Ridge blinked, returning to the present to see that Millicent was still waiting for an answer. He caught the coin between his fingers and gripped it in his palm. “I’m just ready to get back to work,” he said evasively.
“Of course,” his companion returned smoothly.
Thankfully, she didn’t press him further. But it wasn’t as if he would have admitted to some grand love affair anyway. What had happened between him and Isabella had been personal, between the two of them, and it wasn’t anyone else’s damned business. Not even the woman who he considered to be a second mother.
Restless, Ridge got to his feet and tucked the coin back into his pocket. “I think I’m going to head out for a bit.”
Millicent smiled coyly. “Do you want me to send one of the girls up later to keep you company?”
Ridge smirked. “I appreciate your generosity, but not tonight.”
The lady lifted a brow. “I’ve never known you to turn down bed sport before. This really must be serious.”
Instead of replying, Ridge spun on his heel and walked out the door with a dark frown. Without any particular destination in mind, he hailed a hackney and headed for the one place that he knew he would be welcome, and perhaps where he might gain some much needed advice.
Deposited at Hyde Park, Ridge glanced around to make sure he wasn’t being observed before he entered the secret tunnel that led him to the residence of Travell Abernathy, Viscount Curdiff. He was the one who had originally brought Ridge on into the trade of being a spy, so if there was anyone who understood how conflicted he was at the moment, it would be him.
He passed the secret room where many conspiracy theories had been discussed, and stopped at the end of the passage where he rapped sharply on the wooden panel.
After a moment he heard a click, and then the bookcase popped open to reveal the viscount on the other side. He was dressed casually, with no waistcoat, cravat, or jacket, but his dark brows winged upward when his blue eyes lit on Ridge.
“Claymoore. This is a surprise.” He waved a hand into his study. “Do, come in.” After the bookcase was closed behind him, Travell asked, “Would you care for something to drink?” His lips quirked up at the corners. “Or perhaps I should be the one in need of something stronger than port?”
“Brandy, if you have it.”
Travell nodded and went over to the sideboard to pour a generous amount of the amber liquid into a glass tumbler. After walking back and handing the alcohol to Ridge, he said, “Have a seat.” Once they were settled in a pair of chairs by the fireplace, Travell added, “What brings you by, Claymoore?”
Ridge didn’t speak immediately, but took a long, slow sip of his drink. When at last he set his brandy back down, he stared into the flickering flames rather than face Curdiff directly. “Have you ever thought of making something else of your life, other than espionage?”
Silence, then, “Are you?”
“I asked you first.”
“Very well.” A heavy exhale. “I suppose I have, but it’s been part of my life for so long that I’m not sure I would be able to do anything else.”
Ridge kept his focus on the dancing fire. “What of marriage and a family? Surely you want to carry on the Abernathy line.”
“I’m not sure I want to do that.”
He glanced up to see the viscount staring into the same fiery oblivion. “Why not?”
“To be honest, I’m not entirely convinced that when my father ran off with some scullery maid to parts unknown, that he wasn’t somewhat unhinged. If he was mad, I certainly don’t want to pass that down to further generations. I prefer that it cease with me.”
Ridge frowned. “But you’ve never shown any signs that I’m aware of, and I’m relatively sure your sister is reasonably sane.”
Travell laughed at this, turning his focus on Ridge. “That may not be accurate. Triana did marry Gabriel, if you’ll recall.”
“Indeed.” Ridge took another bracing drink, relishing in the burn as it made a path down his throat to settle in his stomach.
As another round of silence prevailed, Travell said softly, “How is Lady Isabella faring?”
Ridge clenched his jaw, hating that any mention of her name made his heart shrivel. “Well enough, I suppose. She’s in Hertfordshire at her father’s estate with Montgomery.”
Travell lifted a dark brow. “I thought you had been assigned to watch over her.”
“I had,” Ridge admitted. “But circumstances changed.”
Travell tapped a thoughtful finger against his glass. “I can see that,” he murmured. “How long have you been in love with her, Claymoore?”
The brandy Ridge had just consumed turned to acid in the pit of his stomach. He feared he might cast up his accounts. Instead, he abandoned his glass on the table and stood to pace the room. “How does one even define love?” He shook his head. “Granted, the poets spout off nonsense, but what do they know about true emotion? What does anyone know?”
Ridge set his hands on his hips and closed his eyes briefly after his tirade. He hadn’t meant to unleash himself on Travell like that, but it was the one question that he hadn’t been able to answer.
“I’m not entirely sure what you want to hear from me, Claymoore,” Travell began. “To me, it sounds as if you’re searching for some way out of how you feel. While I have limited experience in matters of the heart, I can tell you something that my sister once told me, that if I cared about her, then I wouldn’t cut her out of my life. In the end, I realized she was right. Triana and I have the best relationship now since we stopped hiding secrets from one another. The only advice I can offer is to encourage you to do the same.”
“But what if she…” Ridge had to swallow in order to continue. “Rejects me? It’s not as if I have anything to offer her. I’m a common bastard who was raised in a brothel.” He winced. “That doesn’t exactly sound like someone you’d want to take home and introduce to the family.”
Travell regarded him steadily. “If she truly cares about you, if the affection is genuine, then I guess this is where you have to ask yourself if she’s worth the risk.” He sat back in his chair and took another sip of his port; a brief smile touching his mouth, as if he’d already guessed what Ridge was going to do. “Let me know how it turns out.”
Chapter Twenty-One
It had been three days since she’d been back at Ashfield Hall, and Isabella found that she missed walking the bastions at Walmer, and listening to the waves crashing upon the shore. While she had taken to expansive walks among the grounds every afternoon, the weather remaining pleasant enough for her to do so, she vowed that once she arrived in America, she would make sure to live next to the ocean where she could be reminded of one of the happiest times of her life.
Granted, at first her journey to Walmer hadn’t been anything to celebrate. She’d been a woman who was abandoned after a marriage that turned out to be nothing more than a falsehood, and later that a blessing in disguise.
She still remembered the precise moment she’d seen Ridge at that inn, the eye-patch giving him a fearsome, intimidating countenance, and she had the feeling that she would never be the same. She just didn’t realize how much he would come to mean to her.
Or that she would end up falling in love with him.
But she had to get that out of her head.
While their brief, torrid affair had obviously meant more to her than it did to him, she was set on a new path, one that would take her far away from England.
And Ridge Claymoore.
Korina would likely accuse her of running away, and perhaps she was, but time and distance is what would heal her wounded heart, although it might never mend completely.
At least her leg continued to heal from her injury. Shortly after they’d arrived, Montgomery had sent for the local village physician to attend to her. He’d carefully removed her stitches and complimented the work that had been done. While it was still tender, it was healing nicely and eventually, all s
he would have to show for her adventures in France was a faded white scar, even if the memory would take a bit longer to diminish.
As she meandered through the brick walkway near her mother’s rose garden, Isabella couldn’t help but shake her head, recalling every detail of their journey to France as if it was still taking place. She could just imagine the astonishment on her parents’ faces, and even her brother, Jeffrey, if she were to recount the particular events surrounding her daring flight from Simon and sailing into smuggling waters on a privateer ship.
While it had been scary and more than a little dangerous, Isabella admitted that she’d found a certain thrill in the unknown. Of course, they had been extremely fortunate to escape virtually unscathed, for she could have easily been fatally wounded, or else taken prisoner by the French. She shivered at the very thought, hugging herself even though the sun was warm that day.
But when it was all over, and she had time to ponder it all, she could see how Ridge might gain a certain sense of satisfaction as a spy, knowing that, at the end of the day, you had outwitted the enemy.
Perhaps that was why she’d donned the same, deep blue dress that afternoon, the one with the gold trim that she’d worn on that fateful evening, which Claudia had somehow managed to miraculously restore once she returned from France. Because she just wanted to be close to him again.
With a sigh, Isabella sat down on the stone steps along the west side of the manor where the sun beat down on her. She rested her chin on her knuckles and glanced down at her lap. She had been deluding herself to ever think that Ridge could ever give up that sort of lifestyle. After all this time, the hunt was imbedded in him.
Could he ever be content just tossing it all aside to live a simple lifestyle?
Apparently not, which was why she sat here — alone — telling herself that America would be the answer to all of her problems.
A shadow abruptly crossed in front of her. At first, she thought it was simply a cloud passing over the sun, but when a pair of scuffed boots came into her line of vision, she lifted her head.
For a moment, the glare shining behind the stranger blotted out his face, but her breathing quickened, as if her body recognized who it was, even if her mind hadn’t yet caught up to the reality.
Could it be?
Isabella rose to her feet. Her heart somersaulted in her chest as she looked upon the man who had taken control of her thoughts from the first time she’d laid eyes upon him. She wasn’t even sure if he was actually there in the flesh, or if her mind had conjured him from her fantasies.
But then, that deep, husky voice pierced her brain. “Hallo, Isabella.”
And that was when she knew.
Throwing her dignity out the window, she threw her arms around Ridge with a cry. “It truly is you.”
After a brief pause, she felt his hand upon her back, stroking gently. When she’d gathered herself enough where she thought she could look at him without kissing him senseless, or smacking him for putting her through all this torment, she reminded herself that he hadn’t yet told her why he was even there.
She pulled away and asked him plainly, “What are you doing here?”
Ridge put his hands in his pockets and blew out a heavy breath. “I wanted to say that I was sorry for not saying goodbye at the castle.”
Hmmm. Isabella wasn’t sure how to interpret that. “I… see. So you came all this way just to tell me that?”
He nodded, those dark eyes glittering with anticipation and perhaps a bit of… hope? “Among other things.”
“Oh?” Dear God, the anticipation was killing her! Why didn’t he just blurt out what it was he wanted to say? If he would just shout out that he loved her, she would do the same.
“Isabella, I—” She held her breath as she waited for that glorious moment, the one that would gain her the happily ever after she’d always dreamed of — with the man who had ever been, or would be, deserving of her affection.
“Isabella!”
Ridge broke off as a prominent feminine voice intruded. Isabella sighed, for she truly couldn’t believe the extent of her mother’s horrible timing. Lady Ashfield rounded the corner and came upon them. “Claudia said I would find you here. Oh.” She halted mid-stride. “I didn’t realize we had a… guest.”
The term was used lightly, and Isabella had to grit her teeth. Unfortunately, that was just her mother’s way. Like most matrons of the ton, she was concerned about appearances and as she glanced at Ridge in his simple attire, her face turned positively rigid. There was no expensive tailoring gracing any part of his body, but that was how Isabella preferred it. But she knew her mother wouldn’t be quite so forgiving.
While Lady Ashfield’s hair was a deeper shade of auburn than her daughter’s, they had the same dark eyes, but it had always been their mannerisms that set them apart from one another. Her mother was sharp and direct, and didn’t hold back her opinions. Isabella took after her father who was a bit more reserved.
“Mother.” Isabella stepped forward, turning the lady’s focus back on her. “You said you were looking for me?”
“Indeed.” She lifted her chin “Come along to the house. Your father has something to discuss with you. It is of the utmost urgency regarding your impending marriage.”
The fine hair rose on the back of her neck. “Pardon?”
Her mother rolled her eyes impatiently. “Don’t pretend ignorance with me, Isabella. Lord Liverpool came by our townhouse in London yesterday, and I know he discussed these particular matters with you because he said so. While there will be a blistering scandal resulting from your actions either way, as long as you are properly secured, we may yet be able to salvage some of your crumbling reputation.”
Isabella’s mouth promptly fell open. It was true that the earl had spoken with her, but she just didn’t realize things would happen so… fast. She thought she might have had a bit more time to prepare for her journey to America. Now, it appeared she would have to travel sooner than expected. At least Korina had replied to her missive with the assurance that her great-aunt was still in New York, and would be able to look after Isabella until she was properly settled.
But now she dared to glance at Ridge, who had stood by and silently watched the exchange take place. While he wore a frown, it didn’t appear that he would be intervening. The moment for any sort of admission was obviously passed, and perhaps she’d merely imagined that he was about to declare himself.
In the end, she lowered her head and said, “Yes, Mama.”
As they started to walk away, Ridge’s deep voice stopped them. “Wait.” He walked forward to stand beside her, facing off against her mother as a united front. “Lady Ashfield.” He inclined his head in polite acknowledgement of her title. “If you will permit me to have a word with your husband—”
The marchioness pinned him with a glare. “And just who are you?”
Isabella saw Ridge’s jaw tighten. She hazarded a guess that he wasn’t a particular fan of the ton. “My name is Ridge Claymoore.”
“And?” Her mother practically snapped.
“If you are inquiring about my history,” he said curtly, his dark eyes sparking. “I’m a bastard who grew up in a brothel.”
Isabella had never seen her mother’s mouth fall open quite so thoroughly. However, she snapped it closed and demanded, “If that is true, then what, may I ask, could possibly bring you onto Ashfield property?”
Isabella clenched her fists. Her mother was trying to make him out to be some sort of interloping vagrant. She wouldn’t stand for it. “Mr. Claymoore works for the Home Office, Mama. He was assigned to protect me at Walmer.”
Lady Ashfield flicked a glance at her. “I thought this Montgomery individual had that position now?”
“He does, but—”
“Then I see no reason to continue this pointless conversation.” The marchioness turned back to Ridge. “Good day to you, Mr. Claymoore.”
With that, she took Isabella’s arm and led h
er away.
***
Ridge wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, but he wasn’t happy about it. He’d arrived at Ashfield Hall intending to seek out Isabella and attempt to tell her how he felt, which wasn’t an easy task on the best of days. He was relieved when he rode down the impressive drive and saw a flash of her blue gown disappear around a corner of the house. While the manor itself was daunting, reminding him that Isabella was so far above him in station, he refused to allow anything to mar this moment. He’d come this far. It was too late to back down now.
But just when he was about to wax poetic, this termagant of a woman came barreling forward and cut him off before he had a chance to pour out his soul. With a shake of his head, he supposed there was nothing left to do but return to London, where he could lick his wounds in private.
But just as the stable hand brought his horse and Ridge was about to climb into the saddle, someone called out to him.
“Claymoore!”
He blew out a long breath as Logan came walking toward him. Just what he didn’t need right now. “Montgomery,” he returned stiffly.
“What are you doing here?” the other man asked curiously.
He resisted the urge to crack his knuckles. “I came to speak with Isabella.”
“Ah.” Ridge glared at the other man, who wore a decidedly smug expression on his face. “Making sure that I’m doing my job properly, is that it?”
“No.”
It took Logan but a moment to deduce what that meant. “Ah, I see. In that case, did you gain the fair lady’s heart?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he snapped in return. “Her mother broke up our happy reunion.” He turned his back, prepared to leave the other agent gaping after him, but he should have known it wouldn’t be so easy to shake Logan off. He could be as tenacious as a dog with a bone when he sank his teeth into something.
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