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M artin felt Isabella approach before he saw her. In the weeks since they had met, he’d developed a sixth sense that was attuned to her just as a compass needle points north. She entered the great hall, sweeping in with a majesty and hauteur that never failed to take his breath away.

But something was wrong. Very wrong.

Only someone who had studied her at length would see it, but there was strain behind her cool gaze, and a slight, lingering redness around her eyes suggested she’d been crying. If this had something to do with Lord James, he would run the man through with his own lance.

If he hadn’t been in the midst of a conversation with Lord Christopher about the progress of repairs to The Wind Song , he would have pulled her aside to a private place and gotten to the bottom of what had happened.

But he would have to tread carefully in such a public setting.

While he would do everything that he could to plead his case, he couldn’t do anything that might suggest he was sabotaging her plan.

There could be no hint that their marriage was anything but chaste.

Isabella approached and stood beside him at a distance carefully calibrated to avoid any possible contact. Her distance hurt him, but he understood why she maintained it.

“Lady Isabella, what a pleasure it is to see you again,” said Lord Christopher, who was fortunately oblivious to the tension between them. “Welcome to my keep. Please don’t hesitate to tell me if there’s anything my wife or I can do to make you comfortable during your stay.”

“That is most kind of you, Lord Christopher.” She smiled and bowed her head. “Where is Lady Diana? I’m looking forward to seeing her again.”

“She went to market to purchase provisions. We have quite a full house at the moment, but the more the merrier, as I always say. Isn’t that right, Lord Martin? And in these troubling times, it is good to have friends you can rely on. There’s safety in numbers, eh?”

“Very true, my lord. Nonetheless, we appreciate your hospitality. Please thank your wife for any trouble she may have gone to on our behalf.” Martin had always liked Lord Christopher. He was a pleasant and generous man, if a bit blind to the flaws of his liege lord.

“Congratulations on your nuptials, you two lovebirds! I’m very sorry we didn’t have enough rooms to put you together.”

Martin stifled a sigh as he forced himself to offer the explanation that would offer Isabella her freedom.

“It’s probably for the best, my lord. My family is very traditional and wants us to wait to consummate the marriage until we are in Winchelsea.

” The lie nearly choked him, but he had to do it for her sake.

“Really?” Lord Christopher frowned. “How unfortunate for you. It must be very trying to wait. You have my sympathies.”

At that moment, Lord James came striding in. Isabella stiffened beside him. Whatever was upsetting her definitely had something to do with that giant muscular oaf. Martin clenched his fist by his side, even as he forced himself to smile politely.

“Why does Lord Martin have your sympathies?” the big man bellowed.

“His family has insisted that he wait to consummate his marriage until he’s back in Winchelsea, poor man.” Lord Christopher’s expression was all sympathy.

Martin had to bite his tongue to stop himself from complaining that his marital relations shouldn’t be a topic for public discussion. After all, he was the one who raised the topic. But it still galled him to no end.

“Poor man indeed.” Lord James grinned widely. “If I had a bride like her, I wouldn’t wait, no matter what my family said, but not all men have the balls to stand up to their mommies.”

This was too much. If the earl didn’t shut his ugly mouth, Martin was going to ram his fist into it.

“It is the sign of true chivalry that he is willing to wait and comply with his family’s wishes,” said Isabella, stepping closer and clasping his clenched fist in her hand.

Martin forced himself to relax and open his fist. She was right to hold him back.

He couldn’t punch the earl however much he might want to.

It would ruin his carefully laid plan to win Isabella’s heart and likely make it exceedingly difficult to get out of Yarmouth in one piece.

And this small gesture of solidarity warmed his heart beyond all reason.

Lord James’s eyes narrowed. “You know, she isn’t truly your bride until you consummate. Another man might steal her away.”

Isabella stared fixedly at the floor. She must have spoken with him, and as Martin feared, his rival was interested. The mere idea of her surrendering herself to that man filled him with blinding rage.

Martin clenched his fist again, and Isabella glance quickly at him, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.

She didn’t want him to fight. Of course, she didn’t.

She’d achieved what she wanted—to marry Lord James.

The thought made him want to grab the nearest weapon and carve the earl to pieces, but he held back for her sake.

Wide-eyed, Lord Christopher barked an incredulous laugh. “Surely, no one is going to attempt to steal Lord Martin’s bride from him. They’ve already declared their union before God.”

Lord James shrugged. “Perhaps God has other plans for Lady Isabella, grander plans.”

Taking several threatening steps toward Martin, Lord James towered over him. Martin met his gaze and let the man see the full force of his fury.

Lord James blinked and took a step back, then laughed. “It was a jest, my lord. No need to look at me like that. No one is going to steal your wife.”

“Ha! Of course! A jest.” Lord Christopher’s forced guffaw was accompanied by a nervous, darting glance between the two men. “He meant nothing by it, Lord Martin. Have no fear. Your lady is safe beneath my roof.”

“Although she could hardly be blamed for keeping her options open, eh?” Lord James clapped Martin on the shoulder and squeezed painfully. “That awful mustache of yours certainly isn’t doing you any favors, is it, my lady?” he said, releasing Martin and turning to Isabella.

“I think it suits him.”

Pride bloomed in Martin’s heart, despite the tension in the room. She liked his mustache! Nobody liked his mustache, not even his own mother. He’d seen a man in Venice wearing one and thought it a very fine fashion indeed. Unfortunately, no one seemed to agree with him. Until his wife.

“Yes, I suppose it distracts from the rest of him, which is, perhaps, for the best.”

A weak and uninspired insult if he ever heard one.

“I am as God made me. If you think to prick my pride, you need to work harder. I have been called a boiled-leather cuirass, a goat turd, a lump of putrid cheese, a rampallian, a puke stocking… And that’s just by my little sister.

I’d tell you what my brother says about me, but I don’t wish to offend Lady Isabella’s ears. ”

Isabella turned toward him, eyebrows raised. “Your sister said all that about you?”

Martin shrugged. “In her defense, she was eight, and I’d just dropped her favorite doll in a dung heap playing keep-away with my brother. I deserved every word.”

Isabella laughed, and some of the tension left his body. As long as she found him funny and charming, all hope was not lost.

“So, my lord,” Martin said, turning to Lord James. “Can you do better than an eight-year-old girl? Sharpen your wit and do your worst.”

Lord James narrowed his eyes. “This is absurd. I don’t have time to play your childish games.”

“A pity. I was rather looking forward to hearing what novel insults you would heap upon my head. But perhaps your wit is not up to the task.” Martin ought not to goad the man, but anger still simmered beneath his skin over his rival’s inroads with Isabella, not to mention whatever the man had said to make her cry.

“Shut your face, you pathetic fool.” The earl took a threatening step toward him.

“Peace, my lords! Peace!” Lord Christopher rose and hurried to stand between them.

“This jesting has gone too far. Perhaps we should go our separate ways until supper. I have a lovely garden that Lady Isabella might enjoy. Lord Martin, perhaps you could take your wife for a walk there? Lord James and I have some business to attend to.”

Martin forced himself to release the breath he’d been holding and turned his gaze from the loathsome toad trying to steal his wife to Lord Christopher. “That sounds lovely, my lord. Isabella, will you accompany me?”

He held out his arm, and she took it. They left the great hall swiftly, without another word.

The garden was not at its finest, given the season. There was little alive aside from cabbages and conifers, but Martin was hardly going to complain about the surroundings when he finally had a moment of privacy with his wife. He led her to a stone bench and sat beside her.

“Isabella, what happened with Lord James? It looks like you’ve been crying. Did he threaten you or hurt you?”

She shook her head.

Thank God! But still, something had brought her to tears, and he wanted very badly to know what it was.

Isabella turned her gaze to him before he could form a question. “Is it true that you went to him before I did and told him you would release me if I chose it?”

“Yes.” He searched her face for some sign that he’d done the right thing. Her eyes welled with tears that she blinked back. Perhaps he’d gotten it all wrong. “Would you rather that I hadn’t?”

She closed her eyes and folded her hands in her lap. “It matters not. I have made my choice and sealed my doom.”

His heart sank at the confirmation of his fears.

“Is this not what you want?” Please let her have seen reason! Lord James was no good for her. Or anyone, really. He wouldn’t wish that man on any lady who lived, no matter how detestable.

“It is exactly what I want.” She twisted the fabric of her skirt in her hands, keeping her eyes closed. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be a countess—the envy of all of England.”

And yet she looked absolutely miserable about it.

This was not the face of triumph or satisfaction, and his heart ached for her.

If only she could see that he offered so much more, even though the other man did have more land and more wealth!

Money and power didn’t lead to happiness, and all Martin wanted was to spend the rest of his days making her smile.

A tear dripped down her cheek, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching up to wipe it from her cheek. “Oh, my love, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

She stiffened and opened her reddened eyes. “Yes, I do. It’s too late. The wheels have been set in motion.”

Her words cut him like a blade. It would be exceedingly difficult to walk things back. Words spoken could not be unsaid. But he was far from ready to concede defeat.

“It’s not too late. We’re still married, and he has no power over you. Say the word, and we’ll leave Norfolk on the next ship south. Ulf can see to the repair of The Wind Song . We needn’t stay if we don’t want to.” Please, let her say yes!

“And what of my sister?” She looked at him with imploring eyes. Clearly his answer mattered, but what was she looking for beyond an assurance that they would bring her with them?

“She’d come with us, of course. And then when she was well enough, and we were settled in Winchelsea, I’d send her along to Lady Eleanor as planned.”

She stiffened and clenched her fists. What had he said wrong?

This had been the plan all along. Far be it from him to interfere with Lady Adelaide’s prospects.

No doubt, she would have every advantage at court with Lady Eleanor.

Clearly, Isabella had benefitted tremendously from her time with Her Grace.

Wasn’t that what she wanted for her sister?

“What is it, my sweet? What aren’t you saying?” Clearly, he was missing something here.

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I’m going to marry Lord James. You needn’t bother yourself about me anymore. I’ll be off your hands soon enough.”

She stood abruptly and hurried inside the castle without taking her leave.

He’d lost her. God’s bones, he had lost his wife. The world turned gray around him, and his blood thundered in his ears.

No. He was not giving up this easily. There had to be some way to win her back.

This wasn’t over until she said her wedding vows with Lord James.

He would respect her wishes, but he would fight for her love.

She cared for him. He was certain of it.

Something was holding her back, and he needed to find out what it was.

It was somehow related to Adelaide. That was when her expression shifted, and her posture went rigid. But how he had blundered, he couldn’t guess. What was he doing except carrying out the orders of the woman Isabella loyally served for years. Was this not what she wanted?

Perhaps a visit to Adelaide’s sick room was in order. Filled with renewed determination, he headed back into the castle.