Page 38

CHAPTER 38

H er eyes moved upward. The figure stepped forward slowly, the fine cut of his coat catching the moonlight. He was dressed impeccably, as though he had stepped from the ballroom itself rather than the darkness of a midnight garden.

And then she saw his face.

A strangled gasp escaped her lips. Aaron.

Before she could make a sound beyond that, his hand clamped over her mouth, rough and unyielding. The other seized the nape of her neck, fingers digging cruelly into her skin.

“Did you think it was over, Fiona?” he hissed, dragging her backward with alarming force. The iron bench she’d sat on vanished from view as hedges and shadow closed around them.

She twisted against him, flailing her arms and driving her heel down toward his foot, but he shifted easily, pinning her back against the hedge wall with the full weight of his body.

No, no, no...

Her cries were muffled against his palm, her lungs tight with panic. The sharp tang of spirits was heavy on his breath, each exhale a wave of sickness against her cheek.

“You cannot hide,” he sneered. “I’ve been watching you, following you—like old times, eh? You never noticed, not really. But I saw you. Always.”

The pressure of his hand made her vision swim. Her pulse hammered at her temples.

It was him, she realized in a dizzy rush. The feeling in the street, the unease at Darlington House—it was always him.

Aaron’s eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction. “You may be married to the Prince Regent himself, but it makes no difference. I’ll always find you, Fiona. You were mine. From the start.”

Fiona shook her head violently, trying to force sound past his grip, but it only made him laugh—a low, menacing chuckle that turned her stomach.

“What’s that, darling?” he mocked, tightening his grip.

Her heart pounded like a drumbeat of dread. Where was Isaac? Someone—anyone—please...

Fiona writhed against him, her muscles straining in desperation, but Aaron only pressed harder, pinning her cruelly against the hedge. The thick cloak she wore shielded her from the bramble’s thorns, but it did little to guard against him, or the dread clawing up her spine.

Hot tears welled in her eyes, blurring the edges of the moonlight above.

Someone must wake. A servant fetching water... a restless soul pacing the hall... anyone.

Her lungs screamed for air, her spirit for release. She needed deliverance—from this man, this nightmare, this shadow that refused to vanish. More than anything, she needed Isaac.

“You are the reason I am ruined and alone,” Aaron growled, his fingers weaving possessively into a lock of her hair. His voice was slurred, thick with drink.

You did this to yourself, she wanted to cry. You sowed your own ruin.

“Like your father, you now carry a debt,” he murmured, as if the thought amused him. “Though the old fool has somehow scraped together the coin and returned it all.”

Fiona’s mind raced. Paid? All of it? How? There had been no indication—no mention of such a thing. Had Isaac ? —?

“But your debt,” Aaron sneered, “is not in coin.” His thumb traced along her lip, the touch revolting. “You’ve always been beautiful, Fiona. If only I could tame that unruly spirit.”

He leaned in, his mouth nearing her neck.

Revulsion rose swift and sharp within her.

She bit him.

Her teeth sank into the fleshy pad of his finger, and he yelped, wrenching back with a guttural curse. The next moment, his palm struck her cheek with brutal force.

“You wicked little doxy,” he spat.

The sting of the slap made her head reel, but anger burned through the haze.

“Keeping yourself for that beast you married? Have you given him your heart, then? Is that it?”

He leaned close again, eyes wild. “I bested him once. And I shall do so again. You belong to me.”

“Never,” Fiona hissed, fury coursing through her veins.

With all the strength she could muster, she drove her knee upward.

He crumpled with a strangled groan.

She made to flee, stumbling as his hand gripped her robe, dragging her down. Her body struck the ground, the impact jarring.

Aaron loomed above her almost instantly, panting, enraged.

“You will pay for every misery you’ve brought upon me. You and that wretched husband of yours.”

“I do not think so,” a voice cut through the night.

The weight against her vanished in an instant, and the thud of a body hitting earth echoed in Fiona’s ears. Blinking past the blur of tears, she beheld Isaac, like a storm incarnate, striking Aaron with a furious precision.

“You dare lay your hand upon my wife?” Isaac’s fist met Aaron’s face with a sickening crack. “You filthy cur—” another blow, and another, each one fueled by something deeper than fury.

Aaron flailed, attempting to rise, but Isaac gave him no room, no quarter. He drove him back to the earth, fist after relentless fist.

“Isaac!” Fiona’s voice was thin, torn from a throat tight with fear. “Isaac, stop!”

But he did not hear her.

She lurched forward, seizing his arm mid-swing. Her hands closed around his wrist, feeling the tension thrumming through him like a taut bowstring.

“That is enough!” she cried, pressing herself against him, her fingers trembling around his bloodied hand. “Any more and we shall do him a damage that cannot be undone.”

His chest heaved beneath her palms. Isaac’s gaze remained fixed on the crumpled figure beneath him, eyes wild and unreadable.

“He deserves worse,” he muttered, breath ragged.

Aaron let out a sputtering cough, blood mingling with spit as it spilled over his lips.

At last, Isaac released his grip, shoving him aside with disgust.

Footsteps pounded across the flagstone path. Mr. Everett emerged, tying the sash of his night robe with clumsy urgency, his face pale and drawn. Behind him came Mrs. Burton, her white nightcap askew, and more figures began to crowd the garden, drawn by the commotion.

Gasps, whispers, a collective hush fell over the gathering.

Isaac turned to Fiona, his expression unraveling. He reached for her, drawing her against his chest.

“Are you harmed?”

The heat of his embrace, the tremble in his hands... it shattered something in her. The tears she had tried so valiantly to hold back spilled freely now, staining the fabric of his shirt.

He came. He found me.

Isaac’s arm tightened around her as he turned toward the crowd. “Everett, take him.”

The butler stepped forward without hesitation, two footmen trailing behind him. “Where shall we put him, Your Grace?”

“Secure him in the cellar,” Isaac ordered. “And lock the door. Post a guard and I will deal with him later.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Aaron groaned as the footmen hoisted him up, and Fiona could not bring herself to look. She buried her face against Isaac’s shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of sandalwood and starch.

Isaac bent to lift her once more, cradling her against him as though she weighed nothing at all. He carried her back into the manor, each stride full of purpose, and made straight for his study.

He lowered her gently onto the carpet before the hearth, his hand lingering at her back, steadying her.

Without a word, he crouched before her, eyes scanning her face, her arms, her form.

“I—I am unhurt, Isaac,” Fiona said, her voice soft, her breath still shaky.

Her cheek still stung, but she could move freely. No bruised ribs, no broken skin.

He exhaled sharply, though not with relief. With rage.

“I am sorry, Fiona.”

She shook her head, lips parting to protest, but he cut her off.

“No,” he said again, firmer. “I failed to see it. I did not realize you were in danger. I should have known—should have acted sooner. That he would dare trespass upon my land, lay his hands on you beneath my roof?—”

His voice cracked and fell to silence. His hands fisted at his sides.

“I could not sleep,” Fiona whispered, staring into the flames. “I thought a walk might settle my nerves. When I heard the knock, I assumed?—”

“You are not to blame.” He turned from her abruptly, as though ashamed of his own helplessness.

Crossing to the sideboard, he retrieved a glass and poured from the decanter, the liquid glinting amber in the firelight. He returned to her and knelt once more, placing the brandy into her chilled hands.

“This should help.”

She drank. The warmth struck her throat, sharp and unforgiving, but it steadied her trembling fingers.

“I nearly failed you too, Fiona,” he murmured, taking her hands into his once more, raising them to his lips before blowing softly across her knuckles as though to soothe some unseen wound.

She looked up at him, his features drawn and eyes glassy. “You haven’t,” she said, pressing his fingers. “And you never will.”

“It was Aaron,” Isaac said, the words low and sharp.

Fiona stiffened, the name falling like a stone into the still waters of her thoughts.

“Mary’s lover was the Earl of Canterlack.”

Her breath caught. No... The realization struck hard and fast. The man who had haunted her, nearly ruined her, had once destroyed Mary too.

“Aaron seduced my sister,” Isaac continued, voice strained, “and persuaded her to elope with him. I was sixteen, still green and foolish, but I knew dishonor when I saw it. I followed them—halfway to Scotland. Challenged him to a duel for what he had done.”

Fiona’s mind raced. The field. The confrontation. It was the one Mary described... Pieces from the journal clicked sharply into place.

“He admitted it all. That he never loved her. That he’d only wanted what pleasure he could take. Said it right to my face.” Isaac’s jaw tensed. “But we did not know Mary had followed. She heard every vile word.”

His eyes dropped to the floor, shadowed with the weight of memory.

“She heard him say she meant nothing to him. That she was only a means to an end. His words broke her.”

Fiona placed a hand over her heart as if to steady it. “Oh dear…”

“He shot me,” Isaac said, voice quiet now. “Right through the shoulder. I was lucky. But Mary blamed herself. Said she’d nearly sent her brother to the grave for a man who cared not a whit for her.”

He looked up at her then, and Fiona saw the grief, sharp and raw, still etched behind his eyes.

“She was never the same. The melancholy never lifted. On her eighteenth birthday, we found her by the lake. She left a letter—for Elaine and me. An apology. A farewell.”

Tears blurred Fiona’s vision once more. She hadn’t realized they’d fallen until his thumb swept them gently away. He pulled her into his arms, and she let herself be folded into the shelter of his embrace.

The scar on his shoulder. The bitterness in his voice whenever Aaron was near. The way he’d insisted on protecting her, even if it meant scandal…

Every thread now wove into a tapestry of heartbreak and warning. He had not merely pitied her. He had known— he had known —what such a man could destroy.

“I failed Mary,” Isaac murmured, as if reading the very thoughts turning over in her mind. “And now I’ve nearly failed you too.”

“No. None of it was ever through any fault of yours.” Fiona brought her hands to his face, her palms resting against the warmth of his cheeks.

“You did your best,” she said, her voice low but sure. “You are just as much a victim in all of this, Isaac. And I cannot begin to say how sorry I am about Mary.”

He looked at her, eyes shadowed, but something in them shifted. A glimmer of something raw and restless. Then his gaze dipped to her throat.

“The scoundrel left marks,” he said, reaching up. His fingers brushed lightly over her skin, and she could feel her breath catch despite herself.

He leaned in, and his lips followed the trail his fingers had made, pressing a kiss first to one mark, then another. Each touch was gentle, reverent.

“I’m sorry, Fiona,” he whispered against her skin.

“Isaac…” Her eyes closed on a sigh, her fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his coat. She didn’t know what she meant to say, only that she needed him close, needed this moment to wash away all the horror of what had come before.

He lifted his head, his eyes locking with hers.

And then she kissed him.

It was instinctive, a pull she could no longer resist. He answered with equal fervor, his arms tightening around her waist as their lips met again, deeper this time.

The room, the fire, the past, all of it dissolved.

There was only him, and her, and the certainty that she belonged in his arms.