His Wicked Embrace

by Adrienne Basso

  She closed her eyes against the pain. All too soon the kiss ended. Isabella felt Damien take her hands in his own. They were warm and solid. She clung to them tightly. Slowly he led her out of the room, across the great hall, and into the sunlight.

  A fine traveling carriage stood waiting in the drive, the steps lowered and door opened. It was a warm morning despite the breeze, but Isabella barely noticed.

  Damien handed her into the carriage. She was glad of his support, for her feet faltered on the small steps. She settled on the near side and blindly thrust her arms out the open window. She felt Damien take her hands. He lifted one, then the other, to his lips.

  “Farewell, my lord,” she said.

  “Godspeed, Isabella.”

  He dropped her hands abruptly, and the carriage lurched forward. Panic clawed at Isabella’s throat as the wheels crunched down the gravel drive. Within minutes they had cleared the gates and turned onto the road.

  Lord Poole gazed broodingly across the coach at her, but held his tongue. Isabella supposed he was chafed at the delay her long farewell had caused. She sighed deeply, allowing numbness to overtake her bruised emotions. She had left The Grange at her brother’s command, because she had no other choice. But her heart would forever remain behind.

  The sound of shattering glass brought Jenkins to the library at a run. He opened the door, fearing what he might discover, but the drapes were shut tight, bathing the room in darkness. Jenkins could barely discern the earl’s tall silhouette.

  “Are you all right? I thought I heard glass breaking.”

  “I didn’t throw anything this time, Jenkins.” Damien gave a hollow laugh. “I was merely holding my goblet when it suddenly broke.”

  “That goblet was made of leaded crystal,” Jenkins grumbled. “You must have been pressing on it awfully hard for it to split like it was a ripe melon.”

  The valet lit a brace of candles, then crossed the room to assess the damage. “You’ve cut your hand,” he exclaimed. “And in more than one place.”

  “So I have,” the earl replied absently. “Strange, I didn’t even feel it.” Damien looked down with detached interest as the blood dripped steadily onto the rug. “Poor Mrs. Amberly will be distressed. I’ve gotten blood all over the Aubusson carpet. It leaves such a nasty stain. I hope she will not have too much difficulty removing it.”

  “Have you gone completely daft?” Jenkins pulled the earl’s hand toward him and examined the wounds. There were several cuts on Damien’s palm and a few slashes across the finger pads. After dousing the wounds liberally with whiskey, Jenkins wrapped the hand with a clean handkerchief. The earl remained silent through the entire procedure.

  “After all that has happened today, the one thing that troubles you is the damn rug,” Jenkins said with exasperation.

  “You are missing the point, my friend,” Damien said. He poured himself a fresh glass of whiskey. “If I concentrate long and hard on the inconsequential occurrences of today, I can ignore all the important ones. It is a technique I have subconsciously employed for years, yet I only realized that today. However, this afternoon I deliberately turn my attention toward the minute details.”

  “You are talking nonsense.”

  “I am not.” Damien sighed heavily, and twirled his whiskey glass restlessly in his uninjured hand. “I have lived most of my life chasing after the unimportant details. My marriage to Emmeline was unhappy, so I ignored her and invested all my energy and time in making The Grange a profitable estate. If I had put half as much effort into my marriage, Emmeline might still be alive.”

  “You are not to blame for her death,” Jenkins insisted, watching the earl’s expression change from indifference to regret.

  “Oh, but I am.” Damien made a small, guttural noise and bit down on his lip. “She was my wife, my responsibility. And I failed her. God only knows what she was doing in that passageway, and so it shall remain. We will never learn the truth. But if I had cared more, if I had concerned myself more with her happiness, if I had protected Emmeline properly, she would have been safe. I failed her, Jenkins. And she paid the ultimate price for my neglect.”

  “Emmeline never sought or wanted your involvement in her life,” Jenkins said. “Her friends, her social activities, pursuing her own interests—that is what occupied Emmeline’s days. She wanted little to do with you or The Grange or even her own children. She spent far more time living in her brother’s house than she did in yours, even after you were married.”

  “She was my wife, Jenkins. She was my responsibility,” the earl repeated stubbornly.

  Jenkins shook his head. “Are you going to wallow in guilt and self-pity for the rest of your life to atone for this great sin? Is that why you let Poole drag Miss Browning away? Are you punishing yourself?”

  “God, I hope not,” Damien replied honestly. He crossed the room and pulled one drape panel open. He stood looking out the window for several minutes. “I have nothing to offer her, Jenkins. I know Isabella left because she thought it would forestall Poole’s revenge on me. She is a noble and unselfish woman.”

  “She is,” Jenkins agreed.

  “I doubt Lord Rathwick would have been able to bring me to trial without a shred of evidence, but Poole certainly would have pressed him hard to prove that I murdered Emmeline. Now Poole will have to content himself with my financial ruin. I feel certain he will demand payment of the mortgages by the end of the week.”

  Jenkins looked at the earl consideringly. “Can you pay them?”

  “No.” Damien shrugged expressively. “I have some funds put aside, but it is not enough. I’ve tried, but have been unable to secure any additional loans.” The earl squared his shoulders. “We will have to start over.”

  “Miss Browning would rise to the challenge,” Jenkins said, knowing it was true.

  “It hurts a man’s pride to offer so little to the woman he loves,” Damien said quietly.

  “I’d say that depends on the woman.” Jenkins’s lips tightened. He watched the earl closely, but Damien’s expression never faltered. Gritting his teeth, the valet turned to leave. “Think hard, Damien. Don’t allow Poole to take Miss Browning from you. Then he really will succeed in having his revenge.”

  Jenkins shut the door quietly as he left, hoping his words would propel the earl into action. It was so unlike Damien to remain passive when challenged. He had always lived by the creed that no obstacle was insurmountable.

  Apparently, the shocking events of yesterday afternoon had hit the earl hard, and he wasn’t thinking clearly. Jenkins prayed he would come to his senses quickly before he lost the chance to claim the happiness he so richly deserved.

  Damien drummed his fingers on the windowsill. He pushed the heavy drapes aside, and as he watched the brilliant streaks of red and gold sunlight begin to disappear from the sky, a terrible loneliness invaded his soul. Isabella was gone. And somehow he was going to have to learn to live without her. Without her radiant smile and sparkling wit. Without her unflagging loyalty and unselfish regard. Without her willful attitude and outspoken tongue.

  Damien turned sharply from the window and began pacing restlessly about the room. How he wished he could ignore the pain gnawing in his chest—and deny the fear creeping into his heart. Had he made a dreadful mistake? Was Jenkins right? The question nagged at his brain, refusing to quit. Should he have asked Isabella to stay?

  The future stretched before him, empty and unappealing. Damien did not doubt that Isabella held a deep affection for him. He had seen and felt her pain when she bade him farewell. Did he have the right to accept her regard? Was he worthy of her love?

  He clasped his hands behind his back to keep them still. He searched his heart and his conscience and considered all he had lost. He had lost the chance to share his life with an honorable, beautiful woman. A woman he admired. A woman who made him laugh, who challenged his intellect, who fired his blood.

  A woman who was affectionate and nurturing to his children.
A woman who was as at ease with the maids as she was with the nobility. A woman who stood up to his temper and forgave his occasionally incorrigible behavior. A woman he loved.

  Lord, he was a fool! Pride be damned. And Poole be damned too! Damien’s fighting spirit emerged. He was not going to allow his one chance at true happiness to escape unchallenged. He was going to do whatever was necessary to claim the woman of his heart.

  “Jenkins! Jenkins!” Damien raced from library shouting loudly for his servant. His heart pumped with excitement as the rightness of his decision resonated through his being.

  “Send someone to the stables and have them instruct Fred to saddle my horse immediately. I need to change my clothes and I require your assistance.”

  “Planning a trip?”

  “A rescue.” The earl grinned at his valet, then took the stairs to his dressing room two at a time. “Hurry, Jenkins,” he called over his shoulder. “The coming darkness will hamper my pursuit, and they have already been on the road for most of the day.”

  A rueful smile tugged at Damien’s lips as he envisioned his quest. He was going to ride hell for leather to find Isabella and Poole. He was going to bare his heart, nay his very soul, to the woman he loved.

  His smiled dimmed slightly. All he could do now was pray that she would have him.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The promise of sunshine quickly faded, and the weather turned gray and dreary. By late morning a light drizzle was falling, growing steadily heavier as the day wore on.

  The weather mirrored Isabella’s mood, for she soon discovered she had neither the strength nor the heart for conversation. She could feel Lord Poole’s eyes upon her, but she chose to ignore him. Yet he continued looking at her with a faintly glowering expression on his face.

  Hoping to avoid him entirely, Isabella leaned her head back against the velvet squabs and closed her eyes, listlessly waiting for the residual pain in her chest to ease. It did not.

  “We should be arriving at a comfortable posting inn shortly,” Lord Poole said in a brusque tone. “I shall send one of my servants ahead to ensure we have a proper selection of food prepared for our midafternoon meal.”

  “Please don’t go to any special trouble on my account, Thomas,” Isabella replied. The swaying of the carriage was making Isabella queasy, and the mention of food merely increased her distress. “The last thing I wish to do is eat.”

  Lord Poole edged to the end of his seat and leaned closer. “You are very pale, Isabella. I must insist that you eat a substantial lunch.”

  “I cannot.”

  “But I insist.”

  “Thomas, please.”

  “Forgive me for my concern over your lack of appetite, Isabella,” he said with a haughty air of aristocratic arrogance she instantly disliked. “But you must understand my feelings in this matter. You are my responsibility now; therefore I must see to your welfare.”

  “I have managed very well for the past twenty-odd years without having someone looking after me,” Isabella snapped. “Let me assure you, the very last thing I require is a nursemaid.”

  Lord Poole gave her a hard look. Isabella’s angry words seemed to shimmer in the air between them. She locked her hands together in her lap and stared down at them.

  “My only thought is your happiness and well-being,” he insisted in a stilted tone.

  Her head shot up at that statement, but the fight soon left her. What was the point? Quarreling with Thomas would only make this difficult journey even harder.

  “I am sorry,” Isabella said, struggling to remove all traces of anger from her voice. “I’m an independent woman and unused to this sort of ... of consideration. Above all, I do not wish to become a burden to you, Thomas.”

  “You are my joy, dear sister,” he replied softly. Lord Poole sighed and shifted his legs. “However, since you prefer not to have lunch today, we shall continue on our journey and stop when darkness falls.”

  Relieved as she was that he had dropped the matter so quickly, Isabella still felt a lingering unease. It seemed impossible that Thomas felt as casual as he was acting. His mouth curved up in a smile and the creases around his eyes softened, but the eyes themselves seemed to sharpen. Isabella shuddered. It reminded her of a cat when he’s spotted a mole in the lawn.

  She rubbed her fingertips against her temples. Nothing had seemed real since the moment she left The Grange, and now Thomas’s possessive attitude was almost more than she could bear. The silence and tension within the carriage grew.

  “Goodness, look at the rain,” Isabella commented, trying to sound genuinely interested in the weather. Any sort of banal conversation was preferable to the uncomfortable silence. “If it continues to come down this heavily, we will most certainly get bogged down in the mud.”

  “The condition of some of these roads is deplorable,” Lord Poole agreed. “But you mustn’t worry about a thing, my dear. I will make certain that you come to no harm.”

  Isabella smiled stiffly and turned her face to the rain-soaked carriage window. She was simply too tired and too emotional to cope with these unexplained, uneasy feelings Thomas inspired.

  It was still all so new, so strange, accepting the fact that she had a brother who felt it was his duty to take care of her. It was going to take time to make the necessary adjustments. Eventually it would get easier. Wouldn’t it?

  Isabella glanced out the carriage window with fleeting interest as the coach pulled into the courtyard of a modest inn.

  “I apologize for the humble accommodations,” Lord Poole said when the carriage stopped. “The inn is small and unfashionable, hardly up to my usual standards, but I will not risk your safety by traveling these roads in complete darkness. I was forced to frequent this establishment on a prior occasion, and I can assure you that although the food and service are rustic, the rooms are clean and the linen free of vermin.”

  “It is fine,” Isabella replied wearily. Bedbugs were the last thing she was concerned about. The heart-wrenching grief she had first felt upon leaving The Grange had settled into a quiet lethargy. What she craved most was solitude.

  Lord Poole climbed down from the carriage first and waited while the coachman assisted Isabella. They stood together in silence on the uneven cobbles for several minutes, stretching their cramped legs. Lord Poole extended his arm, and after a slight hesitation Isabella took hold of it. She bit her lip when his other hand clamped possessively over her fingers, but said nothing.

  Shoulders held firmly back, chin high, Isabella entered the taproom. One lone customer was slouched in his chair with a brimming glass of ale set before him. A tired-looking barmaid was scrubbing off a table. The innkeeper rushed forward to offer assistance. Isabella could almost feel the man’s nervous anticipation as Lord Poole cast a critical eye about the room.

  “We need two rooms for the night,” Lord Poole said. “And a private dining parlor. I trust you can accommodate us?”

  “Yes, your lordship,” the innkeeper replied with a low bow. “We always keep our best chambers ready for our finest guests.”

  Lord Poole waved a dismissive hand at the innkeeper and turned his full attention to Isabella.

  “You must go to your room and refresh yourself before dinner, Isabella,” Lord Poole commanded. “I regret that our haste to leave this morning has caused you the lack of a personal maid. I would have tried to secure the temporary services of one of the wenches from The Grange if I had believed them capable of performing the job adequately.”

  “As I have told you before, I am used to fending for myself,” Isabella replied. It seemed a waste of breath to point out that all of The Grange’s maids were married women and therefore unable to make such a journey even if asked.

  The burly innkeeper insisted on escorting Isabella to her chamber personally, and she wearily followed him up the narrow, winding staircase. He led her to a corner room on the third floor. The room was of modest proportions, with a large window that overlooked the front of the i
nn. There was an ancient-looking chair to one side of the fireplace, and the coverlet on the bed was shabby, though it appeared clean.

  Isabella sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress the moment the landlord left, struggling to hold the desperate sense of loss she felt at bay. It would serve no useful purpose to indulge in these lonely and morose feelings. Life at The Grange was now a part of her past. She must resign herself to that and turn her attention to the future.

  Oh, Damien. A wave of longing rushed over Isabella. She flopped back on the bed and brushed back the tears that sprang to her eyes. How foolish to succumb to tears. One lesson Isabella had dutifully learned was that when there was no hope of achieving your heart’s desire, it was madness to long for it.

  But her stubborn heart refused to cooperate this time. The desperate longing did not ease—nay, it had increased. The love she felt for Damien, the need she possessed to be near him, physically and emotionally, were not easily denied. Being separated from Damien made everything else in the world look bleak and bare.

  Isabella lifted her eyes to the ceiling. The tears slipped freely down her temples and wet her hair. Crying would accomplish nothing, she knew, but it made her feel less helpless to acknowledge the depth of her grief and loss.

  When her tears had subsided, Isabella rose from the bed. She picked up the lit candle from the table near the bed and brought it to the washstand. She poured fresh water into the pitcher, then bathed her swollen eyes with the wet cloth.

  Returning to the bed, Isabella lay back down and fell into a light sleep. Soft knocking on her chamber door woke her an hour later. A chambermaid had been sent to fetch her for dinner. Politely declining the maid’s shy offer of help, Isabella left to join her brother, her emotions still in a tangle.

  Lord Poole smiled brightly when Isabella entered the parlor and inclined his head in a brief greeting. “I took the liberty of ordering dinner for us, Bella. I knew, since you ate no lunch, you would be hungry. I hope I have selected items that will tempt you.”