When he was dressed he returned to her side, taking her hand. “Don’t look so sad. Seven days is not so very long.”
She tried to smile and turned her face dutifully to his as he kissed her. It was a tender kiss, his mouth gentle and soft against hers.
And then he was gone.
Falling back against the pillow, Izzy burst into tears. She’d completely failed her purpose. In just one week, she would marry Viscount Royston. Paul would be lost to her forever. And she would never feel Julian’s arms around her again.
Of them all, it shouldn’t have been the last that bothered her so much, but it was.
Chapter 12
The wedding day…
Izzy paced back and forth in her chamber, butterflies fluttering in her stomach, trying to ignore the presence of both her mother and Belinda so she could think. They buzzed around, getting her into her bridal finery. She’d not been downstairs this morning, while the servants readied the house for her nuptials. In deference to her extreme resistance to this union, her father had granted her request for a small affair. Still, there was much to be done to ready the house for the guests arriving in only a matter of hours.
For at least the hundredth time she tried to think of any last desperate measure she might use to avoid this wedding, short of running away. She could never dishonor her father in such a way, but time was indeed her enemy, and she was caught in the cruelest of vises. Desperate times called for action. She must do something, and soon!
She’d gone to the crofter’s cottage every day of the last week, hoping Julian might return early, but to no avail. She’d contemplated going into the village and finding a different man to give her virginity to, but the idea was more distasteful than ever before since she’d met Julian. It was wrong to even think about doing with a stranger all the wonderful things she’d done with him.
Oh, Julian. Why did you have to leave?
She tried not to think of his reaction when he went to the cottage today and she never arrived. Would he go back tomorrow? Next week? How long before he realized she would never come back?
The thought made her want to cry so she turned her attention to the more pressing issue of her impending wedding.
There was only one last drastic thing that came to mind that might see her free of this marriage and husband she didn’t want. She could lie to Papa and tell him she’d lost her virtue, though it would be a lie. Just the thought of telling him such a lie made her nauseous. To be sure, he’d be furious, but he’d not allow her to suffer humiliation and gossip to follow if he thought no blood would stain the marital sheets to prove her virtue, and surely he’d wish to save her the ruin of her reputation when the viscount demanded an annulment. Wouldn’t he? Despite all his gruffness, he was still her loving and doting Papa.
As Belinda brushed back a nonexistent stray hair at Izzy’s temple, she chafed at the delay.
“Am I ready?”
Mama’s pearl necklace rested against her neck, and Belinda straightened it. “Now you are ready.”
“Oh, Isabelle. You look so beautiful.” Mama’s eyes welled with tears. It took everything Izzy had not to roll her own eyes at what was surely an overly emotional display.
Why does everyone act as if this is a happy day, as if I want this marriage? Did not speaking the truth make it easier for everyone else to bear, somehow? Or did they just not care?
“I can’t believe my youngest child will be a wife in a few short hours.” Her mother sighed. “The time goes by so fast.”
Lifting the hem of her gown, Izzy inched for the door, hoping to forestall the display of emotional histrionics her mother was about to unleash. “Which is why I must speak with Papa now. I’ll see you both downstairs.”
Belinda narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
To forestall any more comments, Izzy strode back to them, giving each a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you in but a short while. Fear not, I’ve no plans to flee.”
Picking up the hem of her gown again, she did just that.
She opened the door to her father’s study without bothering to knock. Papa was leaning against his desk, a drink in hand. “Isabelle!” He looked her over, his gaze fond. “How lovely you look!”
“Papa, I must speak with you, at once.”
“Certainly, Izzy, just give me a moment to-”
“Nay! There’s no time. I have something of great import to confess.”
“Izzy-”
She gathered her courage and took a deep breath, interrupting before she lost her nerve. “I’m so sorry Papa, but I cannot go through with this marriage. I’m afraid the provisions of the betrothal contract are not met.”
Please, God, forgive me my lie. Please, Papa, forgive my lie!
His smile disappeared, and in an instant his face became closed and foreboding. A muscle in his jaw jumped as wariness crept over his expression.
“Izzy, what have you done this time?” He demanded low.
“I- well, I”- the lie lodged in her throat. But was it even a complete lie? Julian had done so many wonderful and intimate things to her, certainly she couldn’t be called innocent any longer, could she? He’d been inside her, after all. Her innocence was a mere technicality only because her maidenhead remained intact, but she no longer felt virgin. Certainly that counted for something. “There’s no delicate way to say this. I’m no longer innocent, Papa. I’m so sorry. I know I should have told you before this day came, but I didn’t know how.”
His eyes widened and a look of utter horror and revulsion crossed his face. She rushed on to forestall the imminent explosion. “A few days ago I met a man in the village, and well…” She shrugged, unsure of what to say next. Surely she needn’t go into detail, so she clenched her lips together and stood before him, head bowed, trying to look regretful and meek, all the while hating herself for making him think poorly of her, yet angry with him at the same time for forcing her to this extreme measure.
It caught her completely off guard when the back of his hand slammed against her cheek and pain erupted. She cried out and stumbled from the force of the powerful blow, catching the corner of the desk in time to prevent herself falling. With trembling fingers she touched her aching face in shock, staring at Papa in utter disbelief. In the course of her life he’d disciplined her many a time, but never before had he laid his own hand upon her in anger.
“You’ve gone too far this time, Isabelle! I’ve no doubt you did this a purpose to avoid this marriage. You’ve no idea of what you’ve just done!” Her father’s eyes blazed with fury as he took a single step toward her. She cowered beneath his wrath, in that instant knowing real fear of the man, who, until that day, had only ever made her feel safe and protected.
“I’m ashamed to call you my daughter.”
Tears welled in her eyes. If only he would try to understand her feelings, her love for Paul, or even but her own desire to chart the course of her own life, he wouldn’t speak to her like this.
Papa paused, studying her for a moment, his lips pressed together in a thin, angry line. “Before you entered this room your betrothed and I were discussing how headstrong you are at times. I shall leave it for him to decide if he’ll still have you. But know this, Isabelle; if he will not, you’ve no place my house any longer. I’ll not harbor a selfish, ungrateful harlot beneath my roof!”
Izzy sucked in a pained breath, overwhelmed by a yearning to take back her words and confess the truth. Before she could open her mouth to do just that, Papa spoke again.
“My lord, would you care to interview your betrothed?” He aimed the question over her head, toward the far end of the study, and the implication of that breached the jumbled turmoil of Izzy’s thoughts. With a horrified gasp, she spun on her heel. Had she just made a spectacle of herself in front of her betrothed?
Dear Lord, she had! Indeed, on the other side of the room a man stood in the shadows. He faced the fireplace, his back to her, his wide shoulders stiff. He wore the clothing of a courtier
. Even from where she stood she could see his black petticoat breeches were of the finest material, while his dark red doublet bespoke wealth. His hat, with its elaborate black feather, looked ridiculous and incongruous outside the court.
She hated him on sight. Aside from holding part responsibility in this debacle of a marriage, he’d just witnessed her confession to her father and the humiliating response that followed.
She glanced back at Papa in panic.
“I tried to stop you ere you made a scene before your betrothed, Izzy, but as usual you heeded no one but yourself.” He sighed heavily. “I suggest you turn those pleading eyes on Lord Royston, for I’m through with you. I have looked the other way from your selfish willfulness for too long and you’ve finally gone too far, bringing shame to me, to your family, and upon yourself. You are no longer welcome in this family, Isabelle.”
Pain knifed through her and a sob caught in her throat. He didn’t mean that, he couldn’t! “Papa, nay-”
He stiffened, placed his drink on the desk, and left the study without sparing her another glance.
What have I done?
Fighting fear and despair so heavy it threatened to suffocate her, she closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. This ordeal was not yet over. She heard the sound of boots against the wooden floor as her betrothed approached.
Izzy placed her hand against her throbbing cheek. The entire length of her jaw ached as if bruised. There was nothing she wanted more than to hie to the crofter’s cottage to lick her wounds, for it seemed the only safe haven where she could be completely alone with her thoughts and the pain of Papa’s rejection. But there was still one more trial to face before she could run and hide. And if Papa didn’t change his mind, surely Julian would help her, she was certain of it.
She took a deep breath, seeking the fortitude to face the man who might yet be her husband. When her emotions were under tight control, she opened her eyes and turned to face the fiancé she despised.
Izzy had always believed that when a swooning woman claimed the room spun before her eyes, that the woman in question was being trite and hyperbolic. But as Izzy saw her fiancé for the first time, Papa’s study whirled sickeningly around her and she lurched backward.
***
Ram cursed as the color faded from Izzy’s face. Leaping forward, he managed to grab her by the arms in time to prevent her slumping to the floor. He guided her into an empty seat before the desk, thrust her father’s abandoned drink into her hand, then stepped away. At that moment he didn’t trust himself to be near her and not throttle her.
Her luminous eyes were wide with confusion and a hint of fear he found unexpectedly satisfying. She should be scared at this moment.
“Julian?”
Sweeping his hat from his head, he sketched a mockery of a bow. “Ramsay Julian James Maitland, Viscount Royston, at your service.”
He was angrier than he’d been in his entire life.
Earlier, when Izzy barged into the study, a stunning vision in her cream-colored bridal gown, even as pride burst from within him that such a magnificent woman was soon to be his, he’d braced himself for the inevitable anger and hurt the imminent discovery of his identity would cause her. Over and over, he’d practiced what he might say to soothe her, and he’d been ready to face her.
Then she made her bold confession. Indeed, had it been any other man she’d made a cuckold, he might have been proud of her daring courage.
Despite her shocking declaration he’d turned away when her father struck her, for Ram’s first instinct was to rush to her aid and beat her father to a bloody pulp for daring to lay a hand on her. Even though she so richly deserved that blow.
As he’d stared into the fireplace trying to glean the truth, the realization he reached had been sobering. It was obvious Belinda misled him. Isabelle Beaumont was no sweet virgin. He’d thought back to a week ago, to the way she pleasured him with her mouth and her knowing hands. How could he have fooled himself into believing an innocent might know such tricks?
She’d duped him. And he was furious.
So now he found himself facing her, not caring a whit if she despised him for his deception. Despite those days spent with him in the cottage and by the river, she’d fucked another man when Ram had proved unwilling to oblige. If he was honest about the whole sordid situation, she’d probably known many men well before him, but he had allowed lust to blind him to the truth. He cursed his gullibility in letting Belinda talk him out of what he knew from the beginning to be truth.
“I don’t understand.” Her face was still pale, though spots of indignation burned high on her cheek. The right side of her face bore a vivid red handprint from her father’s blow and already her jaw swelled slightly, but despite that, she was stunning. He cursed himself for noticing.
“What don’t you understand, Isabelle?”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m here to marry you. Or at least that’s why I was here.”
Her eyes widened. “You are Viscount Royston?” Disbelief mingled with the first hint of indignation.
“In the flesh.” He watched as complete comprehension dawned.
“How long have you known who I am?” Her voice shook with anger. Good. He was ready for a knockdown, drag out brawl.
“Since the moment your cousin called you by your full name.”
He could almost see the wheels turning in her head, calculating how he’d kept his true identity a secret from her for over three weeks. Her eyes kindled with fury.
She flung herself out of the chair and rushed at him, pushing him hard in the chest. “How dare you?”
Grabbing both her arms, he clamped them against her sides, holding her immobile. She struggled to get free, but he maintained his hold.
“How dare I? Did you just ask me that question? How dare you comport yourself the way you’ve done these last weeks when a betrothal contract was signed and witnessed in good faith?”
“By whom, you?” she snorted. “You couldn’t be bothered to come in person for the betrothal! Who are you to judge my behavior? In what way have I conducted myself that somehow gives you that right, my lord Royston?” Unsuppressed rage glittered in her eyes.
“You’ve conducted yourself like a whore, Isabelle. Like a whore.” He released her arms and thrust her away. She stumbled back, coming to rest against the desk again. “That gives me the right!” He’d be damned if he allowed her to make him feel even a moment of guilt by her accusation of neglect. Not in light of her behavior! Nor did he value himself so highly that he believed for a moment his presence at the betrothal signing would have changed her mind about extricating herself from this marriage.
She glared at him, her face now flushed with anger, her breasts heaving from the force of her fury. Even knowing what he knew now, he couldn’t help but admire how magnificent she was in a full-blown rage.
“’Tis a good thing you discovered this about me ere we were chained together in the unholy bonds of matrimony for the rest of our lives then, isn’t it, Julian?”
He was still going to marry her.
The irony almost sent him to his knees. He wanted nothing to do with women of his mother’s ilk, yet this one had stirred his passions to unknown heights and snuck into his affections with her well-practiced portrayal of innocence and untouched sweetness. He’d begun to love her! So even now, knowing the truth, he would marry her, because she was like an unquenchable thirst, a hunger in his blood. Though it was madness to even consider it, he couldn’t bear to deprive himself just as he was so close to having her. All the hopes kindled these last wonderful, deceitful weeks died a quick, vicious death. Now, only lust would be the foundation for his marriage to a scheming witch.
The relief in her eyes as she spat her statement made it a fait accompli. She wanted to be free of this marriage, of him, and he’d be damned if he let her walk away, congratulating herself on a game well-played, free to go back to her precious Paul. Oh no. If he had to damn himself for
the rest of his life or even for all eternity, he’d make sure she was damned too.
He could never be complacent with her, as his father had been with his mother. Ram would keep a tight rein on his bride and she’d soon come to know that he alone was her master. It was the only way to gain what he wanted most.
“I think not, Isabelle.”
“What do you mean?” she snapped.
“What I mean is, you’ll take a few minutes to compose yourself and then you and I will leave this room together and find your father and tell him the good tidings. The wedding shall go forth as planned.”
“I’ll not marry you now! Are you daft?” Vehemence tinged her voice, making it shrill.
“You need to think that decision my dear. There’s a quite legal contract signed that states otherwise”.
“But everything has changed now!” Her composure slipped a notch. “Contracts are broken all the time! I don’t want to marry you.”
“Think you I care even a whit? The reasons upon which this match was conceived still exist. My father needs the political connections and royal goodwill marriage to you will bring. You’ll marry me, Isabelle, or your father will lose his precious land and all the money my father agreed to pay for you. Frankly, you should be grateful. Your father is getting the better end of this bargain.”
She gasped. “That’s blackmail!”
“It isn’t blackmail to hold you to a contract legally signed and witnessed. Besides, you’ve no other choice. If you don’t marry me, where will you go? Have you so quickly forgotten your father’s last words to you? Your family will no longer have you, Isabelle. Indeed, you’re lucky I will. Truthfully, you should be on your knees begging me to marry you!”
The words halted her and he watched with savage satisfaction as a wave of pain crossed her face.
“You’ve no other choice, Isabelle.”
“Stop calling me that! My name is Izzy!”
There was a sharp stab of pain in the general vicinity of his heart. Izzy would forever be the sweet girl on the riverbank, the innocent who’d entrusted her body to him, the woman for whom he yearned in the deepest, darkest hours of the night. Not this hissing, spitting she-cat.
Virtue and Vice Page 12