His Wicked Embrace (14 page)

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Authors: Adrienne Basso

BOOK: His Wicked Embrace
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“Are you saying the treasure has never been found? After all these years?” Isabella squirmed with unconcealed excitement. “Did Lady Anne leave any clues as to where she buried the treasure?”
“She kept a journal. The final entry is reported to be a poem proclaiming the location of treasure. Solve the riddle of the poem, discover the hidden treasure.”
“Oh.” Isabella sank back in disappointment. “I imagine the journal has long since been lost.”
“Quite the contrary,” Damien replied in an offhand manner. “The last time I saw Lady Anne's journal, it was in The Grange library.”
Isabella clasped her hands together in undisguised glee. “How wonderful! Can you just imagine how exciting it would be if we solved the riddle and discovered the treasure?” Suddenly she sobered, reality taking hold. “Of course, it must be a very long and complicated poem.”
Calmly, Damien recited, “Oh, Gloriana of titian hair, thy savior I shall be; for through the rose of the noonday sun, thy enemies shall flee.”
“You know it!”
“By heart.” Damien's deep voice echoed with laughter. “I believe that at one time or another each child of every generation of our family attempts to make the monumental discovery of the treasure.”
“Well, I am not a child.” Isabella straightened up in her seat and eagerly repeated the verses. “Gloriana with titian hair—that must be a reference to Elizabeth the First. I suppose the rose might refer to the Tudor red rose.”
Isabella continued muttering to herself for several minutes and then shot up like a spark. “Good Lord, the treasure is buried in the rose garden on the north side of the castle.”
“Stop right there,” Damien insisted, smothering a laugh. He was impressed by her quick mind. It had taken him hours to reach the same conclusion. Of course he had been ten years old at the time, but Isabella's rapid conclusions were still impressive.
“Rest assured, Isabella, during the past one hundred and fifty years this story has existed, each and every one of the rose bushes at Whatley Grange has been uprooted and the ground beneath thoroughly searched. I can say, with a fair amount of certainty, there is nothing beneath any of the roses on my estate other than dirt.”
“Every bush?” Isabella's voice held a trace of skepticism.
“Every one,” Damien insisted emphatically. She wilted visibly at his words, and Damien felt strangely bereaved as he watched the glow disappear from her sparkling violet eyes. “I am sorry,” he finally whispered in a soft voice.
“Pray, forgive my foolishness,” Isabella replied with a nervous laugh. “I'm afraid I tend to get a bit carried away at times.”
“I rather liked your enthusiasm, Isabella,” Damien confessed quietly. He glanced down at her tightly clutched fingers. “Please, feel free to avail yourself of Lady Anne's diary. Perhaps you will discover a clue that has eluded us all these years.”
Isabella studied his handsome face for a few moments, testing his sincerity. Convinced he was being honest, she favored him with a dazzling smile. “Thank you, Damien. I do believe I shall take you up on your kind offer.”
 
 
“Come along children,” Isabella prompted. “Your father is expected for tea and we all must get cleaned up before we join him.”
Isabella looked with undisguised dismay at her two dirty charges. She imagined she looked just as unkempt. They had spent the better part of the morning and early afternoon out of doors collecting various flowers and fauna to identify and study in the schoolroom.
Ian, in his exuberance over discovering a water lily, had nearly toppled into the lake. Isabella managed to save him from falling, but his walking shoes, socks, and short pants were covered in mud. Catherine fared no better, tripping over an exposed tree root and ripping out a substantial length of the hem of her light blue gown. Her previously neatly braided blond hair was loose and straggly, and a drying streak of brown mud crossed her forehead. Isabella shuddered to think what horrors would be revealed about her own appearance when she viewed herself in the mirror.
“Let's cut through the garden, Miss Browning,” Catherine suggested. “It will be faster.”
At Isabella's affirmative nod, Catherine grabbed tight hold of her brother's hand and the two raced ahead. Isabella's heart lurched at their obvious excitement over the impending visit with their father. Despite the earl's promise, he had not been spending very much time with his children. To Isabella's knowledge, the children had spoken with their father only at bedtime in the past five days.
At least Catherine and Ian have each other, Isabella mused, watching Catherine deliberately slow her pace to match her younger brother's. It never ceased to amaze Isabella how devoted these siblings were. They fought often and occasionally violently, especially in the presence of their father, but Isabella knew how much they meant to each other. No one would ever be able to sever the special bond that existed between Catherine and Ian.
Isabella reached the outer edges of the rose garden just as Catherine swung open the heavy French doors on the upper terrace.
“I shall be in your room in five minutes to help you change,” Isabella called out loudly. Catherine paused a moment, waving her free hand in understanding before she and Ian entered the house.
Isabella slowed her pace once the children disappeared. She wandered along the narrow gravel path through the rows of roses, her eyes alight with speculation as they darted from bush to bush.
“I will never to able to walk among these lovely blossoms without thinking of Lady Anne and her blasted treasure,” Isabella muttered to herself. Her enthusiastic start to discovering the treasure had met with very little success. Curiously, the diary the earl had spoken of was not where he remembered it to be in library and thus far, Isabella had not had the time to search among the thousands leather-bound volumes for it.
Instead, Isabella concentrated her efforts on deciphering the simple poem, convinced that if she found the elusive rose in the clue, she would find the treasure. She quickly discovered, however, there were roses of all kinds, shapes and sizes among the furnishings of The Grange—wood furniture with roses carved in it, stone-and-wood moldings featuring a rose motif, stained glass windows with roses prominently and subtlely displayed, stone carvings of roses on the face of archways both inside and outside the castle walls.
She also learned in the course of her brief investigation that there existed a rose bedchamber, a rose sitting room, a rose drawing room, a Queen Elizabeth bedchamber, a Tudor bedchamber, and innumerable rooms supposedly named for Lady Anne.
Surprisingly, Jenkins was able to supply much of the information she required about the history of The Grange and its various rooms, but Isabella was no closer to arriving at any conclusions than when she had first begun her search several days before. She conceded honestly to herself that greatly hampering her efforts was her appalling sense of, or rather lack of, direction. Isabella knew she could not go mucking about the castle alone. She would surely get lost after a few turns.
Jenkins had gallantly volunteered his assistance, but he was preoccupied with estate matters, and as yet was unable to spend any time with Isabella.
“I could use some hot water if there is any to spare, Maggie,” Isabella said to the maid when she entered the warm kitchen. Isabella had deliberately made this detour through the kitchen to acquire fresh water for washing herself and the children. She knew from experience there would be no male servants about the castle to perform this simple task at this hour of the day.
“I'll fill a bucket for you right away,” Maggie replied. Placing the basket of beans she held in her lap on the floor, Maggie struggled awkwardly to rise from her low chair.
“No, no, I can get it myself,” Isabella insisted, rushing forward before the maid could gain her feet. Lately, it pained Isabella greatly to watch Maggie. The young women's body was so large and distended from her pregnancy that she appeared to be in a continual state of discomfort. It should only be a matter of days before Maggie's baby was born, and Isabella prayed fervently every night that it would be a swift and uncomplicated birth.
“Don't know why you'd be needing hot water in the middle of the afternoon,” Mrs. Amberly grumbled as she stirred a black pot simmering on the stove.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Amberly,” Isabella said sweetly. She pointedly ignored the housekeeper's comment, not wanting to ignite Mrs. Amberly's barely concealed hostility. The housekeeper's attitude towards the new governess had not changed. She greatly resented Isabella's influence over the children and was not averse to showing it.
“The earl will be home for tea this afternoon,” Isabella announced. She gave Maggie a stern look. “You must promise me you will have Molly or Fran bring in the tea tray, Maggie. And if for some reason they are unavailable, don't hesitate to call me. I don't want you lugging a heavy tray up all those stairs.”
“All right, Miss Browning,” Maggie replied shyly, her cheeks blushing pink with pleasure at Isabella's concern.
Isabella could hear Mrs. Amberly's grumbling objections as she left the kitchen, but she paid them no heed. Arms straining with the heavy bucket of hot water she carried, Isabella carefully climbed the staircase, heading directly towards the children's room.
Isabella helped Catherine and Ian change out of their soiled garments and wash the dirt off their hands and faces. Freshly scrubbed and neatly dressed, the children were eager to race to the drawing room to await their father. Isabella restrained them.
“I expect both of you to behave in a suitable manner this afternoon. There will be no arguing, no shouting, no teasing, no physical roughness.” Isabella paused dramatically for effect. “In short, there will be no unpleasantness of any kind. Is that clearly understood?”
A telling look passed between Catherine and Ian. They regarded their governess with somber, innocent eyes, but Isabella was not fooled. Catherine and Ian could behave with total restraint and decorum when the mood suited them, but a few minutes in the company of their imposing father could reduce them to unbridled hellions. Sternly, Isabella made her final proclamation.
“I give you fair warning, children. The moment you begin bickering, I shall make you stand in the corner of the drawing room, with your noses touching the wall, until the hall clock strikes the hour.”
Isabella waited several moments for her dire threats of punishment to sink in before dismissing the children. Then she hurried across the hall to her bedchamber. She fretted for several moments over her appearance, sighing with regret as she looked into the wardrobe. No magical occurrence during the night had produced any fashionable and flattering gowns. Only the same dull, serviceable garments awaited her. Vainly she wished for something soft and gossamer to wear, something that would ignite the flame of passion she occasionally glimpsed in Damien's eyes.
Blushing at her wayward thoughts, Isabella concentrated on washing the dirt from her face. She brushed her long hair slowly, savoring the comforting feeling of the soothing strokes. Her thoughts, as always, drifted again to the earl. Damien. Always Damien.
Isabella had been obsessing over it for days, but now it no longer seemed important to determine when she realized the true extent of her feelings for the handsome, arrogant earl. Perhaps she had fallen in love with him as she observed his dark head bent solicitously toward his children as he patiently listened to them recount the events of their day. Or maybe it occurred when she saw him lift a heavy tray of soiled dishes for the very pregnant Maggie while the maid blushed with gratitude and shyness.
Actually, Isabella suspected that she opened her heart to Damien the morning he appeared on the church steps to accompany her to services. He was nervous that day, but he put aside his own misgivings for her.
In truth, it didn't matter when she began to love the earl, the fact was that she did. And it caused a combination of joy and pain within her heart the likes of which she had never known before. For Isabella knew she lacked the courage and self-confidence to ever reveal her feelings to Damien, and she never dared to hope he would somehow, miraculously, reciprocate her devotion.
Determinedly, she shook off her melancholy thoughts and deftly secured her hair in a tight coil. She knew she had no cause for complaint. All in all, she was living a satisfactory life. The earl and his unconventional household fully accepted her and she was allowed a freedom of expression she had always sought, but never attained.
Casting one last look at the mirror, Isabella turned and headed downstairs, her heart beating in familiar excitement at the thought of spending a pleasant afternoon in the earl's company.
Chapter Twelve
“What do you mean, you can't stay for tea?”
Isabella stood in the entrance hall, hands propped on her hips, and fairly shouted the words at Damien as he began the long climb up the staircase.
He paused suddenly in midstride and looked down on her, an expression of true exasperation marring his handsome features.
“I do believe my statement is very plain, Isabella.” There was an audible note of anger in the tone of his voice, but Isabella unwisely decided to ignore it. Lifting her skirts in an undignified manner, she raced up the stairs after the earl, stopping one rung below him.
“Catherine and Ian are at this very moment waiting for you to join them in the drawing room,” Isabella said in a brittle voice. “You cannot possible disappoint them.”
“I have no choice,” he said with a grim twist of his mouth. Taking full advantage of his superior height, Damien deliberately loomed over her. His steely gray eyes were glinting strangely. “Send my regrets to the children and inform them I shall attempt to speak with them before they go to bed this evening.” Casting Isabella a final dismissive glare, the earl turned away.
She stared at the broad expanse of his retreating shoulders for several moments. Stamping her foot in frustration, Isabella cursed loudly. How dare he act this way? The children had been looking forward to this all week. Damien had already canceled an outing two days ago. Now he was intending to do so again. Isabella decided she could not simply let it pass.
Cloaked in righteous indignation, she chased after the earl, her temper rising with each step. She reached him just as he entered his bedchamber.
“You have made a promise to your children, sir,” she said bluntly. “And I have every intention of making certain you keep your—Good lord, whatever are you doing?”
Amusement momentarily replaced the anger in the earl's eyes. “I am changing my shirt,” Damien retorted, shrugging out of the unbuttoned garment and deliberately flinging it toward the corner of the room. “It is wet and ripped.”
“Oh.” Isabella sputtered with embarrassment, suddenly realizing she had unwittingly invaded the earl's private chamber. She deliberately averted her eyes, but the glorious sight of Damien's naked chest still burned in her memory. Her cheeks blushed pink and her breast rose and fell with her rapid breathing, yet Isabella stood her ground. She instinctively knew Damien expected her to turn and flee in maidenly horror, but she refused to cower.
“We were discussing Catherine and Ian, my lord,” Isabella said irritably, trying to regain her equilibrium.
Damien made a small gesture of disgust. “No, I believe it is fair to say you were lecturing me about Ian and Catherine,” Damien insisted, donning a clean shirt. Harried and distracted, the earl made a valiant attempt to marshal his emotions. He was cold, he was wet, he was tired. He was definitely not up to arguing with Isabella. Summoning up every ounce of self control he possessed, Damien faced his adversary.
“There is a break in the north fence, and several hundred sheep have wandered on to Lord Gilmore's property. I am needed there.”
“Can't it wait? Just for an hour? Catherine and Ian will be crushed if you break your promise. Again.” A lock of chestnut hair escaped the confines of Isabella's neatly plaited hair, and she impatiently pushed it back. “Surely you can spare a scant hour for your son and daughter?”
Damien's jaw tightened. “I don't have an hour to spare. If you would care to look outside, you will see the storm clouds threatening even as we speak.”
Isabella gave a cursory glance out the window. “If it is going to storm, then it makes no sense for you to leave in the first place.” She took a small step toward him. “Please, Damien, don't dismiss your children so lightly.”
“I have already explained why I must leave,” Damien growled, his patience giving way. “In my opinion, you are making far too much over my missing one afternoon tea.” He gave her a scathing look. “And I, for one, would greatly appreciate it if you would stop acting so damned melodramatically. It ill becomes you.”
Isabella shot him a furious glance. “You made a promise to your children, sir. And I fully intend to see that you keep it,” she reiterated fiercely.
“Is that so?” Damien rounded on her. “I have also made a promise to take care of them. Will you kindly explain to me how well off they shall be without a roof over their heads?”
“What utter nonsense,” she returned nastily. “Now who is acting melodramatically.” Isabella narrowed her violet eyes. “I hardly think the welfare of the entire estate rests on a few sheep. You are merely using that as a convenient excuse for neglecting your parental obligations.”
The earl stilled instantly. The cords on his neck stood out, and a pulse was beating visibly at his temple. Isabella knew she had pushed him too far. With perceivable effort the earl maintained his control. Across the room, their eyes met.
“Well, you are correct about one thing, Isabella,” the earl finally stated coldly. “You hardly think.” He lurched past her and Isabella watched him in silence, lacking the courage to utter another syllable.
The palpable tension remained in the room after Damien's departure. Isabella regretted allowing her overset emotions to rule her tongue, but her first obligation must always be toward the children. Who else would look to their welfare, if not she?
A deep, familiar coldness came over Isabella as painful memories of rejection from her own unhappy childhood surfaced and mingled with her concern for Catherine and Ian. She knew they would be very hurt when they found out their father would not be joining them this afternoon. How could a child be expected to understand that other things came first, before them? Especially from a father they clearly worshiped and saw far too little of to begin with.
Smoothing back the imaginary wrinkles in her dove gray gown, Isabella turned to begin the long walk to the drawing room where Catherine and Ian were eagerly awaiting their father's arrival. She paused a moment outside the closed door, intertwining her fingers and twisting them until they ached. Summoning up her inner strength, she masked her face in an unreadable expression and opened the door.
Two little heads turned in eager expectation toward the door. Catherine and Ian were seated side by side on the brocade love seat, their hands folded neatly in their laps. The tarnished silver tea service sat on the high butler's table in front of them, along with four carefully placed china teacups. Isabella's heart constricted as she took in the scene, knowing her announcement of the earl's departure would soon extinguish the eager light in the children's eyes.
Reasoning that it was useless to postpone the inevitable, Isabella began quietly, “Children, I am afraid your father won't be able to join us this afternoon. Apparently, there is a problem with the fences in the north pasture ...”
 
 
The first fat raindrops hit Damien long before he reached his destination. He cursed long and loud as the cold water sprayed his face.
Serves me right
, he thought glumly.
I should have stayed at home with my children and the wandering sheep be damned.
He rode in restless, brooding silence for the next few minutes, his emotions in turmoil. He was a man who prided himself on accepting responsibility, and he had never before questioned his priorities. Estate matters came first; too many livelihoods depended on his ability to keep The Grange financially afloat. But lately Isabella was causing him to rethink the carefully constructed order of his life. That he loved his children was not the issue. He truly would have suffered any sort of pain if it meant sparing his children. Yet, as Isabella so doggedly pointed out, by willfully breaking a promise to them, he was hurting them, albeit unintentionally.
His role as father had always been clear-cut and well defined. He was their provider and protector. Yet Isabella insisted they required more from him, and Damien was unsure how he could give this to them. He could not neglect the affairs of his estate to mollycoddle his children at every turn. On the other hand, was it truly necessary for him to personally supervise the herding of the sheep? Had he made the right decision, placing the needs of the estate above Catherine's and Ian's? What bothered him most, Damien admitted honestly as the wind and rain engulfed him, was that he strongly suspected he had not.
 
 
Damien rapped his knuckles forcefully on the door, but the raging thunderstorm drowned out the knock. He waited a few moments before opening the door; then, univited, he slowly entered Isabella's bedchamber, hoping to find her awake. Once inside, the earl strode silently across the room to her bedside, holding his candle high in front of him to light the way. The heavy bed curtains were pulled back, and Isabella lay burrowed deeply into the soft mattress, snuggled contently beneath the warm coverlet.
Damien placed the lit candle on the bedside table, pausing a moment to look at the slumbering governess. The glimmering light from the candle illuminated her shimmering chestnut hair and highlighted her fair, porcelain complexion. He admired the charming curl of her long, dark eyelashes and the high set of her cheekbones. He studied her in quiet contemplation. She was truly breathtaking. Damien swallowed hard.
“Isabella. Isabella,” he called softly, trying to awaken her without unduly starling her. “Wake up, Isabella.”
Isabella murmured incoherently in her sleep and rolled languidly onto her back. The earl called to her again, and a delightful smile crossed her face. She stirred restlessly and sleepily blinked her eyes. “Damien,” she muttered groggily. “My own sweet Damien.”
Isabella was having a simply wonderful dream. She was majestically seated upon a high-spirited horse, and Damien was praising her skill as a horsewoman. Catherine and Ian were also with them, behaving perfectly, and Isabella reveled in the wonderful sense of family and belonging they all shared. She easily jumped a particularly difficult hedge, and the earl applauded her daring, then gently scolded her for taking such a risk with her person. Yet his tone was sweet and caring, and Isabella did not mind his censure, for she knew he spoke only because of his concern.
The children pleaded for permission to ride ahead, and with a quick smile the earl acquiesced. As soon as they were alone, Damien pulled his mount next to Isabella's splendid horse. With a strong, muscular arm, he reached out and plucked her off the animal's back. Isabella laughed at his stunt, willingly lifting her arms in gentle surrender and nuzzling close to his bare neck.
“Oh, Damien, my love,” she sang out merrily.
The earl took a startled step back from the bed, his dark eyebrows shooting up in surprise at Isabella's words. He peered down at her, scrutinizing her lovely features, but her eyes remained closed and he realized she was still sleeping. Damien's mouth curled up in a devilish grin.
“Ahh, so I am part of your dreams, my prim little governess,” he whispered in a deep voice.
The sound of her beloved's voice caused Isabella to stir again, and Damien could see the curves of her breasts outlined against the thin fabric of her nightgown. It was a tantalizing sight.
She looked so free and open and giving. Damien felt captivated by the sensual warmth radiating from Isabella's expressive face. Her invitation was simply impossible for him to resist.
Against his better judgment, the earl leaned down and drew her carefully into his arms. She moaned her approval and pressed herself closer to him. Damien felt himself starting to tremble with anticipation. His long suppressed passions momentarily overtook his common sense as his mind conjured up erotic sexual images of the two of them. Shaking his head violently, he threw those wicked thoughts aside. Yet he could not help himself from wondering. Could he steal a kiss before she awoke?
Encased in her delightful dream, Isabella sighed contently and snuggled closer to the earl. She could feel his warm breath in her hair as his lips pressed fervent kisses on her temple. Isabella shifted her body and tightened her grip around his neck. In a faraway voice, she whispered to him urgently, “Kiss me, Damien. Please, kiss me.”
Isabella's sensual request ignited the banked fire within Damien. He grasped her chin firmly in his fingers, lifted her head, and brought his mouth swiftly down on hers. He kissed her hard, torn between his sense of honor, hoping she would awake, and his raging passions, praying she would not. Isabella automatically parted her lips for him, and his tongue eagerly penetrated her mouth. She responded immediately with her own tongue, and Damien softened the kiss, skillfully stroking the escalating tension between them.
Nearly overwhelmed by her response, Damien regrettably broke the kiss. “God only knows how much I want you,” he muttered thickly.
He was breathing fast, and his body felt heavy and taut with arousal. Unable to resist, he nuzzled her delicate throat and flattened his large palm on her shoulder. Isabella again responded to his touch, lifting herself against his hand, moving her body under the warm strength of his fingers. Slowly, with a will of its own, Damien's hand inched toward Isabella's chest. When he softly touched her breast, she moaned and moved closer.

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