James saluted his thanks, and ran toward the back of the castle, where the ground began to slope downward. He skidded to a halt, knowing she could be hiding anywhere. Again a helpful soldier pointed—this time to the lady’s garden. James hopped the broken fence and entered the murkily lit path. Shrubs and trees crowded out the castle walls, and he could almost imagine he was alone in a forest.
Not quite alone. He heard the faintest sound of breathing. He walked deeper into the garden.
“Angel,” he murmured, “this is pointless. There is no escape for either of us. When will you accept it?”
“Never!”
He caught Isabel’s body full in the chest and went down on his back, knocking the breath from his lungs. She straddled him, holding her eating knife to his throat. He could not see more than the faintest shadows of her face, but he could feel the wild tumble of her hair all about him. He forced his hands to remain on the ground.
She was breathing hard, but she did nothing else for endless moments.
“What are you waiting for?” he finally asked. “We’ve done this before, Angel, and it only got us married.”
“I could kill you,” she hissed. “I should have done it that first day.”
“You’re not a murderer, no matter how your father tried to make you one.”
“Don’t you dare mention him!” she cried, and he thought he heard the sound of tears in her voice.
“Then say his name. Since he stands between us as if he were alive, tell me about him. Tell me why he raised you as he did.”
“To rid the earth of the stench of a Bolton.” Her voice was more controlled, lower, and somehow more threatening. He sensed her leaning closer, felt the tickle of her curls against his face.
“No father treats his daughter thusly—and no mother allows it.”
“My mother was dead to me long before she truly died. And why should it matter how I was raised? No man would want me because of the humiliation my family has suffered at the hands of Boltons.”
“Isabel, that is not true,” he insisted. Slowly, he reached up and set his hands on her waist. “You are an incredibly wealthy noblewoman. You’d have to be a hunchback for a man not to want you.”
“Thank you,” she said bitterly.
“I am only trying to prove a point. Your father knew he could marry you off any time he pleased. Instead he selfishly kept you to himself. It didn’t matter that you weren’t happy, that you were only a tool for his revenge. He was a bitter old man who used you.”
“Stop!”
He caught her wrist and wrestled the knife away from her. Tossing it aside, he rolled until he pinned her struggling body into the frost-tipped grass.
“Isabel, in some bizarre way, your father actually got you a husband. ’Tis a shame it had to be me.”
She lifted her hips off the ground, trying to dislodge him. He heard her panting, felt the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest, and once again began to lose his thoughts. Her hips were so very comfortable to lie upon. His erection throbbed between them, and he slowly rubbed against her.
He leaned down and she turned her face away. Touching his lips to her cheek, he murmured, “There is but one good thing about our marriage, Angel, and I’ve only taught you part of it.”
He felt her trembling now, felt the rigidness of her thighs begin to ease. Why wouldn’t she just give in to the passion she so carefully held in check? Must he seduce it from her as he had before?
Suddenly, he heard running feet, and he groaned.
“My lord?” It was Wiggins’s voice.
Isabel lay still, feeling the threat and promise of Bolton’s body atop her. After a frozen moment, he rolled away, and she was almost disappointed. Deep in her heart, she knew she had almost succumbed to the memories of pleasure he had given her. It was a trap, a passionate lure to keep her quiet, to keep her under his control. He wanted her to give in, but he himself never lost control. She struggled to remember the cruel words he’d said about her father.
“Wiggins,” Bolton said, “what do you want?”
“I was worried when you didn’t return, my lord. Is everything all right?”
Isabel heard Bolton get to his feet, then felt herself hauled up beside him. She wanted to run, but he kept hold of her wrist.
“We’re fine,” he said, and she thought his voice sounded hoarse. “ ’Tis time for Lady Bolton and me to retire.”
