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Authors: Adrienne Basso

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BOOK: His Wicked Embrace
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“Remove your bonnet.”
Isabella's dark brows drew together at the earl's strange command, but she lifted her arms and took off her hat.
“Now take down your hair.”
“Really, sir!” Isabella sounded outraged.
“Just do it.” The earl's voice was impatient.
A flicker of emotion passed over Isabella's lovely face, but she did not refuse his odd request. Slowly she removed the pins securing her rich chestnut hair. Once freed, it fell in long, thick waves down past her waist.
When the earl saw her unbound hair, he rose quickly from his chair, almost knocking it over. He looked very surprised. He was certain the deep chestnut color was different from what he remembered, as were the luscious length and curls. Color could be changed and curls added—Damien knew that much about a female's hair. But the length? In all the years of their marriage Damien had never seen Emmeline's hair reach any farther than the tops of her shoulders. Was it possible for a woman's hair to grow that long in two years?
“Your hair is different,” Damien stated, his tone genuinely puzzled. “What have you done to it?”
“I have done nothing to my hair,” Isabella replied steadily. “It is precisely as it has always been.”
Damien took several steps toward the center of the room to gain a better view.
“You must have changed your hair,” Damien protested. “I have never seen it as it is now.”
The earl advanced a few steps farther until he stood only inches away. He reached out a long arm and grabbed a fistful of Isabella's hair. It felt like heavy silk. He brought the rich chestnut curls up close to his face to examine them, and he could see the threads of gold intertwined with the red and brown.
He tugged on the silken mass, using her hair to draw her closer to him. Positioned a scant few inches away, Isabella could not help but notice the almost terrifyingly powerful muscles of his chest and arms, the glint of determination darkening his gray eyes. He was a strong man, both physically and mentally. An immovable force.
Isabella felt the strange tension that seemed to emanate from the earl's solidly built body the minute she drew near him. She watched him closely with questioning eyes, unsure of what was going to happen next. Despite her inner qualms, she never moved, forcing herself to remain perfectly still.
Damien put his free arm around her waist and pulled her against his hard body, effectively making her his prisoner. Frightened and startled by the unexpected move, Isabella tried to twist away, but he held her hair tightly and her scalp tingled with pain.
“You are hurting me, my lord,” she cried out softly. She stared up into his darkly handsome face, her eyes beseeching him to release her hair.
Damien saw the tears gathering in her eyes, and he let the shimmering mass escape his fingers. He moved his strong hand along her jawline and took her chin firmly in his fingers, tilting it upward. Then he increased the pressure of his other arm around her waist.
Isabella could feel the long, hard muscular length of him pressing closer against her body and it made her feel dizzy. Her breathing became unsteady as she stood transfixed, staring into his steely gray eyes for a timeless instant. And then, without warning, he bent his dark head and brought his mouth down on hers in a crushing kiss.
Isabella went rigid with shock. Yet the firm, insistent pressure of the earl's surprisingly soft lips against her own made her quickly forget every rule of female modesty she had ever been taught. Her shock gave way to fascination and she found herself relaxing against him, eager to experience the mysterious pleasure he so effortlessly brought forth.
His tongue moved delicately along the seam of her lips and Isabella heard herself whimper. Lost in her first real embrace, she felt the tide of passion sweep over her entire body as the earl's mouth moved more insistently, more demandingly on her own. Isabella was unaware that her hands moved upward to rest on his broad chest in a subtle sign of encouragement as the glittering excitement raced through her.
Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined a kiss could be so all encompassing. This heady mix of emotion and excitement nearly overwhelmed her.
With a low groan, Damien broke off the kiss. He raised his head and looked down at the woman he held in his arms. Her eyes were closed and her whole body felt limp with sensation. He strongly suspected she would fall if he did not continue to hold her securely in his arms.
More than anything, Damien felt the need to kiss her again. And again. Kiss her more deeply, caress her more passionately with his mouth and his hands.
Her response had been genuine and passionate. She had returned his kisses with true ardor, but there had been a sweet innocence about her lips, a sort of wonder and awe in her response. She was obviously very inexperienced in making love. Her kisses had proven that.
They also proved beyond a doubt that she was not his wife.
Carefully, Damien disengaged Isabella from his arms and gently pushed her away from his overheated body. She staggered a bit when deprived of his strong embrace but remained on her feet. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The sleepy, dreamlike quality in her lovely violet eyes disappeared the moment she saw the earl's rigidly controlled body and stern, unsmiling face. Her cheeks flamed with color and she hastily dropped her eyes to the carpet.
“You are not Emmeline,” the earl stated unnecessarily.
“I am not Emmeline,” Isabella repeated. Her breathing was still a trifle uneven, and she had not yet fully recovered from his devastating kisses.
Damien took a few steps away from her, needing to physically distance himself from her warm body.
“Bloody hell! What a damnable mess.”
Damien ran his fingers through his dark hair and cursed again. How could he have been so wrong? Too little sleep and too much brandy, he admitted ruefully. “Naturally I shall accompany you back to the Brauns' house and somehow try to explain all of this.”
“I am afraid it has gone too far for that, my lord.”
Damien's apologetic expression altered slightly at Isabella's reply. “What exactly do you want me to do, Miss . . . Miss . . ?”
“Browning.”
“Yes, Miss Browning.”
Isabella shrugged her shoulders. “I don't really know.”
Damien's face clouded and he felt his temper begin to rise. “It would be helpful if you could decide quickly, Miss Browning. Since my reason for confronting Lord Poole no longer exists, I prefer not to remain in his house.”
“Need I remind you, my lord,” Isabella answered in a cool tone, “this situation was not my doing. I told you repeatedly I was not your wife. Due to your obstinacy, I no longer have a position to return to!”
“I have already offered to make amends, Miss Browning, and you have refused my assistance. I fear you leave me no choice. My coach and driver are at your disposal. When you finally decide precisely where you wish to go, you may inform my servants.” With hands clenched into tight fists by his sides, the earl made a curt, stiff bow. “Good afternoon, Miss Browning.”
Isabella lifted her chin in response, then watched with wide-eyed dismay as the earl turned on his heel and marched purposefully from the room. It took a few moments for the events to register in her shocked mind. That arrogant, willful man had dragged her unwillingly to this strange house and had now abandoned her here.
Chapter Five
The elegant coach traversed the crowded London streets in a random manner. Isabella sat alone inside, barely noticing the milling crowds and variety of hackneys, carts, and carriages clogging the road.
The overcast skies of the early afternoon had fulfilled their promise of rain and a steady drizzle prevailed. The smell of wet pavement filled Isabella's nostrils and she sighed. The dull, gray weather matched her mood.
She had remained in Lord Poole's town house only long enough to rebind her hair and secure her bonnet on her head. Then she raced out of the house, offering no explanation to the astonished servants. She escaped to the safety of the earl's carriage, which was patiently awaiting her arrival, just as the earl had promised. As soon as she gained her seat inside the carriage, Isabella instructed the coachman to drive away. Since she gave no specific instructions as to her destination, the coach had been meandering about the city for the past hour.
“Should I drive down Bond Street, miss?” The coachman called down to her. “It's a bit crowded, but not impassable.”
Isabella leaned near the half-opened window and yelled, “Bond Street would be fine.”
She settled back against the comfortable squabs and forced herself to face reality. She could not very well continue driving around London in the earl's carriage for the rest of the day. She needed to make some important decisions about her future, and time was running short.
Isabella bit her lip nervously and admitted to herself that she was frightened. Her prospects for employment were dim, especially without proper references. It would most likely take her several weeks, perhaps even months, to find a suitable position. And London was an expensive city to live in given her meager savings.
Isabella knew she would have no choice but to return to her grandfather's estate in York while searching for a new post. Even though her mother's family had amply demonstrated their lack of regard for her, she knew they would not deny her temporary shelter. As much as it rankled her to ask for her family's help, Isabella knew she could ill afford to allow her pride to override her common sense in this instance.
Her decision reached, Isabella tapped on the roof of the carriage to attract the driver's attention.
“Take me to the nearest posting inn, please,” she requested. “I need to catch the next available coach traveling north.”
The coach made a sharp left turn and all too soon stopped. Isabella glanced speculatively out the window and was pleased to note that the establishment they had arrived at looked well-maintained. She sincerely hoped it would not be too long a wait for the mail coach to depart. No matter how respectable an establishment appeared, a woman traveling alone was often the target of unwanted attention.
“Thank you,” she murmured softly to the young footman. who assisted her out of the carriage. Turning around to pull out her satchel, she cast a final longing glance inside the luxurious coach. It would have been heavenly to ride to York inside this comfortable vehicle. Isabella spitefully wished it were possible, knowing it would infuriate the earl to have his carriage disappear for several days.
It seemed a fitting revenge to take the coach the earl so rudely placed at her disposal halfway across England, and Isabella was. sorely tempted to commandeer the carriage, but her lack of funds prevented her from doing so. She did not have the necessary coin to provide food and lodging for herself, the servants, or even the horses on a journey as far as York.
As she took her final leave, Isabella gave the three male servants a curt nod of farewell and boldly began walking toward the entrance of the inn.
“Please wait, miss,” an anxious voice called out.
Isabella turned around and curiously observed one of the earl's servants scramble down from the top of the carriage. “Are you certain this is where you want us to leave you? We would be happy to take you outside the city, or anywhere else you wish to go.”
“That is most kind of you Mr. ... ?”
“Jenkins,” the man supplied.
“Mr. Jenkins.” Isabella nodded politely at the introduction. “As tempting as your generous offer is, I must decline. I am traveling well beyond the city limits to York.”
“I see,” Jenkins replied slowly. “These inns can be rather rough for a genteel lady. I must insist you at least allow me to escort you inside.”
Isabella paused a moment, observing the servant openly while she considered his offer. She judged him to be near fifty years of age, but he was a strong-looking man, obviously in good physical condition. She thought he was rather elegantly dressed for a coachman, but she decided to accept his offer of protection.
“Since I have no notion of how long I will be forced to wait, I would appreciate your company, Mr. Jenkins. Thank you.”
Once they were inside the inn, Isabella was glad she had accepted the servant's assistance. The taproom was noisy and crowded, with an almost exclusively male clientele. A quick perusal of the area confirmed there were no unaccompanied women seated in the room.
Miraculously, Jenkins was able to secure a relatively private table in a corner of the crowded room. After a few moments, a harassed-looking barmaid came to their table.
“So what will you be having today?” she asked in a bored voice.
Isabella's stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and she realized she had not eaten since early morning. “I would like a pot of tea and something substantial to go with it.”
“We don't have anything fancy, but the cook could fix you a cold plate, with whatever meat, cheese, and bread we have left.”
“That would be fine.” Turning to the man sitting next to her, Isabella inquired graciously, “Would you care for some tea also, Mr. Jenkins? Or perhaps a pint of ale?”
“I prefer ale.”
After a considerable wait, the barmaid brought their refreshments. As Isabella lifted the heavy earthenware teapot and slowly poured herself a cup of tea, she became aware of the intense scrutiny of her companion.
“Do I look so very much like her, Mr. Jenkins?” Isabella inquired casually, while cutting a wedge of cheddar cheese. She delicately sank her strong white teeth into the tasty morsel and waited for a response.
Jenkins's face revealed his surprise at her direct question, but he did not pretend to misunderstand Isabella's remark.
“You do bear a distinct resemblance to the countess, miss,” Jenkins replied, “especially the unusual color of your eyes. I can understand how the earl might have mistaken you for Emmeline. It was a credible mistake given the earl's condition.”
“His condition?” Isabella remained silent for a few thoughtful moments and then nodded her head philosophically. “I strongly suspected there was something
different
about the earl. He was absolutely relentless in his insistence about my being Emmeline, and he acted in a most irrational manner. He was also excessively forceful and demanding toward me and my former employers.” Isabella leaned in closer and whispered sympathetically, “The earl is unbalanced, isn't he, Mr. Jenkins?”
“Unbalanced?” Jenkins's face broke into a broad smile when he caught Isabella's meaning. “The earl is not addle-brained miss, if that is what you are implying. He was merely drunk.”
“Drunk?” Isabella shook her head vigorously. “I am certain you are wrong. I can tell from experience when someone is inebriated. My stepfather had a great fondness for drink. I am quite sure I would have known if the earl was drunk.”
“I am not very proud to confess I spent the better part of last night emptying three bottles of brandy with the earl. Believe me, he was under the hatches when he first spotted you in the park this morning.”
Isabella raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Does the earl often spend his evenings drinking with his servants?”
“I am his friend, miss, as well as his valet,” Jenkins replied with obvious pride in his voice. “And no, the earl does not often spend his time drinking.”
“What was so special about last night?”
Jenkins slowly set his half-empty tankard down on the table before answering. “We packed up the London town house yesterday. The earl was forced to sell it, and I think that bothered him a good deal more than he figured it would.”
“He has pressing gambling debts?” Isabella could not keep the hint of scorn from her voice.
“These debts are not of his own doing,” Jenkins responded defensively. “These obligations were incurred long before the earl assumed his title. Being an honorable man, he is determined to repay them.”
“I beg your pardon,” Isabella countered, hearing the note of indignation in the servant's voice. She could tell that her slur on the earl's character had insulted the valet. She was intrigued by the servant's unwavering loyalty. And by his admission that the earl was his friend. “It was not my intention to offend you, Mr. Jenkins. However, my ghastly experience with the earl today causes me to naturally assume the worst in his case.”
“What happened?”
“The earl accosted me in the park this morning, insisting I was Emmeline, and when I informed him that he was wrong, he followed me to my place of employment. He shocked my employers with his outlandish accusations and then practically dragged me to Lord Poole's house where, thank goodness, the earl finally realized his mistake. Unfortunately for me, this realization came a bit too late. Thanks to the earl's overactive imagination and inebriated condition, I have been dismissed from my position as governess. Now I shall be forced to rely upon the begrudging charity of my family until I am able to secure another post.” Isabella's troubled expression conveyed how distressed she truly was over the circumstances.
“You certainly don't look like any governess I've ever met,” Jenkins blurted out. Up close, the fine porcelain skin and aristocratic features of Isabella's lovely face were striking.
“Unfortunately, you are not the only one who holds that opinion, Mr. Jenkins,” Isabella admitted honestly. “In addition, my references are almost nonexistent. I am afraid this time it will be a very long search for a new post.”
There was no trace of complaining in her voice, merely acceptance of the reality of the situation. As Jenkins watched Isabella chew relentlessly on a tough piece of meat, an idea began to form in his mind.
“Perhaps I might be able to assist you in finding a position, miss,” Jenkins said in a tentative voice. “I happen to be acquainted with a family that is sorely in need of a governess. And I don't believe they would be too concerned over your lack of references.”
Isabella's eyes lit with interest. “Do you truly think I might be suitable for this post, Mr. Jenkins?”
“Yes, miss, I do.”
The way the valet scrupulously avoided Isabella's eyes caused her to become suspicious. “This mysterious position wouldn't have anything to do with the earl by chance, would it, Mr. Jenkins?”
“Well, miss,” the valet hedged, “it could be an excellent solution. After all, you just told me the earl was responsible for your dismissal. The very least he owes you is another position. And he does have two young children who are badly in need of discipline and care.”
“I can imagine,” Isabella whispered under her breath, wondering what kind of little monsters the earl's children were. “I strongly doubt this would work, Mr. Jenkins. Besides, it is usually the lady of the house who engages the governess. I am sure that when the countess returns, she will not be interested in the bizarre justification for my employment in her household.”
Jenkins turned a puzzled grimace toward Isabella. “I can assure you that will not be a problem,” he stated with authority.
“Why not?”
“The countess is dead, miss.”
Isabella's fork clattered noisily to her plate. Her eyes never left Jenkins's earnest face as she swallowed hard, forcing the dry piece of meat she had been chewing on down her throat. “I would like a full explanation, Mr. Jenkins. From the beginning, if you please.”
 
 
Two hours later, Isabella found herself once again comfortably ensconced in the earl's carriage, traveling at a brisk pace toward his estate in Warwickshire, not completely certain how she had allowed herself to be persuaded to make this journey. Jenkins's portrayal of the numerous tragedies and misfortunes the earl had endured touched Isabella's tender heart, and without taking the time to carefully consider her actions she had impulsively agreed to travel to Whatley Grange.
However, now that her common sense was reasserting itself, Isabella was having misgivings. Whatever had possessed her to agree to such an outlandish idea? Conjuring up the earl's steely gray eyes in her mind caused Isabella to shudder. As she remembered her initial impression of the earl's dangerous strength with utter clarity, Isabella's doubts increased.
And his kiss. The feel of the earl's lips and the force of his hard body had totally disarmed her. How could she possible consider placing herself in his household? Jenkins had already warned her there were not many female servants in the house, but she had been so caught up in the drama of coming to the earl's aid and helping him raise his motherless children, she did not question the valet too closely. Now she wished she had.
BOOK: His Wicked Embrace
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