Page 13 of The Lover’s Eye

She took a step back, the first feeling of danger sparking in her chest. It was the first time all day she wished Betsey were with her.

He immediately crowded back into her space. “I am serious Isobel, I deserve an answer from you! What more can I do? Why must you insist on being unwilling to my advances?”

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. “I am not unwilling. I am frightened, I … Perhaps if I understood what our marriage would be like—”

“ What it would be like ,” Elias said derisively, shaking his head. He made a small circle, clamping a palm to his forehead. “Like all marriages, Isobel. We will have those children you talked about, and I will run the estate just as your father has.”

“And what of my walks?”

“There is no reason you cannot walk the grounds here, though I will always ensure Betsey or Mother is in your company.”

Isobel’s stomach inverted at the idea of Lady Sempill attempting to join her on a walk. “And if I want to visit my sister?” she managed to press.

“Certainly. I would take you.”

“And what of my funds?” Isobel licked her lips, her pulse accelerating. “You know Papa has always given me an allowance for my books.”

Elias picked up her hands. “Why would you trouble yourself over such things? These are a gentleman’s concerns. It will be even finer when it’s just the two of us, and I am in absolute control of the coffers. I am a good manager, you know. You will never be in want.”

If Isobel had not spent the whole of her day exerting herself into malnourishment, she might have been sick. She stared at their hands, the image quavering before her eyes. It took little imagination to see a ring upon her finger, to hear herself asking Elias for every farthing.

“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head, sending a tear onto his hand.

“Isobel?”

Elias placed a hand under her chin and lifted her face to him. “Pray, tell me what it is. You can trust me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing if she met his gaze her weeping would multiply tenfold. When Elias’s gentle touch did not waver and he did not press her further, she decided to make the attempt.

“I am not sure I want to marry.”

He pushed away from her. “No. You don’t mean that.” He stalked several paces down the path and back, his boots crunching in the trees’ spent needles. “This is my fault.”

Isobel opened her eyes now. She felt like she was being choked, her throat aching with unspent sobs. “That is not true, Elias. I only know I am not ready, and I cannot tell you if I ever will be.”

It took tremendous strength to say the words. She knew they would hurt him, but perhaps this was her path forward: brutal honesty.

Elias stopped a few inches shy of her, his eyes stony and his brows crunched into a deep frown. “I have not made one misstep. I have been patient with you, and that is my fault. I should have listened.”

“Listened?” Isobel’s voice was hardly above a squeak.

In a swift move, Elias grabbed her by the shoulders.

He was close enough he had to bow his chin to meet her eye, and when Isobel tried to writhe out of his touch, his fingers dug into her flesh.

“If only I had taken Mother’s advice sooner, perhaps we would already be wed.

But it is not too late to alter course.”

He forced his mouth over Isobel’s, kissing her with bruising force.

She screamed, but the sound was drowned out.

She beat her fists against him, hitting and kicking at any space of flesh within her reach, but Elias only lowered one of his confining hands to her bottom, dragging her hips firmly against his.

He glared at her, a satisfied smirk curling his red lips.

“Let me go!” Isobel screamed, trying to catch her breath and squirming against him. His arm felt like an iron vice around her back.

“I’m only doing what I ought to have done sooner,” he said, his voice gone low and breathy. “Taking you in hand.”

Isobel scoffed, her mind gone blank save one wild, singular goal: escape. Desperate energy beat through her veins, and she struggled to think. “You disgust me,” she choked out, twisting her limbs, searching for a weak point in his grasp.

Elias’s skin had darkened to a deep flush, hot blood engorging a prominent vein in his forehead.

He grabbed a fistful of her skirts and Isobel saw, as if in slowed time, his chin dipping toward her again.

She spat in his face, and as he recoiled, she managed to stomp on his foot, grinding her heel into his toes with the strength of her whole body.

He broke apart from her.

“Damn! Mind the boots!” he said, dusting them off and swiping at his eyes.

Isobel was already bolting for Ridgeway House, stumbling on a run.

?

Isobel didn’t move when she heard her father starting up the stairs. He muttered curses under his breath until he reached her locked door, panting and rapping on it. “Isobel?”

She summoned the energy to stand, swiping at her swollen, red eyes as she let him in. He looked her up and down, his brows lifting when he reached the filthy hem of her skirt. “What the deuce happened to you?”

Isobel ignored the question and returned to her seat by the fire. “Are they gone?”

“Yes.”

She waited until her father made his way across the room and claimed the seat across from her. And then she glowered at him, her eyes narrowed and unflinching. “Did you know Elias intended to propose marriage today?”

Lord Ridgeway made a gruff, guttural sound, struggling to form coherent words. “Well, I believe I heard something of the sort. He seemed quite perturbed when he returned without you.”

Good. Feel misery, feel shame. Isobel hadn’t an ounce of sympathy. She crossed her arms tightly, running her hands over her cold body. Her skin hadn’t stopped crawling in the hours since Elias had forced himself on her.

“When I refused him, he took liberties with me.”

“He what ?” Lord Ridgeway shoved his thick frame to the seat edge, his hands pressed against the chair arms, braced for action.

Isobel hastened to explain, lest her father think even worse atrocities had been taken against her. By the end of her description, she was drying fresh tears from her cheeks.

Lord Ridgeway eased back into his seat, shaking his head incessantly. “You will not wish to hear me say it, my girl, but that is further proof we must set this business to rights. If young Sempill is going to behave with so little scruple, he could ruin your good name.”

Isobel scoffed, her brow furrowing. “Is that your solution? Spoken like a true gentleman, Papa. If a man acts like a brute, one must give him what he wants.”

The old viscount fell silent, color splotching his low cheekbones.

“I will never marry him,” she said, possessed of a cool, biting confidence.

Her father shook his head. “He’s compromised you already.”

She leaned forward, her fists clenched. “And I am telling you I would rather be a ruined spinster than so much as accept a call from that man again.”

“Damn if I don’t understand your feeling, but that’s no solution. Get your wits about you, Isobel.”

She could see he didn’t believe her threats. She almost rose to her feet, ready to scream her conviction for the entire household to hear, but a secondary thought gripped her. Perhaps it was better if her father didn’t believe in the strength of her resolve.

Isobel settled back into her chair, her pulse frantic beneath her cool exterior. “I will not be receiving callers. I will attend that godforsaken ball because it’s what I promised you—but then I am leaving for Shoremoss.”

Lord Ridgeway stared at her for a long moment, his breathing deep and labored. He was assessing her. Isobel could feel it, and she wiped her expression blank, refusing to reveal so much as a hint of the plans taking shape in her mind.

“Very well,” he said at last, standing up and planting a kiss on her forehead.