Read His Wicked Embrace Online
Authors: Adrienne Basso
His Wicked Embrace (24 page)
The coach hit a deep rut and listed to one side. Damien braced his feet on the floorboards as the carriage righted itself and glanced at the trunk perched opposite him on the cushioned seat. It did not budge.
Damien was sure the driver he hired thought him addle-brained for keeping the thing inside the coach instead of lashing it to the back, but Damien felt a strange reluctance to let the trunk out of his sight. He had not opened it, first because he was in haste to be away, but later because he felt he had no right. The trunk belonged to Isabella, and he intended to present it to her intact.
The coach slowed and drew to a halt at the front door of The Grange. Damien jumped down from the vehicle, then reached in to haul out the trunk. Cradling it in his arms like a child, the earl turned to the driver.
“You are welcome to spend the night. The stables are around back. Joe will assist you with the horses, get you some dinner, and show you where to bed down.”
The driver accepted the invitation with a gap-toothed grin. Flicking the reins sharply, he drove the tired team toward the stables.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Amberly,” Damien said when the housekeeper finally answered his persistent knocking. He set the trunk down and removed his gloves and greatcoat. “It is good to be home. Be sure that someone brings this trunk into my study immediately. I trust that all is well with the children? And Miss Browning? Are they in the schoolroom having lessons?”
“Everyone's in the drawing room,” Mrs. Amberly answered. She gave the earl a sidelong glance. “Having tea.”
Damien was in too much of a hurry to take interest in the housekeeper's sullen tone, so he left without further inquiry.
As he entered the drawing room, he immediately noticed the changes. The room was sparkling clean and smelled like roses and beeswax. Yet that was hardly the only difference. Isabella, Lord Poole, and the children were enjoying an elegant tea. The silver gleamed, the napkins were snowy white, and the china unchipped. There were platters of small sandwiches, delicate pastries, flakey scones, fresh fruit tarts, and other elaborate confections that could not possibly have come from Mrs. Amberly's kitchen.
Ian spotted the earl and jumped up, nearly knocking over his overflowing plate of treats.
“Father! Catherine, look, Father is back!”
The children rushed to embrace him, and Damien felt his heart swell. It was good to be home.
“Ah, the master has returned,” Lord Poole drawled in a censorious voice. “How delightful.”
His tone was like the prick of a needle, but Damien refused to be baited. However, one look at Isabella, fashionably garbed in a charming gown of light green muslin trimmed with ribbons, sent all his good intentions flying out the window.
“Hell's teeth, what's going on here? And where the devil did you get that dress, Isabella?” The words were out before Damien could stop himself, and he hated how harsh and jealous he sounded.
“I gave Isabella these garments, Saunders,” Lord Poole said. “Not that it is any of your business.”
“Anything that concerns Isabella is my business, Poole.” Damien's gray eyes were smoldering as he captured Isabella's eyes across the room.
The color washed into her cheeks. She lowered her lashes, picked up a light green lace-edged fan that matched her gown, and began moving it vigorously. Damien saw Lord Poole reach for Isabella's free hand and squeeze it in a gesture of comfort and reassurance. Then Lord Poole turned his eyes to Damien, his expression resembling that of a small boy gloating over a favorite toy.
A hot wave of resentment clogged Damien's throat, and he gave Lord Poole a violent stare. “I thought you'd be long gone by now, Poole. When are you leaving?”
“Whenever it suits me.”
“Would you care for some tea, Damien?” Isabella interjected. Her face was set in grim lines.
“I have important matters I need to discuss privately with you, Isabella,” Damien said, pointedly ignoring her offer of refreshments.
She lifted her teacup and took a leisurely sip. Damien felt the gloom wrap itself around him. He had suspected that while he was gone from The Grange, Poole would try to burrow his way into Isabella's good graces, and it was evident he had succeeded. There was an obvious bond of affection and respect between Isabella and Poole that made Damien feel excluded. And strangely hurt.
“I will await you in my study, Isabella,” Damien muttered. Opening the door with a jerk, he escaped into the hall.
Chapter Twenty
Isabella stood outside Damien's study door fighting against the nerves that threatened to overcome her. She had been avoiding this encounter for nearly two hours, uneasy with the notion of being alone with him again. Much had happened during his absence, and if Damien's reaction in the drawing room was any indication of his mood, Isabella knew it would be a volatile meeting.
Deciding she could no longer stall for additional time, Isabella knocked sharply on the door, opened it, then forced her reluctant legs to move forward. Damien was seated behind his massive oak desk, an assortment of papers strewn around him. He turned toward her when she crossed into his domain, and for the briefest moment something fierce glimmered in the depths of his stormy gray eyes.
“So you have finally decided to grace me with your presence. What took you so long?”
The harshness in his voice roused Isabella's fighting spirit. “I saw no reason for haste, since I strongly suspected your greeting would be less than cordial. And now you have proven me correct in my assumption.”
Damien gave a loud snort and leaned back in his chair. “You can hardly expect politeness from me after that cozy scene I witnessed in the drawing room. Damn it, Isabella, I am gone for six days, and when I return I'm made to feel like a stranger in my own home. I hardly recognize the place.”
A twinge of guilt invaded Isabella's mind, but she was not about to indulge it. She folded her arms tightly across her chest and stood stiffly in front of him.
“We thought you would be pleased, Damien. When the opportunity presented itself to make a few improvements, we seized upon it. I'm sorry you don't approve. It was never our intention to annoy you.”
“Our
intention?” Damien slapped his hand down loudly on the desk and rose to his feet. “How disgustingly intimate you and Poole have become in my absence.”
intention?” Damien slapped his hand down loudly on the desk and rose to his feet. “How disgustingly intimate you and Poole have become in my absence.”
“Lord Poole? He took no part in these decisions. Three women from the village have been hired on as day maids, and a male chef is now installed in the kitchen.
Jenkins
asked for my assistance in this matter, and we interviewed these new servants together. He and I are responsible for the changes at The Grange.”
Jenkins
asked for my assistance in this matter, and we interviewed these new servants together. He and I are responsible for the changes at The Grange.”
Damien returned Isabella's piercing stare. “Is Jenkins also responsible for your new wardrobe?”
Isabella felt herself coloring, and her defiant stance withered fractionally. Although she enjoyed her lovely new gowns, she did not feel entirely comfortable with the notion of wearing garments that had once belonged to Emmeline. Jenkins had repeatedly assured her the earl would not object, but Isabella secretly feared Damien would think she had done something horribly inappropriate when he discovered the truth.
“This was Emmeline's gown,” Isabella said quietly, her fingers smoothing the soft folds of the green muslin skirt. “Lord Poole gave me several of her dresses. Jenkins thought it permissible for me to accept them, but I shall return the garments to Lord Poole if it upsets you to see me wearing them.”
Damien's mouth dropped open. “What the devil is Poole doing with Emmeline's clothes? Does he travel about the countryside with her garments packed away in his luggage?”
Isabella let out a nervous giggle. “What a ridiculous notion, Damien. Don't be absurd.”
The earl gritted his teeth. “I suggest you tread carefully, my dear. My patience has been sorely tried this afternoon.”
“So has mine, my lord.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing him momentarily speechless. Capitalizing on her advantage, Isabella quickly added, “This dress came from the armoire in Emmeline's bedchamber. It is filled with gowns, most of which were never worn.”
“I remember now,” Damien said, his eyes involuntarily sweeping over Isabella. “After Emmeline disappeared, Jenkins and I searched her bedchamber. I recall thinking it strange that she kept such an extensive wardrobe here, since she came to The Grange so infrequently.”
“I will not wear the gowns if you object,” Isabella reiterated.
As Damien pondered her words, Isabella saw the anger diminish from his eyes. “It seems a ludicrous waste to let the clothes become food for the moths,” he finally said. “Besides, you look very pretty.”
Isabella fought back a smile. The compliment was sincerely if begrudgingly given. “Thank you, Damien.”
The earl shifted from one foot to the other, then walked out from behind his desk and began prowling around the study. He appeared restless and uneasy, but to Isabella's relief, no longer angry. Eventually Damien paused by the fire and idly picked up the poker.
The tension gradually eased from the air. Isabella found herself watching his hands, mesmerized, as they prodded the smouldering logs, sending showers of glittering sparks leaping among the flames. The heavy gold signet ring on Damien's left hand gleamed in the firelight, and the memory of the feel of cool metal on her warm flesh sent a tremor of excitement through Isabella.
She cleared away the lump in her throat. Damien turned at the strangled sound, and Isabella berated herself for being caught staring at him with such blatant expectancy in her expression.
Seeming to read her thoughts, Damien flashed her a wickedly inviting smile and moved nearer. Isabella's stomach clenched. Damien looked so strong and vital, the romantic light cast by the burning fire emphasizing his handsome, rugged features. His broad shoulders and muscular chest filled her vision, and Isabella felt a tremor run through her body.
Unable to stop herself, she reached out a trembling hand and rested it upon his shoulder. Damien cocked his head to one side and looked down at her in a way that made her knees feel weak and her heart beat at twice its normal rhythm. His smoldering, heavy-lidded gaze made her achingly aware of how lonely she had been without him.
“I missed you,” she whispered softly.
“Thank God,” Damien murmured with relief. He stroked her cheek gently with his forefinger. “I thought about you constantly.”
The room was warm, but Isabella could feel goosebumps on her arms. His gaze dropped suggestively to her mouth and she nervously flicked out her tongue.
“Where did you go?” she asked.
“I'll tell you later.”
Damien bent his head and softly kissed her lips. Isabella eagerly welcomed him, shutting her eyes at the delicious pleasure she felt when his tongue explored her mouth.
She raised her arms, clasping them tightly around his broad back. He felt solid and powerful, inspiring a sweet sense of security. Damien had haunted her thoughts nearly every hour he had been gone from The Grange. Being held so lovingly in his arms made Isabella realize how much he meant to her, how truly incomplete she felt without him.
Worries about her future, her past, even this very moment, faded as Isabella savored the feelings of love that burned in her heart. It was a true testament to the mysterious power of love that she and this proud, worldly man shared a closeness that endured no matter what their differences. Isabella offered a silent, selfish prayer that this oftentimes bumpy, yet blissfully exciting relationship would continue.
Damien's teeth raked the delicate skin of Isabella's throat, causing a restless urgency within her. Smiling, she pressed herself closer to him, smelling the fragrant smoke from the fire mingled with the musky male scent of his body. It was pure heaven.
“Shouldn't you lock the door?” she whispered breathlessly.
Damien's gray eyes flared. “As much as I would dearly love to ravish you on this rather scratchy-looking carpet, my dear, I find myself compelled to exercise a modicum of caution. Even with the door locked, we could be interrupted at any moment.”
She leaned against his broad chest, closed her eyes, and fought to control her ragged breathing. “What a damned inconvenient time for you to develop a sense of decorum, Damien.”
He laughed heartily, and Isabella could feel the rumbling deep in his chest. “You are a refreshingly honest woman, Isabella. It is probably the quality I admire most in you.”
“Two compliments in one afternoon. You will turn my head with your flattery, my lord.”
“I wish it were that easy,” Damien grumbled. He hugged Isabella tightly for a few moments longer, then gently eased her out of his embrace. “I left The Grange to travel up to York, Isabella. The purpose of my journey was to speak with your grandfather.”
Isabella went very still. “You have seen the earl?”
“Yes. And Great-aunt Agnes too.”
“Oh.” Isabella lowered her eyes. Damien, her grandfather, and Aunt Agnes all together in one room. Discussing her, Isabella felt certain. How perfectly mortifying. “They are an interesting pair, the earl and his sister,” she said, carefully examining the tips of her light-green shoes.
“They are mean spirited, rude, and dictatorial,” Damien said. “After spending only a brief afternoon in their company I can understand how unhappy you must have been living there.”
“Can you?” Isabella's head snapped up, her face suffused with color. Damien had endured merely a taste of the atmosphere at her grandfather's estate. The self-confidence and self-worth she had managed to achieve through years of struggle faltered badly when she recalled the unpleasant memories. “Toward the end, it became unbearable living at the estate. Aunt Agnes scrutinized everything about meâmy appearance, my actions, my conversationsâand always found me wanting, while the earl either ignored me or dismissed me out of hand as being beneath his notice.”
“They are both fools,” Damien said. “You are far better off without them.”
“I know that,” Isabella answered quietly. “Yet they are my only family.”
“Perhaps.” Damien took Isabella's arm and led her to the other side of his desk. She saw a small trunk resting beside his chair. “I brought this back from York for you, Isabella. It is filled with your mother's belongings.”
“My mother's?” Isabella's eyes lit up with excitement. “How is this possible? I was told by one of the servants that my grandfather burned all my mother's possessions. Where did you get this?”
“I stole it from Aunt Agnes,” Damien said, tipping back on his heels proudly.
“You didn't?”
“I did.” Damien's gray eyes danced with merriment. “I marched straight through the house with the trunk perched on my shoulder. I can't imagine what the servants thought, but naturally no one said a word. Of course Agnes was not overly pleased with my actions. Apparently she had become rather attached to the trunk over the years and objected strongly when I decided to remove it. It became necessary to lock her bedchamber to prevent any interference.”
“She must have been very angry,” Isabella said, finding it difficult to image Aunt Agnes being bested by anyone.
“She was absolutely furious,” Damien chuckled. “When I left her, she was spouting profanities that would make a sailor blush.”
Isabella shrieked with childish laughter. “I wish I had been there to witness her defeat. Aunt Agnes finally met her match when she tangled with you, Damien.”
“I hope my prize proves to be of worth,” Damien said, shifting his eyes down to the trunk. “Agnes thought there might be something of significance in here that would name your true father.”
“Pray, don't keep me in suspense, Damien,” Isabella said, clasping her hands tightly together. “What have you found?”
“I haven't opened the trunk yet, Isabella. I felt it was your right.”
She knelt down and ran her hand hesitantly across the top of the trunk. A heavy weight of impending doom and dread crept into her chest. It suddenly seemed as if her entire future depended on the contents of this mysterious trunk and the secrets it held. Fearing she would lose her nerve, Isabella took a deep breath, thrust the latch, unbolted the lock, and quickly lifted the lid.
Shades of brown, tan, and white swirled before her unfocused eyes. Isabella blinked hard several times, forcing herself to adjust her vision. Gradually she distinguished the shapes and colorsâstacks of books, piles of correspondence neatly tied with colored ribbons, a small jewelry box, a writing box, a few garments.
Hands shaking visibly, Isabella pulled forth two packets of letters. “Please help me read through them,” she asked, offering a pile to Damien.
The room fell to silence as they both concentrated their attention on the letters, the occasional spark and crack of the fire the only noise. Damien reclined in a leather chair near the fire while Isabella sprawled on the floor, leaning back against the open trunk as she read.
The first letter Isabella scanned was signed by a female named Pamela and was dated four years prior to the year Isabella was born. Impatiently she folded the missive and reached for another. When all the correspondence had been thoroughly perused, Isabella turned toward Damien. He answered her unspoken question with a slight shake of his head.
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