Lady Isabel's Journey

Lady Isabel’s Journey By Kristin York

Lady Isabel’s Journey By Kristin York

A Newsite Web Services Book Published by arrangement with the author

All rights reserved. Copyright 2006 © by Kristin York This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission of the author or Newsite Web Services, LLC Published by Newsite Web Services, LLC P.O. Box 1286, Loganville, Georgia 30052 USA [email protected] disciplineanddesire.com

Chapter One "Isabel, for heaven’s sake! Sit up!" Lady Isabel Baxter shifted uncomfortably in her seat, forcing herself into an upright position. Schooling her features to a neutral expression, she smoothed the skirts of her brown wool traveling suit and drew back the curtain to take in the scenery. Dull gray skies shed great droplets of rain-tears that in turn melted the late autumn snow. The entire world seemed to be weeping today, and Isabel wanted nothing more than to weep with it. She would not, however, give in to the tears now — not in front of Aunt Millicent. "Close that curtain," Aunt Millicent, dowager sister to Isabel’s father, snapped. "You’ll give yourself a headache watching out the window. What could you possibly be thinking, girl?" Isabel sighed and let the heavy burgundy fabric fall back into place. "I don’t know, Aunt," she murmured. Laying her head back against the seat, she pondered the question that had nothing to do with windows and scenery, and everything to do with this trip and the sudden turn her life had taken. What had she been thinking? Only, she supposed, that William Glenwell was the most handsome, sensitive man she’d ever known. He possessed the soul of the poet - a soul she had seen and come to understand. And although certain members of the ton had labeled him a rakehell, only she had glimpsed what he kept hidden beneath that devil-may-care attitude. William was not the man her father believed him to be, of that Isabel was certain. If only Papa had been willing to listen to her last night, perhaps she could have convinced him of that fact. But Archibald Baxter, Earl of Brookwood, had been far too angry to pay much heed to his daughter’s notions of love and her insistence that he simply did not comprehend the ways of the

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heart. Of course, being the fair man that he was, he had given her a chance to explain exactly how she’d come to be alone in the Montgomery’s library with the one man in all of London he had forbidden her to see. But ultimately, all the rationalizations in the world had not been able to explain away what Papa saw as an act of direct defiance and he’d dealt with his daughter’s disobedience in the same manner that he’d dealt with such willfulness all her life. The leather strap had been withdrawn from his desk drawer, and Isabel had presented herself for proper chastisement. After the strap had fallen on her exposed bum enough times to leave her crying and repentant, Papa had settled her on the settee. Isabel had sobbed out her apologies, knowing that she truly had been wrong to leave the crowded ballroom with William. As her father had so aptly pointed out, a young woman’s reputation could easily be ruined by such a careless act. Although Isabel herself cared little for society’s many conventions, she did not wish to cause her dear father any embarrassment. "I am sorry, Papa," she’d said when, after a time, she had recovered her composure and ability to speak calmly. "I cannot agree with your impression of William’s character, but I will not behave in such a manner again. I promise." "No, you shan’t behave like that again, my dear," Papa had said with a measure of resignation, "for you’ll not have the opportunity. Isabel, you’re going home." "Home? But that’s not fair! You’ve punished me for sneaking away from Aunt Millicent tonight. Why must you send me home?" There had been regret in her father’s eyes, but his resolve held firm. "I’m sorry my dear, but I’ve been called to Edinburgh on business. And since you seem to have little care for your aunt’s guidance, I do not feel comfortable leaving you here in the city with only Millicent to look after you." Drawing a deep breath, Lord Baxter had kissed his daughter’s

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forehead before continuing. "At least with you home at Brookwood, I’ll not spend the next two weeks worrying over what trouble you’ve managed to get yourself into." "So you’ll be gone for two weeks then, Papa?" Isabel had looked up at her father, hopeful. "Does that mean we can return to London before Christmastide? Oh, I would so like to spend the holidays in the city this year, for there are ever so many parties to attend. Lucille Merriman has told me all about her father’s annual New Year’s Eve ball. It’s a masque, Papa, and we’ve already chosen our costumes! Oh, please, might we come back to London before then? I promise I’ll be quite obedient and not give Aunt Millicent a moment’s worry the entire time we’re home, if only you’ll say yes." Isabel had presented her case so prettily, her eyes shone with such excitement, that her father had at last promised to try to keep his trip short so that he would be able to accompany Isabel back to London before the celebration of the Christ Child was upon them. "But mind my words, Isabel," he’d warned, "I’ll be expecting nothing but glowing reports from your aunt upon my return. Anything less, and you can expect a dull winter at Brookwood for your troubles. Do I make myself clear?" Isabel threw her arms about her father’s neck then, hugging him until he could barely draw breath. "Oh yes, Sir! I promise you’ll not be disappointed in me this time." "Very well, then. Now, upstairs with you, love. I’m sure you’ll need to pack at least one trunk, and then get some sleep. You’ve a long journey ahead of you tomorrow." Papa had been right about the long journey, Isabel thought as she once again shifted on the lumpy seat cushion. A day spent bumping along rutted country roads had dampened her spirits considerably. Ah, well. At least they were nearly at Brookwood — just an hour more and they’d be turning up the wide drive. Isabel planned on

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requesting a warm bath to soak in the very first thing. Not five minutes after that thought had drifted through her mind, the coach came to a sudden, lurching halt. Isabel and Millicent heard the driver give an irritated shout. "Get that fool cart out of the middle of the road. Can’t ye see we’ve someplace to be, man?" Curious as to the cause of the driver’s harsh words, Isabel pulled back the curtain. From her angle, she could see dozens of chickens flapping about at the side of the road. "I wonder what — " Isabel murmured as she reached for the door handle. "Isabel, don’t you dare step foot outside this coach," Aunt Millicent hissed. The warning was a fraction of a second too late. Isabel, eyes on the melee before her, stepped down from the coach - and directly into a mixture of melting snow and oozing mud. She muttered a decidedly unladylike epitaph as her delicate calfskin boot was sucked down into the mess. In the next instant she was pulled off balance and went tumbling, head over heels, into the middle of at least a dozen pecking, scratching hens. Momentarily stunned, Isabel lay on the cold, mushy ground, barnyard fowl strutting and flapping all about her. A particularly curious chicken came to stand near the young woman’s head and when it suddenly pecked at her hair, Isabel pushed herself upright. Waving a hand at the bird, she cried "Shoo! Go away, you silly thing!" "You know," a deep voice sounded from behind her, "it’s you who have invaded their territory, Milady." Isabel twisted around to determine the whereabouts of the speaker, and found herself looking up into a pair of blue-gray eyes. The amusement that sparkled there was disconcerting, and so the Lady Isabel Baxter summoned her haughtiest attitude and, holding out a gloved hand,

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replied in a frosty tone, "My good man, do you intend to stand there gawking all day or will you spare a lady a hand up?" The stranger took Isabel’s hand and pulled her from the midst of the squawking, complaining chickens. "Pardon me, Milady," he said, in a voice that only served to further irritate the young woman. By the gods, he was laughing at her. Eyes narrowing, she took in the man’s disheveled appearance. He was a farmer, of course, for his attire was plain and bore the grime of a hard day’s work. Beyond him, in the middle of the road, another man was working frantically to repair the rear axle of a wagon from which the chickens had obviously escaped. Martins, dressed in Brookwood red and gold livery, was bent to the task of helping the older man and had obviously missed her tumble altogether. A glance toward the carriage, however, told Isabel that Aunt Millicent had not missed a thing. She was, in fact, peering out of the window with an expression so sour that a pound of butter would have turned rancid under her glare. Wonderful. As if this day had not been bad enough already, now she would have to listen to another of her aunt’s lectures on propriety as well. With a sigh of resignation, she pulled her elbow free of the man’s grasp. "My thanks to you, Sir," she said with a slight incline of her head. Her hat, which had seemed such a darling confection of ribbons and lace just that morning, slid forward to completely cover one eye and Isabel shoved it back into place with an impatient gesture. "Since it’s clear that our driver is attending to your broken wagon, I’ll just return to the carriage now. I trust we’ll be on our way momentarily." The young woman did not get far, however, for as soon as she put weight on her right ankle, a dreadful pain shot up her leg. "Oh," she cried and

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would have fallen had it not been for the arm that circled her waist to steady her. "Here now," he said, the amusement gone from his voice. "Are you all right? Where does it hurt?" "It’s - it’s my ankle," she murmured. Biting her lip and willing away the tears that threatened, she reached out a hand and took hold of one muscular arm. "If I can just lean upon you, sir, I’m sure I can make it to —" "Nonsense," he replied. Then, in one shockingly bold move, the stranger swept her up into his arms. "My goodness," she squeaked. "Really, sir. There’s no need for such a measure. I assure you, I’ll be fine." Her protests, however, were thoroughly ignored by the man, who carried her as easily as he might a small child. In only a few long strides, they had reached the carriage. The door was opened by a wide-eyed Aunt Millicent, who was instantly out-clucking the scattered fowl. "Isabel, what on earth have you done now? I told you that you ought not get out of the carriage." "Yes, Aunt. And you were entirely right," Isabel sighed. "Not only have I ruined my suit, but I seem to have twisted my ankle in the process." Turning her attention back to the man who’d borne her to her coach, Isabel waved a hand toward the seat opposite her aunt. "You may put me down there, sir," she directed in a tone that was clearly meant to dismiss him from any further duty. Though he was obviously of the working class, something about the man’s manner left Isabel feeling uneasy. She would certainly be relieved to quit his company. The nod of his head was a model of civility as the tall, muscular farmer settled his charge onto the cushion. Something akin to mischief sparkled in his eyes, however, when he responded to her command with a subservient, "And will there be anything else, Milady?" There it was again - the sense that he was laughing at her. Piqued, she did little to veil her own

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distaste of the man. "As a matter of fact," she replied haughtily, "there is one more thing, sir." She paused for a moment, her eyes flashing. "Do be so good as to close the door." "Yes, madam," the man said and, sweeping her a courteous bow, did as he was bade. "Isabel," Aunt Millicent hissed angrily. "What has gotten into you? Such rude behavior was completely uncalled for. The man did nothing but come to your aid." Clenching her hands in her lap and ignoring the deep-throated chuckle from just outside the carriage door, Isabel resigned herself to endure another of her aunt’s lectures. It was going to be a long ride home.

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Chapter Two Lady Isabel spurred her favorite stallion, Purgatory, to the crest of a large hill, drinking in the sights and sounds of late autumn at Brookwood. Of all her father’s properties, the young woman loved this country estate best, for it was here she had spent a good portion of her youth. Leaves of yellow, red, orange, and gold blanketed the ground, as if Mother Nature had drawn a warm quilt over her once-green earth in preparation for a long winter’s sleep. The great stallion’s hooves beat a sharp staccato across the ground as the bracing air pulled his mistress’s chestnut hair from the pins that held it back from her face. My, but it was good to be out of the house. The twisted ankle had kept her abed for three days, and Aunt Millicent had only allowed her short walks in the garden for the remainder of their first week home. The enforced confinement had nearly driven her mad. Not normally given to a quiet indoor life, this week had been doubly frustrating because she’d been unable to post a letter to William. Of course, she could have given it to one of the maids, but there was always the chance that Mary or Janet might let it slip to her Aunt — and that would have been disastrous. Father had not allowed her to say so much as a simple good-bye to the Glenwell heir and she felt sure he would not approve of a correspondence. Consequently, Isabel had decided to keep her letter to William hidden until today, when she’d finally managed to get away by herself. But at long last, the correspondence was safely on its way to London. She could only hope that William would not be too put out with her for leaving without notice. Reining in her horse, Isabel slid gracefully from the sidesaddle and looped the reins around a lowhanging branch of the oak tree that stood as sentry

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atop the rise. The vista provided a breath-taking view of her father’s land, as well as the adjacent property belonging to the Earl of Graystone. To her right, the land sloped gently into sprawling fields cut diagonally by a glistening stream. Brookwood stood beyond the ribbon of water, as old and dignified as it was sturdily built. Isabel sighed. She could not deny that she had missed the country manor, even though she’d been sent home in disgrace. Still, she felt sure she would soon be back in London, and would convince her father that William Glenwell was an honorable man. Resting her head against the oak’s broad trunk, the young woman closed her eyes and imagined the look on her beau’s face when she, at long last, was able to show him this sight. With his poetic nature, she was certain he would love it every bit as much as she did. The sudden echo of a rifle report rudely jerked Isabel from her daydreams. Alarmed, she scanned the surrounding valleys for any sounds of life. She saw no one, but a second shot allowed her to determine the origin of the gunfire. Turning to her left, she gazed down towards the woods that separated Brookwood property from the larger Graystone grounds. "Poachers," she breathed angrily. "And the locals know better, though I suppose they’ve not cared much since there’s been no one about to enforce the rules." Coming to her feet, she soothed Purgatory’s rattled nerves before stepping into the stirrups and taking her place on the great horse’s back. Her father had long looked after Graystone property, as the old Earl was ill and rarely made the trip from London these days. "Perhaps," thought Isabel, "I should ride back to our stables and send a few of the grooms out to look into the matter." But, even at a gallop, it would be a long ride home and the young woman felt sure the poachers would be gone before the grooms could return. A third report echoed through the

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valley, and her green eyes narrowed angrily. "No, if they’re to be stopped, it is up to me." With that decided, Isabel spurred her mount to action and galloped headlong toward the dense Graystone forest. "Damn," Sebastian Merrill swore under his breath. His shot had gone wide, sending the buck leaping from the glen. It would have escaped unhurt, had his brother’s bullet not brought it down. "By jove," the more successful of the two hunters remarked as they made their way to the fallen animal. "It’s not like you to miss a shot. Is something amiss, brother?" Sebastian’s slate-blue eyes sparked goodnaturedly. "What makes you think I didn’t miss that shot intentionally, Jeremy? Perhaps I’m simply feeling generous today. It is, after all, your birthday." "Oh please," Jeremy replied with a disbelieving shake of his head. "You haven’t been that generous a day in your life." "There’s always a first time." "And I’ll know it when I see it. Blast," the younger man muttered as the buck, now just a few yards away, began to struggle to its feet. Bringing his rifle to his shoulder, he quickly put the animal out of its misery. "So, is it business or pleasure?" "Pardon?" "Whatever’s troubling you, big brother — is it business or pleasure?" Sebastian crouched down beside his brother’s kill; his eyes alight with the humor of a memory. "I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Jeremy." "It must be pleasure then. I’ve certainly never understood your taste in women." "Which explains why I so rarely confide in you, little brother." "Touché." Jeremy grinned, continuing on as he easily worked over the deer. "Mother’s on the warpath again — asked me just the other week what on earth you were doing here at Graystone

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this time of year. It is, after all, prime wife-hunting season in London." "And what did you tell her?" Sebastian asked. "Same thing as I always tell her. That I’ve no bloody idea why you do anything you do." Sebastian laughed with his brother, but quickly grew serious. "So, that’s why the sudden urge to visit your older brother, Jeremy? Mother sent you here to check up on me?" Jeremy had the good grace to look a bit sheepish, but he shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling. "It was either that or spend the next three months listening to her lectures on propriety and duty to the family. What would you have chosen?" "I suppose the same as you. But you’ve been here a week already. You’d best be heading back or it’ll be your head on the chopping block." "Oh, I’m not going back —" Jeremy began, only to be interrupted mid-sentence by the sound of a horse and rider crashing through the underbrush. Seconds later a massive roan stallion was brought to an angry, stamping halt mere yards from where the deer had fallen. "You there," the rider — the female rider — demanded. "What do you mean by hunting on private property?"

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Chapter Three Having ridden hard into the forest in search of the poachers, Isabel was quite the sight when she crashed through the underbrush to confront them. Drawing herself up to her full height of 5’5", the young woman’s voice rang out clearly. "You there," she demanded, "What do you mean by hunting on private property?" A well-dressed man stood up, smiling. She guessed him to be in his early to mid-twenties and was surprised to find he showed no concern over her presence or question. Relaxing slightly, she favored him with a cautious smile. "Sir, perhaps you are unaware, but the owner of this property does not permit hunting." "Doesn’t he, now?" The second man said as he came to his feet. Isabel barely had time to shift uncomfortably in her saddle before she found herself staring into a familiar pair of gray-blue eyes. "You," she breathed. "Me." His smile was one of quiet challenge. "Here now," Jeremy said, glancing from his brother to the lovely woman on horseback. "Do you two know one another?" Isabel forced a note of authority into her voice as she returned her attention to the sandy-haired young man. For some reason, she felt much safer conversing with him, for the penetrating gaze of the other unnerved her. "Sir, your companion and I had a chance meeting when his wagon full of chickens tipped over and blocked the road." She noticed the questioning glance the younger man directed to his older companion, but chose to ignore it. "But it is of little consequence to the situation before us, now. As I’ve already said, there is no hunting permitted here." "Is this your property then?" Sebastian asked. Isabel was taken aback by both the question and the challenging manner in which it was voiced. "No," she replied. "This forest is part of Graystone

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property. I am Lady Isabel Baxter and my father, the Earl of Brookwood, watches over this property for our neighbor, Lord Merrill." Jeremy felt the tension between his brother and Isabel, and attempted to diffuse the situation. Doffing his hat, he bowed deeply. "Lady Baxter," he said jovially, "My brother and I owe you our thanks for your active interest in this land." "Whatever do you mean?" Isabel asked. "Why, only that there is no problem," Jeremy continued, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "for my brother is the Earl of Graystone." Isabel’s gaze flew to the supposed earl. Certainly, his dress was of a finer class today; from the cut of his jacket to the fine breeches clinging to well-muscled thighs to the tips of highly polished black boots, he did look the part of a gentleman. Still, she had met the Graystone Earl some years ago, and Edmund Merrill had been a man well along in life even then. Isabel’s eyes narrowed and she gripped Purgatory’s reins tighter. "Sir, I have met the earl, and you are most definitely not him." Sebastian’s eyes narrowed at the retort. "And just what, pray tell, do you base your opinion on, Milady?" "Why, it’s obvious, sir. The earl, at our last meeting, was a man already well advanced in years. And while you could hardly qualify as young, you’re certainly not in your dotage just yet." "How nice of you to notice," Sebastian’s tone was cool, one raised eyebrow the only sign of emotion he allowed himself. "Coo!" Jeremy exclaimed good-naturedly. "Lady Isabel, before you go any further in annoying my esteemed brother, I feel it necessary to inform you that our father, the former Earl, passed away rather unexpectedly just a few months ago." "Oh," Isabel’s haughty expression became one of deep chagrin and she slid immediately to the ground. Coming forward to take Jeremy’s hands,

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she continued, "Oh my, I am so very sorry for you both. I — I’m afraid I have behaved rather badly. My only defense is my ignorance of your resent loss." She cast a furtive glance at the black-haired Sebastian who towered behind his brother. "Please say you’ll forgive me. I really was just trying to be a good neighbor." Jeremy smiled and kissed the back of her gloved hand. "Of course, Milady. And I'm not surprised you had not heard of our Father's death. He and Mother were on their way to Italy at the time, and she's just returned to London this week." Sebastian, however, was less than charmed. Stepping forward, he glowered down at Isabel. "Madam, where is your groom?" "My — my groom?" she repeated, flustered. "Why, I have no need of a groom, Sir. I’m a capable rider, I assure you." "Do you mean to tell me that you rode into this forest — far from your own property and any help that might have been found there — to confront two men you suspected were engaged in illegal activity?" Isabel, piqued at his tone, was quick to answer. "Well, it’s not as if I knew there would be two of you." "Quite right, Madam. There could have been half a dozen armed men in these woods, and you rode in here — unaccompanied — just the same. Of all the hare-brained, foolish —" "Come, brother," Jeremy cut in hurriedly. "Since you’re in such a generous mood on this, my birthday, I’m counting on your help in dressing this buck." "I’m afraid you’ll have to do it yourself," Sebastian ground out, his eyes never leaving the young woman’s face. "I cannot possibly allow the Lady to return to her home unescorted. In fact, I believe I’d rather enjoy having a conversation with Miss Baxter’s father."

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Isabel’s cheeks were, by now, aglow with her discomfiture. She managed a smile none-the-less and informed the towering hulk of an Earl smoothly, "I’m afraid that will be quite impossible, My Lord, for my father is out of the country on business." "I will escort you home, regardless," Merrill said, slate blue eyes now gray with controlled anger. Leave it to a woman to put herself in danger and never give it a second thought. A shrill whistle brought a powerful black stallion to his master’s side, and Sebastian lifted Isabel into her saddle before vaulting atop his mount. "I will see you back at the house," he said to Jeremy as, grasping her reins in his fist, he led his newly met neighbor out of the forest.

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Chapter Four Isabel sat primly in the saddle, fuming over Lord Merrill’s arrogant ways. They’d wound their way out of the forest and were now on the main road, and still he kept a firm grip on Purgatory’s reins. By the gods, what a pompous, overbearing man the new Earl of Graystone was turning out to be; and oh, how she despised him. First, he had witnessed her humiliating fall from the carriage into a muddy, chicken-filled road. And though he’d helped her to her feet and carried her back to her conveyance, he’d made no great effort to disguise his amusement over her loss of dignity. He had, however, willingly disguised his identity — a fact that she would neither forget nor forgive — as she firmly believed he’d taken great pleasure in embarrassing her back there in the forest. And to top it all off, he’d had the nerve to call her "foolish" and "hare-brained" simply because she’d attempted to protect his property from poachers. Of all the nerve! Why, if she weren’t determined to dissuade him from informing her father of her rash actions, she’d give him such a tongue-lashing as he’d never known. So engrossing were the thoughts parading through Isabel’s head that she failed to notice the approach of the local vicar until he was nearly upon them. One moment she was muttering unladylike curses under her breath, and the next she was attempting to make polite conversation with the clergyman as three horses anxiously pawed the ground. "Well now," Abraham Thomas had a way of drawing out each word so that it seemed even a passing conversation with him took an eternity to complete. "What a surprise it is to find the two of you out for a ride this afternoon. I had no idea, Lord Merrill, that you had made Lady Isabel’s acquaintance. Though, seeing as she’s of a

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marriageable age, I suppose ‘tis only natural that the two of you should be seeing one another." Isabel’s eyes grew round at the implication that she and the Earl were somehow romantically entangled. Blast that vicar, he was the biggest gossip in the county and if he had his way, her name would be linked with Merrill’s in every house from here to Kent by sundown. She was just about to set him to rights when Merrill spoke up. "And how are you this fine afternoon, Sir?" "How are you this afternoon? Is that all he’s going to say?" Isabel asked herself, now truly raging. "Merrill’s going to let Vicar Thomas think that he’s courting me!" She would have set the record straight herself, but Isabel found — much to her chagrin — that the conversation proceeded quite nicely without her. And the one time she did attempt to intrude, Sebastian threw her such a quelling look that any comment she might have made died in her throat. To make matters worse, Abraham Thomas’s keen eyes did not fail to notice Merrill’s grasp on Isabel’s reins. His parting comment had something to do with it being "good to see Lady Baxter following a man’s lead for once." Before Isabel could voice her opinion on that subject, the man was gone. Chuckling, Merrill set both horses back to trotting again. In moments, such anger had bubbled up inside the lady that she’d forgotten all about the Earl’s threat to inform her father of today’s incident. This situation was completely intolerable, and she could keep silent no longer. "Sir," she hissed, once the man of God was safely out of earshot, "I will thank you to return control of my horse to me. I assure you, I am quite capable of returning home without your assistance. Sebastian did not turn, but simply answered, "No."

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Isabel drew in a sharp breath, stunned by the flat refusal. "No? What do you mean, no? Why, you have absolutely no authority over me." "You think not?" It was a taunt meant to rile her, and well it did, for Isabel Baxter despised nothing so much as powerlessness. Without thought to the possible consequences, she took a firm grasp on the saddle horn and dug her heels into her horse’s flank. The reins were torn from Merrill’s fist as Purgatory took off at a full gallop. The moment she dug her heels into the horse’s side, she realized she’d made a grave error. She’d never been one to employ spur or crop, and the great animal upon which she rode was of a skittish temperament. When his mistress kicked him into action, Purgatory bolted forward, galloping into the field as if pursued by the hounds of hell. And Isabel, whose only goal had been to get away from Sebastian Merrill, found herself holding on for dear life. Merrill was momentarily shocked as the leather tore through his fist. It was the sight of Isabel, holding onto the saddle horn with one hand as she attempted to retrieve the dangling reins with the other, that prodded him into action. By the gods, the fool woman would surely be killed! In the minutes it took to catch up to her, his heart was in his throat a half a dozen times. Isabel’s mount veered this way and that, racing beneath low-hanging branches and vaulting over at least one fallen tree. The fact that she remained in the saddle at all was miraculous, and Sebastian would have admired her for her horsemanship, had he not been terrified at the thought of the Lady Baxter tumbling from the saddle to break her neck. By the time he drew up beside her and snatched Isabel from her horse’s back, he was seething with a barely controlled fury. His arm was an immovable force about her waist and he wasted no time in bringing his horse to a standstill. Vaulting from the saddle,

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he took two angry strides away from the spot before he returned to lift Isabel down. Dragging her to the edge of the stream, Sebastian plopped Isabel down onto a large rock. "Stay here," he spat out, eyes glittering dangerously. "I am going to see if I can locate your horse, so that it doesn’t show up at the stables without you. But I swear Lady Baxter, if you move from this spot, I will give you such a thrashing as you’ve never dreamt possible. Do you understand me?" Isabel, more shaken that she was willing to let on, nodded mutely. She did not allow herself to cry until he had ridden out of sight.

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Chapter Five "I swear Lady Baxter, if you move from this spot, I will give you such a thrashing as you’ve never dreamt possible." Sebastian’s words echoed in Isabel’s mind long after he had ridden off in search of her mount, though in truth it was not the threat that kept her seated on the rock. Rather, she was far too shaken by what had just transpired to even contemplate walking home. For his part, Sebastian had not left the lady in hopes of locating her horse so much as with the goal of outriding his anger. Once he reached the crest of a gentle rise, a perfunctory glance across the horizon confirmed his initial concern. The roan stallion was nowhere to be found. "Most likely back in his own stall by now," Merrill muttered. Turning his steed back toward the trickling stream, he slowed the great animal’s pace in order to give himself some time to think. What was it about Isabel Baxter that could engender such strong emotion in him? Certainly, he could hardly claim any specific feelings for her. They’d met but twice and she’d been less than cordial both times. Still, there was something about her, some indefinable quality that fascinated him. She was beautiful, of course, if in a less than fashionable sense. For while most women of the ton favored elaborate hairstyles and used cosmetics to provide the illusion of a flawless complexion, Isabel utilized neither. Her hair had been worn in a simple upsweep the first time he’d encountered her, and today the thick, chestnut tresses flowed loosely down her back. She wore no rouge or powder — at least none that he could detect — and clearly, she needed none. Her complexion was smooth, honeyed cream and a natural blush imbued high cheekbones with the pink of a new-formed rose. Thick lashes fringed jade-green eyes and her lips, fuller than the current fashions dictated, invited a man to taste of

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secret delights. He could not help but wonder how many gentlemen of his circle had done just that. The thought gave him a pang of jealousy and led to Sebastian’s next realization. It was not just Miss Baxter’s natural beauty, which stunned him, but the very fact that she had not set out to attract his attention. Both of their encounters had been the result of chance; and at both meetings, she’d treated him as she might any common farmer or hired hand in the county. And even after she’d realized his true identity, she’d hardly gone to pains to rectify her earlier mistakes. If anything, she’d become more insolent. Clearly, Isabel Baxter was not one of the simpering ladies of the ton, whose only concern was that of snagging a husband. And that, Sebastian realized suddenly, was what set her apart. For years, he’d had ambitious young women tripping all over themselves to impress him simply because he was the future Earl of Graystone. Now that the title was actually his, it was only bound to worsen. In fact, he’d been avoiding London for just that reason. The last thing he wanted was to be hounded as the most eligible bachelor of the season. Thoughts of his own unmarried state, however, dissipated as Sebastian neared the spot where he had left Isabel. The particular rock on which he’d seated her was well hidden by several large oaks and a variety of other trees, and he was yet unable to determine if she’d obeyed his command to stay put. But by the gods, she better have! She was certainly in enough trouble as it was, having put herself in mortal danger — not once, but twice today. She was a stubborn, dangerous little fool who’d risked her life as if it meant nothing. No woman had ever infuriated Sebastian half so much as Isabel Baxter. And not one of the women he’d met in the last few years had seemed half so intriguing. Now, what was he going to do with her? The answer would have been quite simple, had she been his sister, wife, or even his betrothed. In

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any of those cases, he would have felt no qualms about taking her over his knee and meting out swift retribution in the form of a thorough spanking. But Isabel Baxter was right about one thing. He had little authority over her, save the fact that she’d been found on his property and he felt responsible for the rash actions she’d taken in the past hour. Still, he had threatened her with physical correction, and Merrill prided himself on never having backed away from a challenge. If she had moved, he would certainly warm her backside despite society’s notions of propriety. But as he rode under the heavy arbor of trees, he found Isabel still seated exactly where he’d left her and was quite unsure if he was relieved or a bit disappointed. Now what? ___________________________ Isabel could hardly bear the intensity of Lord Merrill’s gaze when he returned to the glade. What would she say to him? What would he do? Mother of god, had he meant that threat? She had not moved but would he thrash her anyway? Certainly, she was no stranger to that sort of punishment. The threat of a strapping was not something she ever took lightly, but it was one thing to be disciplined by her father and another thing entirely to face the prospect of such chastisement as dealt by a virtual stranger. Lord, surely he would not do it! He just couldn’t. "Milady, look at me." His voice was firm, but devoid of the anger that she’d heard before. "I would speak with you." Isabel forced her eyes to his with great reluctance. He was but a few steps away, one booted foot propped up on a log. With one forearm resting lightly on his raised thigh, he appeared relaxed, calm. If only his eyes weren’t so gray, so stormy, she would have been tempted to believe him no longer angry. Only his gaze warned her to proceed with caution. "Yes, milord?"

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Sebastian had thought himself past his initial anger, but looking into eyes that could well have been closed in death had rekindled the turbulent emotions. He was still uncertain that a scolding was enough to show her the error of her ways, but he had decided that to do more would be inappropriate. Drawing in a deep breath, he told her, "Milady, you have twice today risked your very life through rash actions. Have you anything to say for yourself?" Isabel’s chin came up in determination. If she had to endure a lecture, she would certainly do so with dignity. This man was her equal — no less, no more. She would not allow him to intimidate her. "I’ve already explained my reasoning for approaching you while you were hunting. You know that I was only trying to be a good neighbor. And as for riding off as I did," she paused, searching for the right words. "I — I don’t care to be led about like a child." "You might not care to be led about, Miss Baxter, but it’s quite clear you need guidance. Obviously, your father has given you much too free a rein." Isabel clenched her hands in her lap. How dare the man presume to judge her father in such a manner? "Milord, I suggest you leave my father out of this. My relationship with him is no concern of yours." Sebastian’s eyes glittered, the only outward evidence of the anger that seethed just below the surface. "Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you. However, it was my property you trespassed on earlier. What if the shots you heard had been fired by poachers? If you’d been hurt or killed while on my property, you can be most certain your father would have looked to me for answers. And," he leaned towards her, "the same goes for the stunt you pulled on that flighty horse of yours. For heaven’s sake, the vicar saw us together.

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If you’d been injured, it would have been on my head!" Isabel drew in a deep breath and made a lastditch attempt to rein in her temper. Her tone was curt, formal as she said, "Sir, I was not hur t. Never the less, I do apologize for my behavior." She rose, as if to go. "Now, I must get home. If you wish to accompany me, I suggest you come along." "Hold, lady," Sebastian said and, in one long stride, he’d reached her side. Grasping her arm, he looked down into her eyes. "I’m hardly finished with you." "Perhaps not," Isabel breathed, fury kindled in her eyes, "but I am quite finished with you." Breaking free of Lord Merrill’s grip, she whirled around and marched resolutely toward the road. The moment she turned her back to him, all Sebastian’s good intentions took flight. To hell with propriety. Isabel Baxter had dismissed him one too many times today. It was a mistake she’d learn not to make again.

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Chapter Six Isabel heard Sebastian move behind her, but she had no idea of his intent until it was far too late. In a shockingly rapid series of moves, he’d hauled her back to the fallen oak, propped his foot up on the tree and dropped her unceremoniously over his rock-hard thigh. All the air was knocked from her body, but still she fought like a tiger, kicking out with both legs while she clawed at his calf. The moment she could draw breath again, she began to scream. "Let me up, sir! You can’t do this. You have no right!" Sebastian said nothing. He simply skimmed Isabel’s skirt and several layers of petticoats up to the small of her back. He was not terribly surprised to find she wore bloomers. From what he knew of her so far, she didn’t seem the type to be a slave to fashion. Most likely, Isabel was of the mind that pantaloons, though not necessarily favored by the ladies of the ton, were imminently practical. In this case, her disregard for fashion had done them both a favor, for now he could give her a proper thrashing without exposing her completely. And he fully intended to do just that. Locking his arm more firmly about her waist, Sebastian brought his palm down squarely on the center of her bottom with a loud crack. "Ufff," Isabel felt the air whoosh from her lungs again. Struggling all the harder, she pounded balled up fists against the man’s leg. "Let me up, Merrill!" "I think not," Sebastian muttered and applied several more stinging slaps to her derriere. "I’m just getting warmed up." "Bastard!" Upon hearing the oath, Sebastian nearly chuckled. "No, Milady, I assure you I was got ‘twixt the sheets of a marriage-blessed bed. But, since you do not seem to be responding to a firm hand — "

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Sebastian looked about and spied a birch tree with several new branches of just the right size. Wrapping his arm about Isabel’s waist, he carried her — facedown and kicking — to the nearby tree. Reaching up, he grasped one of the yet-green branches and twisted until it broke off in his hand. "Let me go," Isabel cried all the while. "What are you about, sir?" Carrying her back to the log, Merrill promised, "You shall see, Milady. You shall see." And see she did — or felt, rather, the hideous sting of a fresh, green switch. Isabel howled at the first stroke and fought that much harder for her freedom. But Merrill was relentless in his correction, and the switch left line after line of white-hot fire burning across her bum and thighs, despite the presence of her bloomers. Her face ablaze with fury and embarrassment, Isabel was reduced to angry threats. "My father will hear of this," she cried. "He’ll never let you get away with it." "I fully intend to tell him all about it, milady," Sebastian replied, the switch finding purchase at the crease where bottom met thighs. "I have a feeling he’ll thank me. But, should he choose to challenge me instead, I will, of course, accept." Isabel, being the stubborn young woman she was, might well have continued to fight and scream for an eternity, but the thought of a formal challenge caused her to stop and think. What if Papa did find out? Surely, he wouldn’t be angry enough to issue a challenge. Or would he? Hanging over Lord Merrill’s rock hard thigh, feeling the sting of a birch switch as it descended over and over again, she felt the fight leave her body. Her father was old, his eyesight less than perfect. Surely, he would not stand a chance in a duel against the Earl of Graystone. And besides, Isabel loved her father. The very thought of him risking his well being because of her stupidity terrified her. Tears, borne

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of both fear and pain, stung her eyes. She couldn’t allow that to happen. "I’m sorry," she whispered hoarsely. "Please, Milord, I’m so sorry." The sudden change in the lady’s temperament took Sebastian by surprise and for the first time, he noticed that several long, red weals were visible through the thin cotton of her bloomers. The realization brought him up short. "What did you say?" "I’m — I’m sorry." She repeated through her tears. "Please forgive me." Cursing himself, Sebastian immediately helped Isabel to her feet. She turned away from him, but not before he saw the tears that she tried to wipe from her cheeks. "Milady —" he began, intending to apologize for allowing his temper to get the better of him. Isabel could barely force herself to face the man, but she knew she must. Turning around, she cut off what he might have said with her own plea. "Milord, I am most sorry for my actions. But please, please don’t tell my father that you were forced to correct me. Tell him of my behavior, if you must, but don’t tell him of this. I couldn’t bear to see him involved in a duel. Not at his age." Looking into her jade-green eyes, still shimmering with unshed tears, Sebastian felt very much the beast. Yes, she’d deserved a thrashing, but had he been too hard on her? Dropping the implement of correction he’d so recently used, he moved to gather the young woman into his arms. He was further chagrined when she took an instinctive step back, all together avoiding his touch. Had he been that much of a monster, that she now feared him? Dropping both arms to his sides, he assumed a non-threatening stance. "Lady Baxter," he began gently, "I’m afraid I must apologize. I should never have allowed my temper to get the best of me."

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Isabel’s watery smile charmed him utterly. "Papa says that I have that effect on him as well, so I suppose you can hardly be blamed. But sir," she tilted her head up to take in his expression and Sebastian was further convicted by the single tear that slid down her cheek, "I implore you, please do not tell my father that you’ve — you’ve punished me. I truly could not bear it if he were to challenge you to a duel." For the first time, Sebastian caught a glimpse of the real Isabel that had thus far hidden away behind a mask of haughty nobility. His tone was one of quiet reassurance when he told her, "I will say nothing of any of this, Milady. You have my word." "Thank you," she favored him with a smile while simultaneously brushing away more tears. "I will be forever in your debt." Sebastian could hardly imagine that to be true, knowing as he did how badly her bum must still be stinging. Still, he let the comment pass and, whistling to his horse, he murmured, "I should be getting you home, Milady, as someone will surely have missed you by now." Looking at her cautiously, he asked, "Do you feel up to riding?" Isabel’s face blazed, but she told herself that she would endure the ride home, if for no other reason than to protect her dignity. "I’ll be fine," she replied. Sebastian nodded and lifted her up, gently placing her in the saddle. He did not miss her grimace as her bum made contact with the stiff leather, but he refrained from offering any comment that would further embarrass her. Instead, he swung up behind her and, placing one arm about her for safety’s sake, spurred the horse forward. By the time they reached Brookwood estate, Isabel’s backside was throbbing. Still, she knew that Merrill had kept the horse at a walk for her sake and the knowledge soothed her heart, if not her body. When he dismounted and lifted her carefully down, she offered him a polite smile.

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"Thank you, Milord. I owe you a debt of gratitude, for everything." Sebastian lifted her gloved hand to his lips, pressing his lips to the back in a gentlemanly kiss. "It is I who am indebted to you, Milady," he said. "And my fondest hope is that you will one day forgive me for my abominable behavior this afternoon." "Please, no apologies," she said with a weary smile. "My father would have done no less." Marveling at her graciousness, Sebastian tucked the young woman’s hand into the crook of his arm and proceeded to walk her up the steps to the door. He was trying to think of something to say, some way to prolong the moment of harmony they’d found when the door was flung wide by a franticlooking Aunt Millicent. "Isabel, saints be praised! Where on earth have you been?"

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Chapter Seven Lady Isabel sat in front of her dressing table, her patience stretched near to breaking as her maid fussed over her hair. "Hold still now," Sarah said around the bobby pins that she held clamped between her teeth, "while I get these curls pinned into place. After all, you’ll be wanting to look nice for your dinner at his Lordship’s estate." "Sarah, for heaven’s sake," Isabel cried as the maid once again pulled the brush unmercifully through her long hair, "if you don’t stop yanking on my hair like that, I’ll have none left by the time this dinner rolls around!" Turning to the old woman that had once been her nurse and now served as her personal maid, she held out her hand, exasperated. "Please, just give me the brush and let me do it myself. I’m perfectly capable of braiding my own hair, you know." Sarah handed over the brush, only to place her hands on ample hips and regard Isabel with a measure of mutinous indignation. "Well, I was only trying to help, milady. After all, your aunt said you were to be made up special tonight, on account of you're having dinner with Lord Merrill. And really, one would think you’d be grateful for the invitation to dine with his Lordship. After all, this ain’t exactly London, with a parade of eligible nobility tripping over themselves to offer invitations to one another. Why, he’s not only right handsome, but he might be the only chance you’ve got for a marriage proposal, seeing as you’re stuck out here in the country!" Gently brushing through her long hair, Isabel let Sarah’s tirade roll over her, taking very little of it to heart. True, it was unusual for a maid to speak so freely to her mistress, but Sarah was far more than a servant. Eighteen years ago, she had left the grave of her own newborn son and come to nurse the tiny Isabel, whose mother had not survived the birthing. She was, for all intents and purposes, the

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only real mother that the young woman had ever known, so Isabel could hardly take her to task for her liberties. Still, her words stung, and when Sarah finally got around to lambasting William Glenwell, she had had enough. Placing her hairbrush on the dressing table, she turned to confront the older woman. "Sarah," she sighed, "you’ve made your point abundantly clear. In fact, when it comes to William Glenwell, you’ve had your say along with Papa, Aunt Millicent, the rest of the household staff and most of London. But my feelings are my own, and you’ll not change what I think of the man." Her expression softening just a bit, Isabel finished quietly, "Please, can we just move on from this subject?" "Oh, all right," Sarah said, a reluctant smile playing about her lips. "But you really cannot go to Lord Merrill’s without letting me do your hair up proper. And perhaps now would be a good time to try a bit of that rice powder we brought home from London?" "No," Isabel shook her head firmly. "No rice powder, Sarah! You know how I feel about cosmetics. They make a woman look so unnatural." "Och, but if you aren’t a stubborn one, milady," Sarah said, slipping back into her native Scots brogue. "Well, at least give me that hairbrush and let me see to your hair. Your aunt will have a fit if she sees you come down the stairs without it up. You know she’s counting on you impressing the Earl tonight, and you’ll certainly not do that if you arrive at his doorstep looking like you’ve taken no less time with your appearance than a ten-year-old schoolgirl." With a sigh, Isabel handed the brush back to her maid and turned to face the mirror, sitting quietly as her hair was yanked and pinned into an acceptable upsweep. The fact that she had no intention of impressing Sebastian Merrill was a secret she would keep to herself just now.

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Later, as the Baxter carriage rumbled out of the drive, Isabel pondered just how she had come by this invitation in the first place. She’d gone out riding that morning, her only thought to get her letter to William safely out in the post, and run into Merrill and his younger brother quite by accident. Having ridden onto their property only to confront what she’d assumed were poachers, Isabel had found herself in a quite intolerable conversation with the man and, decorum having been unsuccessfully applied, she’d made to quit his presence – and found herself dangling face-down over his knee instead. The experience had been sufficiently humiliating that she would gladly have avoided any further contact with Merrill, but by some cruel twist of fate, Aunt Isabel had managed to greet them at the front door when the Earl had brought her home. From the moment Millicent had demanded to know of Isabel’s whereabouts and why her horse had returned without his mistress, the young woman had known a very real sense of dread. Sebastian Merrill had promised he would tell no one of their encounter in the woods, so Isabel knew she should be grateful that he had managed to turn the conversation so smoothly to something of a less threatening nature. Still, how he’d managed to trap her into a dinner invitation when she’d wanted never to see him again was a mystery. But what could she do? The invitation had been proffered on the spot, and it would have been exceptionally rude to decline him – not to mention the fact that Isabel knew she was in a rather precarious position with Merrill. Oh, if only he hadn’t had occasion to take her over his knee, none of this would be happening. Now, as the carriage rumbled along the road toward Graystone manor, Isabel felt her stomach begin to churn. How would she face Merrill, the memory of her recent humiliation so fresh in her mind? And what fresh torment did he have in store for her tonight?

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Chapter Eight Sebastian jerked on the cravat about his neck, clearly unhappy with the manner in which he’d mangled what was meant to be a simple knot. For the fifth time now, he’d managed to make a mess of his neck cloth, and he was growing more infuriated by the moment. Simmons, his new valet, spoke quietly from where he hovered in the doorway. "Sir, might I offer my assistance? I think you’ll find that I’m quite proficient at all the latest styles." Sebastian let out a groan and pinned the nervous-looking man with a glare. "And do you think me incapable of tying my own cravat, man? For heaven’s sake, I’ve been dressing myself for many years now, and just because I’m new to the title of Earl does not mean that I’ve become an incompetent fool." "Why, of course not, Sir!" Simmons drew himself up to his full height, his pained expression evidence of the affront the new master had just issued to his dignity. "I meant no such thing, sir. I was only trying to do my job." "And it’s a hard one, isn’t it?" Jeremy walked into his brother’s room, offering the pinched-face valet a jovial slap on the back. "Those of us who’ve known his Lordship for any amount of time know that he’s impossible to please and have long since given up trying. I suggest you do the same, Simon." If possible, the valet looked even more strained when, turning to Sebastian, he said, "Sir, if you’ll not be needing my services, I will gladly go and see that everything is ready for the dinner." Sebastian waved him off, his attention still focused in the looking glass. "That’s fine. And check to see if there’s any word of the ladies’ arrival, while you’re at it." With an embarrassed expression, the wiry man bowed to the brothers Merrill before quitting the room. The door clicked firmly closed behind him.

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"Well," Jeremy mused, "What’s his problem? I only thought it would ease his mind to know that you’re always this fussy, but he looked at me like I’d given him some sort of a mortal wound." "You called him Simon," Sebastian muttered as he put the finishing touches on the simple knot he’d finally managed to tie. "So?" "So, his name is Simmons — Harold Simmons, I believe. And even the servants like to be called by their given names, Jeremy." Jeremy rolled his eyes heavenward. "Well now, big brother, it’s finally happened. You’ve actually found a valet who’s as particular as you — what a happy pair the two of you will make." Sebastian turned round to face his brother. "I do hope," he replied dryly, "that you’re going to be more amusing when the ladies arrive than you have been thus far this evening." Jeremy, the more affable of the Merrill brothers, didn’t blanch for a second. "Oh, don’t worry, Milord. I plan on being infinitely more amusing than even you could imagine. In fact, I shall endeavor to charm Lady Isabel tonight, for I find her quite attractive. Mayhap I’ll even ask her to go riding with me tomorrow, for I like a spirited filly once in a while." Sebastian, normally unperturbed by his Jeremy’s questionable sense of humor, was across the room and had his brother by the collar in an instant. "How dare you," he demanded as he towered over the younger man. "By what right do you speak of Lady Baxter in that manner?" This time, Jeremy did blanch, for he’d not had occasion to so rile his brother’s temper since they were lads. "Sebastian, leave off! I’ve but met the lady once and I certainly meant no harm." With a sigh, the Earl of Graystone released his brother. "I’m sorry, Jeremy. It’s just that —"

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Jeremy brushed his jacket off, his good humor returning. "It’s just that you actually feel something for this woman. Is that right, brother?" Embarrassed, Sebastian turned away from his brother’s knowing look. "Lady Baxter is our neighbor, Jeremy. And furthermore, she seems an intelligent, well-bred lady. I find her interesting is all and I would ask that you not offend her with your ribald sense of humor tonight." "I see," Jeremy said. And much to Sebastian’s chagrin, he truly did. He said no more on the subject, however, choosing instead to make use of his brother’s mirror to check his appearance. "You have my word on it, Sebastian. No more of my offcolor jokes tonight. I promise I won’t embarrass Lady Baxter." Sebastian nodded, unwilling to voice the thought that he’d embarrassed Lady Isabel Baxter enough for one lifetime. He could only hope that the dinner invitation he’d offered would take him one step closer to making amends for his brutish behavior early today. "And," he reminded himself silently, "I hope she can tolerate sitting!" There’s no telling where his mind might have wondered after that, for the memory of Isabel’s shapely bottom under his hand was working its way into his mind yet again, when the sounds of guests arriving brought him back to the present. With a quick glance at his brother, he asked selfconsciously, "Do I look presentable?" "You look fine, brother," Jeremy replied. "Now, come on. Let’s get down there and celebrate my birthday." The two gentlemen proceeded into the hall and were at the top of the stairs when a woman’s voice could be heard from below. Sebastian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and Jeremy had the good grace to look chagrined and shrug his shoulders when his brother pinned him with an angry glare.

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"Mother," Sebastian hissed angrily. "And you knew she was coming, didn’t you?" Jeremy sighed. "Yes, but I didn’t think she’d be here tonight." Shaking his head, he tried hard not to see the humor in his brother’s pained expression. "I’m sorry, Sebastian, but there’s nothing that can be done for it now. We’d best just get down there and greet her before she comes looking for us." Sebastian sighed as all his plans for a quiet dinner party dissolved before his eyes. "All right, damn it. Let’s just get this over with." With that, he walked down the stairs, a condemned man ready to take his last meal.

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Chapter Nine Isabel and Millicent arrived at Graystone manor amidst a great deal of confusion. Trunks were being dragged about near a heavily laden coach and servants scurried back and forth, some issuing orders, and some hurrying to comply. "I can’t help but think we’ve come at an awkward time, Aunt," Isabel whispered as they made their way up the steps to the front door. "Perhaps we should have sent the driver up with our regrets." "Nonsense, Isabel," Aunt Millicent replied. "I’m sure Lord Merrill would not have extended an invitation if he did not wish us to attend. And why do you seem so bent on avoiding the man, anyway? Heaven knows you’ve been dragging your feet ever since he mentioned dinner." Isabel looked away, coloring. "I wasn’t dragging my feet, ma’am. I only worried that his lordship felt pressured into inviting us to his brother’s birthday supper and I did not wish to impose." "I’m sure Lord Merrill does not feel your presence an imposition," Aunt Millicent said as she reached for the doorknocker. "In fact, I’d say his lordship seemed quite attentive when he brought you home this afternoon. If you’ll only put that horrid Glenwell fellow out of your mind and show our neighbor what a pleasant young woman you can be, you might find some good comes of this evening." Isabel’s face was still flaming over that comment when a grinning Jeremy swung the door open. "Ah, ladies," he said, ushering them quickly in, "If the two of you aren’t a sight for sore eyes, I don’t know what is. Here, let me take your cloaks." Jeremy Merrill’s relaxed manner set Isabel at ease, though her aunt only stared disapprovingly at him the moment he turned his back. He seemed unperturbed, however, as he passed their wraps off

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to one of the maids, who bobbed a curtsey and hurried away. "I was afraid we’d come at a bad time," Isabel said as she and Millicent followed the young man down a long hallway. "I couldn’t help but notice the carriage out front. Is someone leaving Graystone?" Jeremy paused outside the library, his hand on the doorknob, and turned to Isabel. His eyes twinkling merrily, he whispered, "On the contrary, milady, no one is leaving. In fact," he continued, opening the door wide, "our mother has just arrived." At that moment, two pairs of blue-gray eyes took in the new arrivals while two rather passionate arguments died in the speakers’ throats. Isabel took in the scene, immediately convinced that they had interrupted an important discussion. Jeremy, however, seemed to take little notice and Aunt Millicent, expert in all things social, followed his lead. "Mother, may I present Lady Isabel Baxter and her aunt — " The young man appeared only slightly embarrassed as he turned to Millicent. “ I’m sorry, madam, but I do not believe I know your name." "It’s Millicent." The woman on the settee stood and, with a smile, embraced Isabel’s aunt. "Millie Baxter, it’s good to see you again." Isabel stood transfixed by the scene before her. She had never heard her aunt referred to as Millie by anyone but her father and she certainly had never envisioned the woman as huggable. She was too — well — prickly. Yet here she was, welcoming the embrace of Lady Merrill as if the two were long lost friends. "And Isabel," Lady Merrill continued easily, taking both Isabel’s hands in her own. "It’s been a very long time since last we met and you’ve changed much through the years. What a beautiful young lady you’ve become." She cast an amused glance toward Sebastian, who stood sulking by one

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of the long windows. "Isn’t she just lovely, Sebastian?" The Earl of Graystone straightened and cleared his throat, embarrassed. Stepping toward his guests, he bowed formally. "Ladies, welcome. You both do, indeed, look quite fetching this evening." Fetching? Isabel could hardly believe her ears, for the compliment seemed only awkward and forced when it came from Sebastian. What in blazes was wrong with the man? True, they did not know one another well, but when Merrill had left her this afternoon, it had seemed a truce was in place. Now the room was alive with an undercurrent of tension that was unmistakable. Dropping into a curtsey, Isabel answered, her own tone stiff and formal. "Thank you, milord, milady." "Come now," Lady Merrill said as she linked her arm through Isabel’s, "there’s no need to stand on formality here, for we’re neighbors. So, you must call me Clarice and that somber old fellow," she waved an elegant, gloved hand in Sebastian’s direction, "is Sebastian. And of course, you already know Jeremy." "Yes, ma’am." "Clarice," Lady Merrill reminded Isabel, her eyes — so like Sebastian’s —dancing with the same amusement as Jeremy’s had earlier. "Please. Ma’am makes me sound positively ancient." "I’m sorry." Isabel could not help but warm to this woman who seemed so unlike her firstborn. "Clarice." "Good." She still had Isabel’s arm and, reaching out to Millicent, she began to steer both ladies out of the library. "Now then, I’m famished. Why don’t we see about scaring up some supper?” With that, she guided Isabel and her aunt to the dining room, stopping only long enough to call to the gentlemen, "Come along boys. Don’t dilly-dally. We’re half-starved here." ___________________________

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Dinner was a blur of good food and conversation, during which Isabel found herself more and more drawn to the easy manner of Lady Clarice Merrill. She’d been so nervous at the thought of facing Sebastian again, but with his mother present, the Earl seemed hardly eager to speak, and so the conversation progressed without him. There was one instance, though, in which he seemed unable or unwilling to hold his tongue. The moment Lady Merrill mentioned a house party, he began to protest. "The last thing we need," he interjected the moment the idea was proposed, "is a house full of prancing lords and simpering ladies, all putting demands on a practically new staff. I’ve hardly had time to see to their training and —" "Oh pooh," Lady Merrill dismissed her son’s objections with a wave of her hand. "I’m sure the servants are perfectly capable of seeing to the needs of our guests. And besides, the deed is done. I sent out the invitations a week ago. The party is three weeks from today and everyone who’s anyone will be here. So you see, Sebastian," she said, her gaze challenging, "if you’ll not come to London, then I’ll simply have to bring London to you." Then, turning to Isabel, she continued smoothly, "I’m sure I sent your invitation to the townhouse, so it may be a while in coming, but do say you’ll be here. I can’t imagine how the party would be complete without you." Isabel felt the tension that sparked between Sebastian and his mother, yet how could she refuse. "Of course I will attend. And thank you." Soon after, dinner was finished and the company adjourned to a nearby sitting room. Isabel was just about to make herself comfortable when Lady Merrill spoke up again. "Sebastian, have you had a gardener in to tend to the greenhouse? It always was my favorite spot on the property."

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"Yes, milady," Sebastian replied. "I took care of it first thing." "Excellent!" Instead of taking a seat, Lady Merrill linked her arm through Millicent’s. "Why don’t we take a stroll through the place, for old time’s sake? I’m sure Jeremy can be convinced to accompany us, Millie." Isabel was shocked when her aunt nodded, seemingly unaware that this would leave her completely alone with the Earl. Before she could think of way to wrangle an invitation for herself, however, the two older women had gone, taking Jeremy with them. Once again, Isabel was alone with Sebastian Merrill, whose countenance was every bit as thunderous as it had been in the woods this afternoon. Swallowing hard, she wracked her brain for something to say.

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Chapter Ten Left alone with the Earl of Graystone, Isabel clasped her hands behind her back so that she would not succumb to the urge to fidget. Ever since childhood, she’d found it impossible to keep still when she was nervous; and certainly the way Sebastian Merrill was regarding her just now was enough to make anyone jittery. With his eyes the color of smoke and his squared jaw firmly set, he made quite the imposing figure. Was he still angry with her over this afternoon, or had his current displeasure been brought on by some fresh offense? Unable to bear the intensity of his gaze, she turned and began to browse the bookshelves. With the hope that she could diffuse the situation, she attempted some polite conversation. "You have a lovely home, milord. How nice it must be for you to have your mother here for a visit." Sebastian laughed, though there was little humor in the sound. "It was an unexpected surprise." Isabel ran a finger along the spines of leatherbound books, wondering how many of the thick texts this man had actually read. "She’s a lovely woman. Will you be treated to a lengthy visit?" She listened to him take a long swallow of brandy before saying, "To be honest, I’ve no idea, for my mother comes and goes as it pleases her." "I see," Isabel replied, wishing the man would at least do his part to hold up his end of the conversation. "You needn’t have encouraged her, you know." The comment took her by surprise. "I’m sorry, milord," she murmured as she continued to stare before her at great, heavy tomes of mathematics and science. "Whatever do you mean?" "About the house party, of course." He sounded impatient, the deep timber of his voice sending

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shivers racing up her spine. "I wish you had not encouraged her." Isabel turned at that, her hands clenched at her sides. He didn’t want her to attend his bloody party! Had there ever been a man more discourteous and ill tempered than Sebastian Merrill? Isabel was certain she’d never made the acquaintance of one. Her temper flaring, she spoke in low, controlled tones. "It would have been rather rude of me to refuse her invitation just now. But you needn’t worry. My father should be home within the week and we’ll be returning to London. I shall make my excuses then, so that my presence here need not disturb you." That said, she whirled about, her intention to locate her aunt and convince Millicent that it was time to leave. She’d barely set one foot out into the hall, however, when her arm was caught in a vicelike grip, and Merrill was pulling her back into the room. Sebastian was taken aback by Isabel’s vehemence, but as she spoke, he realized his mistake. He’d only meant that she shouldn’t have encouraged the idea of the party, but the lady now believed he did not wish her to attend. Damn. This evening had not gone at all as he’d planned. He’d meant to get to know Isabel Baxter, to impress upon her the fact that he was a gentleman rather than the cad he must have seemed to her this afternoon. Instead, he’d made the worst of all impressions, causing her to believe she was unwelcome in his home. Moving quickly, he grasped her arm and pulled her back into the library, his intention to clear up this silly misunderstanding. Sebastian was further surprised when an offbalance Isabel turned and stumbled against him. It was only natural that he should put both arms out to steady her. The tension was a living force between them as she looked up at him, her green eyes sparkling with anger. Lord, but she was a

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beauty. Sighing, he attempted to put things to rights. "Milady, I did not mean to imply —" "Imply, nothing!" Isabel snapped. "You’ve made it perfectly clear that you do not care for my company any more than I enjoy yours. Rest assured, I will do my best not to burden you with my presence." Taking a deep, calming breath, Merrill loosened his grip on the young woman. Things had spiraled out of control once today, and he had no intention of losing his temper again. Stepping back a bit, he reached out and tipped her chin up, forcing her sparkling eyes to meet his. "This is not about you, Isabel," he said quietly. "My mother is keen to see me marry, so she’s queuing up every eligible young woman in the area in the hopes that I’ll choose a bride." "Oh." Isabel shifted, longing to drop the man’s gaze, yet unable to escape his grip. Why on earth did he have to be so big, so powerfully muscular? She certainly preferred men who did not tower over her — men like the poetic William — and yet there was something mesmerizing in Sebastian’s gaze. Licking dry lips, she fought to focus on what he w as saying. "I take it you do not wish to marry, milord?" "Hmmm?" Sebastian stared down into her lovely face, not certain of what was happening to him. Lord, but her scent was intoxicating, the way she trembled under his touch as powerful an aphrodisiac as he’d ever known. When she touched her tongue to her upper lip, he was seized with a nearly uncontrollable urge to sample what she had tasted there. It took a concentrated effort for him to address her question. "I have no particular aversion to marriage," he said, even as — succumbing to temptation — he lowered his mouth to hers. "You’ll send me some of those cuttings then?" Lady Merrill’s voice broke through to Sebastian’s senses and he pulled back just in time to avoid any

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embarrassing questions from other members of their dinner party. The next moment, Jeremy escorted the two older women back into the library as a flushed Isabel turned back toward the bookcase. "Well, Isabel," Aunt Millicent said, "It grows late and we’d best be on our way. Lord Merrill, we thank you for your kind invitation." Minutes later, Sebastian handed Isabel into the carriage, his eyes never leaving her face. There had been no time for further private conversation, but he intended to correct that problem at the soonest opportunity. Bowing over her hand, he pressed a kiss into the palm. "Good night, Milady," he whispered so that only she would hear. "I shall see you again, very soon."

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Chapter Eleven The day after dinner at Graystone, Isabel learned just how adept Sebastian Merrill was at keeping his word. She’d gone out riding mid-morning, as much out of habit as out of the desire to prove to the Earl that she was not one to wait upon a call. She had, after all, a beau in London — one, she reminded herself fiercely, that she was quite happy with. What did it matter if William Glenwell did not set her pulse to racing every time he was near, for certainly a man of such a poetic nature was a far better candidate for husband than the overbearing Sebastian Merrill. Given enough time, Isabel was certain she could persuade her father to see the good in William. In the interim, the last thing she intended to do was risk courting the Earl’s attention, for surely her father would approve of that match, despite the fact the she and Merrill were entirely unsuited for one another. No, she must keep her distance from the man, discouraging any further attention from him. She would put from her mind the way he had looked as he’d bent to kiss her. She would forget how badly she had wanted those lips to touch hers, how fiercely she had longed for his arms to enfold her once again. For the sake of her sanity and her future, she vowed to dismiss every potent memory and set her sights on the man she’d already developed a tendre for. All of this would have been so much easier had Merrill not managed to put himself in Isabel’s path, day after day, for the next two weeks. On that first morning out, she’d ridden over the crest of a hill only to find him grazing his own horse in the pasture below. She would have turned and spurred her mount away, but the man called to her in a friendly manner that only one truly lacking in the social graces would have refused to acknowledge. That chance meeting set the tone for the many more to come, for it seemed to Isabel that she

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could not escape Merrill’s presence. If she varied the time of day that she rode out, he somehow managed to change his own schedule accordingly. If she took alternate paths, he turned up wherever she least expected him. And there was absolutely no sense in forgoing the time she so enjoyed spending out of doors, for on the few days that she did not exercise her mount, Lord Merrill simply turned up at her doorstep and was admitted by her aunt. There was only one thing that did change during this time; and that was Isabel’s impression of the man. At first she’d been determined not to encourage Merrill, reminding herself that the last thing she wanted was an overbearing husband. But gradually, her icy resistance to his attentions began to thaw. Merrill surprised her with a picnic lunch and she was charmed. He invited her to the stables where he was breaking in a young stallion, and the confident way he approached the animal took her breath away. He took her along when he checked in on an elderly widow who lived on his property and she realized there was much more to Sebastian Merrill than a title and a great deal of wealth. Upon arriving at the home of the deceased Robert Miller, Sebastian escorted Isabel to the door. Once they’d been admitted by the widow, he left the two women to their tea while he looked over the property. "I don’t know what I’d a done without his Lordship’s help," the widow told her that afternoon. "My Robert, God rest his soul, had just passed away and I had no way o’ getting those chickens to market on my own. Well, all I did was mention my problem to my neighbor — who’s related to one o’ the maids there at Graystone manor, y’know — and the next thing I knew, his Lordship was at my door with a wagon and one o’ his own stable hands to help. I’ll never be able to repay him for that kindness. He brought home a good price, too — enough to keep me fed through the winter and did

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no’ even take the rent out o’ the money. Refused it all together, sayin’ I was to stay here in me own home and not to worry about payin’ him, for me Robert and I had been good tenants all our lives and it was the least he could do. Now, isn’t that just the kindest thing you’ve ever heard, milady?" "Yes, it is," Isabel murmured, stunned to realize that the woman spoke of the day she had first encountered the Earl and thought him a lowly farmer. ___________________________ Just then, Merrill poked his head in the door, looking as grimy as the day they’d first met. Smiling, he motioned both ladies outside saying, "I’ve built a railing for you to use as you go down into the root cellar, Mrs. Miller, and several of my men will be here bright and early tomorrow morning to patch up that roof of yours. You should have told me it was leaking. " "Oh, tweren’t nothin’ fer a busy man like you to be worryin’ ‘bout," the old woman said, but her eyes filled with tears of gratitude. "But I thank ye, Milord, for takin’ care o’ it." Merrill bowed low over Mrs. Miller’s hand, as gracious as if she were one of the bejeweled women of the ton and this small house a grand ballroom. "It was my privilege, madam," he said somberly, "for I owe you a debt of gratitude for all the years you and Mr. Miller put into making this land prosperous." Later, as their horses were drinking at the stream that wound its way through Baxter land, Isabel remarked to Sebastian, "It was very kind of you to see to the repairs of Mrs. Miller’s home. Not everyone would be as generous. In fact, I know more than one land-owner who would have thrown her out had she been unable to pay her rent." Merrill glanced at her, his jaw set. "I realize you may think me a sentimental fool," he said, "but I’ve

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never held to the theory that those with wealth or a certain social background were entitled to add to their coffers by standing on the backs of others. I don’t evict tenants, Milady, and I don’t reward a life-time of service with a sudden farewell when one grows too old to serve." Isabel looked up at Merrill and, in that moment, something gave way inside her. He was close — so close, in fact, that she could not help but reach out and touch her gloved hand to his strikingly handsome face. "I do not think you a sentimental fool, sir," she whispered. "On the contrary, I believe you are a good, generous man — one whom I sadly misjudged at first. Can you ever forgive me for the way I’ve acted, the way I’ve avoided you?" Merrill relaxed and held Isabel’s gloved hand to his face for a long moment before turning to press a kiss into her palm. "Does this mean you are no longer angry with me for what happened here," he motioned, indicating the small clearing they had visited together only once before, "the day you found my brother and I hunting?" Isabel colored, but did not draw her hand away. "I was never truly angry with you for — for punishing me as you did," she replied. "Then why have you avoided me so, Isabel? I’ve had a devil of a time trying to keep up with you this past fortnight. Every time my groom would check with his cousin in your stables —" "So that’s how you knew where I was every minute of the day!" Isabel exclaimed, laughing. "My, but you must have gone to an awful lot of trouble to arrange all those accidental meetings." Sebastian nodded as he pulled Isabel to the fallen log she’d once dangled over. Taking off his jacket, he spread it out so that she would not dirty her skirts when she sat. Then he joined her and, taking her hand gently in his, asked her once again, "Why did you avoid me, Milady?"

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Isabel felt her face flame as she remembered how recently she’d been enamored with another man. It had been less than a month since she’d seen William, but the time she’d spent with Merrill had enabled her to see things more clearly. Yes, she’d found William mildly attractive and had believed him poetic, but the memory of everything he was paled in comparison to the reality of Sebastian Merrill. For the first time, she recognized that her feelings for the former had been an infatuation and she felt ashamed that she’d so upset her father and aunt over such childishness. "To be honest," she told Sebastian carefully, "Just before I came home to Brookwood, I’d become infatuated with a man in London. Nothing really happened between us, and I can see now that it was girlish of me to find him so interesting but —" Sebastian smiled down at Isabel, charmed by her confession. "What man," he teased, "was so fortunate to have held favor in your eyes, if even for such a short time?" "William Glenwell, Milord." Isabel, who’d been enjoying the gentle repartee, was stunned when Merrill stood, jerking her to her feet after him. Turning her brusquely to face him, his gaze raked over her face. "What the bloody hell were you doing with Glenwell?" he ground out as his fingers dug into the flesh of her upper arms. "Tell me at once!" "I — I told you, Milord," Isabel choked out, "I was infatuated with him for a time but Papa did not approve and sent me home. That’s all there is to tell." Drawing a deep breath, she said in a tremulous voice, "Please, Sebastian. You’re hurting me." It was the tone of her voice, the way heavy tears clung to her lashes that brought Sebastian back to his senses. "I’m sorry," he murmured as he began to rub her arms gently. "Please forgive me, Milady. I did not mean to behave in such a barbaric manner."

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"Of course, " Isabel said, but he could not miss the new formality in her voice or the way she hedged backwards the moment he released her. For a strained moment, even the forest glade seemed silent as Merrill regarded the young woman gravely. Her cheeks were flushed and she refused to look at him, preferring instead to study the dense bed of leaves and pine needles beneath her feet. "Isabel." He meant only to explain why he had reacted so to the mention of that name, but she flinched away as if even his voice had the power to cause her pain. Clearly she was not ready to listen to explanations so, with an inward sigh, he caught the horses’ reins. "We should be getting back," he told the young woman gently. ___________________________ The ride home was silent, with a stunned Isabel maintaining her distance, her gaze fixed anywhere but on her companion. Gone was the easy camaraderie they’d developed and Sebastian knew he had only himself to blame. Still, as they cantered side by side, a plan took shape in his mind. By the time he had escorted her safely up the steps of Brookwood Manor, he was certain of how he would handle the situation. At the door, he spoke quietly, yet with authority. "Milady, I will be away on business for the next two or three days and there is a favor I must ask of you. Will you do one thing for me?" Seeing her nod of acquiescence, he continued, "Promise me you will not see William Glenwell while I am gone." "I told you there’s nothing between us," Isabel asserted, a look of hurt in her green eyes. "I know, my dear," he continued, "and I believe you. But Glenwell is dangerous, Isabel — far more so than even the gossipmongers know. Promise me this. Please?" She studied his face for a long moment before nodding. "I promise."

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"Thank you," Sebastian bowed over Isabel’s hand before touching his lips to her palm. "I will come to see you as soon as I arrive home." Opening the door, Merrill saw Lady Baxter into the foyer of her home. Then, with steps that announced his urgency, he returned to his horse and, mounting quickly, galloped home.

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Chapter Twelve The first day of Sebastian’s absence, Isabel wandered about the house, unable to focus her mind on anything but the way he’d reacted to her mention of William Glenwell. She didn’t believe him jealous, for he’d teased her about her short-lived infatuation. It was only after she mentioned William that his eyes took on that look of wild, ruthless anger. Shivering, she tried to erase the picture from her mind, but it was no use. She would never forget the way Sebastian had looked at her in that moment, nor the manner in which he’d cautioned her against seeing William again. Perhaps it was time she actually heard out those who’d cautioned her against the Glenwell heir. That evening, as Sarah brushed out her hair, Isabel tentatively introduced his name into the conversation. "Sarah, will you be honest with me if I ask you a question?" Sarah, busily working the knots out of Isabel’s hair, nodded. "O’ course, Milady. What is it ye want to know?" "Well," Isabel said as she toyed with a hair clip, "When we were in London, it seemed everyone was warning me away from William Glenwell." "Aye, though it certainly did us little good," Sarah muttered. "Ye never were one to listen, lass." "I know. I know." Isabel sighed. "But the thing is, Sarah, no matter how many times I asked why William was considered such a rakehell, no one would answer my question." At that, Sarah stopped brushing her mistress’s hair and caught the young woman’s gaze as reflected by the mirror. "Don’t tell me ye’ve still got that one on your mind after all the time ye’ve been spendin’ with Lord Merrill! His Lordship’s a fine gentleman and if ye’re even thinkin’ about throwin’ away the chance ye have wi’ him —" "No, no," Isabel asserted, "It’s nothing like that, Sarah. It’s just that William’s name came up in a

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conversation I was having with the Earl and his reaction was — well, it was rather strong. He called William dangerous, and I just have to know why. Please, won’t you tell me?" Isabel watched in the mirror as Sarah considered the question. She knew that Aunt Millicent would never, in a million years, encourage such a conversation, and it seemed that this woman — who’d been almost a mother to her — was her only hope. With some relief, she recognized a look of resolution in the older woman’s eyes. "I don’t know that I can answer your question fully," Sarah said at length, "but I will tell ye what I’ve heard." "That’s all I ask, " Isabel responded, her eyes alight with curiosity. From Sarah, Isabel learned that William Glenwell's fondness for gambling was said to have put a sizeable dent in the family fortune. "Rumor has it that a good match is now imperative, lest the Glenwell fortune be completely exhausted, Milady. I can only imagine that yer father did no’ want ye married to a man who was only interested in yer money.” Isabel listened intently to all the trustworthy servant had to say; yet she was still unsure as to why Merrill believed William dangerous. While Isabel believed gambling to be a ridiculous waste, surely the ton could not single out William Glenwell for indulging in a pastime that so many gentlemen seemed fond of. And even if the Glenwell family coffers were in dire need of a generous dowry settlement, she could see no reason why this made William a man to be feared. "I don’t know what to think any longer," she remarked as Sarah turned back the coverlet on her bed. "I can tell ye exactly what ye ought to be thinkin’," Sarah replied gruffly. "Ye ought to be thankin’ yer lucky stars that yer father had enough sense to get ye away from London when he did!"

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Nodding her head, Isabel slid beneath the cool sheets. "Actually," she remarked, "I am grateful. I realize now that what I felt for William was a simple infatuation and it’s not as though I have any desire to see him again. But Sarah, wouldn’t you want to know what was meant if one of your friends was referred to as dangerous?" "Aye, I suppose I would," Sarah said as she walked about the room, blowing out candles. "But just this once, lass, I think ye ought to leave well enough alone." Stopping at the door, she turned, her expression softened. "Goodnight, Milady." "Goodnight, Sarah." Alone in the darkened room, Isabel mulled over everything that had happened in the past few days. There were so many things troubling her, chief of which was Lord Merrill’s odd behavior and sudden absence. With nothing to distract her now, the memory of his angry countenance took shape. She could almost feel his fingers digging into her upper arms once again and she shivered as she rubbed the bruised flesh. Why had he been so angry with her? It was a question she asked herself time and again until finally, in the early morning hours, she fell into a fitful sleep.

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Chapter Thirteen On the second day of Lord Merrill’s trip, Isabel awoke determined that she would no longer mope about, awaiting his return. While she prayed his anger had dissipated and that he did not hold her association with William Glenwell against her, she had never been one to surrender to a melancholy mood for long. So, donning her riding habit of sapphire-blue velvet, Isabel made her way to the stables, where Purgatory was saddled and waiting. A long ride about the grounds, she decided, was just the thing to clear her mind. Some time later, when the wind’s fingers had torn the pins from her hair and her cheeks were flushed from the crisp morning air, she reined in the steed and drank in the view from atop a high hill. In the valley below her, the trees — long -since stripped of their glorious foliage — had taken on a newly magical appearance. A bright morning sun glinted off icy branches, sparkling as if a thousand fairy princesses had made the forest their winter home. Light danced along the surface of the icy stream, sending up diamond-bright flashes of brilliance. And there below, much to her surprise, waited a well-dressed rider. Nudging Purgatory into a gallop, Isabel raced down the hill. Sebastian was home! It was not until she drew close enough to make out the man’s features, that Isabel realized her mistake. But even as Jeremy Merrill flashed her a brilliant smile, she acknowledged that this could be just the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Slowing Purgatory to a walk, she smiled easily at Sebastian’s brother. "Good morning, Jeremy," she said. "What brings you out on such a glorious morning, or dare I ask? Perhaps your brother has put you up to keeping an eye on me?" Jeremy laughed good-naturedly. "Now why on earth would you think such a thing, Lady Baxter?

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It’s not like my brother believes you to be some reckless hoyden who rides out alone, intent on enforcing the laws that govern the area all on her own." "Touché," Isabel replied. "Well, if you are to keep an eye on me, then I suggest we ride together for a bit. There’s really no sense in you following along behind when the least we could do is enjoy a pleasant conversation." "A sound suggestion," Jeremy agreed and, nudging his steed, he fell in step beside Isabel. They had not ridden side by side for long before Isabel ventured, "I’m afraid I must confess to ulterior motives when I asked you to ride with me, sir. The truth is, something’s been troubling me, and I hoped you could clear up my confusion." Jeremy nodded, almost as if he’d expected this turn of events. Eyes forward, he murmured, "I shall do my best to aid you, Milady. What is it you wish to know?" Isabel trained her eyes to the path and said, "Before your brother left on business, we had a — well, a bit of an unpleasant discussion about a man named William Glenwell. Do you know him?" "Not personally," Jeremy replied, "but I know of him." "The Earl’s reaction to the mere mention of that name was startling, to say the least, and I wondered — that is, I was hoping you could tell me —" Isabel let out a frustrated sigh. "I know Glenwell is rumored to be a terrible spendthrift and to be looking to replenish his family coffers by way of making a good marriage. But that doesn’t really explain why your brother referred to him as dangerous. Please, Jeremy, if there’s anything further you can tell me about William, I’d be very much obliged." "Am I to presume, then, that you’ve an interest in the fellow?" The question was softly voiced, but Isabel could feel Jeremy’s frank gaze on her face. He was only

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looking out for his brother, though, and she could not fault him for voicing a question that would normally have been considered far too personal. Bringing Purgatory to a standstill, she turned and faced the young man, her eyes clear and bright. "During my stay in London, I was infatuated with the man. However, my father did not approve and sent me home so that I wouldn’t be left in London while he traveled to Edinburgh on business. At first I was rather angry about the situation," she admitted, "but the longer I was away from London, the more I realized that my feelings were not those of love, but of a passing fancy." Reaching over, Isabel put her hand on Jeremy’s well-tailored sleeve. "I no longer feel anything for William Glenwell, save a curiosity aroused by your brother’s strong reaction. I only want to know what it is about the man that so upsets Sebastian." Averting her eyes, Isabel voiced at last the concern that most troubled her. "And I want to know if he can look beyond my past infatuation with William. Please Jeremy," she risked a glance at him once again, "tell me that I’ve not ruined everything with Sebastian merely by admitting to a schoolgirl’s crush on someone he detests." Jeremy continued to search Isabel’s face for a moment before coming to a decision. Nudging his horse on and motioning for her to do the same, he began to speak. "Have you ever heard of an establishment called Paradise House, Milady?" "No, I don’t believe so." "As well you shouldn’t," Jeremy replied quietly. "It’s certainly not the sort of place that a lady of your breeding would either frequent or so much as be aware of. In fact, I wouldn’t be mentioning it now, save that an understanding of what goes on there is imperative to answer your question." Clearing his throat, the young man continued. "It’s a brothel, Milady." "I see," murmured a furiously blushing Isabel.

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"I’m afraid not," Jeremy continued, "for this particular establishment caters to a rather exclusive clientele. Or rather, to individuals with very specific tastes." Isabel, thoroughly confused, risked a glance at her companion. "I’m afraid I do not understand your meaning, sir." Jeremy nodded, but still seemed unable to face her. "When I say specific tastes," he continued, "I mean that these men — who by the way, are some of the wealthiest members of the ton — prefer innocents. Therefore," he spoke awkwardly, but pressed on nonetheless, "this particular brothel specializes in the marketing of rather young individuals — of both sexes." Isabel, who had thus far tried very hard to maintain her dignity, gave a little gasp. "You mean they sell —" "Virgins," Jeremy replied, his disgust evident in his tone. "They auction off those of a very tender age, many of whom have been taken off the streets and forced into a life they do not want." "And this place is in London?" Isabel breathed, incredulous. "Thriving, right there in the city? How on earth can they get away with such a thing? Why, it’s kidnapping!" "The place thrives because the clientele is rich and powerful and no one dares to stop them." "That’s horrid!" the young woman exclaimed. "They ought to be shut down immediately." "That was my brother’s thought," Jeremy continued, "the night William Glenwell dragged him into the place for a bit of sport." "My lord," Isabel was, by now, seething. "No wonder Sebastian has such a low opinion of William. If I had known any of this, I’d not have spoken even one word to the man!" "Of course not," Jeremy soothed. "Which is why I’m telling you now, Milady. For I don’t believe that we protect fine ladies such as yourself by keeping

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such ugly truths from them. It only makes it easier for men like Glenwell to prey on their innocence." Isabel shivered, the memory of the one kiss she’d allowed William now powerfully repulsive. "I certainly can not blame Sebastian for believing Glenwell dangerous, as any man who could purchase an unwilling youth —" "I’m afraid there’s more to it than that," Jeremy interrupted. "You see, at the time, there was a maid who worked in the house Jeremy and Sebastian shared with several other students. She was fifteen or so, I believe, and a pretty little thing that not one of the men had failed to notice. She was of admirable breeding, however, and steadfastly refused to give in to the advances of several of my brother’s classmates. For that, Sebastian admired her." Isabel sat silently in the saddle, envisioning what a ten-years -younger Sebastian must have been like. The fact that he admired what others sought to tear down filled her with respect for the man she’d grown quite fond of. "One day," Jeremy continued, "the girl — I believe her name was Polly — went missing. Her absence became the subject of many lewd comments as the men of the house bantered back and forth about what man she might have run off with, what favors she was most likely bestowing on him, and so on." "Sebastian must have despised that." "Yes, that he did. In fact, he hated it so much that he mentioned hiring a Bow Street runner to look into her disappearance. That’s when Glenwell put in his tuppence worth, announcing that he knew just where to look for the girl." ___________________________ "That night, he took his classmates to Paradise House. Once there, he led them to a large ballroom where an auction was about to begin."

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"Oh Jeremy," Isabel whispered. "She was there, wasn’t she?" "Yes, I’m afraid so," Jeremy acknowledged. "Sebastian later learned that she’d been kidnapped right out of the garden of the very house he lived in, at the request of one William Glenwell." Isabel gripped the reins fiercely, furious and reeling at the news. "What did your brother do?" "The only thing he could do at the time," Jeremy said. "He ran up the bidding for the poor, frightened girl until he was declared the winner. Then he took her up to a room of the house and, after calming her fears and assuring her he meant her no harm, got her out of the place and safely away from London." "Thank God." "Yes, Polly was a lucky one," Jeremy said at length, "though there were many other such innocent ones that he could not help that night." Isabel shook her head sadly. "No wonder your brother despises Glenwell so. And no wonder he was so angry with me. I only hope he can look past my error in judgment." For the first time since their conversation had begun, Jeremy turned to Isabel, a warm smile lighting up his features. "You needn’t worry about that, Milady, for my brother would not have asked me to look after you if he thought you the type to understand and overlook what Glenwell really is." "I’m glad to hear that," Isabel replied, her relief evident in her eyes. "I only wish I could share in your relief, for I’m afraid there’s trouble brewing." Isabel had a sudden vision of Sebastian rushing off to London to challenge William over her honor, and her hands trembled. "What do you mean, sir?" "What I mean," Jeremy said, shaking his head, "is that all of this happened at the same time that Father first took ill. Consequently, Sebastian did not share his story with our parents. Now our mother, completely unaware of the enmity between my

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brother and Glenwell, has invited the man to attend the house party this weekend. And devil take it, he’s actually accepted, though I certainly can not imagine why!" "Oh dear," Isabel’s face flamed as she thought of the letter she’d posted to William only a fortnight ago. "Jeremy, I’m afraid that may be my fault. I left London so suddenly and, thinking myself in love with the man, I sent him word that I was here at Brookwood. What if he’s accepted the invitation as an excuse to see me?" "Well, if that’s the case," Jeremy replied, "then I’d suggest you avoid Graystone like the plague this weekend." Isabel nodded, biting her lip. "I’ll find a way to make my excuses to your mother," she replied. "I promise."

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Chapter Fourteen It was a weary Sebastian who arrived home the afternoon before his houseguests were expected. While his business had been successfully conducted, it had taken him far longer than anticipated to locate the man with whom he had needed to speak, thus delaying his arrival back at Graystone. At last, though, he was at peace. He’d take a bit of rest, he decided, and freshen up and then go to see Lady Isabel at once. His plans were changed quite quickly, however, when his mother met him just inside the door. "Thank heavens you’re back," a worried Clarice Merrill said by way of greeting. "I was quite worried that you were going to miss your own party, Sebastian. What on earth did you mean by running off like that?" "There was pertinent business to be attended to," Sebastian replied as he bowed over his mother’s hand, "and I knew that nothing could go wrong, with you here in charge of the preparations." Hands on hips, Clarice stared keenly at her son. "Well, that’s where you’re wrong, for something has apparently gone quite wrong indeed." Sebastian, though fond of his mother, was accustomed to her frequent exaggerations and simply replied in an unruffled manner, "What has happened, Milady, to cause such agitation?" "Sebastian, do not patronize me," his mother replied. "You know, you’re so much like your father that it can be quite unsettling. He never did care a fig about his social duties and obviously , neither do you." "As I remember," Sebastian said smoothly as he offered his mother his arm, "it was one of the few things that you argued about." Lady Merrill took her son’s arm, her expression softening into a half smile as she allowed him to escort her to the parlor. "He was a good man, my dear, and so are you."

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Sebastian saw his mother seated on the settee before turning to pour himself a glass of port. "Allow me to get you some wine," he said, "and then you can tell me what it is that’s gone so horribly wrong, Mother." "The problem," Lady Merrill replied as she took the glass of wine her son offered, "is Lady Isabel. I’ve just received a message from her this morning, stating that she is under the weather and will be unable to attend the festivities. Now tell me," she said, pinning the surprised Sebastian with a shrewd gaze, "just what does your recent absence have to do with all of this? Have you upset the poor girl?" Sebastian sighed, unsure of how best to answer his mother’s question. In truth, Isabel had occupied his every waking thought for nigh on a week now. Every night, whether he slept in a comfortable inn or made a bed for himself beneath the stars, it was her face that his memory conjured up. He’d been haunted for days by the way she’d stared up at him, clearly frightened, when he’d demanded to know how she was associated with that bloody rogue, Glenwell. The Earl of Graystone knew that he’d overreacted and now, more than ever, he wished he’d insisted on explaining the entire situation to Isabel while he’d had a chance. He could only hope that it was not already too late to speak to her, to make her understand why he had behaved so abominably. "I’ll make a point of paying Lady Baxter a call," Sebastian told his mother gravely. "It is possible there’s been a misunderstanding between us, but I vow I’ll do my best to remedy the situation. In fact," he said as he rose from his chair, "I’ll do it now." Lady Merrill smiled up at her son. "I think that’s a splendid idea, Sebastian. I’m rather fond of Isabel, for she seems quite a special lady." "You’re right, Mother," Sebastian agreed, his expression serious, "Isabel is very special – especially to me."

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Minutes later, Lady Merrill stood at the window, watching as her son cantered down the lane. Her heart sang with the knowledge that the newest Earl of Graystone had finally met his match. ___________________________ When Sebastian presented himself at the Baxter home, he was escorted immediately to the garden, where Isabel sat visiting with his brother, Jeremy. "Fancy meeting you here," Jeremy exclaimed, good-natured as always, the moment he caught sight of his brother. "We’ve just been talking about you, brother." "Have you now," Sebastian said smoothly, his cool, assessing gaze flicking over Jeremy before he turned his attention to Lady Isabel. Bowing low, he kissed the back of her hand. "I was led to believe you were ill, Isabel, but you look as radiant as ever. Is it safe to assume that my brother has already succeeded in bolstering your spirits enough that you’ve consented to attend the party after all?" Isabel gazed up at him then, a crimson blush staining her cheeks. "I’m afraid I cannot, Milord," she replied. Glancing from Isabel to Jeremy, Sebastian spoke curtly to his brother. "Jeremy, would you please excuse us? I need to speak with Lady Baxter alone." Jeremy rose and bowed to his hostess. "I’ve enjoyed our visit, Milady," he said with a smile, "but I’m afraid I must go now, before my brother decides it’s necessary to toss me out on my ear. I trust you will be better soon?" Sebastian watched, disbelieving, as Isabel smiled at his brother. "I’ll be fine, sir," she told him confidently. "And I shall see you again soon." The elder Merrill brother watched as the younger took his leave, waiting until Jeremy was out of earshot before he demanded of Isabel, "Just what in blazes was that all about? Why do I feel that you and Jeremy have something up your sleeves and

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why on earth are you avoiding my mother’s party now? I thought we’d gotten past this problem." "We have, Milord," Isabel said. Then, patting the bench beside her, she forced a smile to her lips. "Please, Sebastian, you’ve been away for so long. Won’t you just sit down and visit with me for a bit?" Sebastian’s eyes were keen as he took in her expression, but he did sit down. "Are you truly ill, Milady? If so, I’ll send for our family’s physician straight away. I’m sure he could be here first thing in the morning." "No, no." Isabel was touched by the man’s concern. "I have to admit that my so-called illness was simply a way to beg off attending the house party." She looked down, chagrined. "I’m sorry if I worried you." "I thought as much. But since you’ve admitted to playing sick, I believe you shall have to tell me the real reason that you do not wish to attend this weekend’s festivities." Cupping Isabel’s chin, he caught and held her gaze. "What is this all about?" Isabel bit her lip, wishing with all her might that it had not fallen to her to tell Sebastian he would soon have Glenwell for a houseguest. There was no help for it now, however, so she gathered her courage and said, "I’m afraid that I’m rather uncomfortable with one of your guests, Milord, and I’m sure you’ll approve of my decision once you realize who it is." Sebastian only looked at Isabel, truly puzzled. He’d not so much as glanced at the guest list and could not fathom whom Isabel would be so ill at ease with. Assuming she had a mild rivalry with some other lady of the ton, he tried valiantly to soothe her. "Come now," he said with a smile, "surely you could not dislike anyone so strongly as to stay away the entire weekend, Milady. I understand, of course, if you’d prefer to sleep here, since our homes are so close together, but say you won’t abandon me to do

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this entertaining all by myself. I truly would like to have you by my side, you know." Isabel was gratified to hear that, but her resolve held firm. "Sebastian, I’m afraid you don’t understand. You have, yourself, asked me to stay away from this person and — " Sebastian blinked, disbelieving for one brief moment, and then surged to his feet. "Glenwell? Here?" he bellowed. "Surely you jest, Madam. I would never allow the man in my home." "But your mother doesn’t know how you feel about him, does she Sebastian?" "No, she’s unaware of the falling out we had, but —" "But nothing, Milord," Isabel said softly. "It was only natural that a man of his position would be on her guest list and Jeremy tells me he’s responded to the invitation. He’ll be here tomorrow." Sebastian took two long steps away from the bench where Isabel sat, then returned. He was fuming, and now that Isabel knew the story of Glenwell and the maid, Polly, she felt much the same way. Still, she could not help but believe that their only recourse was to wait out what promised to be an unpleasant weekend. Hopefully, the other ladies would keep William busy and, by retiring to her bed, she planned to avoid him all together. If he did come to call, she knew that Aunt Millicent and the household staff would be glad to send him away. "I can not believe Glenwell had the gall to accept my mother’s invitation," Sebastian said at last. "There has never been any misunderstanding between he and I, for he knows that I loathe him." Embarrassed, Isabel gazed down at the gloved hands that twisted in her lap. "I’m afraid," she said timidly, "that may be my fault." That brought Merrill up short and he returned to her side. "What do you mean, Isabel?" "Do you remember the day I met up with you and Jeremy hunting in the woods?"

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"Of course," Sebastian replied, "I’d be hard pressed to forget it. You looked like Athena herself bearing down on us when you came crashing through the trees." Isabel tried to smile, but she simply could not force a gaiety she did not feel. "Well, Milord, the truth is that I rode into town that morning to post a letter to William. I had been forced to leave London rather suddenly and had not had a chance to say good-bye to him, so I wrote to explain what had happened." Her face hot with shame, Isabel continued, "So you see, Sebastian, this is all my fault. Glenwell is coming because he knows I’m here." Sebastian nodded grimly, certain that Isabel’s conclusion was the correct one. During his recent business excursion, he had heard that the Glenwell heir had become desperate to marry. It was rumored that he’d been refused twice already, and his financial situation was looking quite grim. In addition, Isabel loved Brookwood and Sebastian had no doubts that Glenwell would want a woman he could put up in a country home while he sought his pleasures in London. Yes, Isabel Baxter was the perfect target for a greedy man hungry for money and innocence, but he had no intention of allowing the bastard to prey on this sweet young woman. Having made up his mind to that fact, Sebastian took Isabel’s gloved hands in his own. "Milady," he began, "I believe you are most likely right about Glenwell’s motives, but I cannot approve of this course of action. In fact, I have another, very different plan in mind." Isabel looked up, surprised at the intimate way that Merrill spoke to her. "What would you have me do, Milord?" "I want you to come to the party, Isabel," he replied evenly. "In fact, I will make arrangements for you and your aunt to be housed in the same wing as myself so that I can keep an eye on you at all times. Beyond that, we will make it very clear to

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everyone there that you are my special guest." With infinite tenderness, Sebastian brushed a loose strand of hair away from Isabel’s face. "Do you understand what I am saying, Milady?" Isabel nodded, her heart hammering in her chest. "Good," Sebastian said as he let his thumb slide along Isabel’s bottom lip. "I may have to be civil to Glenwell this weekend, but he will leave Monday with the knowledge that you, Milady, are spoken for. Are we agreed?" Isabel nodded, wide-eyed, as her breath quickened. Lord, but the nearness of him did things to her that she’d never known were possible. Something fluttered deep inside her, a warmth spreading from a low, private place that was just now beginning to come alive. The thought that she had not been entirely honest with Sebastian, had not told him exactly why her father had sent her home from London, flitted through her mind for one brief moment. But when Sebastian lowered his lips to hers, everything fled her mind and body, save the rich taste of their first, powerful kiss. The moment of actual contact was brief, as propriety demanded, but Isabel’s entire body seemed to hum to life in that instant. Reaching up to touch her hand to Sebastian’s cheek, she savored the opportunity to study his strong, handsome face. Having awakened, her body was suddenly impatient, though, and she drew his lips back down to hers. "Oh Sebastian," she whispered wonderingly, "I never expected it to be like this. I want — I’m not sure what it is that I want. Please, kiss me again, Milord." Sebastian chuckled, though there was as much pain as pleasure in the sound. Setting Isabel at arm’s length, he fingered the rich, dark tresses that had strayed loose from their pins. "I know, Milady," he said at last. "I feel it too, but now is not the time nor the place." Forcing

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himself to rise, he bowed over Isabel’s hand, kissing her palm in an intimate manner. "Very soon, though," he promised himself as much as her, "The time will come very soon." Isabel nodded, embarrassed now at her forwardness. "I will speak to Aunt Millicent about the weekend, Milord. What time should we be there?" "Why don’t you join us for the midday meal," Sebastian said gently. "The guests won’t begin arriving until later, so you will be at my side when I greet them." "Very well," Isabel said. "I look forward to it, Milord." "As do I," Sebastian smiled and touched his fingers first to his lips and then to Isabel’s. "I will see you then, Milady." Isabel sat on the stone bench, watching as Sebastian let himself out through the garden gate. Only after several minutes, when her heart rate had returned to normal and she could trust her legs to support her, did she make her way into the house to begin packing.

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Chapter Fifteen The morning of the house party, Isabel awoke to a world turned brilliant by an unexpected snowfall. The ground was covered with a pristine blanket of white, as if Mother Nature had just provided her children with a fresh, clean start. Turning from the window, Isabel felt the power of that fresh start surge through her veins, for surely today marked a new beginning for her as well. Yesterday, Sebastian had spoken to her in an intimate manner, calling her "my darling" and stating that she was "spoken for." Then he’d kissed her in a way that spoke of promises yet to come. Today, she would appear at his side, effectively taking the role of his hostess. Smiling to herself, she slipped into the brass tub that Sarah had arranged for her and let the hot, lavender-scented water soak away everything but the hope that now lived within her. She was in love with Sebastian Merrill and, Lord willing, he felt the same. Luncheon at Graystone was a simple affair, for the servants were preoccupied with all the last minute details that went in to planning a party as large and elegant as this was to be. Isabel could hardly feel slighted, however, for Lady Merrill made a special point to include her in the overseeing of the menu for the evening’s buffet, as well as asked her opinion about such things as music, floral arrangements and so on. If the young woman had been a bit apprehensive about appearing as hostess while Sebastian’s mother looked on, her fears were quickly put to rest by Clarice Merrill’s soothing manner. She appeared not to mind at all that Isabel had usurped her place; if anything, Lady Merrill encouraged the change of plans. "I’m so pleased you could make it after all," she remarked to Isabel as they climbed the staircase together. "I’m not sure that you realize it, my dear, but you are good for my boy."

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Isabel, her hand on the knob to the chamber she shared with her aunt, flushed with pleasure. "Thank you, Milady, but to be honest, I believe it is the Earl who is good for me." She was surprised to note the way Lady Merrill’s eyes misted over as she patted Isabel’s face affectionately. "I would say then that the two of you complement one another, and that is rare indeed." With that, Lady Merrill turned and hurried to her own chambers, leaving a stunned Isabel to change for the party. Half an hour later, the young woman descended the steps even as the first of the guests were arriving. Despite the support she’d received from both Lady Merrill and Aunt Millicent, her stomach fluttered with a riot of nerves. Would she make a suitable hostess? Would Sebastian approve of her green silk gown and the simple way she’d instructed Sarah to pin up her hair, or would she now pale in comparison to the elaborately coifed ladies of the ton? A moment of panic nearly took her breath away as an important realization hit her. For weeks, she’d had Sebastian’s attentions all to herself, but now there would be a crush of young women about, each wishing to gain his favor. Grasping the railing, her courage almost failed her. Then Sebastian appeared at the bottom of the steps, his eyes shining as he held out his hand to her. "My Lady," he said, and the possessive way in which he spoke renewed Isabel’s flagging confidence. "You look ravishing. Won’t you come and greet our guests? Isabel fairly floated down the stairs then, and the two of them stood at the foot of the steps, staring at one another for a long moment before Jeremy called them to their posts at the entrance to the ballroom. "Let the festivities begin," the jovial younger brother whispered to Isabel as he bowed over her hand.

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The rest of the evening passed in a dizzying haze of faces and names, some of which Isabel was familiar with and others she was sure she would forget long before morning. Guests arrived in merry little groups and, after being shown to their rooms to freshen up, joined the ever-expanding crowd that milled about the buffet tables. Isabel would have circulated more amongst the throng, but Sebastian kept her close at hand, often escorting her about on his arm. And though he smiled and played at the gracious host, she could feel the tension that rose in him every time the butler was sent to admit a new guest. He was waiting for Glenwell, of that she was certain, and she prayed that they would all somehow make it through the weekend with their sanity intact. The snow continued to fall and, as the evening wore on, several latecomers remarked about the difficult time they’d had on the roads from London. Perhaps, Isabel began to hope, William would not make it, and she and Sebastian could relax and enjoy themselves. It was long past midnight when the weary guests finally began making their way to their chambers for the night. Isabel was overjoyed that Glenwell had not yet shown up and, as Sebastian walked her to her room so near his, she could not contain her enthusiasm. "It looks as though William was unable to make it through all this snow," she whispered to Sebastian. "I’m so glad." Sebastian nodded, though he seemed unconvinced that such good fortune would hold out. "I hope you are right, Milady," he said. "But I suppose we had best wait and see what the morning brings, lest we celebrate prematurely." "You are right, of course," Isabel murmured, abashed. "But I do hope he does not make an appearance, for I could find all this quite pleasant if not for the thought of his ruining everything."

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Sebastian offered Isabel a slight bow and, taking her hand, allowed his lips to linger intimately on her palm. "You needn’t worry, Milady, for I’ll not allow Glenwell to ruin anything for you. Please, enjoy the party and put him out of your mind completely, my love." Isabel smiled ruefully. "I can tell you that I’ll try," she said, "but do not expect me to succeed, Milord." Sebastian smiled and, on impulse, leaned down to put his lips to her ear. "Try very hard, Milady," he said mischievously, "or you may find out how I deal with young ladies who mope around during parties." Isabel shivered, for just that mild threat put her in mind of the first time she’d dared defy the man. Looking up into his teasing eyes, she felt her body respond once again to his. "I – I should retire," she said even as she reached up to place one tentative hand on the lapel of his dinner jacket. "Yes, you had better do just that," Sebastian said. Then, bowing again, he bid her a formal good night. Aunt Millicent had long since taken to her bed in the adjoining room, so Isabel quietly shut the door so as not to wake the older woman. Then, with utmost care, she took down her hair, putting away the rope of diamonds that had been entwined in the thick brown tresses. She was grateful to slide the emerald-green silk off her shoulders and let it puddle at her feet. Next came her chemise and she was just pulling a soft cotton nightgown over her head when she heard noises from below. Reaching for her wrap, she stepped out into the hall to see what all the commotion was about. Sebastian was already there, his jacket and neckwear now gone and his shirt open to the waist. When he heard Isabel’s soft footsteps he turned to her, his eyes turned smoky gray by his impatience. "Go back to bed, Milady," he growled. "It’s just a late arrival. I’ll see to this guest personally."

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Isabel was hurt and confused by the Earl’s brusque manner until she heard the voice that drifted up from below. William Glenwell had arrived.

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Chapter Sixteen Isabel had been instructed by Sebastian to return to her chambers, but she found her curiosity too powerful a force to resist. She watched, her door open a crack, as he took the steps two at a time and then, when she was sure he was too preoccupied to notice her presence, she slipped back out into the hallway. Hidden in the shadows, she observed the strained exchange between Glenwell and the man she loved. "Sebastian, old boy," William exclaimed, his hand stuck out in a rather poor attempt at civility. "Imagine my surprise when I received your invitation. It’s been a long time." "Not long enough," Sebastian said in a low, controlled tone. He looked Glenwell up and down but steadfastly refused the hand that was offered. "And not to put too great a point of it, but the invitation you received was from my mother." "Ah," William said, dropping both his hand and his smile. "Still holding a grudge after all these years?" "There will never be enough years to wipe away the memory of Polly up on an auction block, frightened and embarrassed, all for your pleasure." William grinned and shrugged his shoulders, as if he had not a care in the world. "She was nothing but a bit of muslin, Sebastian, and you’ve taken the whole thing far too seriously. Besides, I’m a reformed man, you know." Isabel could see the tension in Sebastian’s shoulders as he responded, "You’d best be, William, at least while you’re under my roof. Try any of your old tricks and I won’t hesitate to step in." "You needn’t worry," William said with a mock bow. "I’ve come a long way to see a very special young lady, so you can rest assured that I shall not go about accosting your maids while your back is turned. Now, if you’ll just direct me to my rooms, I’ll let you return to your bed."

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Sebastian nodded curtly in the direction of his butler, and the man swept up the new arrival’s bags in an efficient manner. "If you’ll follow me, sir," the servant said smoothly, "the guests are being housed on the third floor." Isabel shrank farther into the shadows as William was led up the stairs. When the butler and his charge had passed by, she exhaled a shaky breath. William had already mentioned her, though indirectly, and she suddenly realized the dangerous position she’d put herself in. By not being completely honest with Sebastian, by glossing over the exact reason her father had sent her home, she’d given Glenwell the power to hurt her. It was a power she intended to take back, and quickly. Resolute in her decision, she slipped silently down the steps, hurrying to the study she’d seen Sebastian enter just moments earlier. She could not wait until morning to tell the Earl the truth. He had to know now. Isabel’s tentative knock was answered with a strained, "What is it, Cravitz?" Pushing the door open, she slipped inside. "It’s not Cravitz, Milord," she whispered. Sebastian, standing at the window with a glass of port in his hand, whirled about. "You shouldn’t be here, Isabel," he said. "I’m sorry." Isabel studied the toes of her slippers, trying hard to work up her courage. "But I must speak to you, Sebastian." "We can talk in the morning." His answer was brusque and he was already taking her arm and steering her toward the door. "Right now, you need your sleep." "No," Isabel’s tone was not shrill, but firm as she dug her heels into the carpet. "This cannot wait until morning, Milord. There’s something you must know now. It concerns my relationship with William Glenwell." "Wonderful," Sebastian muttered. "Just what I need tonight." Turning away from Isabel, he

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splashed more port into his glass. "I suppose I might as well offer you some brandy then, Milady, and a seat, seeing as you refuse to be reasoned with tonight. Do you want a nightcap?" "No, thank you," Isabel said as she perched on the edge of a great, wing-backed chair. She watched as Sebastian dropped down into the chair opposite her, uncoiling his large, muscular frame much like a great cat. Calling on all her valor, she faced him and began her story. "Milord, I have not been completely honest with you," she said tentatively, "about the reason my father sent me home so early in the season." Isabel could feel her face flaming. "I’m afraid it had more to do with William than I let on at first." The only sign that Sebastian was even listening to her was a nearly imperceptible tightening of his hand on the glass. She went on, dry-mouthed. "I’m afraid I showed rather poor judgment," she confessed. "Everyone warned me off William, but I felt he was simply misunderstood. I didn’t listen to a thing I was told and one night, while Aunt Millicent and I were at a ball, I slipped away from her and engaged in a private meeting with the man." Sebastian did not move, but there was no mistaking the anger in his tone when he asked, "Where did this tête-à-tête take place, Isabel? And what, exactly, happened?" "I found him in the library of our host’s home and — and —" As hot tears of humiliation began to make tracks down her face, Isabel found herself unable to speak. Sebastian watched her, his gaze harsh and unblinking, before he commanded, "Tell me what happened." "I — I allowed him to kiss me, Milord," Isabel said through her tears. "And?" At his prodding, Isabel looked up sharply. "And nothing, Milord," she asserted. "My father chose that moment to locate us. He was quite angry and

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dragged me home straightaway. This is the first time I’ve seen William Glenwell since that night." Sebastian let out a sigh as his heartbeat returned to normal. He was tempted to sweep Isabel up into his arms and carry her to his bed, where she would learn the difference between a mere kiss and what he had feared Glenwell had done to her. Instead, he put his glass of port on the table beside him and regarded her through a hooded gaze. "What did your father do with you, Milady," he said at length, "when he got you home?" Isabel hadn’t believed it was possible for her to be any more embarrassed, but now she felt her color rise. "He — he took the razor strop to me for disobedience, Milord. And then he sent me home." Sebastian nodded and, leaning forward, looked her directly in the eyes. "And did you learn your lesson, Isabel? Do you know better now than to allow yourself to be alone with Glenwell?" "Oh, yes," she whispered, eyes wide. "Oh Sebastian, please believe me when I tell you that I’d never make such a foolish mistake again." "I’m relieved to hear it, Milady," Sebastian replied. "And I want you to understand this. Right now, you are under my roof and that makes me personally responsible for your welfare. If I were to find you in such a situation, I would not hesitate to treat you exactly as your father did. Do I make myself clear?" Isabel nodded. "Yes, Milord." "Now then," Sebastian said as he rose from his chair, "I think I had best get you back to your room before your aunt misses you." Helping Isabel gently to her feet, it took all his strength not to give in to the hard pull of desire that gripped him. She was a vision of soft, womanly innocence in her gown of white cotton and lace, her long hair brushed out and flowing down her back. Every part of him seemed to throb with the sort of hunger only her sweet body could satiate. Lord, he

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had to get her out of here before he took advantage of her naiveté. He’d almost succeeded in seeing her to the door when she turned her face up to his, her green eyes luminous with unshed tears. "Oh Sebastian," she choked out, "Do you hate me so very much now that you know the truth? Please believe me that I never would have allowed Glenwell such liberties if I’d known what kind of a man he truly was. When Jeremy told me the things he’s done —" "Hate you?" Sebastian could not have been more stunned, for his feelings for the young woman before him were as far from hate as possible. "Isabel, don’t be absurd. I could never hate you." "Then why will you not kiss me good-night?" He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse as he stared down at her. "I can not kiss you because I’m afraid if I began now, I would not be able to stop." Isabel heard Sebastian’s words, yet they did not matter. Ever since she’d entered the study, her every sense had been alive and singing. The memory of that first, gentle kiss seemed to tease her now, and she could think of nothing more than silencing the desire by feeling his lips on hers once again. "Please, Milord," she whispered as she stood on tiptoe and pulled his face down to hers. "Kiss me just once more and I will go to bed." She heard him groan, a strangled sound that was half pain, half pleasure, and then his mouth claimed hers with an urgency that gave her a heady rush. In moments, Isabel was lost in a world of pure sensation, the touch of Sebastian’s lips the only thing that kept her grounded as a powerful ache took root deep inside her. The kiss deepened and Isabel was first surprised and then thrilled to feel her mouth coaxed open by his probing tongue. At the same time, he brought his arms about her waist and drew her in closer to his taut, powerful body. He was hard, everywhere, and she slid her hands inside his open shirt,

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reveling in the feel of the crisp hair that covered his chest. Muscle and sinew moved beneath her palms and when her open hand moved restlessly down his belly, she felt him suck in a sharp breath. "Isabel, love," she heard him whisper, "We can’t – not here, not like this." The meaning of his words escaped her, however, as one of his wondering hands found and cupped her breast gently. "Sebastian," she moaned as, unaware of her own actions, she arched against his palm. "I – I don’t understand what’s happening to me. But please, I don’t want it to stop." Much to her surprise, her words only seemed to inflame him more, for the next moment, he had loosened her robe and worked it down her shoulder. She felt the cool air on her heated skin and then went still as he drew the thin material away from her breast and gently, almost reverently, put his lips to the straining flesh. "Oh," her breath came in short, labored gasps as first his lips, then his tongue caressed the hard pink bud. "Oh, Sebastian, please," she moaned. "Please what?" he asked just before he took the tip of her breast full into his mouth to suckle her. "I – I don’t know." Isabel gasped and arched farther forward, caught up in the sweet intensity of the sensations. With every touch, every draw of his mouth on her hardened nipple, the ache in her belly grew. And though she was innocent, she knew instinctively that only he could provide the remedy to this sweet pain. Threading her fingers through his thick, black hair, she pulled his head down to offer herself more fully to his ministrations. "No," he breathed, the sound harsh and ragged. "This isn’t right, Isabel. Not like this. Your first time should be on your marriage bed, not the study floor." Tears of frustration sprang to Isabel’s eyes and she whimpered, "Don’t stop, Milord," even as he tore his mouth away from her flesh.

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"Shh." Sebastian pulled Isabel’s gown back up to cover her breast and then held her against his chest for a long moment. "Hush, love," he crooned. "Just be still for a few moments and the feelings will pass." He was right. As she stood, locked in Sebastian’s embrace, Isabel became aware of how shocking her behavior had been. Suddenly shy, she pulled away. "I should go, Milord," she whispered. Sensing her uncertainty, Sebastian cupped Isabel’s face in both his hands and kissed her eyelids gently. "I will see you to your room, Milady." Together, they climbed the grand staircase. At the door to her room, he once again took on the role of politely restrained gentleman, bowing low and kissing her hand. "Soon," he whispered as she slipped through the door, "very soon, I promise."

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Chapter Seventeen When Isabel awoke Saturday morning, it was quite late. Ringing for her maid, she dressed quickly, embarrassed to have stayed abed when there were guests to attend to. Opting for a simple toilette, she plaited her own hair with nimble fingers, even though the maid clucked with disapproval. "All the other ladies’ll have their hair up in them fancy curls," the young girl told her. "Won’t ye be wantin’ me to do somethin’ special with yours?" "Thank you, Celia," Isabel replied, "but there’s no time. And besides, I’ve little patience for elaborate hairstyles. I prefer to be myself, not some model of an artist’s creation." "Very well then, Milady," the girl said, but her features took on a sullen pout as she added, "But the gentlemen certainly do fancy a lady what makes herself up." Isabel watched the girl flounce out of the room. "Not all of them," she whispered, a secret smile playing about her lips. "Not Sebastian." The moment the words were out of her mouth, she felt her cheeks grow hot. How on earth would she face him today, after what they’d shared the night before? Isabel felt equal parts joy and shame as she recalled the reckless abandon with which she’d responded to his touch. If he had not halted their encounter – well, she would never have had the strength to do so. Of that, she was certain. For the first time in her life, she realized why young women were cautioned against being alone with a man, for the pleasure they could give was a nearly irresistible enticement. She only hoped that the Earl would not think less of her now that he’d found her so eager to sample of that pleasure. With one last look in the full-length mirror, she summoned her courage and left the room. There was only one way to find out. She must seek him out at once.

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She found him in the dining room, where he was breaking his fast with his mother, her aunt, and several of the guests. Rising, Sebastian motioned Isabel over to the table and seated her directly to his right before ringing for one of the kitchen staff. Very soon, she was munching on scones and drinking her breakfast tea as a lively discourse on the current political climate went on about her. She noted, with some admiration, the easy manner in which Clarice Merrill joined in on what was considered male territory, and realized once more why she so liked the woman. She did not fail to notice, too, that even Aunt Millicent seemed more lively when Lady Merrill was about, and she was grateful to Sebastian’s mother for that. "I should really check in with the head groomsmen," Sebastian said presently, "and make sure that everything is ready for the hunt this afternoon. Ladies, will you excuse me for a few moments?" "Of course," Lady Merrill spoke for the group, "but hurry back, Sebastian. There are a few things I wish to go over with you before you take the gentlemen out for the day." "Of course, madam," Sebastian said, but his bow was to Isabel and he held her gaze for a moment as he lingered over her hand. "I shall return forthwith." Isabel’s cheeks flushed and the ache that she’d experienced the night before seemed to hum to life once again, but when she turned back to the table, only Lady Merrill appeared to have noticed. A slight incline of her head and a gentle smile were all she offered by way of acknowledgement, but Isabel realized that Sebastian’s mother approved of her, and that was what counted. Sebastian did not immediately return, however, and as the guests began to vacate their seats, Clarice told Isabel, "I believe I shall go on up to my room for a bit, my dear. Will you send my son up when he returns?"

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"Yes, Milady," Isabel replied. "Don’t worry about a thing. I will stay here and see to the needs of the remaining guests." "Such a sweet girl," Lady Merrill said, as rising, she patted Isabel’s cheek fondly. "You’ve done well with her, Millicent." Aunt Millicent’s answer was a pleasant surprise. "I don’t know that I can take much of the credit," she replied, "but her father and I are both rather proud of her." It was high praise indeed, from one who had not often offered such, and Isabel felt tears mist her eyes. "Thank you, Aunt." "I only speak the truth, my dear," Millicent said. Then, chattering pleasantly with Lady Merrill, she quit the room. There were indeed few guests who had yet to eat, so Isabel sipped her tea in quiet contemplation as the room emptied out. How funny it seemed that everything was changing so suddenly. She could not help but wonder if the difference was in her circumstances or if it went deeper than that. Perhaps it was just that the world looked different when one was in love. Whatever the reason, Isabel recognized that these changes were for the better, and she was smiling over that fact when a familiar masculine voice interrupted her thoughts. "Is this seat taken, Milady?" Isabel was stunned to hear William’s voice so near, though she chided herself for starting like some frightened child. Although she would never be able to see him as she had during those brief weeks in London, she knew that she had nothing to fear from him. They were, after all, just two people in a rather crowded house, and surely he’d not do anything to risk censure by those of his social circle. And although she wished he’d chosen a different table, she knew it would be rude to refuse his company. "Of course you may sit down," she replied formally.

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Ignoring her tone all together, William took the seat that Sebastian had so recently vacated. "I was afraid I’d not see you this morning," he said with a familiarity that seemed quite inappropriate to her now. "You are a sight for sore eyes, my dear." Isabel bit her lip, wishing she could extricate herself from the man’s presence. "It is always good to see old acquaintances," she agreed with as much civility as she could muster. "Acquaintances, are we?" He turned brown eyes on her with a look that would have, at one time, melted her heart. Now, it only sickened her that he could so easily think to play games. "Isabel, you wound me. Did those weeks we spent together in London truly mean so little to you, that you now call me an acquaintance?" Alarm passed through Isabel and she had to suppress a shiver of apprehension. The man was speaking to her in far too intimate a manner and she did not care for the almost hungry look in his eyes. In addition, the last of the latecomers were slipping out the door and she was about to be left alone with the one man that Sebastian could not countenance. Standing abruptly, she hurried to excuse herself. "I must see to something in the kitchen," she said uneasily, but Glenwell caught her hand and would not let her leave. "What is this about, Milady?" he asked, his gaze intense. "Have I offended you in some way?" Isabel drew in a calming breath and said simply, "Such familiarity is inappropriate, sir. I must insist you let me go." "Familiarity?" There was an edge to the man’s words and his smile held no warmth. "I believe you and I have been far more familiar than this." This time, Isabel could not suppress the shudder that worked its way up her spine. His voice was like something oily and grotesque, a caress that invaded rather than inflamed. His fingers were pressing against the delicate bones of her wrist in a most

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unpleasant manner and she tried to twist away, but to no avail. William only jerked her down so that they were eye to eye. "It’s fine with me if you wish to play the coquette, my dear," he whispered. "I’m not opposed to a bit of a struggle, though I must warn you, I always win in the end." Isabel was just opening her mouth to rebuff the crude remark when Sebastian spoke from the doorway. "Let her go, Glenwell." The change in William was almost instantaneous. Dropping Isabel’s hand, he rose and offered his host a bow. "Sebastian," he said smoothly. "We didn’t see you standing there." He turned to Isabel then; his eyes alight with a dangerous mischief. "Did we, my dear?" Isabel rubbed at her wrist where the recent pressure had left fingertip-sized spots of pain. "Milord," she addressed Sebastian, "I am so glad to see you. As I just told Mr. Glenwell, I need to see to things in the kitchen. Perhaps you could help me as there are yet a few decisions to be made." Sebastian tucked Isabel’s hand into the crook of his arm. "Of course, Milady." Turning to Glenwell, he inclined his head. "You must excuse us, sir, for Isabel and I need to see to our guests." Glenwell’s eyes blazed with challenge but he only bowed to Isabel. "Then I shall find some other opportunity to speak with the lady." Sebastian turned and escorted Isabel from the room, his reply, "Not if I can help it," intended for her ears only. "Are you all right?" he asked as soon as they’d passed through the doors into the narrow hallway that led to the kitchen. "Did he harm you, Isabel?" "No, Milord," she replied, though Sebastian made note of the way she unconsciously rubbed at her wrist. "He was just a bit rude." "I see." Taking her hand in his, he studied the offended flesh carefully for marks, but found that

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they’d nearly faded away. Gently, he drew her forward and placed a kiss to the spot where her blood pulsed beneath the skin. Isabel closed her eyes and fought for control of her body. How could such a simple touch, she wondered, set her heart to hammering so wildly? Then again, how could it not when it was Sebastian who was touching her? Taking a deep breath, she dared to look up and found him watching her closely. Blushing furiously, she murmured, "My apologies, Milord, for I fear you will find me wanton." She did not add after last night, although the thought yet troubled her. Sebastian smiled then and caressed the side of her face briefly. "You have a passionate nature, Isabel, and you must never be ashamed of that. Any man would consider it a great gift to be married to one such as you." Her cheeks suffused with color, Isabel dropped his gaze. "Thank you, Milord." "Now then," Sebastian tucked Isabel’s hand back into the crook of his arm and walked her to the kitchen. "We’d best see to those last minute details, for the hunt is scheduled to begin within the hour." Forty-five minutes later, the Earl of Graystone mounted his favorite stallion and surveyed the group that milled about the courtyard. All of the men were present, including Glenwell, and Sebastian was glad that his brother had agreed to keep an eye on that particular guest this afternoon. At least with William away from the house, he would not need to worry over Isabel’s safety. Nodding to the master of the hunt, the horn was sounded and the afternoon’s entertainment began.

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Chapter Eighteen Isabel stood at the parlor window, watching as the last of the baying hounds and eager riders left the courtyard. Leaning her head on the window, she sighed with relief. She would be free of William’s presence, at least for a few hours, and for that she was grateful. In truth, she’d found their breakfast table exchange quite upsetting, though she’d determined not to let on to Sebastian just how unsettled she felt, for fear he would decide to take action. Now, though, she could relax and admit to herself just how frightening it had been to see, for the first time, the hungry threat in Glenwell’s eyes. She had, after all, thought herself in love with him at one time, and it was now alarming to realize just how poor a judge of character she’d been. Shaking her head, she turned away from the window, determined to put such bleak thoughts from her mind. "Oh here you are." Lady Merrill had just poked her head round the doorway and now walked across the room to take Isabel by the hands. "I don’t believe I told you, my dear, how lovely you look this morning. That color suits you perfectly." "Thank you, Lady Me — I mean, Clarice," Isabel said with a smile. "But you outshine us all, you know." "That’s a lie," Sebastian’s mother replied, "but a kind one, so we shall let it go at that." Putting her arm about the younger woman’s shoulders, she began to guide Isabel toward the doorway. "I believe most of the ladies have retired to the salon to take the sun and work on needlework. And to be honest, my dear, embroidery has always bored me to tears. Would you mind entertaining them for a bit?" Isabel smiled. "Of course not, Milady. I’ll just run upstairs to fetch the scene I’ve been working on."

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"Thank you," Lady Merrill beamed at her. "And I believe I shall retire for a bit. I’m not as young as I used to be, and I’m afraid late nights tire me. Do you feel comfortable managing things for a bit?" "Of course," Isabel thrilled, for she knew that Lady Merrill’s trust in her implied approval. "You get some rest. Everything down here will be just fine." _____________________________ The next few hours did pass pleasantly enough. Joining several women who’d opted to sit quietly with their needlework, she found herself easily accepted into what had once been an intimidating circle. Conversation flowed about her and, before long, Isabel realized it was time to see that high tea was prepared. Excusing herself from the group, she made her way to the dining room, where she found several maids busily setting the tables. "You know," she remarked to one of the girls, "I believe this room needs something. Would you go out to the greenhouse and gather some fresh flowers? Some roses would be perfect." "Yes, Milady." Alison, a doe-eyed miss of sixteen or so curtseyed before hurrying from the room. "They treat you like the lady of the house." Aunt Millicent had just come into the room and now she spoke to Isabel, her voice low, but filled with pride. "Yes, they’re quite kind to show such respect to a mere guest." "Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, my dear," Aunt Millicent remarked. "’Tis not out of kindness that they treat you so, but with the knowledge that a servant garners through remaining alert." Isabel looked at her aunt, not sure what to make of her statement. "Whatever do you mean, Aunt?" Millicent smiled warmly. "They’ve seen the way their master treats you, Issy, and they’re modeling his example. They treat you as their mistress because they know you will be one day."

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Isabel flushed but, for once, she did not try to hide her feelings from her aunt. "I do hope you are right." Millicent chuckled. "Of course I’m right, my dear. Being an old maid has its advantages, you know, and the art of observation is one you learn when left to your own devices. Trust me, you’ll soon be Lady Merrill, Countess of Graystone, or my name is not Millicent Baxter." Overcome with emotion, Isabel impulsively hugged her aunt. "Won’t you come with me to the kitchen? I could use your help in dealing with the cook." Together, the ladies saw to the preparations for the late afternoon meal. Millicent sampled some of the dishes and advised the cook what spices to add, making sure to explain to Isabel everything that she did. As they toured the facilities together, the two women began to relax and relate to one another, adult to adult, rather than as an aunt to her charge. By the time they returned to the dining room to check on things there, Isabel had been infused with a new confidence in her position at Graystone. She hoped that it was, as Aunt Millicent said, simply a matter of time. Looking over the room, she smiled. "Now, if only that girl would hurry up with the roses. It seems to be taking her an awfully long time." Impatient for the task to be done, Isabel sighed, "Perhaps I’d best go see to this myself, Aunt. Will you excuse me?" Aunt Millicent nodded. "Of course, dear. You go right ahead, and I’ll check on the ladies." "Thank you," Isabel called over her shoulder as she hurried to the greenhouse. ___________________________ It took a few minutes to make her way around the back of the house to the door that led to a large, glassed-in room. Stepping into the unseasonably warm, humid atrium, she was just

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about to call out to the maid when she heard voices, two of them, coming from the far end. "Please, Milord," a girl — presumably Alison — was pleading, "I’m a good girl and I don’t want no trouble. Please let me go afore the mistress comes lookin’ for me." "And which mistress would that be?" Isabel was stunned to hear William reply, "The old Lady Merrill or the neighbor who fancies herself the next one?" Stifling her gasp, Isabel waited, still as stone, for the maid’s answer. The next sound, however, was the sharp crack of flesh on flesh and the young girl’s whimper, as the man demanded, "Answer me, you little bitch!" Shock and outrage drove away all fear and she burst through the rows of plants to find a terrifiedlooking Alison held fast by a handful of hair. One side of her face bore a crimson handprint and blood trickled down her cheek, undeniably from where Glenwell’s signet ring had opened the tender flesh. "Merciful heavens!" Isabel cried as she grasped the hand that was raised to strike yet again. "Let the poor child go!"

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Chapter Nineteen Sebastian glanced about him, his concern growing as the minutes ticked by. It was half past three, and most of the dozen or so men who had participated in the hunt were now gathered in the clearing that had been designated as a meeting place. Still, no matter how often he scanned the faces of the assembled gentlemen and their grooms, he could not locate his brother, or William Glenwell. They simply were nowhere to be found. "What seems to be the problem?" Maxwell Roberts, a genial man in his mid-fifties called to his host. "We’ve been milling about here for what seems hours now. Who are we missing?" Sebastian forced himself to appear relaxed. "It seems that my brother and Lord Glenwell have yet to put in an appearance. Has anyone seen them?" "Yes sir," answered one of the servants who spoke up from the back of the throng. "Yer brother’s horse threw a shoe not more than an hour ago, causing him to take a tumble. I did no’ stop, sir, because the lads that were with him and Glenwell seemed to have everything under control. I’d imagine he’s back at the house by now, far warmer and more content than any o’ us. And who knows but what Glenwell didn’t retire from the hunt as well?" Sebastian’s hands tightened on the reins, but he managed to maintain a calm exterior. Turning to the groom whose horse pranced alongside his, he said quietly, "See to getting the group back to the house, Bobby. I think I’d best look into this." "Aye sir," Bobby replied and took to the task of organizing the other groomsmen as his employer turned his stallion around and galloped away. ___________________________ In the greenhouse, Isabel grasped Glenwell’s arm with both her hands to keep him from dealing the maid a second blow.

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"Merciful heavens," she cried. "Leave off immediately! Can’t you see the poor girl is frightened half to death?" Glancing at Alison, who cowered in the man’s grasp, she saw that the bodice of the girl’s modest gown had been ripped. Furious, Isabel put all her weight into forcing William’s hand down to his side. "Oh William, how could you?" In a moment of blind fury, Glenwell flung the whimpering maid onto the floor. "Get out of here," he ordered. Scrambling to her feet, the young girl looked past him to Isabel. "Milady?" "Go on, Alison," Isabel said soothingly. "I need to have a word with Lord Glenwell, privately. You go on in and change your dress and I will bring the roses in presently." "Yes, Milady," Alison curtsied awkwardly before hurrying back toward the house. Isabel watched the girl go, then turned back to find William fussing with the cuffs of his shirt. "That was despicable," she hissed. William tore his gaze away from the lace about his wrist long enough to answer, "Now now, my dear. Jealousy is most unbecoming a lady." "I would hardly call it jealousy," Isabel retorted, hard pressed to keep her fury under control. "That was loathsome behavior, sir, and certainly ill-suited to one who considers himself a gentleman." "Was it?" Glenwell, no longer occupied by the state of his shirtsleeves, turned his full attention on Isabel. "And what would you have a gentleman to do, when his lady avoids his attention?" "I don’t know what you mean." "No?" He advanced toward Isabel, something dangerous in his eyes. "Come now, Isabel, I think you do." Isabel hedged backwards only to feel the hard edge of one of the long tables behind her. She glanced around, trying to see her way out of the maze of flowers and plants, but it seemed green

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fingers reached for her, closing her in. When she turned back to face Glenwell, he reached out and, clasping the back of her head in a painful grasp, crushed his lips to hers. Isabel was at first shocked and then enraged by the violent kiss. Maneuvering her hands between their bodies, she pushed at the man’s chest. It was enough to set him off balance and the moment he released her, she lunged forward, slapping him hard. Her response only seemed to inflame him more, however, for he smiled as he dabbed a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth. "So, you’re going to be a challenge. Eh, my sweet?" His tone was mocking, his look a violation of its own. "Well, I don’t mind playing rough, Isabel, but consider yourself warned. I always get what I want." "Not this time." Isabel could have collapsed with gratitude when she heard Sebastian’s voice. The next moment, he had stepped out from between two rose bushes and was addressing her. "Go back to the house, Isabel," he commanded, his eyes locked on Glenwell’s face. "Wait for me in the study." Isabel was torn between a desire to get away quickly and the fear that the Earl might do something drastic. "Sebastian, please come with me," she murmured as she reached for his arm. Turning, he glanced at her and she recognized the dark fury in his eyes. "The study, Isabel – now." With one last look at the two men, she picked up her skirts and fled the room. __________________________ Sebastian listened to Isabel’s retreating steps, but his eyes never left Glenwell’s face. He’d despised the man for years, but it had all come down to this moment. William Glenwell had gone too far and now he would pay.

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"Such a pretty little handful." William laughed as he saw the sheer hatred in Sebastian’s eyes. "Hats off to you, Sebastian. You’ve obviously found one to keep you on your toes. Is she always such a spitfire?" The inference was clear and Sebastian wasted no time in bringing Glenwell down with a powerful blow to the face. He rubbed the knuckles of his right hand as William picked himself up off the floor, blood gushing from his nose. "Choose your seconds," Sebastian said, and this time, it was he who smiled. "I will have mine meet with them yet this evening so that we can finish this at dawn." "A duel?" Glenwell sounded very much like a sniveling boy as he held his nose in a vain attempt to control the bleeding. "Over her? Don’t be ridiculous, Merrill. I’m not about to risk my neck over some frilly bit of muslin." "Then I suggest," Sebastian said with icy calm, "that you pack up your things and get off my property at once. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes, yes," Glenwell replied, "I’ll go. But I warn you, Merrill. You've not heard the last of me." Sebastian snorted, clearly unaffected by the threat. "William," he called after the retreating man, "See that you stay away from Lady Baxter. Otherwise, I shall be quite happy to kill you." _____________________________ Lord Merrill watched Glenwell make his way back to the house, then let himself out of the atrium by way of a side door. He’d dealt with that threat for what he hoped was the last time, but there was still Isabel to consider. He had seen her rebuff his rival, so he felt no jealousy, yet the matter of her disobedience demanded his attention. He could not overlook the fact that, in disregarding his orders, she’d put herself in danger. Letting himself into the large building where the grooms and stable lads bedded down each night, he quickly located the

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strop they used to sharpen their razors. Taking it down, he proceeded to the study by way of the back halls, so as not to be seen. It was time Lady Isabel learned not to be so reckless with her own safety and if this was what it took to teach her, then so be it.

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Chapter Twenty Isabel was pacing the library, her arms wrapped about herself for warmth, when she heard Sebastian open the door. Turning, her eyes went from the determined look on his face to the wide leather strap he held in his hand. Flicking the tip of the strap against his boot-top, he commanded, "Come here, Isabel." "Sebastian, please," she began, but his look quelled the rest of her protest. On wooden legs, she moved to stand before him. "Yes, Milord." "Sit," he gestured her to a chair, then rested his hip on the edge of his desk. Doubling the strap, he slapped it restlessly against his thigh. "I would like an explanation, madam, of precisely why I found you alone with Glenwell when I had specifically instructed you to avoid him." "I did not do it intentionally, Milord," Isabel said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I’d sent one of the maids out to cut some roses for the tables and when she didn’t return, I went to check on things. I heard them talking and then I heard William slap her and – and I just could not leave her there to deal with him alone. I had to do something, Milord. Surely you can understand that." Sebastian, who had not even considered such a possibility, felt suddenly very much the ogre. Dropping the strap onto the desk, he drew a chair up and sat down, taking Isabel’s hands in his own. "Do you know which girl it was?" he asked, his concern evident. "Was she badly hurt? Where is she now?" "It was Alison, Milord," Isabel answered. "And he had struck her, cutting her cheek in the process. The front of her gown was also torn and —" Shaken by the memory, it was all Isabel could do to force herself to continue. "I believe he would have done far worse had I not interfered. You see, Jeremy told me of the man’s interest in innocent young girls and

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I was afraid for her, so I sent her in and told her I would bring the flowers myself." "You did what?" "I sent her into the house, Milord, telling her to change her dress. She’s probably in her room right now." Sebastian rose and walked to the window. "So what you’re telling me," he said, incredulous, "is that you knew how dangerous Glenwell was, so you sent the maid in and proceeded to deal with him alone?" "It seemed the soundest course of action at the time, sir." Even as she said the words, Isabel recognized how absurd the statement was. "Isabel," Sebastian said as he raked frustrated fingers through his hair. "Knowing what you did of the man’s interests, do you not think it would have been infinitely wiser to have sent the girl for help, rather than for a change of clothes?" "I – I didn’t think of that at the time, Milord," Isabel replied. "But I can see now that it would have been a better decision. I am sorry, Sebastian." Sebastian returned to his seat and studied Isabel for a long moment before he sighed. "And I’m sorry, too, Milady. But you seem to forget your own safety, and that is something I cannot overlook." "My lord?" Isabel bit her lip and looked up to see him gesture to his right thigh. "Come here, Isabel, and let’s have this over with." The young woman hesitated for a moment, her mind dreading what her heart knew to be right, to be just. Tears threatening, she looked into Sebastian’s eyes and found, rather than anger, loving concern. In that moment, her decision was made. Rising, she slid her own chair out of the way and then lowered herself obediently over his lap. "I will not use the strap," Sebastian said as he guided her skirts up and out of the way, "because this was not a matter of defiance, Milady. You did

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show a deplorable lack of common sense, however, and I mean to make you understand that I will not allow my wife to take risks with her welfare. Do you understand?" Isabel’s breath caught in her throat when she heard Sebastian use the word wife, but all too quickly, he was pushing up the last of her petticoats to reveal the bare flesh beneath. Then his palm began to make stinging contact with her bottom and it was all she could do to cling to the legs of the chair and submit to her punishment. There was no fighting the tears, however, so she simply let the torrent wash away all the pent up fear and guilt that were part and parcel of her confrontation with William Glenwell. The spanking seemed to go on forever but, just when she was certain she could bear no more, Sebastian pulled Isabel up into his waiting arms. There, she buried her face in his chest and wept out the remnants of her turbulent feelings while he soothed her with quiet words and gentle touches. When at last she’d quieted, he tipped her chin up and looked into her face. "Will you marry me, Isabel?" "Oh yes, Sebastian. But you must get my father’s permission, of course." Sebastian smiled. "I already have, Milady, for it was him I went to see earlier this week." Isabel sat back, stunned. "It seems, Milord," she said teasingly, "That you were assuming a bit much. Don’t you think?" Laughing, he gave her a quick kiss on the lips. "Well, if you don’t want to marry me, Milady –" "Don’t be absurd. I wouldn’t have another." That night, Lady Isabel and Lord Merrill announced their engagement. Isabel spent the rest of the evening accepting congratulations from a throng of well-wishers, none more important than her aunt and dear Papa, who’d returned from his business just in time for the ball. Lady Merrill and Jeremy seemed equally pleased and Isabel was

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overjoyed to know that they welcomed her as a part of their family. "When is the big day?" someone asked as the evening wore on. Sebastian spoke quickly, before Isabel could object. "We’re to be married three weeks from now – on Christmas Eve." Aunt Millicent gasped, clearly surprised at the lack of preparation time, but Isabel only had to look up into the eyes of the man she loved to find peace. "A Christmas Eve wedding will be lovely," she agreed. ___________________________ "I hardly think it’s necessary to rush things," Aunt Millicent told Isabel later that night. "We can’t plan a proper wedding in three weeks time. For heaven’s sake, we can’t send out the invitations in that amount of time, let alone find flowers and plan a menu. And then there’s the wedding dress! Isabel, what on earth will you wear?" "I shall wear my mother’s gown," Isabel said as she patted her aunt’s hand, "for I know that will please Papa. There are plenty of flowers in Graystone’s atrium and Sebastian and I are not concerned about having a large wedding or a grand feast. We simply wish to be married before the New Year." Smiling fondly at Millicent, she said with all the confidence of someone young and in love, "Everything will work out just fine, aunt. Just wait and see." Millicent shook her head as her niece retired to her own bedchamber. "I hope you’re right, my dear." ____________________________ Just a few doors down the hall, Sebastian tossed and turned, unable to find sleep. He felt bad for pushing Isabel into a quick wedding, for he knew that most girls spent a lifetime dreaming of their one special day. But Glenwell’s retreating words

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remained in the back of his mind and he hoped to have Isabel safely wed before the bastard could follow through on his threat. Until then, he vowed, he would do everything in his power to keep his lady safe.

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Chapter Twenty-One More than two weeks into her wedding plans, Lady Isabel found she was going slowly, agonizingly mad. Always an active young woman, the combination of foul weather and what seemed a hundred decisions demanding to be made had conspired to keep her indoors for far too long. She was nearly bursting to get out the door and gallop Purgatory through the chill air, but Aunt Millicent was insistent that she not go out in the damp weather and Sebastian and Papa were entirely too preoccupied with her safety to let her ride alone. And so Isabel had endured a fortnight trapped inside Brookwood Manor, until one snowy afternoon, when she could no longer bear her aunt’s fussing about menus, slippers, and something blue. "Aunt Millicent is driving me mad," Isabel muttered as she flounced into her bedchamber shortly after lunch. "Sarah, will you please send a message to the stables to have Purgatory ready in half an hour. If I don’t get out of this house for a bit, I’ll never make it to my wedding day!" Sarah, who had been occupied with clearing out some of her mistresses summer clothing so that it could be packed up and delivered to Graystone, eyed the girl who had long since become a daughter to her. Smiling, she nodded. Sarah had never been one to sit still and she, above all others, understood Isabel’s need to feel the cool air on her face. "I’ll do that, Milady," she said, "Just so long as you promise to take a groom with you. Agreed?" Isabel sighed. "Of course. I wouldn’t dream of leaving the grounds unprotected, though why Papa and Sebastian are making such a fuss about it now is beyond me." "They’re not making a fuss, Milady," Sarah replied, unruffled. "They only want to make sure that you’re safe. And you ought to be grateful for such attention!"

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"All this attention," Isabel muttered as she pulled a warm, brown wool riding habit from her closet, "is going to have me insane long before Christmas Eve. And then what good will it have done them to keep me safe?" "Oh, go on with ya," Sarah called over her shoulder as she hurried from the room. "You’d be lost without all this attentiveness, and well you know it." "I’m not so sure," Isabel muttered to herself. "But I’d certainly like to give it a try." __________________________ Some time later, Isabel greeted Carl, the groom who had often ridden out with her. He was a tall, powerfully built man in his mid-twenties, as much a friend as a protector. As the two began to canter across an open field, the snow crunching beneath their horses’ hooves, Isabel questioned him about his young wife and the baby she had recently borne. "How is Judith these days? And the babe — I trust he is well?" "Oh, aye," Carl said, his eyes lighting up with pride. "We named him Cornelius, after his grandfather, and he’s just as smart as they come." Isabel could hardly picture a baby named Cornelius, for the name evoked the image of an ancient, bearded old man, but she kept the opinion to herself. Instead, she asked, "And has your wife fully recovered?" "Oh, my Judi’s as tough as nails, Milady. She was up and about the next day, just carryin’ the baby round on her hip as if nothin’ out o’ the ordinary had happened." "Well, do give her my best wishes, Carl. And be sure to stop in the kitchen and see cook for some extra milk and cheese and anything else you might need at home. You know it’s important to Papa and I that you and your family remain healthy throughout the winter."

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"Aye, yer family’s always been good to their workers," Carl said as he bobbed his head. "And it’s much appreciated, Milady." Isabel smiled. "Just as we appreciate all your hard work, Carl." They rode on in silence after that, following the path that led them across an open field and to the top of a tall hill from which they could view much of the Baxter family holdings. They had just wound their way back down to the road when an unmarked carriage rolled to a stop and the driver called out to them. "Ho there, friends! I seem to have gotten turned around somewhere. Can you tell me how to get back on the road to London?" "Yes, of course," Isabel said as, together, she and Carl pulled up alongside the carriage. "You see, if you’ll just take that fork in the road –" "To the right or the left?" The carriage door swung open and Isabel recognized the all-toofamiliar voice only after Purgatory’s reins were jerked from her gloved hands. "It’s lovely to see you again, Milady." "William." Stunned, she looked round for Carl, intending to give him some sort of signal that they’d stumbled into a dangerous situation. The sight of the driver, holding a pistol to the young man’s head, caused her stomach to knot with dread. "Come down from there, Isabel," William commanded, "else his blood will be on your hands." "Don’t do it, Milady," Carl pleaded, even as his mistress slid to the ground. Isabel raised her eyes to those of the man she’d once cared for. "What do you want?" "Only what is rightfully mine," William said as, taking Isabel’s arm, he dragged her toward the carriage. "I put too much time into winning you to allow Merrill to claim my prize. I intend to have you for my wife, Isabel, and your fortune for my own." The frightened young woman glanced toward the front of the carriage where the driver had his

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pistol yet trained on Carl. She knew better than to struggle, for another life was at stake. "You’ll let him go? If I do as you wish, you’ll let Carl go? He has a wife and a new baby at home." William laughed, the sound dark and humorless as he shoved Isabel into the carriage. "Pity," he said, "that the man had to ride out with you then, my dear. But I’m sure your father will be good to his widow." The moment she heard his words, Isabel screamed out a warning. The whinny of a horse and a few frantic hoof beats were followed by the sharp crack of a pistol being fired, and then the coach lurched into motion. She lunged for the door, only to be forced cruelly back against the cushions, but not before she recognized Carl, lying motionless at the side of the road. Eyes wide with fear, she shrank into the corner of the carriage. "Where are you taking me?" "Scotland, my dear," William replied. "Specifically, Gretna Green." Isabel sucked in a breath and her hands fisted in her skirts. The small border town was well known as the destination of many a young couple seeking to wed without parental permission. "My father will never approve the marriage, William. Surely, you can see that you’ll get no money from him. He’ll have it annulled and see you thrown in prison." He looked her up and down, his eyes cold. "Ah, that’s where I believe you’re wrong, Isabel. You see, half the members of the ton know how you pursued me during your stay in London. And while it’s true that your father could have me brought up on charges, who do you suppose the courts will believe – a well-known gentlemen or a headstrong girl who was sent home in disgrace only a month into her first season?" "I will never consent to this, William. I love Sebastian." He leaned forward then, his touch anything but gentle as he grasped her by the chin. "I don’t give a

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damn who you love, Isabel. When we get to Scotland, it will take only a public declaration before two witnesses and we will be legally wed. The driver will act as one, of course, and I’m quite confident I can locate another individual who will be more interested in my money than your consent. My advice to you is to get used to the idea because, by this time tomorrow, you and I will be husband and wife."

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Chapter Twenty-Two Sebastian stared out his study window, overcome with an unusual restlessness. After more than two weeks of gray, cloudy skies, a bright afternoon sun was driving away the bleak chill of winter. It was a perfect day for riding and, on impulse, he decided to take one of his new horses out for a turn about the countryside. He smiled, fully expecting that Isabel might be thinking the same thing. Perhaps they would meet and he could dismiss her groom – provided she had a groom with her – and share this beautiful day with his bride-tobe. Hurrying up the stairs, he instructed his valet, "See to it that the stable master has that new Arabian saddled and ready to go in ten minutes time." "Yes, Milord." Simmons turned and let himself out of the room. Later, as he cantered along the road, Sebastian congratulated himself on the purchase of the fine new horse. "Perhaps," he said to the pure-black stallion, "Isabel can help me come up with a name for you." Laughingly, he added, "That is, if I can find her." He had been scanning the hills that sloped up and away from the road, but all to no avail. "Well, if she’s not out here then we’ll just have to stop by Brookwood and see her there." He smiled as he patted the great animal’s neck. "She’s going to love you, old boy." Merrill was so intent upon keeping an eye out for his lady that he did not at first sense his horse’s hesitation as they rounded a bend in the road. Then he heard a soft whinny and looking up, recognized a saddled Purgatory stamping about in the snow and there, just beyond the horse’s hooves, was a crumpled human form. "Isabel!" The cry was torn from his throat as, leaping from the saddle, he ran toward the horrific sight. Dropping to his knees, he did not know whether to

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be relieved or even more aghast when he realized it was not his lady, but her groom that lay bleeding from what appeared to be a gunshot wound. Carefully, Sebastian rolled the man over onto his back and, tearing off his own cloak, pressed the fabric against the open shoulder wound. "Carl. Carl, can you hear me?" he demanded. "Milady," the young man murmured weakly. "I tried to stop ‘em sir, but they took her." "Who?" Sebastian demanded. "Who took Isabel? And where?" "I didn’t know the man." The servant’s breathing was erratic and it took an effort for him to get the words out. "But they was in a carriage, sir. A fine one, but unmarked." "Did you get a look at the man," Sebastian asked. "Was he fair, with almost white-blonde hair?" "Aye," Carl’s words had died down to a mere whisper. "The bastard," Sebastian seethed as he laid the injured man across Purgatory’s strong back. Then, vaulting into his own saddle, he made his way as quickly as possible to Brookwood. If he was right, and William Glenwell had kidnapped Isabel, he knew there was no time to lose. Less than an hour later, more than two dozen horses stamped impatiently at the ground as their riders, servants from both Brookwood and Graystone, awaited their orders. It had been agreed that there were only two possible routes the coach could have taken away from Isabel’s home. Lord Baxter would lead one group on a search of the road to London and Sebastian would make for the Scottish border. "Let’s go, men," Sebastian called to the group that awaited his signal. To Jeremy, who rode beside him, he said, "I should have killed Glenwell when I had the chance." "We’ll find her," Jeremy replied. "Don’t worry, brother. We’ll find her."

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"I just hope," Sebastian said as he spurred his horse to a gallop, "that we’re in time."

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Chapter Twenty-Three Isabel shifted on the uncomfortable seat cushion, ever conscious of William ’s dangerous proximity. They’d been traveling at a break-neck speed for what seemed an eternity and each time they skidded round a curve or hit a bump in the road, she had to brace her hand against the roof of the coach to keep from being thrown up against him. She was well aware that the driver’s nearly insane pace served a two-fold purpose, for she could neither leap from the coach nor hope for rescue so long as they continued as this rate of speed. Already the sun was beginning to set and every minute took her farther from home, and from Sebastian. With a valiant effort, she forced the terror from her mind and concentrated on finding a way out of her dilemma. "Are you hungry, my sweet?" The question sounded benign enough but she recognized the taunting challenge in William’s gaze. "I believe we’ve traveled far enough for one night. There should be an inn just off the main road not too far ahead. We’ll be stopping there for the night. Oh, and Isabel —" He leaned forward and trailed one finger along the line of her jaw before forcing her chin up. "For the sake of propriety, we will be registering as Lord and Lady Glenwell." Isabel jerked away from his touch, her mind reeling with all that he implied. "I won’t go along with this charade," she said through clenched teeth. "I’ll tell everyone that you’re kidnapping me." His laugh mocked her. "I figured as much, which is why I stopped by this particular inn several days ago. I explained to the proprietor then that my wife was quite ill and that I was taking her to a specialist in Edinburgh. When I told him about your tendency toward delusional behavior, he was markedly sympathetic and agreed to rent out the entire inn exclusively to us. I gave him enough coin to hold all the rooms for several days, so there will be no one

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but you and I and the staff there tonight. You see, Isabel, I’ve made quite certain that you’ll be able to scream all you want and no one will care one jot." Isabel closed her eyes against his leering expression and told herself to remain calm. She would fight him tooth and nail, if it came to that, but it would be better to talk her way out of this situation. It was what Jeremy had told her that finally gave her confidence to speak. "You know, William," she said with as much apathy as she could muster, "You’ll not be getting quite the prize you expect, for I’ve already given to Merrill the thing that you would take from me." She was not prepared for the violence of his reaction, for enraged, he sprang across the coach and slapped her viciously. "You little bitch," he hissed. "I should have known you’d warm his bed at the first chance you got." Grabbing her by the jacket, he threw her to the floor and would have struck her again if the driver had not called out in alarm, "Here now, master. What’re ya doin’ in there?" "Never you mind," William answered. "Just keep your eyes to the road and you’ll get your money." "I’m doin’ me best," the man called through the trapdoor above their heads, "but if ye keep tossin’ around in there, you’ll have us all in the ditch." For a long moment, Isabel waited, terrified, as the man crouched over her. Then, just as suddenly as he’d attacked her, he sat back and began to fuss with his jacket. "Get up off the floor, Milady," he said without looking at her. "We’ll be there very soon." Slowly, carefully, Isabel scooted to the far corner of the coach and maneuvered herself back up onto the seat. Her head throbbed from the blow he’d dealt her, but she refused to give in to the urge to cry. Instead, she drew the curtains back and watched as one dark shadow sped by, melting into the next. And in her heart, she prayed, "God in heaven, lead Sebastian to me. Please."

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_________________________ "Looks to me like they’ve been this way, Sir." One of the servants held up a lantern as another studied tracks that had undoubtedly been made by a carriage. "See here, how the marks on the left side seem a bit jagged? It’s been that way for some miles now and my guess is they’ve got a loose wheel." Sebastian nodded to the men. "Mount up then and let’s press on. If they’re having troubles with the carriage then they’ll be forced to slow down. We should be able to overtake them soon enough, so let’s douse those lanterns lest they spot us coming." "Aye sir." The men were cold and exhausted, but not one of them cared to argue with the Earl of Graystone, for they understood what it was he stood to lose. Climbing back into their saddles, they fanned out, some keeping to the woods while others made use of the full moon to keep an eye on the tracks that they followed. "We need to consider that they might stop for the night," Jeremy spoke quietly from beside his brother. "Are you familiar with any inns in the area, Sebastian?" "No, I’m not," Sebastian replied. "Jeremy, why don’t you ride on up ahead and question some of the men who are familiar with this part of the country. Maybe one of them will know of a place where Glenwell could have sought shelter for the night." Jeremy nodded and picked up his pace a bit, leaving Sebastian alone with thoughts of Isabel. For the hundredth time, the Earl of Graystone checked to make sure that the pistol he’d tucked into the pocket of his greatcoat was still there, ready and waiting. He had made the mistake of letting Glenwell go once. He would not do so again. ___________________________

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The situation at the inn was just as William had described it, for Isabel’s every plea fell on deaf ears. She spoke calmly and the innkeeper ignored her. She pleaded and his wife patted her cheek and told her that she’d feel much better after "a good night’s rest." She even tried to bribe the maid who fetched her a basin of water, pressing one of her rings into the girl’s hand, but it was Glenwell who handed the emerald back to her minutes later. "You see, my dear, I’ve thought of everything. These people believe I’m to be commended for taking you to yet another specialist when any other husband would have consigned you to Bedlam." "You," Isabel whispered from the chair she’d curled up in, "are the one who belongs in Bedlam." "Perhaps," William remarked as he opened a small trunk at the foot of the bed, "for heaven only knows how I shall make it through one year with a shrew like you as my wife. But then again, all that I really need from you is an heir. How long you live after the birth of our son remains to be seen. And I must tell you," he said as he drew a nightgown from the trunk and tossed it on the bed, "continue in this vein, and it’s not likely you’ll survive his first day. Now, do be a good girl and put this on. I like a lady to look nice when she joins me in bed." Isabel shrank farther back into the chair, her bravado fading. "Please, William," she whispered. "Please don’t do this. If you ever cared for me, even a little bit —" "I didn’t." He withdrew a key from his pocket and went to the door. "I’m going to see if they have any passable wine in this place. You had best be changed and waiting in that bed when I return." With that last threat made, Glenwell let himself out of the room. Isabel choked back a sob as she heard him turn the key in the lock. She was trapped in a windowless room in an inn where everyone thought she was the lunatic wife of a kind and magnanimous Lord. "Help me, Father," she prayed. "Tell me what to do."

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_________________________ "Here, M’Lord." The man who’d earlier pointed out the signs of a loose carriage wheel now directed Sebastian’s attention toward a side road that branched off the main route to Scotland. "It looks ta me like they’ve turned down this way, though heaven only knows why." Jeremy drew his horse up beside his brother’s. "Joe tells me he remembers there being a small inn around here somewhere. It’s possible they’ve put in there for the night." Sebastian, experiencing the heady rush of a hunter closing in on his prey, motioned the men to gather round. "I want you to spread out through the woods," he instructed. "Keep a close eye on the path but stay far enough apart that no one will see a band of men surrounding the place. I’ll follow the road and, should we find an inn, I’ll go in by myself and ask for a room. Jeremy, once I’m inside, you’ll take several of the men and locate the carriage and driver. Whatever happens, we mustn’t give them a chance to get away." Jeremy nodded and then called out to several of the men, instructing them to stay with him on the left side of the road. The rest took up their positions to the right, leaving Sebastian to follow the unmistakable tracks. They were close now, of that he was certain. He only hoped that he would find Isabel unharmed. _________________________ Isabel listened to be sure William had made it down the steps before she began to search the room for something, anything, that could be used as a weapon. It only took a glance, however, to tell her that he’d seen to it the obvious things were not available. There was no poker for the fireplace, nor was there a bed warmer or anything else heavy. Tearing through the chest, she found only a change

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of clothes for both of them and a long coil of rope, which she could only assume he would use to restrain her if necessary. Kneeling to search beneath the bed, she nearly cried with frustration as she came up empty-handed once again. Minutes ticked by and she grew more frantic in her search. There had to be something. _________________________ When the inn actually loomed into sight, Sebastian had to fight the urge to kick his horse to a gallop and bear down upon it and the man that he sought. Instead, he kept his pace to a steady canter and approached the humble building with the apparent calm of one simply grateful for the promise of food and a night’s lodging. Carefully, so as not to alarm anyone who might be watching, he looped his horse’s reins around the railing provided for such a purpose and made his way up the steps to the inn door. A cursory glance in one of the large front windows revealed an empty dining area but he withdrew his pistol anyway, and held it hidden in the folds of his cloak as he rapped at the door. _________________________ From her room, Isabel heard the knock and then recognized William ’s voice as he barked to the innkeeper, "Don’t get greedy, sir, for I’ll not have my wife disturbed tonight." He was on the stairs and her heart hammered in her chest as, behind the door, she waited. Her hand was fisted around her hatpin so that the sharp point jutted out from between two fingers. Her only chance, she knew, was to go for his eyes the moment he opened the door. If she could injure him badly enough she might be able to get to the stables and locate a horse before he could start after her. In any case, it was her only chance and she intended to take it. She’d get away from William Glenwell, or die trying. As the key turned in the

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lock, she took a deep breath and tensed for the fight to come. William swung the door open and Isabel lunged at him, but he spied her just in time to grasp her intention. He managed to shield his eyes, though she raked the hatpin down the side of his face, drawing blood from temple to chin, before he caught her by the arm and flung her across the room. At the door below, the innkeeper was trying to convince his potential guest to leave when a shrill scream rent the air. Drawing his gun, Sebastian pushed past the man and rushed up the stairs. The sound of a mighty crash drew him to a door and, without a moment’s hesitation, he kicked it in. There, on the floor, cowered Isabel with Glenwell crouched over her, a knife in his hand. There was no time for thought or discourse; only action remained. With a steady hand, Sebastian aimed his pistol and shot. The bullet caught Glenwell in the ribs, knocking him sideways so that he fell away from Isabel, who scrambled towards the open door. Sebastian caught her up in his arms and held her to his chest, both their hearts hammering wildly. "Isabel, thank God," he gasped as he drew her out into the lighted hall and began to look her over for signs of injury. "Are you all right?" She did not answer his question, but only breathed, "You came for me, Sebastian. I prayed, and you found me." "Of course I came for you," he said as he fingered a bump on the back of her head. "Here, turn around so I can see if you’re bleeding." He was maneuvering her around so that the wall sconce shed light on the injured area when Glenwell suddenly lunged through the door. In a split second, Merrill reacted, jerking Isabel out of the way of the madman’s blade. With no victim to sink his knife into, he plunged forward against the railing, which cracked beneath his weight. The next sound was a

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sickening thud as Isabel’s captor landed, face down, on the hard wood below. There he remained, motionless, for his neck had been broken. William Glenwell was dead. Overcome by shock and horror, Isabel collapsed in Sebastian’s arms. She was only vaguely aware of the presence of Jeremy and several other armed men and she understood little of the explanations that were made to the innkeeper and, later, the local constable. She did not hear the Earl demand that a coach be found immediately so that she would not be forced to stay another moment in that dreadful place, but she did curl up against him as the gentle swaying of the hired conveyance lulled her into a merciful sleep.

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Chapter Twenty-Four The wedding was held according to plans, the traditional Christmas Eve service made d oubly joyous that year. At the back of the church, shortly before midnight, Isabel’s father tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and smiled down at his daughter. "You look lovely," he whispered, "and so much like your mother. She’d be quite proud of you, you know." "Thank you, Papa," Isabel said as she touched her gloved hand to his face. "It means so much to me to hear you say that." Just then, the music began and all eyes turned toward them. At the front of the church, standing beside Vicar Thomas, Sebastian drew in a sharp breath. Surely there had never been so radiant a bride as his Isabel and his heart beat strong and proud in his chest. When Lord Baxter placed his daughter’s hand in that of Lord Merrill, the groom bowed formally and surprised the crowd by saying, "Thank you, sir, for entrusting your daughter to me. I shall endeavor to make her as happy as any one could hope to be." "See that you do," Lord Baxter said, his eyes misting over with tears. Then he took his seat beside Sebastian’s mother and, together, they witnessed the happy union of their children. After the ceremony, the guests piled into sleighs and traveled to Brookwood manor to enjoy a simple meal. The bride and groom were toasted repeatedly and many gifts were exchanged before Sebastian at last wrapped a fur-lined cloak about his lady’s shoulders and, thanking all those who had come to celebrate this special day with them, announced their departure. At Graystone, the impatient man carried his bride over the threshold and straight up the stairs where they did not bother to wait for maid or valet to come to their aid. Latching the door, Sebastian

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pulled Isabel into his arms and, tipping her head back, caught her lips in a searing kiss. Then, with infinite tenderness, he slowly unbuttoned her dress and helped her to ease the ivory silk from her shoulders. Standing before the mirror, Isabel found the sight of them together riveting. From behind her, Sebastian guided her dress down and off, allowing it to puddle on the floor. She shivered with sweet anticipation as he nipped at her earlobe, then kissed his way down her neck. "You are beautiful, Milady," he whispered as he eased her chemise off her shoulder, his lips following to caress the bared flesh. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?" Leaning back against his strong form, Isabel reveled in the taut lines of his body. "I believe I have some idea," she said, "for you certainly have the same effect on me, Sebastian. Every time you touch me, I feel as though a string has been pulled so tight that it might snap at any moment. Oh, Milord," she murmured as he began to stroke one puckering nipple through the thin layer of fabric that yet protected her modesty, "Is it normal for me to feel this way?" Chuckling low in his throat, the groom turned his bride in his arms. "It is only like this," he murmured against her lips, "when two people love each other very much. Now come," he said and, taking her by the hand, led her to the bed, "and let me teach you of all the pleasures we can give to one another." Sebastian eased his bride down onto the bed and stripping off his clothes, joined her there. Isabel felt her cheeks grow warm at the sight of his unclothed form but, very soon, she was too caught up in her first love lesson to feel anything outside the powerful sensations that held her in thrall. As the black of a midnight sky gave way to the first rays of dawn, they explored one another, learning the lessons that only the heart could teach and

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content in the knowledge together had just begun.

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