Dominic’s condescending sigh was all it took to light the embers of her temper. Her nerves and emotions were already shattered. The last thing she needed was his temper. She leaned her face closer to his, going up on tiptoe to meet his gaze. She was aware that he squared his shoulders to stare coldly down at her.
“I am not asking your permission. I am not seeking your help,” Isobel’s voice cut through the night air like a knife. She glared at her husband standing stoically before her without fear. This wasn’t a time for fear and retribution. She needed to get him to understand. “This is something I have to do, for me.” A red hot wave of fury flowed like molten lava through her veins, and she poked a finger into the solid wall of chest in an attempt to get make him understand just how deeply this affected her. “It was me he beat half to death. Me - who thought I wouldn’t get out alive. Me - whose life he destroyed. I am getting those papers.” Once again she jabbed a finger into his chest, harder, and with more determination that she had realised she had. “I am going into that house to get the documents I have seen and know exist. Do what you want! Go home if you want to, but you will not stop me. I refuse to simply wait at home for you to do it for me.” Isobel pulled her cloak around her, still riding high on the tide of anger, and moved back along the tree-line, very much aware of his frosty silence behind her.
Suddenly she was sick and tired of having men dictate her life for her. As woman of five and twenty, with enough wealth to live in luxury for the remainder of her life, she was not going to allow men to control her life any more, and that included the man who held her heart.
She resisted the urge to look behind her to see if he had actually left her alone and had her answer when, having taken no more than ten steps deeper into the woods, she was spun around by his hard grip on her elbow.
“Damn you to hell,” he snarled, grabbing the back of her head to hold her still as he slammed his mouth down upon hers.
Temper raging, Isobel met the hot plunge of his tongue without fear or trepidation. His hard lips raged against hers, demanding her compliance with a determination that was relentless, until she succumbed. Plundering until she acceded; but she refused to give in to his masculine strength. In return, she grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down, deepening the kiss and drawing the soft mounds of her breasts tighter against his chest.
“God, woman,” Dominic growled with a shake of his head. Inwardly he was still seething. He had been hoping that being out in the cold darkness would be enough to dampen her enthusiasm, and she would want to go home to a nice warm bed. He was annoyed that she was still adamant she was going to go through with her stupid scheme. He wanted to slam a fist into a tree.
Dominic sighed deeply, and glared at his wife. “Do you have any idea what they will do to you if you get caught?” He knew he didn’t have to remind her of the beating he took, or hte daily abuse she had been subjected to. “Death would be the easy way out, darling.”
If being out in the frosty night air, facing his anger weren’t enough to deter her, then he would have to take the harsh option. “There were, at Peter’s last count, four men inside the house.” He nodded brusquely across the gardens to the looming menace of Rupert’s house. Isobel paused, her back towards Dominic as she stared out across the grounds towards the hulking menace of the house.
Silence settled between them for several minutes as she stood in quiet contemplation. Her voice was a mere whisper but was carried on the still night air. Standing deep in the shelter of the trees, within the relative anonymity of the darkness of the night gave Isobel the strength to voice her thoughts.
“He beat me, you know that,” her voice was cold and flat.
Dominic moved forward until he was standing directly behind her. He wanted to place his hands on her shoulders and pull her into his arms, but his instincts warned him to allow her to speak.
“The last time he beat me, he just didn’t stop. It was a week after he told me that you had married another. I said it couldn’t be possible, but if it was, I was happy that you had found somebody you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Obviously it wasn’t the answer he was looking for, because he hit me repeatedly until I fell to the ground.” Tears pooled in her eyes. Strangely she could remember the blows, but not the pain. With eyes that stared sightlessly out at nothing, Isobel continued in a monotone voice, as though recounting a story from a book.
“Something inside me broke: I don’t know what. He had already told me that Peter had died the night I had my first beating. But when he told me about you, all doors suddenly closed on me, and I had nowhere to go. I lay curled up on the floor as he kicked me, and I knew that if I didn’t leave and take every risk to leave, then I would die. If not at Rupert’s hands, then at DeLisle’s.”
Isobel recounted the night she had met DeLisle’s third wife at the Marchington’s Ball. She described the devoid, emotionless features of a woman who had given up all hope of escape, who had been beaten into submission, and knew it.
“I didn’t care what my chances of survival were, but I knew I had to take the risk,” Isobel declared softly. “That is why, no matter how hard it got living on the streets, I bore it with everything I had within me. If I was to die of cold or hunger, then it would be a far less of an ordeal than the future Rupert had in store for me. I was colder than I had ever thought possible. So hungry sometimes, that I thought I should keel over. The pains in my stomach were so bad that I even stole a farmer’s loaf of bread to eat. I had to keep walking.”
Strangely, she felt no sense of relief by telling someone of her plunge into the criminal world. “At first I went to Hubert to ask for his assistance, but knew I couldn’t stay with his family. There was still the question of guardianship. So, having set up the necessary arrangements to fake my own death, I knew I
had to hide. After Rupert’s news about you, I knew I couldn’t appear at your door - your wife would not have been happy in the least. Kitty told me to head to Coniston up in the Lake District, but as I travelled further north, the weather became colder, and I knew that I didn’t want to go there. But after several weeks of wandering aimlessly, trying to keep as inconspicuous as possible, I knew that cold or hunger would take me.”
Isobel slowly turned to gaze up at the solid features of her husband, standing so silent and strong behind her. She couldn’t tell if he was angered or repulsed by her revelations. He hadn’t moved since she had begun talking, but had made no attempt to stop her talking either. Looking at him, her eyes met and held his. “I knew that I wouldn’t survive the winter alone. I also knew, or thought, your door was closed to me,” Isobel’s voice shook as the memory of those solitary nights she had lay huddled in the cold rose before her. She had been hungrier than she had ever thought possible and loneliness had been her constant companion. “I needed to be near you.”
Isobel sucked in a breath of cold night air, oblivious to the clenching of his fists beneath his cloak, and she turned and stared at the house.
“I would have gladly curled up on your doorstep, and passed away there and then, just to have my last few moments near you.” She felt acutely embarrassed by revealing the depth of her love for him, especially given his anger with her. She had never revealed her emotions to anyone to such an extent before. It should have been liberating, but something within her was still wary, and she stood waiting for his reaction. Strangely though, it was somehow easier to reveal her thoughts to the stark warrior behind her, than to the lovable rogue she had become familiar with.
Dominic moved to stand beside her. “I visited your grave,” he declared softly, as silence settled between them. Dominic slowly took her small hand in his, curling his fingers around it protectively. “I spent three years at war and saw so much horror and bloodshed, words cannot begin to describe the misery, but nothing was like the moment I stood beside your brother, next to your grave. My world was swept out from under me, when Peter and I were told you had died.”
“I’m sorry,” Isobel said. “It was my fault, but in my defence, it was planned before I knew you were looking for me. I did know Rupert and DeLisle would give chase once they realised I had gone, and pretending to die would give me the opportunity to start again – somehow.”
“I know,” Dominic replied, his voice harsh in the cold night air.
“We owe it to ourselves to get those papers, and make Rupert’s life difficult for a change.”
“It would be enough to see him transported,” Dominic declared firmly.
“I will never forgive him for what he has done to us, for all of the pain and suffering he has caused everyone. I cannot contemplate having a family with you, bearing your children, spending my life with you, only to find myself alone again and at Rupert’s mercy should he escape, or wriggle out of punishment somehow. Given everything he has done to me personally, I have to be involved in bringing about his downfall.” Isobel wished he could understand.
“Then let’s do this together,” Dominic suggested, giving her hand a quick squeeze.
“Really?” Isobel was unable to believe her warrior would relent so easily. “I can’t imagine you getting through the small window next to the kitchen door,” Isobel teased, needing desperately to lighten the gloomy atmosphere.
Peering through the darkness, Dominic spied the small, partially open window offering a clear route into the lower floor of the house and shot her a dour look.