Isabella's Secret Summer

by Tabetha Waite

  The first thing Ridge noticed was that the door to the cabin wasn’t shut completely. When he walked inside and saw her breathing evenly on the cot, he was about to turn away and leave her alone to rest, when something caught his attention.

  There was a red stain marking the floor.

  In the space of a heartbeat, every fine hair on the back of his neck stood on end, every nerve ending humming with alarm as he swiftly moved to her side. It didn’t take him long to deduce the source of the blood.

  With a curse, he lightly shook Isabella, praying that she was merely asleep, and not unconscious. Relief flooded him when she fluttered her eyes. “Ridge?” she whispered.

  “Yes, it’s me.” He took her hand. It was as cold as ice. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been injured?”

  “The bullet just grazed me,” she murmured, her eyes already starting to flutter closed.

  “Isabella.” He paused, waiting, but her eyes had shut. “Isabella.” He said more firmly, but this time there was no reply.

  Fear clenched his chest as he lifted her into his arms. There was but one man on this ship that he trusted with his life. He would entrust Isabella to him too.

  The moment he reached the upper deck, he shouted for his fellow agent. “Montgomery! I need you now!”

  His first mate shouted for Pierce to come take over at the helm. Logan met him on deck, but when he saw Isabella, he frowned. “What—?”

  “She’s been shot,” Ridge said evenly. “I think she’s going to need stitches, but I haven’t checked the wound as yet.”

  Logan nodded grimly. “Bring her into the galley. I can assess the damage better in there.” Ridge preferred not to dwell on the fact that Isabella could have damage. The amount of guilt he already felt was insurmountable.

  Inside the galley, Logan cleared a space on a long wooden table and instructed, “Lay her down.” He located a pair of shears and gently cut through the soaked material of her thigh.

  As Logan pulled the edges apart to reveal the injury, Ridge had to glance away for a moment to gain his bearings. While he’d been faced with any number of casualties in his day, everything from bullet wounds to amputations, nothing disturbed him as much as seeing Isabella’s perfect, creamy skin marred by such a jagged, bloody tear.

  “It’s but a graze,” Logan murmured, and Ridge looked back to see him gently probing the wound. “But she appears to have lost quite a bit of blood. I need to close it immediately. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  As Logan left to gather the supplies he would need, Ridge held on to Isabella’s left hand and brought his forehead down until it rested on hers. “I’m so sorry, Isabella,” he whispered, feeling the sting of emotion rising up in his chest. “I swear that I’ll make it up to you if it’s the last thing I do on this earth.”

  When he heard footsteps returning, he straightened, but he didn’t release her hand. As Logan set out the things he would need, Ridge swallowed over the lump in his throat and asked, “What can I do?”

  Logan glanced up at him, noticing his grip on the lady’s hand. “Just be her support if she wakes up. This isn’t going to be pleasant.”

  Ridge nodded and looked at Isabella as Logan splashed a bit of brandy on her thigh. In a flash, she was roused, a moan escaping her lips. When her dark eyes opened once more, they were glassy and filled with pain. Ridge wanted nothing more than to ease her suffering, wishing that there were some way that he could bring it into himself.

  He held out his hand to Logan. “Give me that bottle.”

  When his friend complied, Ridge slid an arm under Isabella’s head and held the bottle to her lips. “Drink, Isabella. It will help to ease your discomfort.”

  She nodded and so he tilted the liquid toward her lips. She swallowed a sizable gulp and coughed, her chest expanding, no doubt the effects of the alcohol’s fiery aftershock. As she began to breathe normally, Ridge asked gently, “How do you feel?”

  “Warm, and… free, like I’m drifting on a cloud,” she sighed.

  Ridge turned to Logan, the signal that he could begin.

  However, the moment the needle pierced Isabella’s skin, she winced and held her breath, but then her eyes drifted closed again. With unaccustomed tenderness, he brushed her hair back from her forehead, not once releasing her hand. The entire procedure didn’t take more than a few minutes, but it might as well have been hours for sweat beaded Ridge’s brow and his heart was hammering the entire time.

  When Logan was finished, he wound a strip of clean white linen over the wound and tied it with the skill of a master physician. He was highly adept with his surgical skills, even though he had never practiced as a doctor, at least, as far as Ridge was aware. It was just another part of Logan’s history that he didn’t care to divulge.

  “Now we just have to make sure infection doesn’t set in within the next week.” He eyed Ridge carefully as he wiped his hands on a cloth. “But then, we’ll be back at Walmer shortly and I’m sure Lord Liverpool will see that she is transported back to London to her family, although now that she isn’t truly married…”

  Ridge gathered Isabella’s limp form into his arms and held her close to his chest. “Her reputation will be ruined,” he finished.

  “Unfortunately, there’s nothing to be done for that,” Logan murmured. “It’s the way of the ton.”

  Ridge didn’t reply. He didn’t have to, because they both knew he spoke the truth.

  ***

  Isabella awoke to a bright light.

  Her first thought was that she was dead, but when she was able to lift her arm and shield her eyes form the glare, she realized that it was the sun shining through the curtains in her chamber.

  She frowned and sat up, confused. By the looks of things, she was back in her rooms at Walmer Castle. The question was how had she gotten there?

  She didn’t think she’d hit her head, but perhaps she had, for she certainly didn’t remember anything beyond passing out on the cot on the Malice.

  Recalling her injury, she threw back the covers and lifted her nightrail to find that her leg was no longer bleeding, but wrapped in a clean white bandage. She gently probed the area and winced when she came in contact with the tender flesh, but it was a mild pain, and not as intense as before. So obviously, someone had doctored it, but again, that was just another unanswered question, although her cheeks warmed at the idea that it might have been Ridge.

  When the door to her room opened, Isabella turned her head. She held her breath, half expecting Ridge to walk through, but she released it in a rush when she spied Claudia. Her maid saw her at the same moment and her face was became wreathed in smiles. “My lady, you’re awake!” She rushed over and they embraced. “We were ever so worried when we found out Lord Wistenberry had kidnapped you! What a dastardly man if there ever was!” She shook her head, and her expression turned grim. “Is it true that you were never married?”

  Isabella sighed. This was the part she’d been dreading. “I’m afraid so.” While there was no love lost between her and Simon, this meant that her reputation was in tatters. No respectable door would be open to her in London after this. She didn’t even want to contemplate how her family would take the news.

  Claudia took her hand in a friendly, comforting manner. “What will you do?”

  Isabella glanced down at the coverlet. “I’m not sure yet. But I know I can’t go back to London. If my father will allow it, I’ll return to our estate in Hertfordshire.”

  “And then what?”

  Isabella’s lips twisted. “I suppose I’ll live out my days as a torrid spinster who couldn’t even elope properly.”

  Claudia’s face fell. “Don’t even jest about that, my lady. You are not at fault in any of this. Lord Wistenberry coerced you to run away with him.”

  “He did,” Isabella concurred. “But that doesn’t mean I should have gone, or that I won’t receive all the blame and censure for it.”

  “It’s just not fair,” Claudia said, obviously i
rritated on Isabella’s behalf.

  “No one said life was,” Isabella returned gently. “At least I’ve accepted my fate.”

  Without anything else to say, Claudia fell silent, for which Isabella was grateful. For all that she might put on a brave front, inside she was quaking with nerves about her future.

  Or rather, a lack thereof, for a lonely existence was all that stretched before her.

  Hoping to focus her attention on something a little less melancholy, she asked, “How did I even get here?”

  “Mr. Claymoore, my lady,” her maid replied. “He arrived with Mr. Montgomery and a man named Rutherford earlier this morning.” She lowered her voice and held her hand up to her mouth as if imparting something extremely confidential. “They’ve been closeted with Lord Liverpool ever since.” Isabella had to roll her eyes as Claudia actually glanced about the room before adding in a whisper, “What was it like in France?”

  As if choosing to reply for her, Isabella’s leg took up a persistent throbbing. With a grimace, she answered, “Painful.” With that, she rose to her feet to test her weight. Her leg screamed in agony for a moment, but after she took a few small steps, the pressure began to ease. When she thought she would be well enough to walk without assistance, she turned to Claudia. “I should like to get dressed and go have dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Hopper.”

  Her maid stood, forehead wrinkled in confusion. “But what about the earl? He might wish to invite you to his quarters—”

  Isabella waved her hand. “He’s obviously preoccupied with other matters. I shouldn’t like to disturb him.”

  Claudia bobbed a light curtsy. “In that case, I’m sure Herb and Ethel will be more than happy to see you.”

  Isabella smiled, perhaps a bit wistfully. “And I, them.”

  ***

  Half an hour later, when Isabella walked into the servants’ dining hall, she was greeted with an exclamation and a hearty embrace from Mrs. Hopper. “It’s so good to see you, my lady!” She nodded toward Claudia, who stood beside her. “I’m sure your maid told you that we were all terribly concerned.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I daresay it makes my heart happy to see you up and about after such a terrible ordeal.”

  “It’s certainly a relief to be back on English soil,” Isabella replied.

  Ethel huffed. “No doubt those French frogs weren’t very hospitable!”

  Isabella thought of the smugglers milling about the harbor and said noncommittally, “On the contrary, they were quite friendly with certain visitors.”

  At this, Mr. Hopper chortled. “I’ve had several positive interactions with the French in the past. Of course,” he amended. “I’ve given up that particular trade in recent months, ever since the war started to turn rather deadly. Too much risk involved.”

  Isabella thought of her bandaged leg. “Indeed, Mr. Hopper. It’s definitely not an experience I should wish to repeat.”

  While dinner was filled with laughter and merriment, Isabella found that although her spirits were a bit more revived, there was still something… missing.

  Once the meal had concluded, Isabella rose to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to take a walk.”

  Mrs. Hopper looked at her kindly. “Of course, dear. Fresh air does wonders for a melancholy heart.”

  Isabella was a bit taken aback. She hadn’t realized she’d worn her emotions so plain to see, but apparently she had.

  She wasn’t even sure where she might go, but she found herself heading for the bastions. She didn’t think there was any restriction on her movements now that Simon was off in France, but she’d seen quite enough of the sea to last a while.

  Isabella gravitated toward the place she’d last been with Ridge — the Smuggler’s City, notwithstanding.

  As the sun began to dip into the sky, she gripped the stone ledge and recalled Ridge and those sensual caresses. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his hot mouth closing around her nipple…

  Her eyes popped open on a short burst of air, the fantasy all too real. She glanced out over the water and found it hard to imagine that not even a full day had passed since she’d stood in this very spot, so much had happened since then.

  But now that she was back here, and had found a moment of solitude to reflect on everything, she was flooded with memories of her time with Ridge. How she yearned for him to take her in his arms and kiss her until all the unpleasantness of the past twenty-four hours melted away.

  She lowered her head, for surely she was asking for the impossible. If that trip to Gravelines had taught her anything about Ridge Claymoore, it was that he was so much more than an agent for the Home Office. He was the renowned smuggler, One-Eye, and the profligate man who’d grown up in a brothel who had likely never stepped foot inside of a glittering ballroom, when that was all Isabella had ever known.

  At least, until the past couple of weeks, when her entire world had not merely been flipped upside down, but twisted sideways and maligned into something ugly and corrupt.

  Was it really just too much to ask for someone to love, who cared for her in return?

  She stood there for an interminable length of time, but when it became apparent that a previous encounter would not come to pass, that Ridge wouldn’t be joining her this time, she turned around and headed for her chamber.

  As she walked down the hall where Simon had intercepted her, she hugged herself, rubbing her arms against the chill that broke out over her body.

  She limped into her room and shut the door behind her with a heavy exhale. She had to quit imagining ghosts that weren’t there. But even as she sat down at her dressing table and kicked off her slippers and began removing the pins from her hair, she couldn’t shake the strange sensation that something was about to happen.

  Perhaps it was the glow of the setting sun that disturbed her, the last rays of dusk turning the sky into an eerie reddish-orange.

  Isabella clenched her fists and told herself to breathe deeply and remain calm, but when there was a sudden knock at her door, she couldn’t help but jump.

  Forcing her heart to calm its sudden, thunderous beating, she walked to the door and pulled it open. Her lungs froze when she saw Ridge standing there.

  “What are you—?”

  That was all she had time to say before she was in his arms.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ridge had found heaven on earth, and it was Lady Isabella Resenfeld.

  He’d waited all day for this moment of redemption for his tortured soul, and even though he knew he was tainting this angel with his very existence, he hadn’t been able to stay away. But he feared that if he took things as far as he wanted, he never would be free of her brilliance, that pure light that had pierced his darkened heart and steadily chipped away at the hard outer shell until it had started to fill him with life once again.

  Even with all these warnings clanging in his head, it didn’t stop him from taking her lips in a kiss that left them both yearning for more.

  He pulled back far enough to see those lovely dark eyes staring up at him, the amber of her gown highlighting the pigment around her pupils. She was tantalizing, and he wanted to explore every secret, hidden inch of her.

  “Why did you stop?” she whispered.

  He gritted his teeth, for he was quite sure his cock had just turned to stone. “Your leg…” he trailed off, unable to think of any other impediment that would keep him from loving her.

  She smiled. “It’s better now that you’re here.” She gently reached up and laid her hand along his jaw. The gesture was so simple, and yet it almost sent him to his knees.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” he murmured. “But I… had to see how you were.” He swallowed hard. “You can’t imagine how much I’ve tortured myself—”

  She placed a finger over his lips. “Stop right there. You have nothing to apologize for. You did everything you could to get us out of there alive, and you succeeded.”

  Ridge tried to collect himself, the
tension inside of him threatening to burst apart at the seams. Finally, in desperation, he gripped her shoulders, his eyes searching hers for recognition, or perhaps even judgment. “God, Isabella, don’t you understand?” he rasped. “It should have been me. What if that bullet had imbedded in your leg, or gone just a little bit higher? You might not even be here right now.” He was breathing harshly now. “Do you think I could have lived with myself knowing that—”

  He broke off as she pressed herself against him. “And yet, I’m standing right in front of you.” She looked at him, but instead of censure, all he saw was… acceptance. How he ever imagined he could be worthy of such a woman was lost on him. “Make love to me, Ridge.”

  Ridge groaned and pressed a hand against the small of her back, bringing her flush against him. He could feel every inch of her soft body, and while it killed him to say it, he had to make sure this was what she wanted. “There’s nothing more I want to do right now than to take you over to that bed, but I have to know—”

  He broke off mid-sentence as she wound her arms around him, her nails gently sliding along his neck. “Then I think there’s been enough talk for now, don’t you?”

  His cock swelled even more, if possible, for he’d never felt like more of a man. His nostrils flared as his eyes dipped to the gentle rise of her breasts. “You’re absolutely right, my lady.”

  This time when he kissed her, he was relentless, teasing and taunting, until she was clutching his shoulders. Her passion would surely drive him insane.

  He broke off long enough to instruct her to turn around, and then he removed the knife from his boot and gently moved her long hair over her shoulder. He sliced through the laces of her gown in one deft motion. As her garment fell to the floor, she shifted until she faced him once more.

  He reached out and threaded his fingers through her hair, which shone with all the luster of gleaming copper.

  While he still held the knife in his grasp, he went to work on her stays, deftly cutting the first string.