The Duke's Reform (10 page)

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 passion. He
plunged inside and with each thrust she felt a pleasure so intense, so fierce,
she thought she would die from it. An ecstasy that was almost painful rippled
through her and her world exploded; she cried out his name. Then with a final
shudder he joined her in release.

He gathered her tenderly believing the passion
they'd shared negated all that had gone before. As the pleasure slipped away
she became aware of his alcohol-laced breath. She hated herself for becoming a
willing participant.

 He was dead to the world, exertion and
brandy rendering him senseless. She wriggled from beneath him and, blowing out
the candles, took the remaining one into her dressing room. Quickly she dressed
in her plainest clothes, the ones she wore when he was absent. Five minutes
later she stuffed garments into her portmanteau and then from the depths of her
closet she removed two cloth bags filled with golden coins. She had been
hoarding these from her allowance this past year. There was more than enough in
her savings to keep her, and her retainers, for a year at least.

 She would take her work box, but there
was one thing she needed to do before she left.

Removing
the scissors she hacked off her braid at the base of her neck. Alexander was
always praising her hair so she would leave it for him as a memento. She tied
the cut end with a fresh ribbon, then threaded on her betrothal ring and
wedding band and tied a knot.

There was no need to tiptoe around
him; he was snoring, deep in a drunken slumber. Without haste she gathered up
her plait and placed it on the pillow beside him. A bolster pushed beneath the
covers made it appear she was still there, asleep. She wished she would be in
the room when he woke and discovered what she'd done.

 Holding the candlestick in one
hand she slipped out through the dressing room door and somehow found her way
downstairs without breaking her neck. What she was doing was, in the eyes of
the world, a crime. She belonged to him— according to the law of the land he
was free to use and abuse her as he pleased. However
she
would not
remain with a man who thought locking her in a small cold room was acceptable
behaviour
.

     
She was thankful everyone had retired for the night as this made it
comparatively simple to slip along the dark passageways until she reached the
side door used by the junior staff. The sound of the bolt was harsh in the
silence, but she didn't hesitate. No time for regrets, her life here was over.

Chapter Seven

Isobel pulled open the side door, closing it
quietly behind her. Her bag was heavy, but it was not far across the park to
the cottage in which Mary and Sam lived. Her dogs, Othello and Ebony would be overjoyed
to see her in the middle of the night. She doubted her loyal retainers would be
so pleased, they would be horrified at the way she had been mistreated. There
was sufficient money to lease a small house somewhere many miles from here and
a new life. She would defy convention and leave the ruins of her old one
behind.

Several times during the walk she
was obliged to put down her bag and lean, panting, against a tree trunk to
recover her strength. The hours she'd spent in the cold must have debilitated
her. She intended to be gone long before her husband woke from his drunken
stupor and set up a hue cry. His pride would be damaged by her defection; he
would not let her go willingly and would demand
she
return. She would rather die than do so.

      It took much
longer than usual to reach the cottage. The path ran like a white ribbon in the
moonlight and she'd never been so grateful to see the small front door. She
hammered with the remainder of her strength and woke her pets.

 Minutes passed and then Sam
was calling to the dogs, telling them to hush. The clatter of his boots on the
wooden staircase meant he was on his way. The door swung open and the animals
threw themselves at her; too tired to push them away she tumbled backwards.

 'My lady, here, let me help
you up. Get away you stupid dogs, haven't you caused enough harm?'

'No, Sam, don't blame them for my
distress. Mary must get up at once. We must depart from here immediately. I've
left him; nothing on this earth will make me return. My life at Newcomb is over
and I must try and make a new one somewhere else, as far away as possible.'

'Come along, let's get you inside
and Mary can see to you. I shall get out back and harness up the gig.'

With his support she stumbled
inside. Mary rushed to her side, guiding her to the wooden rocking chair that
stood to the left of the fireplace in the main room.

'He shut me in the bathing room for
hours; I am still frozen to the marrow.'

'The monster!
You should never have married him,
I always thought him a cold fish, not good enough for you, my pet.' Mary
gestured angrily to her husband. 'Didn't I say, Sam, how much weight the
mistress has lost these past few months? See, she's shaking, hasn't the
strength of a

kitten
because of what he did to her.'

'Don't worry, your grace, I'll get
you away from Newcomb—we'll keep you safe from further harm.'

      As she rested
against Sam's broad shoulder she told him of her other decision. 'Please, don't
use that title again, I am done with it. From now on I am plain
Mrs
… ' She was unable to think of a single name to replace
her title. All her life she'd been known by a title, first Lady Isobel, eldest
daughter of the Earl of Drummond and since her marriage she had become a
duchess. Would life be simpler if she was a commoner as most were?

      'Don't fret,
madam, we shall come up with a suitable name soon enough. Here, sit yourself
down. Mary shall make you a hot drink whilst I get the horse out.'

Isobel settled on the cushions. She
closed her eyes leaving Mary and Sam
do
what was
necessary to pack their belongings and ready themselves for their flight.
Sounds became distant, she wasn't quite asleep, but far enough from reality to
gain respite from the pain in her heart—this was far worse than any physical
injury.

      'Come along, my
dear, everything is done. It will be light in an hour or two. Do you have any
idea where you wish to go?' Mary offered her arm and pulled Isobel gently from
the chair.

      She closed her
eyes and an image of the huge skies, white sand and the flat green fens of her
birthplace filled her head. 'I should like to leave Hertfordshire and return to
Norfolk. It can't be anywhere near Bracken Hall, that's the first place
he
will look for me. But if we go to the north of Norwich we should be safe enough.'

      'That's what we
thought— it's going to take us several days to get there. With only one horse,
we will have to take it in stages.'

      'And it's
imperative we don't use the most frequented route, and we must travel at night
where possible.
He
will send out search parties. I can't go back and I
must not let him find me.'

      A cold nose
pressed into her hand. She rubbed the silky head knowing it to be Othello as
Ebony was already at the door waiting for her to come outside. The one light in
this darkness was she would be with her beloved animals.

      Sam assisted her
into the vehicle; he'd prepared a snug nest in one corner and she curled up
.
M
ary
scrambled in beside her. The two
dogs flopped down in the well and they were ready. The first faint glimmer of
dawn
coloured
the sky. There was no need to light the
lanterns that hung on poles on either side of the carriage. The gentle rocking
of the vehicle helped to soothe her misery— with luck she would sleep through
most of the journey.

****

Alex forced his eyes open. Where the hell was
he? He had no recollection of the previous night—this was not uncommon after
consuming so much brandy. Moving his head made his stomach lurch; he took a
deep breath through his nose. This was Isobel's bed and he was naked. He
reached out a hand and his fingers brushed against her long braid. Odd —when
they made love he always released it as running his fingers through her
glorious hair was pure pleasure.

      His fingers
closed around it. He would undo it now - he hardened at the thought. The ribbon
refused to give way beneath his fumbling. He tugged and the plait slithered
across his chest. What the hell? Then he understood.

      His stomach
clenched and he rolled to one side to cast up his accounts. When he'd finished
he wiped his mouth on the sheet. Ripping back the covers he gazed at the
bolster in the place where Isobel should be. His eyes misted, he fell back on
the pillows as the enormity of what he'd done crowded into his head.

Holding her hair against his chest
he rolled into the space that she had occupied, breathing in her scent, his
face wet with tears of shame and loss. Something clinked against his shoulder.
He slid his fingers down the severed braid and found her betrothal and wedding
bands tied to the ribbon.

 Isobel could not have made
things clearer. She had gone—his lovely young wife had left and he didn't blame
her. He buried his face in her pillow and his shoulders heaved. For the second
time in his life he'd lost the woman he loved and this time it was entirely his
fault. His brutality had driven her away.

The stench in the bedchamber made
his stomach roil. Unsteadily he swung his legs to the floor and attempted to
stand. The pain thumping between his eyes was worse than he could ever
remember. He deserved to suffer, deserved to be horsewhipped for what he'd done
last night.

      He tottered
through the communicating door and back into his own rooms. The long braid
bounced behind jingling as it hit the boards, the sound a reminder of what he'd
destroyed. His misery deepened. She was cutting him out of her life in the same
way she'd cut her lovely hair.

      How was he going
to live without her? The death of his wife and two daughters had all but

killed
him, made him frightened to love
again. He'd been given a second chance to find happiness and had ruined it by
his base
behaviour
. Last night had been the
culmination of his callousness. She had offered him nothing but love and
support over the past year and he had spurned it, treating her as if she were
of no importance to him. He had remained aloof because he had fallen in love
with Isobel and was fearful of being hurt again.

      There was no
need to send out a search party. She would be with the Watkins couple, in the
cottage on the edge of his estate. Isobel believed this to be a secret from
him, but nothing happened at Newcomb undetected. Initially he'd intended to
confront her, but after considering carefully, he'd decided to leave her
servants where they were. She needed this bolt hole.

As he splashed his face with cold
water he began to feel less anguished. Maybe matters were not as bad as he
assumed. After all, Isobel was his wife, she had promised herself to him and,
if given time to reconsider, would
realise
her
responsibility and agree to come back. He would allow her day or two to recover
and then ride over. He would not demand
she
return
immediately, but suggest she visit one of his estates in the north. There she
could live in seclusion,
untrammelled
by responsibility,
for a few weeks.

His spirits lifted a little. He had
behaved unforgivably but he would change, become the man she deserved. She
might hate him now, but she would love him again in time. Isobel would return
for the seasonal festivities— and what a time of celebration that would be.
However much she

loathed
and despised him now, she was his
wife and, and unlike himself, would not shirk her duties.

He rang the small, brass bell that
stood beside his bed,
then
ramming his arms into his
bedrobe
he waited for Duncan to answer his summons. The
click of the dressing room door heralded his arrival.

      'Duncan, I
require a bath, and a jug of coffee.'

     
'At once, your grace.
Mr
Foster
has asked me to inform you all your guests have departed.'

Alexander raised his hand in acknowledgement
and wandered to the window to stare morosely across the park. Usually the
magnificent stand of oak trees in their autumn glory, the ornamental lake and
the rolling vista he'd paid a small fortune to have constructed by Brown,
filled him with satisfaction. But this morning it meant nothing. What was the
use of having so much when he had no one with which to share it? Until Isobel
was back where she belonged he would gain no pleasure from this view.

*