Once again she tried to roll over, only to find herself firmly grasped by the shoulders and pushed backward until she was lying upon the bed. Reluctantly she gave in, and with a deep sigh flopped down on the sheets, exhausted.
“My what?” Dominic’s voice was deadly. His gaze captured and held hers, anger clearly evident on the harshness of his features. Everything within the lavishly decorated room seemed to pause. No sound could be heard other than the wheezing rattle in her chest.
“Y-your wife,” Isobel replied, trying hard yet failing to keep the quiver of hurt from her voice. She knew she should be angry, but couldn’t seem to find a way through the hurt that flowed through her veins like molten lava.
“My wife,” Dominic replied dully, staring at her while a growing lump of dread formed in his chest. “Who told you I had a wife Isobel?” He tried to keep control of the anger building within. He already knew the answer, but needed to hear it from her lips.
His heart jolted with surprise at her reply.
“Aunt Elspeth.”
“Elspeth?” His voice echoed incredulously. “Are you sure?”
Isobel sighed with impatience, and glared at him. Her voice rose to a high squeak as she glared up at him defiantly. “Of course, I am sure! What do you take me for? She told me she had received word from a friend in London, who had been – somewhere,” Isobel paused with a frown, but couldn’t locate the name in her memory. “She said the source was reliable. Her friend had informed her that a few weeks after leaving Willowbrook, you had travelled to your father’s estate in Berkshire, and wed your betrothed in the family chapel.”
Exhausted, Isobel slumped back against the pillow, her breath coming in shallow pants as she fought not to cough. Misery swelled in her chest as the familiar feeling of devastating loss swept through her. Pride prevented her from allowing him to witness just how miserable losing him had made her.
She desperately wanted to cry, to rail at him and beat his chest for his callous disregard of her. If only she had the strength. Instead, she lay there and cursed her weakness once again. Despite everything, she found herself at the mercy of a man who had cruelly hurt her, the last man on earth she wanted to witness just how dire her life had become.
“Isobel.” There was something in the tone of his voice that commanded her attention, and snapped her out of her melancholic thoughts.
Determined not to let her tears flow in his presence, she raised a frosty brow in his direction and waited.
“I.” He leaned over her menacingly. “Am.” He placed a hand on either side of her head. “Not.” His gaze locked upon hers. He slowly lowered his head until his lips were mere inches from hers. “Married.” He whispered as he placed a gentle kiss upon her stunned lips.
His mouth captured the soft cry she couldn’t withhold. His gentle fingers swept away her tears as his lips worshipped her tenderly with his lips and fingers, while she absorbed his words.
Could it be true? He was not married to another? When he did eventually raise his head to allow her to breathe, his eyes were full of tender reproach. “How could you believe that I have such little regard for you?”
“There is no baby?” Isobel whispered shakily, unable to believe her aunt could have been so wrong. Was she in cohorts with Rupert?
“There may be a baby when we are wed my darling,” he teased with a gentle smile, sitting beside her on the bed. “But until then, I can assure you that to my certain knowledge there is no wife, and no child.” Silence settled between them for mere seconds before his final words dropped like lead between them. “Not for me at least.”
In her fogged state, it took a few moments for the import of his words to sink in, and she looked at him with a frown. “What do you mean?”
He could think of no gentle way to raise the question that was burning inside him. “Did you marry Bertram DeLisle?” He couldn’t allow her to see just how much her answer meant, and ignoring her startled look moved to stand before the window with his back towards her. He was aware of the crackling tension within the room as his gaze roamed over the landscaped gardens blankly. All of his senses locked on her lying so temptingly on his bed. His nerves were stretched taut as he waited for her answer.
“Dominic, I promised I would wait for you,” Isobel eyed his tall frame highlighted so starkly by the sunlight shining through the window. The surrounding halo of light emphasised his broad shoulders and lean limbs to stunning perfection. “Nothing Rupert or DeLisle could threaten me with could coerce me into marriage to anyone.” Her voice sank to a whisper as the last vestiges of her strength began to wane. She desperately didn’t want to sleep yet she needed to continue the conversation. There was much to say, so much to discover, but somehow it became so incredibly difficult simply to keep her eyes open.
“Dominic,” she whispered softly as sleep began to pull her down. “I wouldn’t marry anyone else.” She was vaguely aware of him approaching the bed but her eyes were already closed when she felt the bed dip beneath his weight as he sat beside her. Her hand was gently clasped between his much larger ones. “I’m so very tired,” her whisper trailed away as she settled once again into slumber, feeling more secure than she had felt in a very long time.
“Rest on my love, we have all the time in the world,” Dominic declared softly, not sure if she had heard him. He surreptitiously wiped away the single tear that had gathered in the corner of his eye and gazed down at her for several moments. She was free, and that was all he needed to know.
“Thank God,” Dominic placed a tender kiss on her brow. “We will be together,” he moved to sit beside her, easing her slumbering form gently into his arms. Staring out of the window, he watched the soft flurry of snowflakes gently drift past and began to plan.
Sometime during the night, he was woken by a strange noise. Wincing at the sharp, stabbing discomfort in his stiff muscles as he sat upright, he warily glanced around the room trying to place the noise. It was a strange, almost like a rattling noise that whispered hauntingly through the still night air. Something he had not heard before. Quickly, he rose and crossed to the window, cursing fluidly at the heavy snowfall drifting past the window pane.
Drawing the curtains closed, he crossed to the fireplace and stoked the fire, shivering at the ferocious sound of the howling winds outside. By the sound of it the storm was a fierce one. He didn’t envy anybody caught outside on such a night.
Squatting before the fireplace he paused and considered just what implications a storm such as this would have had on Isobel had he not discovered her. Already she was seriously ill, without the freezing temperatures and dampness of the snowfall. She would have most certainly succumbed, even if she had managed to find a warm enough place to wait out the storm, what then?
He frowned as he listened for the strange noise again. It had stopped. He went cold all over when he realised what the noise had meant. Racing towards the bed, he frantically lit the candles on the table beside the bed, cursing fluidly as their meagre light encased Isobel in a soft halo of golden colour.
“Sweet Jesus,” Dominic whispered, his voice laced with horror as he studied her alabaster features. Placing a palm against her cheek, his concern rose alarmingly as his fingers touched her skin. It was like cold, damp marble.
She had indeed been sweating but now was so very cold, despite the warmth of the room.
“Isobel?” Tugging several times upon the bell pull, he paused briefly to light more candles before returning to the bed.