front of his guests was going to send ripples throughout the
He stepped into the drawing-room and viewed the assembly through narrowed eyes. There was not a person among them he would wish to call a friend—they were sycophants and hangers on. Some, like him, aristocrats, but others merely on the fringe of Society there to lap up what largesse he was prepared to throw their way. He shook his head and regretted it as he almost lost his balance. He cared not what this assortment of scroungers thought about his family. They could all depart the following morning. The shooting party was over. His icy stare sent shockwaves around the chamber and gradually the chatter stopped and every head turned his way.
“I regret that you were obliged to witness the unfortunate incident. Farnham has been dealt with. You’ll understand I am obliged to ask you all to leave at first light tomorrow morning.”
Turning his back on the silent group he stalked out. He would not demean himself by asking for their discretion knowing the incident would be all over Town whatever he said. Over the years his real friends had dropped him. He was married to a barren wife. But the one thing he
The house wasn’t silent until after midnight. Time for a reckoning. He could not blame his wife for being childless. The least she could do was behave with decorum. He paused, heartsick and lonely. Even in his befuddled state he understood the fault was not hers—but his. He was a pitiful specimen and it was hardly surprising he had failed to father further children.
He punched the wall, the pain sending shockwaves up his arm. He was master here and whatever the provocation Isobel must pay. His anger grew with each step he took. He had been too lenient with her and allowed her to run wild when he was absent and to ignore her duties as chatelaine. She had become impertinent, not at all the submissive wife he thought he’d married.
From tonight everything changed. He’d lavished money and gifts on her, had not overburdened her with his demands in the bedroom, and what had she done? She had thrown it all back in his face by behaving like a slut. A lady would have fainted, run weeping to fetch him, or possibly slapped the bastard across the face. But no, she must pick up a candlestick and brain the man in full view of a dozen people.
Having left the butler to supervise the departure of those three men he was free to take the necessary action that would ensure no further breaches of etiquette occurred. His valet was hovering nervously. Alexander smiled grimly. When his evening coat had gone, his cravat, boots and waistcoat also, he held up his hand. “Leave me, Duncan, I can do the rest myself. I shan’t require you until the morning.”
“Your grace, allow me to help you into bed. You’re trifle unsteady.”
“Silence. Know your place or lose it.” What was it about tonight that all about him were defying his every order?
He glared and his valet collected the discarded garments and retreated into the dressing-room. The door clicked shut. What was going to take place in the adjoining apartment needed no eavesdroppers.
Isobel tensed at every passing footstep, but so far he had not burst in through her sitting room door to berate her. The house was quiet, even the most recalcitrant of the guests had retired to their bed chambers. He was not coming tonight. Thank God for that, he had been drinking steadily for hours. With luck he had passed out in his study and would wake with a sore head in the morning and no recollection of what had transpired.
She turned, plumping the pillows and finally relaxing. On the verge of sleep she heard the distinctive click of the door that led from his bed chamber. He entered quietly, pushing the door closed behind him. She held her breath. If she feigned sleep would he retreat? Her heart was hammering—a wave of nausea engulfed her.
Through the slit of her eyelids a flickering light showed he was in his shirt sleeves and pantaloons. When he came to her in the usual way he wore only his silk bed-robe, was naked underneath. She could not welcome him into her bed when he was angry and in his cups. Here was the only place she could still cling to the faint hope that one day he would learn to love her and this marriage would become like his first. If he took her in anger, it would be over— with no children to keep them together she would have nothing to hope for. The rest of her life would be lonely and miserable, trapped in a marriage that had failed them both.
Perhaps he was not angry about had come to check she was unharmed from the unpleasant experience. She dare not raise her head to look at him for this would reveal she was awake. The sound of further candles being lit could mean only one thing. She could no longer dissemble. He had not come to make love to her or to check if she was distressed— he had come to punish her for besmirching his precious name in public.
Would it make things easier if she apologised? Pushing herself upright she forced her lips to curve in a smile of welcome. His face was unrecognizable. His eyes glittered strangely— he was a stranger to her. She tried to find words to mollify him. He was not himself, anger and drink was making it appear as if he hated her. Her words remained locked behind her teeth. Her mouth was too dry to release her tongue from the roof of her mouth.
With slow deliberation he placed his candlestick on the ormolu table beside the bed. Isobel shivered— she feared her bladder would empty. Why didn’t he speak?
“Tonight, madam, you brought disgrace to my name. The last time you did this I warned you what to expect. I am master in this house and it’s high time you learnt what happens when you disobey me.”
His words were clipped, each one enunciated clearly. This was the voice of a madman. He stepped forward and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour and ignoring her protests, he carried her into the anti-room in which she took a bath.
“You disobeyed me. You have only yourself to blame for this.”
The door slammed and she heard him pushing a large piece of furniture against it. She was shut in a freezing room in her nightgown. How dare he treat her like this? She was not a recalcitrant child to be punished. There were no other doors in the room and she couldn’t escape into the servants’ quarters even if she’d wished to.
She pressed her ear to the door. His footsteps faded into the night. Slumping onto the icy tiles she hugged her knees and tried to stop her teeth from chattering. How long would he leave her here to freeze? After an hour she was too dispirited and cold to do more than huddle in a corner praying for release. She shivered and froze for what seemed like hours before she heard him removing the barricade. She scrambled to her feet.
His voice reverberated through the door. “I hope you have learned your lesson, madam.”
She would never forgive him. Rage overwhelmed her—she was blinded by it—her fear and misery burned away by its ferocity. The door swung open and she sprung forward snarling with anger.
Before he had time to react she lashed out punching him squarely in the mouth. His teeth ground into her fist, his lip split, but she ignored the hurt that travelled up her arm. He reeled back, blood dripping from his mouth, his eyes wide. Not giving him time to retaliate she punched him with her left hand. This connected with his eye.
She was incapable of speech. Her cheeks were awash with tears of rage. He stepped away from her shaking his head, wiping blood from his mouth with his shirtsleeve. She turned to see what she could snatch up to hit him and her fingers closed around a candlestick. As she lifted it his hand grasped her wrist and he took it from her.
“Enough, little firebrand, there are better ways of venting your spleen than that.” He tumbled her full length onto the bed, his weight pinning her down, then held her arms on either side of her head. She bucked frantically to get free.
“Alexander, haven’t I been punished enough tonight?”
He disregarded her plea, trapping her. His tongue invaded her mouth—she could taste his blood. Something deep inside her stirred and she tore at his shirt. He took the two sides of her nightgown and ripped them apart. She was consumed by a different heat. His lips closed on hers but they were not hard but soft, persuasive, adding to her passion.
He trailed hot kisses down her neck; taking a nipple into his mouth he nipped it gently between his teeth. Her treacherous body responded. Although she hated him, primitive urges took over. It had been too long since she’d made love to him.
The all-too-familiar heat spread rapidly until she was unable to control herself. His mouth teased— he sensed she was willing. He was a skilled lover and she was helpless as his fingers worked their magic. Down her shoulder, caressing her breasts, then lower to the very centre of her being. Her anger evaporated and was engulfed by her desire. A wildness flooded through her and her nails raked his shoulders.
Keeping his mouth on hers he stripped off his remaining garments then red hot skin covered her from head to foot. She clawed his back, imploring him, biting his lips in her hunger. He plunged inside and with each thrust she
