Chapter 23
Isabel sat at her dressing table, head in her hands, weeping bitterly. How could everything have gone so horribly wrong? All her carefully laid plans were ruined, shattered like the small porcelain figurine she had once destroyed in temper. How was it possible that she, always so shrewd and cunning, could be guilty of such a terrible error in judgment?
She had made the mistake of assuming carnal pleasure would be enough to bind Rian to her. God knows other men had been willing to tether themselves to her for less. But Rian was not other men, and he had surprised her. Lust, though enjoyable, was not nearly enough for him. He desired something more meaningful, more substantial. A basis on which to build a future. It was a foundation he believed Isabel was incapable of providing, and that had been a betrayal of the worst kind. What possible future could he want that she was not a part of? She shook her head as fresh tears spilled, and her body trembled with the deep ache of his rejection. It made no difference that Rian had told her many times, in many ways, that he would never marry her. Pride had refused to let her see the truth of his words. Taking the affection he was willing to give, she had twisted it into something it was never meant to be. And now it had spoiled, becoming ugly and unrecognizable.
“And you wonder why he turned away from you?” she said bitterly, staring at the disheveled, red-eyed, weeping woman who looked back at her from the mirror.
A sob caught in the back of her throat and she made a raspy hitching sound.
“Weeping, Isabel? My, my, I thought you were incapable of producing tears. How very touching.”
Raising her head, Isabel looked at the figure leaning against the doorframe. She frowned and pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve so she could wipe her eyes before staring in disbelief. Of all the people she might have expected to see this day, he was not on her list.
“Liam?” Her concern was genuine. He looked terrible. Fear and worry had worked their own particular brand of destruction on the handsome, boyish face, leaving him exhausted and shattered. He still had not changed his clothes, and he looked creased and rumpled. “Liam, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your wife?” Isabel’s voice rose a few octaves. She didn’t know why, but the sight of him leaning so casually in her doorway sent an unexpected shudder through her. Felicity had surely made a full recovery by now.
“Ah yes, my wife. How nice of you to remember her.”
Charles and Emily had almost collided with Rian and John Fletcher at the front door of the townhouse. His in-laws had asked no questions regarding his brother’s hasty departure, nor the identity of the man who accompanied him. But they were not so forgiving with him, and he had to beg them to stay with Felicity.
“Liam, where are you going?” Emily had asked anxiously.
“There is a matter I have to attend to.”
“It cannot wait?”
He had looked over Emily’s head, directing his answer at his father-in-law, “No, it cannot.”
Charles Pelham did not need to know details. Instinctively he understood the necessity of his son-in-law’s departure. He nodded supportively and took his wife by the arm. “Of course we will watch over Felicity,” he assured him.
“How is Felicity?” Isabel asked, her voice bringing Liam back to the present. His presence unnerved her. He ought not to be here, in her private apartments. She watched, eyes narrowing, as he came into the room, his walk so like his brother’s. “Is she quite recovered?”
As Liam proceeded toward her, Isabel swung back around on the stool and watched him in the mirror. She picked up her hairbrush, and began passing it through her raven locks, her hands trembling slightly as she did so. Liam was now directly behind her, and he placed his hands on her shoulders, gently smoothing his fingers over the alabaster skin. His behavior was uncharacteristic, but even so Isabel was confident she could easily deal with the younger Connor.
“Liam, what about—”
“Shhh,” he hushed her. “Don’t speak, Isabel. Don’t say a word.”
This was most definitely not the Liam Connor that she knew. Despite her concerns she felt her body responding to his strong fingers as they expertly worked on relieving her tension. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head to one side as Liam continued to knead the tight muscles with one hand while the other, after moving her hair, now stroked the smooth column of her neck.
“You really are a very beautiful woman, Isabel.” Liam sighed, his lips grazing the sensitive spot below her ear as he spoke. “It would be a shame to disfigure such a lovely face.”
Her eyes flew open at the same time his hands stopped moving and his fingers dropped to circle her slender neck. With a sudden gasp she reached up, trying to free herself, but he only squeezed tighter.
“Stop it,” Liam ordered in a voice that was completely calm. “Stop it or I swear to God I will snap your neck right here and now.” Immediately she ceased struggling. “Good, that’s better,” Liam murmured as his untroubled eyes met her wary ones in the looking glass. For the first time in a very long while, Isabel felt afraid.
“Your man, John Fletcher, graced us with a visit a little while ago,” Liam continued softly. “He put forth a most interesting proposition.” He disclosed how John was able to secure her freedom from his brother’s retribution for her part in Catherine’s abduction. He did not reveal the reason behind John’s desire to protect her. Though she tried to suppress it, Liam felt Isabel’s shudder of relief, and in the looking glass he saw her eyes close, and felt the muscles move beneath his fingers as she swallowed.
“It has been generally agreed upon that a visit to your estates in Ireland would be most beneficial,” Liam said. “The sooner the better. I trust you see the sense of this proposal.” He loosened his hold just enough so she could nod in affirmation. “Good, but there is one more thing you need to know before you go.” Leaning forward, he exerted pressure again. “Felicity lost the baby she was carrying—our baby—because of you.”
Isabel instinctively dropped a hand to her lap and pressed it against her stomach. Was Liam going to dispense his own brand of justice, an eye for an eye, a life for a life? Her baby for his?
“Your man made one small mistake when he bargained for your safety, Isabel. He only secured an agreement with Rian.” She looked at him in the glass, her face pale and her lips trembling. “Most likely he did not think that your actions had had any effect on me directly. Go to Ireland, stay there and don’t ever come back. If I see you again or if I hear that you have returned”—Liam released his hands from around her throat and let them rest lightly on her shoulders—“I will kill you. On that you have my solemn promise.”
Not once had he raised his voice above a polite whisper, speaking smoothly and softly, and that made his words all the more deadly.