Page 9 of How to Bewitch a Duke (Lady Be Seductive #3)

Eight

T he storm raged overhead, the heavy clouds blotting out the last vestiges of the fading daylight. The wind howled through the trees, its sharp gusts tugging at their cloaks as Lucian and Stratton rode through the treacherous terrain, their horses’ hooves slipping against the wet earth beneath them. The path had become little more than a muddy trail, but Lucian was beyond caring. His heart was a steady drum of urgency, and all he could think of was Isla—his Isla—held captive, a mere pawn in his uncle’s cruel game.

Stratton rode beside him, his grim face set in determined lines. “We are close, Your Grace,” he said, his voice barely audible above the wind. “I see the signal—there, just beyond the ridge. My men are waiting there.”

Lucian nodded, his breath coming quicker as the scent of wet earth filled his lungs. Every instinct told him they were near. Isla was nearby, and she was in danger. His pulse quickened as they approached a clearing, where the outline of a dilapidated shack emerged from the shadows. The sight of it made his stomach tighten. His uncle would had hidden here, in this forsaken place—it was near enough to Thornridge that he would have known of its existence. It was the only gamekeepers lodging that they had long since stopped using. Isla would be inside there too and likely frightened. Lucian’s hands clenched the reins of his horse, his resolve hardening with each passing second.

Stratton dismounted first, his movements swift as he surveyed the area. “Stay close, Your Grace,” he warned, his tone low. “We must be cautious.”

Lucian gave a single nod. He would not allow his uncle to escape this time. He would do whatever it took to save Isla, to make sure she was safe from the monster who had tried to ruin everything. They crept closer to the shack, the storm’s fury masking their movements. As they approached the door, Lucian could hear muffled voices from inside—his uncle’s harsh tones mixed with Isla’s frightened but determined responses. His chest tightened at the sound of her voice, but he forced himself to remain calm. In one fluid motion, Stratton kicked open the door, and they both rushed inside.

The sight that greeted Lucian was one of chaos. Isla stood near the far corner of the shack, her wrists bound but her posture strong. Her eyes widened as she saw him, and for the briefest of moments, relief flooded her expression before it was replaced with fear. Lucian’s gaze immediately fell on his uncle, Michael Oliver, who stood by the small window with a pistol raised, pointing directly at Isla.

“Stay where you are!” Michael growled, his voice thick with fury and desperation. “No one moves, or she dies.”

Lucian’s blood turned cold at the sight of the weapon, but his resolve hardened. “You will not harm her, uncle. Not now, not ever,” Lucian said, his voice steady despite the terror clawing at his insides. He quickly assessed the situation and came to a decision. If it came to a choice between his own life and Isla’s there was no decision. He would choose her every time.

Michael’s lip curled into a cruel smile. “You’ve always been such a disappointment, Lucian. From the moment of your birth I knew that I would one day ensure your death,” he spat, his finger twitching near the trigger. “I will make sure you regret ever thinking you could take what’s mine.”

The words were like a lash to Lucian’s soul, but he could not hesitate. His uncle had already destroyed enough lives. This ended now. “The dukedom is not yours,” he reminded his uncle. He had to keep his uncle’s attention on him. It was the only way to ensure Isla survived. With a sudden movement, Lucian lunged forward, attempting to disarm his uncle. A fierce struggle ensued, each of them wrestling for control of the gun, the tension between them palpable. The pistol was heavy, unwieldy in Michael’s hands, but Lucian was determined. He had no intention of letting Isla—his Isla—be harmed.

For a moment, they both seemed locked in a deadly embrace, neither giving an inch. The rain was pounding on the roof above them, a constant reminder of the storm raging both outside and in their hearts. Suddenly, the weapon discharged with a loud crack that reverberated in Lucian’s ears. A rush of panic flooded through him as Isla screamed, her voice high-pitched and filled with terror. He thought, for a moment, that she had seen him struck, and his heart stopped. But when he glanced toward her, his worst fears were alleviated.

It was Michael who had been hit. The old man staggered back, his hands clutching his side, blood seeping through his fingers as he let out a strangled gasp. The pistol fell from his grasp, clattering to the floor, and with one final, agonized look, he stumbled backward toward the window.

“No!” Michael’s voice was a hoarse whisper, full of rage and disbelief. He reached out for the edge of the window frame, but his grip faltered. And then, with a sickening, helpless cry, Michael Oliver fell. His body tumbled from the window and into the darkness.

“Someone go outside and check on him.” He prayed that his uncle was dead, but he doubted the old man had succumbed to his wounds. Either way he had to make sure that man did not make another escape attempt. Isla’s cries echoed through the room, and Lucian’s heart pounded in his chest. He rushed to her side, cutting the ropes that bound her with trembling hands. As her arms freed, she collapsed into his embrace, her body shaking with relief and shock. “Isla,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You’re safe. You’re safe now.”

She buried her face in his chest, her breath ragged and uneven. “Lucian… I thought I had lost you. I thought…” Her voice trailed off, too overcome to speak.

Lucian held her tightly, his own relief flooding over him. He had saved her. But the cost had been high. He looked toward the open window where Michael had fallen. The darkness outside seemed to hold an eerie silence, the only sound the rain as it continued to pour in sheets.

Isla pulled back slightly, looking up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “What happened? Where is he?” Her gaze flickered to the window where Michael had fallen.

Lucian’s jaw tightened. “He’s gone—he fell through the window,” he said quietly. “He won’t hurt you ever again.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Isla’s eyes locked with his, and Lucian’s heart swelled with something more than relief—it was love. The love he had been denying for so long. It had always been there, deep within him, and now it was undeniable. Lucian cupped her face gently in his hands. “I will never leave you again, Isla. Never.”

Tears spilled from her eyes, and she nodded, her lips trembling as she whispered, “I love you, Lucian.”

And in that moment, with everything that had happened between them—the pain, the betrayal, the heartache—they both knew that they had found their way back to each other. Against all odds, they would have their happiness. Together. He would never let her go again.

The journey from the derelict gamekeeper’s cottage to Thornridge Hall was a quiet one. Lucian had insisted on escorting Isla back to the safety of his estate, where the shadows of her recent ordeal could be replaced with the warmth of his protection and love. The ride had seemed far too long, and though Isla’s body had been exhausted, her mind raced with the events of the past hours. Lucian had held her close, his arm never leaving her side. She could feel the strength in his embrace, but more than that, she could feel the love he held for her—the same love she had spent years trying to suppress, only for it to grow stronger, more undeniable, with each passing moment.

They arrived at Thornridge Hall just as the sun began to rise, painting the sky with hues of gold and crimson. The air was crisp and filled with the scents of the estate: pine from the forests, the fresh earth after the rain, and the undeniable fragrance of home—his home. He helped her down from his horse, his hand strong as he guided her into the great hall. The familiar warmth of the estate greeted them, and Isla’s heart felt a strange mix of comfort and something else—hope, perhaps.

“I will take you to a guest room,” Lucian said softly, his voice a soothing balm after the chaos they had just endured.

Isla nodded, grateful for the unspoken care he offered. She was not afraid, not here, not with him. Not anymore. As they reached her room, Lucian paused at the door, turning to her with a look that sent her pulse racing. “Isla,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “There is so much I want to say, but right now, I only want you to know how much I love you. How much I have always loved you.”

Her breath hitched at the intensity of his gaze, the depth of the emotion he conveyed without a single word. Isla stepped closer, her heart a maelstrom of emotions—fear, hope, love—and all of it for him. “I love you too, Lucian,” she whispered, her voice shaking with the weight of everything she had held inside for so long. She closed the distance between them, her lips meeting his in a kiss that felt like a promise, an unspoken vow that had been waiting to be fulfilled for years.

The kiss deepened, as though the world outside of them had ceased to exist. Lucian’s hands roamed to her waist, pulling her close, while she melted against him, her own hands tangled in his hair. The kiss was not just one of passion; it was a release, a letting go of all the barriers they had both built between them. It was everything they had never said and everything they had always felt.

With a soft sigh, Lucian pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. “I have waited for this for so long, Isla. I have hurt you. I know that. And I will never forgive myself for it, but I will spend the rest of my life making up for it.”

Isla’s heart clenched at the sincerity in his voice. She could see the remorse, the regret in his eyes, but more than that, she saw the unshakable love he had for her. “Lucian,” she whispered, her hands resting against his chest. “I am not the same woman I was before. I can’t go back to that.” His brow furrowed in confusion, and Isla smiled softly, running her fingers over his jawline. “I do not want to go back to that young girl I once was either,” she said, her voice full of warmth and affection. “I want us to move forward, together.”

Lucian nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Then we will.”

With a gentle urgency, Lucian kissed her again, his hands wandering to the ties of her gown, his touch reverent, as though asking permission. Isla, with trembling fingers, helped him, her heart racing in anticipation. She wanted him, as much as he wanted her. The need, the longing they had both fought against for so long, was now too much to resist. The gown slipped from her shoulders, and Lucian’s breath caught at the sight of her, his hands immediately skimming over her skin as though he couldn’t get enough. Isla responded eagerly, her hands working deftly to remove his coat, her fingers tracing the broad muscles beneath his shirt.

In moments, they were both undressed, their bodies close, skin to skin. The world outside seemed to disappear, and all that existed was the feel of his touch, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the sound of their breath mingling together. He trailed kissed down her body, pausing to give particular attention to her breasts. He drew one taut nipple into his mouth. She moaned as pleasure spiraled through her body. Lucian tweaked her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Isla writhed beneath him. She had forgotten how wonderful being with him like this could be.

He lowered himself to settle between her legs. When he spread her thighs she knew what he intended. This was not their first time together and he had kissed her like this before. She recalled that pleasure and braced herself for the intensity. He slid his tongue over her sensitive flesh and then sucked her into his mouth. She screamed as her release overtook her, and then he was pressing his arousal into her, filling her. Each stroke, each thrust, taking them toward bliss together.

As they made love, the connection between them deepened. It was not just physical; it was emotional, spiritual. In that moment, they were two halves of the same soul finally reunited, as though the years of heartache and separation had never happened. Afterward, Lucian held her close, his arms wrapped around her as though he could keep her from ever slipping away. Isla rested her head against his chest, her heart still racing. She could hear the steady beat of his heart, the rhythm of the man she had loved for so long.

“I want forever with you, Isla,” Lucian whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You are the one I’ve always been meant to be with. Will you marry me?”

The words hung in the air, both a question and a promise. Isla lifted her head to meet his gaze, her heart swelling with love. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. “I will marry you.”

Lucian’s smile was all-encompassing, full of joy and relief. “I will never hurt you again, Isla. You are mine, and I am yours.”

She smiled, her heart full as she kissed him once more, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “And I will love you, forever.”

In that moment, the world outside of them seemed to vanish. There was only the two of them, their love, and the promise of a future together—a future that would be built on trust, on forgiveness, and on the love they had fought so hard to find again.