr. and Mrs. Hopper this morning.”

  “That’s very considerate of you, my lady. I’m sure they would like that. They told me last evening that they generally take their morning meal in the main gardens.”

  After Isabella was attired in a light blue muslin, and her hair was brushed and flowing loosely down her back, she followed Claudia to the lower level of the castle. Following a series of twists and turns that her maid already seemed to know rather well, they entered a lovely and fragrant courtyard. As they arrived, the older couple gushed with delight upon seeing her, their greetings friendly and sincere.

  Once they’d all sat upon the wicker table and chairs, with a cup of tea and some ham, eggs, and pastries between them, Isabella asked, “How long have you been at the castle?”

  Husband and wife shared a glance, and then Mrs. Hopper chuckled. “It’s a rather funny story. You tell it, Herb.”

  Until then, Isabella realized she hadn’t even known their Christian names, but then she’d always been raised among the nobility who referred to their servants by their last names. As always, that line between employer and employee had to be drawn.

  But as she sat here with these common folk, Isabella found that she preferred the simplicity of conversing with whomever one wished. Korina had told her it was like that in America, but she hadn’t really thought anything of it… until now. But she found that she didn’t have to concern herself over holding her cup at a wrong angle or worry whether she was taking inappropriate sized bites for a lady. And never would she have gone anywhere with her hair unbound or without a bonnet, her mother under the constant fear that her pale skin would gain an unsightly freckle.

  The change was rather refreshing.

  As Herb began to speak, she turned her full attention to him. “I suppose I should start with a bit of history.” He winked. “Walmer Castle was built as one of three forts designed to protect the Kent coastline from attack. Deal Castle and Sandown Castle are the other two, although the latter is sadly deteriorating and no longer fit for habitation. I fear these days it’s mainly used for illegal smuggling.” He took a sip of his tea. “As for Walmer, Lord Liverpool needed someone to look after the castle in his absence. Since he’s seldom in residence, it’s been a holiday of sorts for Ethel and me, as our little house in the village is nothing compared to the grandeur of this castle.”

  Isabella grinned. “It sounds rather romantic.”

  “Just wait until you tour the earl’s quarters,” Ethel piped up. “They are fine to be sure with its own sitting room, and even a small library in the study. There will be plenty to keep you occupied during your stay here.”

  Isabella pushed her eggs around her plate. At this point she didn’t want to imagine how long that would be. “It all sounds delightful, truly, and while I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, I wonder if it would be possible to go down to the beach at some point? I used to enjoy swimming as a child. There’s something so… freeing about being immersed in the sea’s waves—”

  “Out of the question.”

  ***

  Ridge’s curt tone caught the attention of the entire assemblage as he walked across the lawn to join them. He took note of Mrs. Hopper’s disapproving look, but it was the sudden image of Lady Isabella scantily attired in something wet and transparent that had quite overwhelmed all five of his senses.

  “Surely there’s no harm in a brief—” Mrs. Hopper attempted to come to Isabella’s defense, and as long as he’d known the elderly couple, it certainly hadn’t taken long for them to fall under the lady’s spell.

  Ridge set his jaw and interrupted her argument. “No. It’s too risky.”

  “Even with you there to protect me?” He slid his gaze to Isabella, whose dark eyes were sparking with challenge. “Surely you could take a gun with you?” She daintily wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Or perhaps even man one of the cannons…”

  He shook his head. “You think all of this is funny? That it’s some sort of game?”

  “Of course not!” She returned hotly, throwing down her linen and rising to her feet. “I simply think you are giving Simon too much credit. He’s not this hardened villain that you believe him to be. He’s a coward who would run from the law instead of facing his own crimes.”

  The other three occupants were wise enough to remain silent as Ridge and Isabella faced off with one another. “And yet,” he began, knowing that he was about to deliver a low blow, but one that would hopefully, get her to see reason, and hide the panic that threatened to rise to the surface whenever he imagined her coming to harm. “He was convincing enough to coerce you into running away with him.”

  She gasped, her fists visibly tightening at her sides. “How dare you! That’s not fair!”

  “Who said anything about life being fair?” he snapped. “You’ve been living in a dream world, Lady Wistenberry. It’s time you woke up.”

  Crack! He saw the slap coming, but he didn’t try to stop her as she walked up to him and delivered the blow. Besides, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t deserved it.

  Silence followed her departure, while Mr. and Mrs. Hopper and Claudia looked at everything — but him.

  Fine. If they wanted to believe that he was some cruel taskmaster, then he wouldn’t try to disillusion them. He’d made it perfectly clear that he had been given a specific task, to complete a mission. So if he had to earn a few disapproving looks to accomplish his goal, then so be it.

  Ridge Claymoore didn’t fail.

  ***

  Isabella refused to the let the self-pitying tears fall. Mr. Claymoore might have been an arrogant ass just now, but what made her even more furious was that he was right.

  And that was the most upsetting part of it all.

  She had fallen right into Simon’s trap, and for someone who was still rather naïve to the ways of the world; one slip and she could end up on a ship bound for France. While Mr. Claymoore could have been a bit more considerate of her feelings, she reminded herself that she was a means to an end to him — and nothing more. It was his job to keep her safe.

  In that respect, had she really expected anything less from him?

  Without any true destination in mind, she headed toward the earl’s apartments. She was a bit too restless to sit still and find something to read, but at least browsing the library might help to ease her troubled mind.

  However, the moment she walked up the stairs and entered the grand hall, decorated in a lovely shade of peacock blue with several gold, gilt-edged paintings hanging on the walls, and a glass-domed ceiling in the midst of it all, she had to pause and admire her surroundings. The earl certainly had made it into a hospitable residence, bringing modern London into the sixteenth century.

  It was lovely enough to rival any townhouse in the city, and as she continued down a single hallway, she glanced into rooms on either side of her. She saw a rather sizeable salon with hardwood floors and fu
rniture spread throughout the room for entertaining, and even a table to play a round of cards. There was a modes dining area and, as promised, a comfortable study with several shelves of books along one wall. She peeked in the lone closed door and found a massive chamber that could only be Lord Liverpool’s personal bedchamber.

  Isabella had just closed that sanctuary when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. She tensed, prepared to do battle with Mr. Claymoore yet again, but she breathed a sigh of relief when she encountered Mrs. Hopper instead.

  The older woman spied her and smiled kindly. “I thought I might find you here. I was hoping you might have taken my advice.”

  “I did.” Isabella nodded as she walked forward. “And you’re right. It’s quite impressive. I certainly had no idea my godfather was prone to such lavish furnishings.”

  This made Ethel’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “The earl is your godfather?”

  She shrugged. “That’s what my father tells me. He tends to converse with Lord Liverpool more often about matters of Parliament, while I’ve spoken to him a handful of times, and then, just briefly at various ton events.”

  Her companion chuckled. “That does seem to be the way of it among men of society. There’s always talk of politics to be had.” Her wizened eyes crinkled at the corners and her voice turned soft. “You should know that Mr. Claymoore isn’t generally so… harsh.”

  Isabella sighed as she hugged herself. “He claims he brought me here for my protection, and yet, he treats me as if I’m the spy, the one who is a traitor to my country, when the worst thing I did was make a terrible mistake in marrying the wrong man.”

  A sympathetic expression formed on the older woman’s face. “It must be difficult for one so young to endure such a shocking turn of events, and a new bride on top of it all.” She hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully, and then she added, “I realize that Mr. Claymoore hasn’t come across as the best of men, and with your current troubles, no doubt any man could be recommended in your eyes, but he truly has the best intentions, if not a bit guarded and cynical at times.” She glanced down at the floor, and then returned her gaze to Isabella’s, her eyes a bit more misty than before. “Personally, I’ll be forever indebted to him, for he saved my Herb’s life.”