The Stranger I Married

“Come along,” she said to Mary, and they followed the footman, who carried her valise down the stairs to the front driveway.

Rhys waited out front, pacing restlessly. “Damned if you didn’t take forever,” he muttered, gesturing her abigail to the nearby servants’ coach, before catching Isabel’s arm and pulling her toward the waiting carriage. He pulled open the door and nearly thrust her inside.

Isabel had to scramble to stay on her feet and as she lifted her head within the confines of the coach, she understood her brother’s need for haste. Above a gag, eyes of bright blue with golden flecks met hers.

“Dear heaven,” she muttered, backing out quickly. She glanced around in search of a possible audience, then whispered furiously, “What are you doing with Miss Abigail in the coach trussed up like a dinner fowl?”

He heaved out his breath and then set his hands on his hips. “Blasted woman won’t listen to reason.”

“What?” Her arms akimbo pose mimicked his. “This is reason? The future Duke of Sandforth kidnapping an unmarried girl?”

“What recourse do I have?” Holding out his hands to her, he asked, “Was I simply to walk away when she refused me?”

“So you will force the girl into marriage by compromising her? What basis is that for a lasting union?”

He winced again. “I love her, Bella. I cannot imagine going on with my life without her. Tell me what to do.”

“Oh, Rhys,” Isabel breathed, her tears beginning anew. “Do you not think that if I knew how to create love where none existed, I would have done so with Pelham?”

Perhaps it was a familial curse of some terrible sort.

She had wished desperately for Rhys to find a true loving partner. What was left of her heart was broken further to learn that he had fallen in love with a woman who did not return his affections.

Fierce kicking against the interior of the carriage drew their attention. When Rhys moved toward the door, Isabel stepped into his path. “Allow me. You have done quite enough, I think.”

Raising her skirts, she used the small step to gain entry into the coach. She sat on the opposite squab, pulled off her gloves, and began to work on removing the gag that allowed only muffled protests to be heard over Rhys’ constant muttering about “impossible women.”

“Please do not scream when this comes off,” she begged softly as she worked at the knot. “I realize you have been treated abominably by Lord Trenton, but he truly does care for you. He is simply misguided. He would not have-”

Abigail writhed frantically as the gag worked free. “My hands, my lady! Free my hands!”

“Yes, of course.” Isabel swiped at the tears that wet Abigail’s cheeks, then tugged at the soft cloth that wrapped around her wrists. The moment the tie loosened, Abigail worked her arms free and threw herself out the open door of the coach at Rhys. His tall frame absorbed the impact easily, though his hat was knocked away.

“Abby, please!” he begged as she pounded ineffectually at his shoulders. “I must have you. Yield to me! I will make you love me, I promise.”

“I already love you, you idiot!” she sobbed.

He pulled back with wide eyes. “What? You said you only wanted-Damnation, you lied to me?”

“I’m sorry.” Her feet dangled above the ground as he hugged her.

“What the devil is your objection to marrying me then?”

“You did not tell me you felt the same.”

Setting her down, Rhys scrubbed a hand over his face and growled. “Why in the world would a man marry a woman who drives him insane if not for love?”

“I thought you only wished to marry me because we were caught kissing.”

“Good God.” His eyes closed, even as he reached for her again. “You will be the death of me.”

“Say it again,” she implored, her lips pressed to the line of his jaw.

“I love you madly.”

Isabel looked away from the scene, a fresh kerchief pressed to her face. “Remove his bags,” she said to the nearby footman, who hurried to do as she ordered. She settled into the seat, leaned her head back and closed her eyes, which didn’t stop the tears from leaking out regardless.

Perhaps it was only she who was cursed.

“Bella.”

Opening her eyes, she glanced at Rhys, whose torso filled the doorway.

“Stay,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

“But it is so annoying when women start discussing their feelings,” she replied with a watery smile.

“Don’t make light. You should not be alone now.”

“I want to be alone, Rhys. Staying here, pretending to be well when I am not, would be the worst form of torture.”

“What in hell happened with you and Grayson? He was sincere in his wish to win your affections. I know he was.”

“He succeeded.” Leaning forward, she spoke urgently. “You took a risk for love, and it has paid you handsomely. Promise me you will always put your love above everything else, just as you did today. And never underestimate Miss Abigail.”

Rhys scowled. “Please do not speak in riddles, Bella. I am a man. I lack comprehension of the female language.”

She set her hand over his where it curled around the door frame. “I must go before Grayson arrives. We will talk more when you return to London with your fiancee.”

It was that one-word reminder that caused him to nod and step back. He would stay and speak with the Hammonds. She would survive, as she always had.

“I will hold you to that, Bella,” he warned.

“Of course.” She offered him a wavering smile. “I am so happy for you. I do not approve of your methods,” she amended hastily, “but I am glad that you have found the one woman for you. Please make my apologies for me. I did not have the time.”

He nodded. “I love you.”

“My, you are becoming proficient at saying that, aren’t you?” Isabel sniffled and swiped at her eyes. “I love you, as well. Now let me go.”

Rhys stepped back and shut the door. The coach lurched into motion, leaving the setting of fleeting bliss behind, but taking the memories with it.

Isabel curled into the corner and cried.

Gerard rode his mount hard through the Hammond park gate. When he drew to a halt before the front steps, he threw himself down and tossed the reins to the startled groomsman. Disregarding any semblance of decorum, he ran up the stairs to his rooms.

Only to find his wife gone and a tersely worded note requesting that her belongings be sent to her. His response knotted his gut and stole his breath like a physical blow.

He realized then how wounded she was. He sank onto the nearest chair, Pel’s missive crushed within his clenched fist. He was stunned, unable to comprehend what had happened to the happiness they’d enjoyed upon waking mere hours ago.

“What transpired?” asked a voice from the open doorway to the main gallery.

Glancing up, Gerard found Trenton leaning against the jamb. “I wish I knew.” He sighed. “Were you aware that Isabel wanted children?”

Trenton pursed his lips a moment. “I do not recall ever discussing the topic with her, but it stands to reason that she would. She is romantically inclined. I cannot imagine a woman finding anything more romantic than a family.”

“How could I have missed that?”

“I’ve no notion. Why is having a child a problem? Surely you want the same.” Trenton pushed upright and entered, taking the wingback opposite.

“A woman I once cared for died in childbirth,” Gerard murmured, staring down at the wedding band on his finger.